Twice as Wicked

by Elizabeth Bright

  “Will you be requiring your room tonight, miss?” Bess asked.

  Alice raised her eyebrows quizzically. “Pardon?”

  Bess hesitated, her confused gaze darting between Alice and Eliza. “The room, miss?”

  “Thank you, but we are staying at Haverly,” Alice said.

  “The inn is lovely,” Eliza assured her with a smile. “We would be pleased to stay here if we hadn’t made other arrangements.”

  Bess curtsied. “If there is anything else the ladies require, just let me know.”

  “Thank you.” Eliza turned her attention to the tea. “Shall I pour?”

  Alice nodded. Her attention caught on a man sitting in the corner behind Eliza. She couldn’t see his face behind the newspaper. Nor had she seen his face as he leaned into the blacksmith shop, nor when he pushed past her into Mrs. Buffet’s Sundries.

  But it was the same man, she was certain of it.

  She lifted the teacup to her lips to hide the words. “I do believe that man is following us— No, don’t turn around. I would rather not alert him.”

  “Is it Nicholas?” Eliza calmly stirred a lump of sugar in her tea.

  “I think not.” Alice hadn’t seen his face, but she had seen his hair—a pale brown color, utterly ordinary and not remotely similar to the red-gold of the Eastwoods.

  She leaned slightly over the table, pretending to study the selection of sandwiches on display, and watched the man through her eyelashes. There was nothing remarkable in his clothing. He looked like neither a gentleman nor a laborer, neither rich nor poor. There was nothing in his physical appearance that proclaimed his place in society. He could be a gentleman who cared little for fashion, or a barrister, or a professor, or a farmer. He could be all of those things or none of them.

  “Chicken and ham. Both look delicious.” She chose chicken and took a bite. “It is good.”

  “What do you suppose he wants?” Eliza asked. She bit delicately into a white cake with pale pink frosting and licked her lips.

  “Oh, the usual things,” Alice said with a small smile. “Murder, mayhem, or money.”

  Eliza chuckled. “Well, if that’s all…”

  Alice rose from her chair. “I believe I shall casually stand in front of that bookcase and wait for him to tell me all about it.”

  Eliza anxiously bit her lip. “Do be careful.”

  Alice walked over and stood in front of the bookcase, hands clasped behind her back, perusing the volumes that lined the shelves. And waited.

  She was not disappointed.

  “There is nothing I enjoy more than a good book. Do you not feel the same, Miss Bursnell?” he asked.

  She turned to look at the man. His face was averted as he studied a volume to his right. She suspected she would never fully see his features.

  “I like history, but I have very little use for novels,” she told him. “Have we been introduced?”

  “Mr. Manning, at your service.” He bowed his head, his hair falling in his face.

  She pursed her lips. “What service is that? And why should I require it?”

  “Ah.” He sounded amused. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say we can be of service to each other.”

  She doubted that. Instinctively, she did not trust this man. Nothing about him seemed real. Even his voice was without accent—not English, Scottish, French, or Austrian, and yet it could be any of those. It was as if everything about him had been carefully curated to pass unnoticed wherever he wished.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Manning?” she asked briskly.

  “You can tell me the location of Nicholas Eastwood.”

  She tried hard not to show her surprise. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “But you will.” She could hear a distinct smile in his voice. “You have been searching for him, and I have no doubt you will find him, eventually. I have been watching you for quite some time, Miss Bursnell. You saw me today only because I wanted to be seen.”

  A chill trickled down her spine. Of that, she had little doubt.

  “I’m afraid I have my own purpose for finding Mr. Eastwood,” she said lightly. “I cannot oblige you.”

  He stooped to select a volume on the lower shelf. “Our purpose is the same, my dear. We both seek to punish him for his crimes. Let me assure you, it is not my intent to go beyond what the law requires. Prison, not death, will be our revenge.” He put the book into her hands. “When you discover his whereabouts, write a note and leave it in this book. I will fetch it.”

