by Donna Hatch
“Yes. The stable master and…” Robert paled, “Mrs. Dobbs, the head housekeeper.”
“Find her,” Grant barked.
They scattered. With her heart in her throat, Alicia ran immediately to Hannah’s room. Hannah blearily opened her eyes and Monique looked up from her sewing. The room appeared peaceful.
“Have you seen Mrs. Dobbs?” Alicia panted.
Monique blinked. “She looked in a moment ago.”
A woman’s scream sent a bolt of fear through her. She followed the sound to Cole’s room and ran in through the open doorway. Grant grappled with Mrs. Dobbs. Cole lay unmoving on the bed, a pillow over his face. With a cry, Alicia leaped forward and threw the pillow away. Cole still breathed, shallow and uneven, but he was alive.
Grant subdued Mrs. Dobbs and wrenched her hands behind her back. He clapped on her wrists a pair of small shackles. Once he had her restrained, Grant pushed her into a chair. He stood over her like an avenging angel, looking positively murderous.
“Why?” he snarled.
“My mistress should have had him. She loved him. And he loved her. But he married a simpering fool. And he cast off my dear mistress.”
Alicia stared at her in horror.
“Did you push Robert down the stairs?” Grant demanded.
“After I realized he wouldn’t drink himself to death.”
“And you’ve been poisoning Hannah,” Alicia said.
Mrs. Dobbs broke into sobs. “My poor, poor mistress. How I loved her.”
Aghast, Alicia stared at her while the valets- turned-guards hauled her out. Cole thrashed and moaned as fever ravaged his body. Alicia went to his side, laid her head on the bed next to his shoulder and wept.
She wept for a woman who was discarded for another because of her caste. She wept for a battered child, a half-brother, who grew up in fear. She wept for the loss of her twin brother. For her parents. For Cole’s grief and suffering.
And she wept for the futile realization that she loved Cole.
Chapter 29
Alicia began a sleepless vigil. Fearing to leave Cole’s side, she remained with him throughout the day and all that night. Between bathing his shivering, feverish body, she tried to coax water, or Stephens’s tea down Cole’s throat. All the while, she talked to him softly, caressing his face, stroking his hair. He roused occasionally, but never stayed awake long.
Only when Nicholas gently but firmly ordered her to rest did she retire to an empty bedroom. Without undressing, she collapsed on the bed. After a few hours of dreamless sleep, she awoke. Outside, darkness still enshrouded the land. She immediately went to check on her sister.
Alicia touched her hand. “Hannah?”
Hannah opened her eyes and turned her hand over to squeeze Alicia’s. “I’m all right, Lissie. I feel better. Cole’s valet gave me tea. He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” She smiled and drifted into a healthy sleep, her breathing slow and even.
Alicia left Hannah’s room for hers where Cole lay. She stopped short inside the room. Grant stood at the foot of the bed, his face grave. Next to him sat a man who might have been Cole’s twin, but where Cole had always been immaculate, this man looked like he’d been through a battle. He wore black breeches and boots, and a green waistcoat, but no tailcoat. The top button of his shirt had been undone and his cravat hung in disarray. His dark hair, longer than Cole’s, was tousled. A cloak had been hastily discarded on the chair.
She blinked. He looked familiar.
“Have you notified the rest of the family?” the stranger asked Grant in a hushed voice.
Grant nodded. Then his eyes flicked to Alicia.
She came in all the way, eyeing the stranger, who had turned at her arrival. Cole’s disheveled look-alike watched her with vibrant aquamarine eyes.
She moistened dry lips. “You’re either Christian or Jared, aren’t you?”
He stood. “I’m Jared.”
Jared. The pirate. His face, so like Cole’s, was lined with worry, and the shadowed eyes revealed a sleepless night.
“You must be Alicia,” Jared said with a gentle smile.
She nodded, astonished at the show of humanity in a pirate. She’d expected a pirate to be harsher, cruel.
