by Donna Hatch
She wrapped her arms around him, leaning against his chest. “I’m afraid for Hannah. I’ve never seen her so ill.”
“Did you send for the doctor?”
“Yes.”
They waited, unwilling to move from each other’s arms, and stared at the destruction.
Softly, Nicholas said, “It can be rebuilt.”
“I know. But it seems so…”
“…as if a part of you has been lost.”
She nodded.
“We’re fortunate no one was hurt.”
She nodded again and snuggled against his chest.
His arms tightened around her and he rested his chin on top of her head. “One of the maids went into a guest room to clean at the far end of the wing, and found the fire. It had already spread through two rooms. If she hadn’t discovered it, the fire would have reached the main part of the house tonight after everyone was abed.”
She lifted her head, a cold sinking dread settling over her. “Someone started it.”
“We would be foolish to assume otherwise.” Footsteps crunched outside and Nicholas tensed. “Who’s there?”
“Collins, sir.”
Nicholas relaxed. “All is well?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Robert set up a guard to patrol the grounds,” he told Alicia. “Collins, Smith, and Barnett are keeping guard tonight. My valet, Jeffries, volunteered but he’s a lousy shot.” His head tilted down toward her, tenderness softening his voice. “I will keep you safe, my love, do not fear.”
“I don’t deserve you. I have hurt you many times, Nicholas, and I am so sorry. I do care for you.” It suddenly became difficult to use the word love. After all, he hadn’t said it to her. Would he mock her?
No. Nothing about her husband was spiteful or mocking.
She looked at him unflinchingly, longing to see his expression, his eyes. “Nicholas. I don’t know if you return the sentiment, and given my behavior most of our marriage, I certainly don’t deserve it, but I want you to know that I love you.”
He expelled his breath and his words came out strangled. “I can’t tell you how I’ve longed to hear those words. I believed I would remain unloved all the rest of my life.”
She burrowed into his chest, amazed at how natural, how right, he felt, as if she’d always been meant to be there.
He held her, breathing raggedly. When he spoke again, emotion laced his voice. “I love you, Alicia. I loved you the moment I saw you.”
Warmth and peace flowed through her and she closed her eyes, reveling in the knowledge that he loved her, and in the comfort of his arms around her. If only they didn’t continue to have the barrier of his mask between them.
She lifted her head and looked up at him, wishing she could see his face, his eyes, his smile. “Will you ever trust me enough to take off that mask?”
He hesitated, his body tensing. He let his breath out slowly. “I don’t think either of us is ready for that.”
She laid her head against his shoulder again. “I shall look at you with my heart and see the man underneath your scars—when you’re ready. You gave me time. I shall give you the same. Perhaps, someday, when you trust me enough, you will.”
His arms tightened around her, but he made no reply.
Her sister’s illness hung over her like a shroud. “I want to go sit with Hannah until the doctor arrives.”
He nodded and followed her to her sister’s room. The smell of the sickroom only reminded Alicia of Armand’s illness that set in after he’d been shot.
Nicholas took a seat near the fire while Alicia went to the bed. Lying next to her sister, the only surviving member of her immediate family, Alicia curled her hand around Hannah’s, willing her to be well. Her other hand gripped the letters from her mother’s desk. Seeking solace, she opened the first page.
Words of love, not eloquent, but full of sincerity, flowed from the pages as she read the missives written between her parents when their love was new. Others had been penned when they were apart as her father made trips to London for business, still loving, still tender, now more confident.
Smiling, Alicia picked up the diary. Maman’s neat, elegant writing painted pictures in her mind. This volume began with meeting a handsome young man. Cautious, philosophical, with dark serious eyes, he stole her heart the first evening they danced. Over the course of a year, they courted until he finally asked her father for her hand.
Alicia read of their happy years together, her deep sorrow at burying a baby only a few months old. The next several entries were filled with despair. Then she recorded her joy at learning she was increasing again. Later she recorded giving birth to twins.