  She looked down at the volume. A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift. “An odd choice,” she murmured. She glanced up. “And if I refuse your request?”

  He paused. “There is always the brother.”

  Fear flickered through her. She could not allow this dangerous man anywhere near Nathaniel.

  “I—”

  But he was already gone.

  Chapter Forty

  “It seems to me, the easiest solution to your problem is to simply marry Miss Bursnell and be done with it,” Wessex said. Looking quite pleased with himself, Wessex nudged his chestnut gelding with his heels, urging him forward.

  They had escaped from the house, saddled up their horses, and Nathaniel had poured out the story…with one or two exceptions. He hadn’t betrayed Miss Bursnell’s confidence regarding her sister, and he had left out the kissing.

  And his overpowering desire to do it again.

  “Yes, marry her immediately,” Wessex continued. “She can’t very well ruin your brother if you ship her off to Scotland, which you would be well within your rights to do. Marriage is ownership. She would have to submit to your will, and it is your will that she not ruin your brother. Problem solved.”

  Nathaniel considered this unique angle on the subject. The suggestion was not without a certain appeal, even if he suspected Wessex’s assessment of the fetters of marriage was grossly exaggerated.

  Besides, he’d already tried that strategy and been refused.

  He shook his head. “It won’t work. She will never agree to marry me.”

  Wessex considered. “She will take some persuasion, I suppose. But it can’t hurt to try.”

  Nathaniel cast his friend a withering look.

  “Oh, I see,” Wessex murmured. “It’s like that, is it?” He furrowed his brow thoughtfully. Suddenly, he brightened. “Seduce her, then.”

  Nathaniel wanted to groan. Seduction was what had landed him in this mess in the first place. And what had that solved for either his brother or himself?

  “Pray, how would you seduce a gently bred virgin?” He had meant the question to be sardonic, but, to his disgust, he sounded intrigued.

  “How the devil should I know?” Wessex demanded indignantly. “I’ve never despoiled an innocent.”

  “Hmm,” Nathaniel said noncommittedly.

  Wessex glared. “I haven’t.”

  “You merely suggest others do so.”

  Wessex huffed. “It’s not as though I am asking you to do something unethical. I am not advising you to steal the lady’s virtue and leave her ruined, impoverished, and possibly with child. I am merely suggesting, as you put it, that no good can come of Miss Bursnell’s antics, not for you, and certainly not for her.”

  “I don’t necessarily disagree, but—”

  “If you truly care for Miss Bursnell, you would save her from herself.” Wessex tapped his crop on his thigh. “When you look objectively at the situation, I am only asking you to do the honorable thing.”

  Well, that was rather turning the matter on its head. “It’s such a pity you were born a duke. You would have made an excellent barrister.”

  “And earn my keep through employment?” Wessex shuddered. “Never.”

  There was, unfortunately, one fatal flaw in the duke’s plan. Alice could not be seduced. Not by Nathaniel, at any rate. Three times he had kissed her. The first had gotten his foot stamped upon. The second led to a spurned marriage proposal. And the third? God. He shudd
ered.

  It was enough to make a man wonder if maybe he was rubbish at this kissing business.

  And other things.

  Things he very much wanted to do with Alice. Despite his better judgment.

  He groaned inwardly in frustration. Why did she have to be so damn desirable?

  “I won’t force myself on her,” he said. “She doesn’t want me, and I don’t know how to make her want me.”

  God, now he was whining.

  Wessex brought his horse to an abrupt halt. “Nate, I’m going to ask you a question, and I must insist on an honest answer. Are you a virgin?”

  Nathaniel hesitated, and went with the truth, as embarrassing as it was to admit. “I am not…as experienced as you.”

  “No one is as experienced as me. So, you’re not untried in the ways of amour. Thank God.” Wessex signaled the horse to move forward again.

  “Not entirely untried, no. I tried— That is—”

  “What?” Again, Wessex halted.