Jared had Cole’s athletic build and the same expertly chiseled features. Yet he appeared more rugged, as if his life aboard the sea had hardened him beyond his years, and his face was deeply tanned.
Alicia nodded toward Cole. “How is he?”
Jared glanced at Stephens, who stood in the shadows, his concern resurfacing.
Stephens shook his head. “The fever is worse. We must submerge him in a tepid bath and gradually add cold water. It’ll bring the fever down better than wet cloths.”
It sounded dreadful, but she had grown to trust Stephens. “I’ll have the slipper tub brought in.”
“I’ll see to it.” Jared scooped up his cloak and left. In the corridor, he shouted orders.
“I must take my leave,” Grant said. “The constable took Dobbs to the local Magistrate. I’ll deal with Vivian Charleston in London.” Grant paused. “Take care of my brother.” It sounded more like an order than a request. Then he hesitated and vulnerability crept into his eyes. “Send me word if there’s any change.”
Alicia nodded, knowing his gruffness concealed a human heart. “Of course I will.”
His forehead creased into a frown as he briefly regarded her. Muttering, he shook his head and left.
A moment later, Stephens also slipped out. Alone with Cole, she ran her fingers down his broad, strong back, now bandaged where the bullet had torn through him.
“I love you, Alicia,” he murmured.
Heaven help her, she loved him, too.
She leaned down and put her arms around him, inhaling his scent, feeling the roughness of his whiskers. She caressed his cheek and stroked his hair. Stretching out beside him on the bed, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, her body snuggled against him the way she had curled up by Nicholas those two magical nights.
Repulsed by her own traitorous heart, she leaped up. How could she love two men so deeply?
The bath arrived and she numbly rendered whatever aid she could. It took Jared, Stephens, and Jeffries to lift Cole from the bed and place him in the bath. When they added the water, he thrashed. With the men holding him down, they gradually added more chilled water. It took the strength of all the men to hold Cole down as he ranted and struggled.
Alicia wept and prayed.
His anguished cries painted images of war, the horror of battle, of young men and boys who died all around him. He called out for Alicia, warning her, begging her forgiveness, confessing his love for her. He agonized over his role in Armand’s death. He cried for a brother who had died. And for his mother. He suffered through lost battles. Lost lives. Lost loved ones.
While Cole thrashed, water splashed over the edge and drenched everyone. By the time Cole’s skin cooled, they were exhausted and soaked. By tacit agreement, no one spoke of Cole’s delirium.
Jared’s wet clothing stuck to his tall, muscular form so like Cole’s. He met her gaze with a frank stare of his own, his sea-green eyes betraying his concern. His expression softened. “Go change into something dry. We’ll get him out of his wet clothes.”
Alicia nodded. She took a change of clothes with her and went into the guest room in which she’d slept, but she had to ring for Monique to help her out of her gown and stays. After she changed, Alicia stood by the window. The sun shone and a few puffy clouds graced the sky. Her eyes absently followed the garden pathways. Gloom settled over her. If Cole died, how would she ever find joy again?
Monique moved about the room quietly, setting things in order, and then left her alone with her thoughts.
Nicholas came to her, leaning so heavily on the cane that Alicia wondered if his leg pained him more than normal.
She managed a tired smile. “I thought you were sleeping.”
Nicholas shook his cowled
head. “I can’t sleep, not while he’s so ill.”
“Perhaps we should still send for a doctor for him.”
“Trust me when I say Cole thinks they are all incompetent. He’d have my head if I let one near him.” He sounded oddly hoarse.
Alicia went to Nicholas and wrapped her arms around his waist. He hesitated. Then his arms encircled her. She leaned against him, but he stood stiffly, his arms barely holding her.
She pulled away and looked up into the mask. “Are you fearful for Cole?”
Nicholas took his time answering. “We must prepare ourselves for the worst.”
She pushed away. “No. He’ll recover. You can’t lose hope.”
Stephens poked his head in through the open doorway. “My lady, I—” when he saw Nicholas, he frowned. His eyes darted between Alicia and Nicholas. “Forgive me for interrupting. I’m out of herbs. I must go to the apothecary.”