A passage recorded her discovery that before their marriage, he had kept a mistress who had borne a son, but that he had given her up when he decided to marry.
“I should not feel such dismay at this discovery. After all, keeping a mistress before marrying is not terribly uncommon. Many men keep their mistresses even after marriage. He has sworn that he has not even looked at another woman since he fell in love with me, but I can’t help but fear he compares me to her, or wishes he were still with her. I question if his heart is true.”
How well she understood those fears! She’d had them many times regarding Cole. A few pages later, she read; “Through my sorrow, I cannot help but wonder about the woman who claimed him for so long. Was she devastated when he told her he must give her up? What of his son?”
Later, Alicia read an entry expressing her joy at expecting another baby.
Robert staggered in carrying a bottle and slouched into a chair.
Alicia frowned at him. “Robert. If you ever loved me, stop drinking.”
He stared at her blearily. “My best friend is dead. I just buried my father. Someone is trying to kill me. Hannah is ill. It will probably take whatever is left of my money to repair the fire damage to the house that is all I have of an inheritance. I am a reputed lout and no lady would ever consider an alliance with me. Tell me why I should have to face this sober.”
“Because I need you. And Hannah needs you.”
Startled, he gaped at her. With deliberate movements, he got up and set the bottle on a table. “Forgive me, Lissie. I have been very selfish.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek and then threw himself back into his chair to stare moodily into the fire and drag his fingers through his hair.
Alicia wondered if he were in earnest. He had never acted thusly before. Robert made no further move to drink, only remained silently brooding, apparently disinclined to converse. She puzzled over his behavior, and glanced at Nicholas. As usual, his mask revealed nothing of his thoughts. Alicia returned to her mother’s journal.
The next entries were of trivial things, but then in a shaking hand, Maman recorded; “After searching my soul, I realized that my beloved husband’s actions long ago does not affect us now. He is a good man, and the qualities I admired in him when I fell in love with him still exist. His love is true, and always has been. I have learned to forgive his past.”
Alicia raised her eyes to her mother’s portrait sitting on Hannah’s nightstand. How she wished she could have spoken to Maman whose guiding influence might have helped her find forgiveness for Cole sooner. She would not have—
No. She was happy with her husband. Nicolas was a good man and she loved him. With any luck, she’d never see Cole again and would not risk temptation.
The doctor arrived then and ushered everyone out. Alicia paced the corridor.
When the doctor reappeared, he looked apologetic. “I’ve done everything I can. I’ll return in two days to check on her.”
With heavy heart, Alicia nodded. Alicia swallowed her rising fear. Hannah could not even open her eyes but her fingers curled around Alicia’s. She stayed next to Hannah’s bed until far into the night. Alicia’s head shot up in alarm when the door opened.
Nicholas came in. “Come rest, my love. Monique will stay with her.” He indicated the maid behind him.
“I will watch over her, madame, never fear,” Monique said.
Alicia argued, reluctant to leave Hannah’s side, but they insisted. At her door, Nicholas took her into his arms. She turned to him, seeking solace. He scooped her up, carried her to bed and loved her sweetly and with all the passion of a whole man.
In the quiet moments, she snuggled up to him, listened to his heartbeat and inhaled his masculine scent, amazed by the power of their union, and by her overflowing tenderness for her husband.
“I love you, Alicia.” His whisper caressed her.
“I love you, Nicholas.”
Content and at peace, she drifted off to sleep cradled in his arms.
But it was of Cole she dreamed.
Chapter 28
Cole shifted positions to relieve cramping muscles. He did not dare pace about. If the killer watched the house, movement might alert him to the trap. Cole should have taken his post inside the house sooner and not let any distraction keep him from protecting Alicia, Hannah, and Robert. Once he eliminated the threat, he planned to pursue leisure and pleasure to his heart’s content, but now was not the time.
With Nicholas’s grand arrival and Cole making a show of leaving, the killer would believe them defenseless. A few servants and a crippled man who could not sit a horse would not dissuade him from striking again.
