“You have no proof,” he countered. “Choose another painting.”
Nick selected an oil painting, struck a match, and set fire to it. “My money, or by morning this place will be ashes.”
“Christ, stop!” Wicklow stomped on the flaming canvas. “Come into the shop, my lord. We’ve both been the victims of a fraud. Let’s split the difference.”
Nick Hatton stepped close, towering above him, his dark face threatening, his gray eyes cold as steel. “You dare to bargain?”
Wicklow tried to mask his fear but failed. He opened a cast-iron safe and counted out nine thousand pounds.
“A thousand pounds interest.” Nick’s voice was implacable. Before Wicklow could hesitate, he added softly, “Did I mention that your bones would be found among the ashes?”
Within five minutes, Nick was on his way to the wine merchants in Thames Street. The small shop was part of a large warehouse on the docks. He produced the bill. “I’m here to settle my account.” Nick knew there wasn’t a business in London that wasn’t on the take. “I have reason to believe this bill has been padded.” The offensive tactic worked; they knocked a hundred off the bill.
By the time Nick got back to Curzon Street, he knew he had little choice. Tomorrow, he must go to Hatton and confront his twin. Lord Hatton or no Lord Hatton, Kit could not be allowed to conduct Hatton affairs in this careless, irresponsible manner.
Dottie knocked on her granddaughter’s bedchamber door and opened it softly. “Darling, I have to talk with you.”
“Please come in. I was just working on my newspaper article.” In reality, there was no newspaper article. Alex had been working out the amount of interest she must take to the bank tomorrow.
“It’s about Margaret. Though we pretend otherwise, you and I both know that her condition is deteriorating. We should take her home to Longford so she can sit in the sunshine in the garden. It may not help, but she will be surrounded by beauty and serenity.”
“That’s a splendid idea. I’m so glad that you don’t regret that I found her and brought her here.”
“Darling, it was meant to be. How many of us get the chance to forgive—and be forgiven?”
Alex knew she could not afford to hire a carriage. “I’ll go and ask Rupert tomorrow.”
The next morning, Alex made her way to Coutts Bank and paid a whole year’s interest on Dottie’s loan. Though she was unable to pay off anything on the principie, she hoped it would postpone them from foreclosing and taking Longford Manor. To save money, she walked all the way from the bank to Clarges Street. When she arrived at Olivia and Rupert’s, she found them in the midst of packing up for their removal to Harding House for the summer. Rupert held Amanda, while Olivia directed the maids, who were running up and down stairs, carrying baby paraphernalia.
“I need to speak with you privately, Rupert.”
“Come, we’ll sit in the drawing room where we’ll be out of the way.”
Alex sat down, glad to take the weight off her aching feet. “May I hold her?” she asked softly. When her brother put the child in her arms, she looked down in wonder at the beautiful baby girl. All the ugly suspicions she’d had about the baby’s paternity melted away. None of it mattered! A wave of maternal instinct swept over her. Oh, how I wish this child were mine! Then she said the words aloud. “She’s so precious; I wish she were my daughter.”
Rupert smiled and said wisely, “The sooner you marry, the sooner you will have children of your own, Alex. When Kit came looking for you at Burlington House the other night, you disappeared with him. Has he begun to court you?”
“I rather think he has.” Alex quickly changed the subject. “We need transportation to Longford, and I can’t afford to hire a carriage. Dottie thinks Mother will be better in the country.”
His mouth hardened. “You and Dottie seem to have forgiven Margaret Sheffield … I don’t think I can.”
Alex laid the baby back in her brother’s arms and looked deeply into his eyes. “Yes, you can, Rupert; you have a forgiving nature. Margaret is dying, she likely has only another year left. She’s suffered enough for her sins.”
“I’m sorry that you have to carry the burden. Of course I’ll move you back to Longford. And I want you to hire a couple of servants. You and Dottie can’t do it all alone. I’ll pay their wages; I know you are struggling financially.”
“Thank you, Rupert; that is most generous of you.”
She knew it was Rupert’s way of both showing and asking forgiveness.
Nicholas packed some of his favorite clothes and his flintlock army pistols, then went down to saddle his mare, Satin. He walked back to say hello to Kit’s Renegade and found him restive and mettlesome, kicking his stall. “Hello, old man. Looks like you need more exercise.” Nick spoke to the stable boy about it.
“I just keep ’im clean, sir. I don’t dare ride ’im.”
Nick decided to ride him to Hatton. He put the saddle on Renegade and fastened a lead rein to Satin. The six-mile gallop was just what the Thoroughbred needed, and by the time Hatton land was in sight, he was responding instantly to Nick’s calm voice. He decided to breed the two black horses; the colt wouldn’t be a Thoroughbred, but it would have good bloodlines.
In the stable courtyard he encountered Kit, who had been out shooting and was just returning with a brace of pheasant over his shoulder. Kit’s look of dismay made it obvious that he was not pleased to see his twin, and he took the offensive immediately.
“I would appreciate it if you respected my property,” he said pointedly, indicating Renegade.