Alicia nodded. “Of course.”
Nicholas sank into the nearest chair. He hunched over and pressed his hands into his eye sockets. “What am I to do without him?”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She’d known her husband and Cole were close, but his stark loss tore at her heart.
And she shared the sentiment, for entirely different reasons.
“Sleep,” she said. “I’ll notify you of any new developments.”
Nicholas nodded but made no move. She took him by the hand, pulled him to his feet, and guided him toward the bed. As he dropped across the bed, still fully clothed, she closed the door quietly and went back into Cole’s room.
Cole lay so utterly still that a bolt of alarm shot through her. She put her hand on his back and felt it rise and fall as he breathed. Dizzy with relief, she sat back. She watched him sleep for a moment and smoothed back his hair, aching for him to open his eyes, tease her, anything to show he was still inside that still, still form.
She curled up in the chair next to Cole and kept a vigil. As weariness tugged at her, she closed her eyes to rest them for a moment.
She woke to Cole thrashing. She sprang to his side and touched his face. His fever had returned. Outside, dusk gathered.
Nicholas entered. “How is he?”
“If Stephens is back, you’d better get him.”
Nicholas came nearer, took off a glove and touched Cole’s forehead. He swore under his breath and strode from the room. In the corridor, he called for Stephens in a loud voice.
Odd. Nicholas had walked quickly, without even carrying his cane. And the timbre of his voice sounded different than his usual tones. He must be concerned, indeed.
Cole moaned and turned his head over as if trying to escape the heat of his fever.
She stroked his hair, leaned in, and kissed his cheek, deeply inhaling his familiar scent. A scent so like Nicholas’s.
How could that be? Unless….
Her focus moved to his back, to the terrible scars that marred its muscles all down one side. With a barely conceived suspicion, she traced the burn scars. They were every bit as severe as the scars on Nicholas’s back. She’d been shy about touching much of her husband’s skin at night, partly out of fear of what she’d find, and partly out of respect for his privacy since he clearly wanted to hide his disfigurements. Because he stayed so well covered, she’d always assumed Nicholas had been burned all over his face and body, but since she’d never seen him without his mask or clothing, she did not know for sure. But she had touched his back and discovered the scars.
Now, as she ran her hands along the rippled scars resembling melted flesh, she was sure. Cole’s scars were exactly like Nicholas’s.
The burns were the same.
Her heart gave a lurch. The men who bore them must be the same, as well.
Nicholas and Cole were the same man.
She leaped to her feet and curled her hands into fists. She wanted to weep, scream, rail against the world. She nearly laughed with relief that she no longer loved two men. She was tempted to slap him soundly for deceiving her.
How could she have not noticed sooner? They had the same masculine scent. They kissed with the same gentleness and passion. They’d both been burned in a fire while serving in the Navy. What other clues had she missed?
She almost smacked her own forehead. Nicholas Amesbury. Cole Amesbury.
But wait, that wasn’t possible. She’d seen Cole and Nicholas side by side many times—a moment ago, for example, and many other times since Cole had been shot. In London, she saw them together in the park. Surely there were other times.
Alicia froze. A moment ago, Nicholas walked steadily without a cane and his voice sounded different. Earlier that day, he’d limped strangely and he’d held her differently. He was different.
The man in the mask a moment ago was not her husband.
With growing certainty, she knew that masked man was not the man she’d grown to love. Someone else wore Nicholas’s mask just now. Cole’s mask. Perhaps he’d worn the mask many times—every time she’d seen them together.
But why? Who? Jared? Grant?
All three brothers had a similar build. They could have all been trading places, taking turns wearing the Nicholas disguise.
Surely not Grant. He seemed incapable of any of Nicholas’s gentleness. But Jared? Possibly. She’d only spoken with him for a few moments, so it was difficult to judge, but he had shown instances of gentleness that had surprised her.
She pressed her hand over her eyes. It was too awful to contemplate. Had they been switching places only since Cole had been shot, or had it happened several times?