That the killer would strike again soon, Cole had no doubt. He cursed himself for his carelessness. Within the week, the killer had gotten inside the house, pushed Robert down the stairs, and later started a fire. Bold. Hopefully, carelessness would follow.
But who would be his next target?
Cole glanced toward the door where Grant sat, alert and ready. Grant had arrived quietly after sunset. He had a suspect, but no concrete proof. Grant sat utterly still. Cole peered into the next room where Jared, who’d arrived earlier, kept a quiet vigil. The darkness prevented him from seeing his brother, but Jared would be attentive. Stephens had taken up a position on the ground floor by the back door. The coachman kept watch from the far end of the house by the wing that had been burned. Every two hours, they whistled to each other and to those keeping watch outside to ensure each remained safe.
The sound of a door creaking upstairs sent Cole to his feet. Tensed, he stood motionless, listening, waiting. It might be someone getting up to use the necessary. Alicia’s room remained out of view, but he wanted more than anything to be inside it with her now instead of waiting in a cold room with a gun in his hand.
A door closed softly. All Cole’s senses strained. Grant arose silently, his gun at the ready.
A muffled scream spurred them both to a run.
Cole raced up the stairs, taking two or three at a time, with Grant only a pace behind him. Jared’s footfalls trailed Grant. When they reached the corridor, they paused to listen. The sounds of a scuffle came from Alicia’s bedroom. With cold fear turning his blood to ice, Cole dashed to her room, his pistol primed and ready, with Grant and Jared flanking him. Heavy breathing and a soft whimper nearby drew his eye. Two shadows lay on the bed; one prone, the other leaning over.
A feminine voice let out a strangled cry.
The thought of what the killer might be doing to Alicia flooded him with terror. And rage.
Cole launched his body at the upright figure, knocking him off the bed. They both landed heavily on the floor. The killer let out a grunt of surprise. Lying on her back on the bed, Alicia gasped and began coughing. Cole landed a punch on what felt like a jaw. A sickening crunch rewarded his efforts. He began swinging his fists, using his ears more than his eyes to guide him. The other man fought back with surprising strength. Someone lit a taper and Cole blinked in the sudden light at the man crouched in front of him.
“Hawthorne.” So Grant had been right.
An ugly smile darkened Captain Hawthorne’s bloodied face. “Amesbury. You are supposed to have gone home.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, old boy,” Cole shot back.
Hawthorne threw a fist. Cole dodged it, then lunged. His hours spent at fisticuffs had not been for naught. Fueled by anger, he hammered at Hawthorne until the blighter collapsed. Cole grabbed him by the shirtfront to renew his pounding, but Jared caught his arm.
“He’s had enough.”
Hawthorne lay senseless, his face a hardly discernible mass. Cole dropped the limp form and let Hawthorne land hard on the floor. Shaking off Jared, Cole backed off.
Alicia’s coughing turned into weeping. She lay curled up in a ball.
“Alicia?” He moved to her.
At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head and said hoarsely, “C-Cole? You’re here?”
He pulled her into his arms and began rocking her. “Alicia, my love, did he hurt you?”
Crying so hard that she could not speak, she only burrowed into his chest while his alarm spiraled. He held her while fury and helplessness battled for power.
“Alicia, what happened? Did he—?” He could not bring himself to utter his fears.
“He was choking me,” she sobbed, her voice raspy. “Couldn’t breathe. Thought he would crush my throat.”
The monster would pay for trying to strangle her.
From behind him, Grant’s voice thundered, “Look out!”
Cole flung Alicia down onto the bed with his body as two simultaneous gunshots roared through the night. Searing pain exploded in his back. It transported him to Trafalgar, to the middle of a sea battle. He sank into darkness.
Alicia watched in mute horror as Cole stiffened, his face twisted in pain, and then collapsed on her. A male’s voice moaned, drawing her gaze away from Cole. Captain Hawthorne, badly battered, dropped the smoking handgun he’d been pointing in her direction, and crumpled into a heap.