“Respect must be earned.” Nick’s voice held a warning. He thought of Slate and wished he was bringing him home to Hatton. “If you valued this animal, you would exercise him.”
Kit turned his back on him and headed toward the kitchen door.
The moment he opened it, a black streak dashed past Kit, almost knocking him over, and bounded toward the man in the saddle.
“Leo!” Nick dismounted and the dog stood on his hind legs, resting his front paws on the tall man’s shoulders. Joyful barks were interspersed with long, wet licks. Nick buried his face in the thick black fur. “I love you too,” he growled. The wolfhound followed him into the stable and sat, thudding his tail on the flagstones, while Nick unsaddled Renegade and watered both horses.
When he went in through the kitchen door, Meg Riley began to laugh and cry at the same time. “I thought it might be you, when the dog rushed out like a scalded cock. I prayed for you every night. I’m so thankful you’re home safe and sound.”
He set down his saddlebags and put his arms around her, holding her close. “Thanks, Meg; dry your eyes and let me hear you laugh.”
Mr. Burke shook his hand. “Welcome home, Nicholas.”
“It feels so good to be back at Hatton.”
“This is where you belong,” Mr. Burke said from the heart.
When Nick went in search of his twin, he found him in the library, cleaning his gun. When trouble brewed, he knew it was Kit’s way to retreat, while he preferred being direct. From his saddlebag Nick withdrew the list of names to whom his brother had given markers and placed it on the desk before Kit. Four of the six names were crossed out.
“You always did have the luck of the devil.” Though Kit’s words were grudging, he looked relieved.
Nick pulled out the sheaf of unpaid bills and set them on the desk without a word.
Kit immediately fell back on another favorite tactic that had always worked. He threw himself on his brother’s mercy. “Nick, I swear this isn’t my fault. It was my understanding that John Eaton would take care of these financial obligations, so I spent the money on a Canaletto painting that turned out to be a fake. The art dealer defrauded me, and I will need your help to find him.”
“I found him … and I got the money back, plus interest.”
“How did you find out about the painting? How did you get the money back from the swindling swine?”
“It
doesn’t matter, Kit. What matters is that you stop being irresponsible with the money that was left to you. That money is for the upkeep of Hatton. An estate this size has a lot of expenses. You must take things more seriously and learn how to manage it all.”
“You are right! God, Nick, it’s such a relief to have the money back.” Kit reached for the whiskey. “This calls for a drink.”
Nick pushed the decanter out of his reach. “I think not. I just settled a three-hundred-pound account for whiskey; we don’t need another. I also took care of the London staff’s wages.”
“By God, Nick, you’re a wonder! What the devil would I do without you?” Kit’s sullen mood seemed to have vanished.
“You would end up in Fleet Prison for debt.”
“You are right! Every word you say is gospel! I’ve learned my lesson. Running Hatton is a serious business. From now on, I will take care of my responsibilities and be scrupulous about money.”
Nick carried his saddlebags over to the wall safe. “I’ll put your money in here, plus my two thousand for the down payment on Hatton Grange. While you’re at the desk, you can write out an agreement that you are selling me Hatton Grange and make me out a receipt for the money.”
Kit laughed. “You don’t trust me!” He took a piece of paper and began to write. “You’ll see, Nick. From now on I’ll do the right thing. I’ll make you proud. As soon as Alexandra Sheffield returns to Longford, I’m going to ask her to marry me and settle down.”
Nick felt like he’d been punched in the solar plexus. He carefully schooled his face to reveal none of his inner turmoil. “You didn’t tell me Rupert was married and had a child.”
“Yes, he confessed to me that he had been in love with Olivia for years. I told him that I understood completely. It made me realize I’ve been in love with Alexandra for a long time.” Kit added, “And it’s what Father always wanted for me.”
Nick looked away. There was absolutely no denying that their father had always wanted Alexandra to marry his heir. But he was skeptical about Kit’s declaration of love. Has war made me so cynical that I can’t even give my brother the benefit of the doubt? His glance traveled around the library shelves. “Tomorrow I’ll be moving into the Grange. I’ll take my horse books with me.” He picked up the signed agreement and the receipt for his money. “Only the servants know I’m back; I’d just as soon keep it that way.”
* * *
The next morning Nick took some of his belongings to Hatton Grange and spoke with Tom and Bridget Calhoun. “I’m moving in. I have decided to purchase the Grange from my brother and breed horses again.”
“We’re relieved to see you back, sir. Lord Hatton took no interest in the Grange, if ye’ll forgive my saying.”
“Leo intends to make himself at home too.” He glanced at Bridget. “You won’t be afraid of him?”
“He’s not the ferocious beast he pretends to be; Leo often comes visiting. It’ll be grand to have you here, sir. It’s a big house; all the chambers upstairs an’ half the rooms downstairs are empty. Tom an’ me have rooms off the kitchen.”
“Bridget’s a grand cook,” Tom offered.
“I remember. She often fed me when I was too tired to go home,” Nick acknowledged. “The colts out there are yearlings now. You’ve done a good job with them, Tom. We’ve missed a year, but I’ll try to get another couple of mares, and next year they’ll all foal.”