Another horrifying thought occurred to her. Had it been Cole she’d loved at night, or Jared? Or both?
No. Somehow, trading places in her bed seemed too unbelievable. It had been Cole each night. Hadn’t it? The scars. She held onto that thread as if it were a lifeline. The back she’d touched, the scars she’d touched at night were the same on Cole’s back now.
Whom had she married?
She hugged herself, staring at Cole’s back.
Nicholas was Cole. How could she have been so blind? How could she not have noticed?
He’d deceived her.
Had he laughed at her all those times she had shrank from his frightening form as Nicholas? Had he mocked her when he tried, as Cole, to seduce her?
He’d lied to her.
All those times they had spoken, what had been truth? What had been fabrication to further his masquerade? What had possessed him to do it?
He’d frightened her.
She had been so terrified marrying a stranger, a man in a mask which supposedly concealed a scarred, disfigured face and body. She recalled her crippling fear each time she thought of being intimate with the masked baron. All of that had been for naught. A ruse.
Was their marriage a ruse, too? Was it even legal?
Cole’s laughing blue eyes and self-deprecating grin settled before her mind’s eye. He had told her that he felt a responsibility toward her. Had he married her to save her from marriage to Colonel Westin? Had he married her because he wanted her? Or because he felt he owed Armand?
Duty or love?
Did it really matter now? She sank down in the chair and pressed her hands over her face. Whatever his original motivation, he loved her now, of that she had no doubt. Nor did she doubt that she loved him, both as the confident, roguish Cole, and as the thoughtful, gentle philosopher Nicholas. It was funny, really, or maybe just really sad, that she’d feared she was torn between two men, only to learn that they were one and the same.
But could she forgive him? Could she trust him not to break her heart? Or to lie to her? He’d worn a mask. She wondered in what other ways he had deceived her. What else about him did she not know?
Hoof beats drew her attention. She went to the window as horse and rider galloped to the house. Stephens had returned. She squared her shoulders. Cole needed her now. She’d deal with his deception after they saved his life.
Stephens entered the room and took c
ommand with confidence. Jeffries, Nicholas’s valet, assisted.
Nicholas’s valet. She wanted to scream. He’d taken his deception so far that he’d even had two different valets. The rogue! And where was the man posing as Nicholas now? She wanted to tear off the mask and face the imposter.
“Hold him,” Stephens said. “This is going to really hurt.”
Returning her attention to the matter at hand, she pressed Cole’s wrist down on the bed and anchored it while Stephens cleaned out the infection. In sleep, Cole moaned and beads of sweat formed on his skin. Tears stung Alicia’s eyes. Even through her anger and confusion, seeing him suffer caused her pain. Stephens poured distilled spirits over the injury. Cole cried out, thrashing so violently that she had to use her whole body to keep his arm pinned down. Stephens applied a sweet-smelling poultice of several herbs, and bandaged the wounds with clean bandages.
Alicia sat back and looked him in the eye. “I hope this helps my husband.”
The men froze. Jeffries ducked his head.
Stephens sighed wearily and nodded. “I knew you’d figure it out before he was ready to tell you.”
“What’s his real name?”
“Nicholas Richard Amesbury the Third. He has been called Cole since he was a child. I suspect few outside of his family even know that’s not his Christian name.”
Alicia was silent. She should have figured that one out. “And the titles? Baron is one of his father’s secondary titles?”
He nodded. “I believe there are seven or eight family titles.”
She clenched her fists and glared down at Cole. “If he survives this, I’m going to make him miserable.”
The corner of the valet’s mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. “I hope that means you’re planning on staying with him.”
She turned to Jeffries. “Who were you before you became his valet?”
He managed a sick-looking smile. “A footman. When he said he needed two valets, I thought he was mad. Then when he swore me to secrecy and told me his plan, I knew he was.”
“Who’s been wearing the mask since Cole was shot? Jared?”
Stephens nodded wearily.
“How many other times have they traded places?”