  Nathaniel couldn’t meet his eyes. “I came close, once. It was that ballerina when we were at Oxford. I went to her room, and she tried to stab me with a knife. I barely escaped with my life.”

  “Good God!”

  “She wasn’t defending herself,” he quickly added. “I did not force myself on her. Likely, someone had paid her to do it.” He did not have to say who. “I didn’t care to repeat the experience. So…I didn’t.”

  Wessex’s jaw ticked. “You haven’t been with a woman ever?” He blew out a breath. “But surely— Didn’t you— How could you—” He let out a great hoot of laughter.

  “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

  “You’re a green boy!”

  Oh, God. It was his school years all over again. Shy, awkward, hopeless.

  “And here, I thought you were merely discreet.” Wessex leaned on the horse’s neck for support as he shook with another laugh. “Good…Lord.” He leaned farther still, and over he went, tumbling to the ground, where he continued to chuckle.

  Nathaniel wondered if he could convince his mount to step on the duke. Perhaps the horse found Wessex as annoying as he did.

  “Confiding in you was a mistake. You will be of no help to me, I can see that now.”

  Wessex sat up with a wide grin.

  Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “Do get up and stop being such a jackass.”

  Wessex got up, but Nathaniel doubted he would ever stop being a jackass.

  The duke brushed himself off and swung back into the saddle. “Confiding in me was just the thing to do,” he said. “Your problem is solidly within my realm of expertise—women.”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “That’s not—”

  “It all makes sense now,” Wessex cut him off. “I thought you were playing some sort of game with her, but you simply didn’t know any better. Never fear. Luckily for you, I have information regarding Miss Bursnell that you, poor man, do not have.”

  What was Wessex implying? Was he speaking of women in general, or Alice in particular?

  Had Wessex kissed her?

  Nathaniel felt a hot flash of rage and briefly contemplated murder. Then he came to his senses. Wessex might be a confirmed rake, but he would never betray a friend.

  Still, Nathaniel wanted to hear the words. “Just what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that you are mistaken, because she does want you,” Wessex said bluntly. “Anyone can see that.”

  “I can’t,” Nathaniel grumbled.

  “That is merely due to your unfortunate lack of experience.”

  Quite possibly.

  “Explain.”

  “I saw her come out of that secret room, before she pretended to faint. I assume that was one of the times you kissed her. I noticed her lips had that swollen, red look of a mouth that had been kissed quite passionately. Her brain was clearly muddled from the experience, because she left it to Lady Claire, of all people, to save the day.”

  Nathaniel waved a hand dismissively. “She doesn’t kiss me because she wants me. She kisses me because she wants to tempt me into helping her find my brother. And it’s working, more’s the pity. I am sorely tempted.”

  Wessex shook his head. “Trust me. She wants you. A lady can’t fake that sort of thing.”

  Nathaniel gave a snort, unconvinced. She had told him she did not want him, both by refusing his offer of marriage and in as many words in the hidden room.

  Have my kisses taught you nothing?

  “Does she push you away? Demand that you stop?” Wessex asked.

  Nathaniel furrowed his brow. The first time, at the theater, she had done both. But before that, she had kissed him back. In the Great Hall, she had kissed him willingly, and even let him do…other delicious things. Even now, the thought of what she had permitted heated his blood.

  But the last time they kissed, in the hidden room…and she had kissed him… What had that been about?

  “Well, she often says ‘please.’” Nathaniel frowned. “I believe she means ‘please stop.’”

  Wessex stared at him for a moment and then gave yet another bark of laughter. Thankfully, only one. “Poor fool. Poor bloody, innocent fool.”

  Nathaniel held his breath and counted to ten. He had never punched a friend in the nose before, but there was a first time for everything…

  “Why is it so hard for you to believe she wants you?” Wessex demanded before Nathaniel could make a move.

  “Because no one ever has,” he said flatly.

  Pity slashed across the duke’s face but was quickly buried. “I suggest the next time you find yourself kissing Miss Bursnell, you keep your wits about you and pay attention. You will understand quickly enough that she truly desires you.”

