“Is there a place you can keep Alex safe until he’s well?” the boy asked.
Kitt met Laddie’s worried eyes. “I could take him to a cave in the mountains where my grandfather hid from the English. But I couldna stay there long without raising suspicion.”
“I can say you went to visit your aunt Louisa,” Moira suggested.
“I suppose that would work,” Kitt said, “Since the earl canceled our riding engagement for next week.” Now she felt sorry that he had done so. She needed to be married to him before the duke recovered … if he recovered.
“I’ll carry messages for you,” the boy volunteered, “and bring you whatever supplies you need until Alex is well enough to resume his duties.”
“We cannot simply disappear overnight like this,” Kitt protested.
“Why not?” Laddie said. “ ’Twould be the safest thing for both of you. The soldiers are out and about today, looking for whoever broke Patrick Simpson out of jail. They’re sure to come searching here eventually, and if they find Alex …”
“How can I move him? I have no horse, no cart—”
“I’ll manage that, milady. Give me time enough to return to the earl’s stable. Fletcher’s wife’s cousin will loan me a nag and a cart if I say I have errands to run for his lordship. You be ready to go when I return.”
Kitt opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. Laddie was right. The safest thing to do was to disappear. That way she would be alone with Alex when he regained consciousness. She could find out the truth without anyone there to know what she did when Alex told her who he really was.
She put a hand to Alex’s head. “He’s burning up with fever.”
“Mayhap he’ll not last until ye can move him,” Moira said.
“He must live!” Kitt said fiercely.
“Why?”
“Because I made a vow to my father. And, one way or another, I intend to keep it.”
Chapter 13
“That Bow Street Runner was asking questions again,” the earl said, pacing the stone floor of the library at Blackthorne Hall. “I’m sure he believes there was some foul play involved in the duke’s disappearance. I have canceled my riding engagement with Lady Katherine. Nothing else holds me here. I believe it would be best if I returned, at least temporarily, to London.”
“The Runner can know nothing for sure,” Mr. Ambleside said from his seat behind the Sheraton desk in the corner.
“He’s heard the stories about The MacKinnon’s bodyguard. The man is a stranger to the neighborhood, and he matches the duke’s description.”
“You’ve seen the bodyguard. You’ve spoken to him. Was it the duke?” Mr. Ambleside asked with an arched brow.
“He was arrogant enough!” Carlisle retorted. He shook his head. “But he sounded like a Scotsman.”
“What did he look like?”
“Like he’d been in a mill. He had a bump on his nose and a yellowing bruise around his eye and a scab through his eyebrow. Oh, dear God. Why did I not make the connection sooner? He must have been badly beaten. Those idiots! They did not finish the job. It must be the duke!”
“Now, now,” Mr. Ambleside said in a soothing voice. “We must not panic, my lord.”
“Panic? I am far beyond panic, sir. I am ready to throw myself on the mercy—”
Mr. Ambleside rose and stepped in front of the earl, who was forced to stop pacing. “The Runner can prove nothing without talking to this mysterious stranger, and the man has disappeared entirely from the neighborhood.”
“Along with Lady Katherine,” the earl interjected. “Do you not find that suspicious?”
“The Runner could not find them where they said they were going,” Mr. Ambleside said calmly. “That does not mean they may not show up here at any moment.”
“If the duke is alive, I shall confess everything and—”
Mr. Ambleside had kept the pistol behind his back, not wishing to alarm the earl unduly or prematurely. But sometimes it was necessary to make one’s point with something more threatening than words. He brought the pistol out from behind his back and aimed it at the earl’s heart. “I would not advise baring your soul to anyone, my lord.”
“You would not dare to shoot a peer of the realm. How would you explain yourself?” the earl said contemptuously.
“I would say I had caught the mysterious thief of Blackthorne Hall in the act and was forced to defend myself.”
Mr. Ambleside had never seen such a comical expression as the one that appeared on Carlisle’s face. Shock, of course. Incredulity. And then such fury that he feared the young man would expire of an apoplexy.
“You could not—You would not—”
“I can and I will,” Mr. Ambleside said. “I have planned for too many years, and my goal is too close, to lose everything now. There is no reason why we cannot continue exactly as we planned. Blackthorne is dead. You will insist Lord Marcus honor your contract to purchase the land.”
“I won’t do it.”
Mr. Ambleside bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud at the puppy’s performance. But he had to admire the lad’s bottom. Not many men would shout defiance in the face of a loaded pistol. There was more to Clay Bannister than he had at first thought. Which, he admitted to himself with a sigh, only complicated matters.
“It seems we will have to find the stranger ourselves,” he said. “If only to confirm he is not the duke.”
He watched hope light the earl’s despairing eyes.
“Do you think there is any chance he is not the duke?” Carlisle asked.
“I think there is every chance he is merely a stranger who arrived in the neighborhood at a propitious moment,” Mr. Ambleside said. “Now, what else can you tell me about him?”
“What was it Lady Katherine said his name was?” the earl muttered. “Walton? Weldon? Warden?”
“Wharton?” Mr. Ambleside said in a hushed voice.