A black-haired man Alicia had never seen stood by the door holding a gun aimed at Hawthorne. A tendril of smoke curled out of the barrel of his pistol. The stranger lowered his arm and tucked away his gun. Behind the stranger a man with ashen face stared. The third man looked so much like Cole that Alicia gave a start but after a brief, second glance, their facial differences became apparent. A brother, surely.
For a brief moment, stunned silence fell over the room. Then it erupted into sound and movement as all the men rushed toward Cole. He lay motionless, silent, still.
“Please, no,” Alicia gasped.
One of the strangers bent over Cole and put a hand below his nose. “He’s still breathing.”
She touched Cole to assure herself he did indeed still live. He breathed. He had a pulse. But the color drained out of his face. On his back, a spreading red stain soaked his clothing.
From somewhere in the crowd, voices she didn’t recognize called out commands. Alicia cradled Cole’s head in her hands. Voices became a jumbled cacophony, creating a buzz that made thinking difficult.
“Everyone out! Now!” Her voice sounded strangled to her own ears.
Men picked up Hawthorne’s unconscious—or was he dead?—body and removed it. Robert ordered Hawthorne placed in the bedroom down the corridor. Other male voices reverberated outside the door, but she ignored them.
She fixed all her attention to Cole on the bed. “Don’t you die. Don’t you dare die.” With shaking fingers, she ran her hands over his hair. “Cole!”
He did not respond. Kneeling beside him, she tried to roll him on his side so she could reach the buttons of his waistcoat. He was a large man, and completely limp; moving him proved a greater challenge than she had supposed.
“Here.” Another pair of arms turned Cole.
She looked up into a pair of steely gray eyes set in hard, yet handsome features. A thin scar ran raggedly down the right side of his face from eye to lip. Black hair, longer than fashionable, framed his face. She blinked slowly, recalling that he was the man who shot Captain Hawthorne at the same instant that Captain Hawthorne had shot Cole. At the time, she’d assumed him to be someone who’d been helping guard the house, but he seemed too commanding to be merely hired help.
He bore an imposing mien yet wore simple clothing in subdued colors, completely without adornment.
Alicia stared. “Who—?”
“I’m Grant Amesbury.”
She spotted the resemblance to Cole; they had an identical build and the same well-formed mouth, but where Cole was masculinely beautiful, this man had harsher features, making him appear stern and unyielding. His silver-gray eyes were unnervingly hard. Whether the hardness arose from years of war, or his recent pastime dealing with criminals, she did not know. She only knew she never, ever wanted to cross this dangerous, determined man. If she’d had to guess, she would have assumed this was Jared, the pirate.
Grant’s gaze passed over her briefly, his steely eyes grim before turning his attention to his brother lying still and pale in bed.
Stephens appeared. “My lady. He would trust me over a doctor.”
She nodded. Cole had said something like that the last time he had been wounded for her sake.
The three of them turned Cole and stripped off his stained waistcoat and shirt. In her concern, Alicia did not even flinch at his state of undress. The amount of blood gushing unimpeded from Cole’s back left Alicia sick with worry.
Grant stepped back and waited silently at the foot of the bed while Stephens examined Cole. The bullet had gone in at an angle in his back from his waist up to his left shoulder and exited below his shoulder blade. Stephens pressed his lips into a white line, his face set and grim. Cole’s blood continued to bubble out, soaking Alicia’s nightgown and the bed. Stephens cleaned Cole’s wounds and pressed a cloth over them. Grant remained perfectly detached, watching without the slightest sign of emotion.
“Press here firmly,” Stephens instructed, placing her fingers over the lower wound. He did likewise on the upper wound. “Jeffries!”
Nicholas’s valet arrived and blanched at the amount of blood on the linens. Stephens gave specific instructions of a salve he needed, and exactly where to find it. Jeffries left unsteadily and white-faced as though he might faint at any moment.