  The next time? There wouldn’t be a next time. She had already kissed him into agreeing she could stay in the house and that he would help her find Nick. Another touch of her lips would have him swearing to avenge her sister’s honor himself.

  Hell and damnation.

  He was in such serious trouble.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “You don’t really mean to tell that man where Nicholas is?” Eliza asked in disbelief.

  Alice was mildly surprised at the astonishment in her friend’s voice.

  They were walking together along the road back to Haverly, with Mary following several steps behind them, happily swinging her new bonnet.

  “I don’t know where Nicholas is,” Alice reminded Eliza. “But when I find him, of course I shall. It is not for me to save him from prison. We are a civilized nation. He has committed crimes and must bear the lawful consequences of that, whether he is the son of an earl or no. Who am I to stand in the way of justice?”

  “What crimes?” Eliza asked suspiciously.

  “Mr. Manning didn’t say,” Alice admitted after an uncomfortably telling pause. “It hardly matters, does it? It is not as if Nicholas will be hanged. Perhaps he will be sent to Australia. I hear the climate there is very pleasant.”

  “Do not be flippant with your soul, Alice.” Eliza halted them both and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you quite certain he will not be hanged, or shot, or otherwise disposed of without lawful authority?”

  Again, Alice paused. Well…truthfully…

  Eliza gave her shoulders a rough shake. “You are not certain! Admit it. You trust Mr. Manning no more than I do. But you want to believe him, so you have fooled yourself into thinking everything will turn out all right. Be very careful, Alice, that you do not do something unforgivable.”

  Alice closed her eyes for a brief moment. “If you are thinking to salvage my friendship with Lord Abingdon, you needn’t bother. He loathes me, and I deserve it. Nothing can change that now.”

  Eliza shook her head, making her curls bounce. “It is not Lord Abingdon I am concerned about. Have you considered what happens when all of this is over? When your revenge is fulfilled, but you still have no sister? What then? Will you be able to forgive yourself?”

&
nbsp; Alice shivered as a stiff breeze tugged a lock of her hair from its pins.

  What then, indeed?

  Back at the house, they parted ways. Eliza headed for the library, proposing to catch up on her correspondence, and Alice went in search of hidden rooms. Nathaniel was nowhere to be found, and she had no intention of sitting around waiting idly for his help.

  The second drawing room held promise. The walls were covered in thick panels and tapestries, just the sort of thing one might use to disguise a hidden door.

  She lifted one tapestry—a unicorn resting its head in the lap of a golden-haired maiden—and felt underneath. The wall was smooth and seamless. She moved to the next one, this time a knight riding to rescue a lady in a tower. Another blond innocent, Alice noted ruefully.

  “Looking for something?”

  She spun around, and there was Nathaniel leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl darkening his face. A shiver of unhappiness ran through her. The look in his eyes was almost cruel. Oh, how he hated her!

  “Just hidden rooms, secret passageways, that sort of thing.” She waved him off with a flick of her wrist. “You know, the ones you promised to help me search for clues, my lord.”

  He growled. “Nathaniel.”

  She deliberately turned her back to him. “I was certain something would be here. Do tell me if I’m wasting my time, my lord.”

  He was beside her in an instant. “You seem to have forgotten we are on more intimate terms.” His hand went to the back of her neck, and he applied gentle pressure, turning her to face him. “Perhaps I should remind you? A kiss might do the trick.”

  She licked her lips, and his eyes lowered to her mouth.

  “Would you like me to kiss you now, Alice?”

  “No.” Her heart was beating very fast.

  “Liar,” he whispered, then dropped his hand and stepped back. “There is a secret room that connects to this one, but the entry is not located behind the tapestry.”

  Tapestry? Who cared about a blasted tapestry? Why was he not kissing her? Had he not just said he would?

  Ah, yes. Because she had told him no.

  He tipped his head, waiting for her response to…to what? Were they still talking of kissing? His lips looked so warm, and she could almost feel their heat against her mouth.