“No, that was not it. Aha! Wheaton. Alex Wheaton.”
Mr. Ambleside caught sight of the arrested expression on his own face in the gilded mirror beside the door. A stranger named Alex Wheaton. A duke named Alastair Wharton. Was it merely coincidence? He did not think so. A disguise, then. The duke must have survived. That he had not come directly to Blackthorne Hall must mean he was suspicious of the welcome he would receive.
The quiver that ran through Mr. Ambleside left him feeling more alive than afraid. So. His quarry had escaped.
The hunt was on again.
If Kitt had known how desperately ill Alex would become, she might not have been so willing to disappear with him. His fever worsened, and the things he said in his delirium only confirmed her belief that he was the Duke of Blackthorne.
He spoke of racing curricles. And Oxford. Of his town house in London. And his beloved Blackthorne Abbey. Of falling in love. And being frightened the lady would not accept him. Of his brother’s betrayal. And his daughters, Regina and Rebecca, whom he loved, but from whom he was estranged. It had all poured out of him, the entire history of a man’s life.
She wished he had remained mute. At least then she could have held on more tightly to her resentment for all the dastardly duke had done. It was not so easy to hate a man who revealed himself to be a vulnerable lover. Not so easy to hate a man who cried over his brother’s betrayal, who adored his children, who had learned to despise his wife, but had nevertheless grieved her death.
There was a great deal more to Alex Wheaton than she had ever imagined. There was a great deal more to the Duke of Blackthorne as well. She could not believe that the mere loss of his memory had changed the duke into an entirely different person. Which meant that when she had been with Alex, she had been with the duke.
It was impossible to reconcile the two men.
It was Blackthorne who had sent Leith away to his death. Blackthorne who had mercilessly raised the rents thrice over the past year. And she did not doubt he had come to Scotland originally, as her father had pre
dicted, to dissuade her from pursuing her claim for Blackthorne Hall in the courts.
How could she have learned to care for such a man? How could she have fallen a little in love with him?
It would have been easier if she did not have all those memories of Alex touching her … kissing her … protecting her with his own body. It would have been easier if she had not been forced to lay hands on him, to touch every part of his muscular frame with a cool, damp cloth to bring down his fever. The attraction was there, as much as she wished it were not.
On their tenth day in the cave, Alex’s fever had been so fierce, she had been certain he would die. She had not been able to rid herself of the bond of desperation that gripped her chest, the knot of despair that made her throat ache, the tears that fell hot upon her cheeks. Or the guilt of caring so much for the man who was responsible for doing so much harm to her people.
She convinced herself there was an explanation for everything, an excuse for the duke’s dastardly behavior, some miracle that would prove Alex innocent of all the cruel deeds Blackthorne had committed. She clung to that hope like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.
She would have gone mad without Laddie’s presence. The boy made the hour-long walk up into the mountains every night after his work for the earl was done. He had held her hand during those long, early morning hours when Alex gasped for breath, when she was certain each one would be his last.
“Talk to me, Laddie,” she had pleaded.
“The Runner searching for the duke has been at Blackthorne Hall for two full weeks but is no closer to finding Blackthorne. He’s searched the neighborhood twice over and has asked a lot of questions about Alex.”
“Do you think he suspects Alex is the duke?”
“I dinna know. But no one helped him, ye may be sure of that. An Englishman and a man of the law—’twas a combination no one could like,” he said with a grin.
“I suppose not. How long is he likely to keep looking?”
“I heard he’s giving up the search,” Laddie said. “That’s he’s to go back to London within the week.”
“Any word on Patrick Simpson?”
“Only that he and his family got to the coast and took ship for America.”
Kitt sighed with relief. “One thing went right, at least.”
“The soldiers havna given up searching for him. They suspect it was some of his clansmen who broke him out of jail, but everyone was in the fields working the next morning, so who could they blame?” He grinned and said, “It seems the culprits had their faces concealed, and the two drunken soldiers canna agree whether it was two men or two dozen that attacked them.”
“The soldiers didna think it suspicious that I was missing from home?”
“Ye’re a woman, milady. No female person would be involved in such a raid.”
Kitt smiled ruefully, though a moment before she would have sworn it was impossible to smile.
“The soldiers have also been watching to see if anyone has money to spend,” Laddie added with a twinkle in his eye.
“Why is that?”
“They’re looking for the mysterious burglar who emptied the duke’s coffers at Blackthorne Hall.”
“He could surely spare what we took,” Kitt said.
“So you and Alex did do it!” the boy crowed. “I thought as much.”
Kitt was mortified that she had given them away. Too tired to guard her tongue, she was surely at the boy’s mercy now, with him an employee of the earl and freely coming and going.
“Mr. Ambleside has offered a reward for information leading to the capture of the thief.”
“If you try to collect it, Laddie,” she said in direst tones, “I’ll come back and haunt you—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt ye, milady, but I canna believe ye think so little of me. I’d cut off my arm before I’d do anything to harm ye. I’ve no reason to love the English,” he said bitterly. “My own father was English and—But that is a story for another day,” he said. “Dinna fash yerself. ’Twill all come right again. Watch and see. Alex will live. He’s too strong to die.”
Laddie was proved right. But it was almost three weeks before Alex was himself again and another week beyond that before Kitt felt he was strong enough to endure an interrogation. By then, she didn’t think she could wait another moment to ask the questions that had been simmering inside her. But wait she did.
She awoke one morning to find Alex sitting up on the pallet she had made for him on the cave floor. It was the first time he had woken before her. She hurried over to crouch beside him. “Can you manage? Do you need help?”
He took the hand she offered to steady himself and carefully sat up, leaning his newly healed back against the stone wall of the cave.
“I must confess I’m a little dizzy, but I feel almost like my old self. How long was I unwell?”
“A long time. You had a fever for nearly three weeks.”
He lifted the blanket that covered him and looked beneath it. “Have you been my nurse all this time?”
Kitt felt herself flushing. He was naked now and had been for most of that time, and yes, she was intimately acquainted with every part of his body. “Laddie helped me.”
He gently brushed one of her rosy cheeks with his knuckles. “Thank you, Kitt.”
“ ’Tis Lady—”
He shot her a devilish grin. “Surely, after this, we can dispense with such formality.”
Kitt rose and stepped away from his touch. She did not want to be charmed by him. Not when she still had so many questions for him. “You’re not really Alex Wheaton, are you?” she blurted.
“Did I say something while I was out of my head that suggested to you that I am someone other than who I said I am.”
“You said a great deal.”
His eyes looked troubled. “Then you are in a better position to know my identity than I am. I must confess, I dinna know who I am, exactly.”
Kitt frowned. “How can you not know who you are?”
His eyes remained locked on hers. “I canna remember,” he said simply. “I woke up on the rocks along the coast the day before I met you, with no memory of my past.”
If it was true, it explained a great deal that had previously mystified Kitt. No duke would willingly spend the night on a bed of straw or take the job of bodyguard when his only wages were a roof over his head and food to fill his belly. Unless he did not know he was a duke.
But Alex had known who he was. She had asked him, and he had plainly told her “I am Blackthorne.”
Except he had been delirious with fever at the time. Was it possible he could have spilled so much information about himself while he was delirious and yet not remember any of it now? Surely he was pretending ignorance.
But she could think of no purpose it would serve. Why would he take such a chance with his life? Surely if he had known he was Blackthorne he would have demanded the services of a proper English doctor.
Which meant it was entirely possible Alex was the Duke of Blackthorne. And that he had lost his memory when he’d been beaten.
Tell him, Kitt. Admit the truth now, before you make the situation any worse than it already is.
“Alex, I …” She wanted to confess her deceit. She wanted to tell him who she suspected he was. But there was too much at stake. What if, when his memory returned, he was not Alex, but that unscrupulous Blackthorne bastard?
“What have I told you about myself?” Alex said. “I have a great many holes in my memory.”
“I know you’re an Englishman.”
“Uh-oh. So I’m one of the enemy. I suppose I can give up this Scots accent, then.”
“I dinna think that’s such a good idea, Alex. Ian and Fletcher and Duncan and the rest willna understand my having an Englishman as a bodyguard. I think you must keep it for a while yet. I mean, so long as you are my gille-coise.”
“If you think I should, then of course I will. Did you learn anything more about me?”
He looked anxious, worried. She was afraid to tell him too much. “What do you remember about yourself?”
He frowned. “Not much. Except I know I must have been to Blackthorne Hall as a child.”
“Why do you say that?”
“When we were stealing from the duke, we passed by a closed door in the upstairs hallway, and I knew what was behind it. I suppose I must have been acquainted with the duke as a child.”
“Why did you not go straight to Blackthorne Hall and present yourself to Mr. Ambleside?” she asked.
“I considered doing that, but I wasna sure whether I would be welcome there.” He hesitated again, then added, “When I woke up on shore, I’d been stripped and my hands were bound. It seemed to me someone did not want me coming out of the sea. I wasna sure who I could trust.”
Kitt stared at Alex with wide eyes. She had seen the marks on his wrists, she simply had not realized the significance of them. Someone had tried to murder the duke! Whom had he offended? Who would benefit most from his death?
Certainly the duke was not on good terms with his brother, Lord Marcus. And Lord Marcus had sent a Bow Street Runner to search high and low for any sign of Blackthorne … so he could finish the job?
Kitt once again opened her mouth to tell Alex who she believed he was and the danger she believed he was in but closed it again. According to Moira, if Alex had already begun to remember his previous life, it was likely the rest would come to him sooner or later. Before it did, she had an unexpected opportunity.
She could fulfill her promise to her father to trick Blackthorne into a handfast marriage and get herself with child. She had thought long and hard about whether she ought to go through with her father’s scheme. But nothing had changed, so far as she could see. The castle and the land still belonged to Blackthorne, and having Blackthorne’s son was a more certain way to regain it than relying on the courts.
On the other hand, everything had changed, because she knew the man she was about to deceive. And liked him. She might even have fallen in love with him if the circumstances had been different. And she knew that when he found out, Alex would not only be angry, he would be deeply hurt by her dishonesty.
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