Nick spent the afternoon walking over the land he loved more than any other place on earth. With Leo at his heels he took flowers to his mother’s grave, then walked around the lake. As he covered the acres, he was filled with gratitude that at last he was home. Today, he felt like he was the luckiest man in England.
When Nick returned to the Grange, he lit a fire in the master bedchamber, and as he hung his work clothes in the wardrobe, Bridget put fresh linen on the massive oak bed. After dinner, which he ate in the kitchen with the Irish couple, he went back upstairs to unpack the box of books he had brought from the Hatton library. Some were books on breeding, others were on animal husbandry, and a few specialized in equine ailments, treatments, and cures. Nick picked up a journal he had kept in which he’d recorded the sires and dams of all the colts he’d bred. Then he picked up another journal that looked unfamiliar. The handwriting was not his yet, curiously, the name was: JOURNAL OF CAPTAIN NICHOLAS HATTON, 1662. Fascinated, Nick sat down by the fire to read the words set down a hundred and fifty years before.
For the past two years I have led a secret life of crime. It is over now, thanks to King Charles’s fortunes and those of his loyal captains being restored, but I set these words down as a guide to any future Hatton who loses all and finds himself destitute. Survival is possible for a Hatton with guts enough to become a gentleman of the road. Hounslow Heath is the answer to a penniless rogue’s prayer!
It all began with a terrible row I had with my father. When the king was put to death and civil war erupted, I was an idealistic youth on the side of the Royalists. My father, for the sake of expedience, chose to side with Cromwell. Our quarrel came to blows so I joined the army and fought for Prince Charles at Worcester. We lost, and I followed the prince into exile in Europe. No words can ever express my longing to be back at Hatton. It took nine long years before Charles was crowned king. When I returned to Hatton in 1660, it was impoverished, and it has taken me two years to fill its coffers and begin its restoration. Now, ironically, the tide has turned; King Charles and his loyal captains enjoy great favor. I no longer need to hold up coaches on Hounslow Heath; I simply attend Court, where money is thrust at me. This is another form of stealing, of course, but one that has Society’s stamp of approval.
Nick stopped reading and began looking at the sketches. They were all maps and diagrams of Hounslow Heath, showing the coaching routes, the best places for an ambush, and the spots where a horse and rider could conceal themselves. Nick was amazed that though the maps had been drawn a hundred and fifty years ago, the lay of the land was exactly the same, and even some of the landmarks still remained.
As he set the journal beside his bed, he drew parallels between himself and the writer. Not only did they share the name Nicholas Hatton but their relationship with their respective fathers had been more than strained. Both were captains in the army. Both spent time in Europe, where their longing for Hatton had often been unendurable. There was something else that made Nicholas identify with his ancestor. He had loved Hatton so much he had become an outlaw to restore its fortunes. Nick completely understood the deep and abiding love that had driven the other Nicholas to break the law in order to keep Hatton.
Hours later when he lay abed, Kit filled his thoughts. He had few illusions about his brother anymore. He suspected that by now Kit had likely dipped into both the whiskey decanter and the safe. Not without an inner battle, Nick gradually let go of his resentment toward his twin. Kit had always been careless and irresponsible. He was secretive for reasons of self-protection, but Nick knew that he must share the blame for his brother’s behavior. Since they were children, he had always protected Kit by covering up the things he had done as well as the things he had left undone. Nick now believed it was his fault that Kit had never been held accountable. Unwittingly, Nicholas was once again excusing his twin by taking the blame upon himself. I had to excel at everything! I loved the attention it brought me! I had to be the leader, overshadowing Kit in everything we did. Nick thought about Alexandra. It had always been understood that she would marry Kit. Was that the only reason he wanted her? Was this insatiable attraction because she was the only female he could not, must not, have? He fell asleep without knowing the answer, and almost immediately his dream began.
Nicholas sat astride his horse in the ink-black darkness, waiting, listening. He exercised infinite patience, for he knew that sooner or later the coach must pass this way. It was inevitable. The hint of a smile touched his mouth as he heard the faint rumble of wheels. Recklessly, he waited until the last possible moment to emerge f
rom the trees. Risk made the game so much sweeter!
Nick touched his knees to the black hunter, drew the pistols with the deadly twelve-inch barrels from the saddle holsters, and lunged into the path of the coach. “Hold!”
As the coachdriver hauled back on the reins, Nick leveled the pistol at his head. “Throw down your gun.” He was too cautious to ever take the chance of a concealed weapon. He urged his mount close to the coach door and kicked it with a booted foot. The door was opened from within, and he looked into gray eyes, identical to his own. “Sorry for the change in plans, my lord.” He holstered one of the guns, then raised his black-gloved hand and beckoned once. She came to him quickly, silently, defiance etched on her proud face. He lifted her before him in the saddle, raised, the pistol, and shot it into the air. The startled horses lunged forward; the coach door swung shut. He tightened his arm about his prize and set his spurs to his mount.
“I only came so you wouldn’t kill him, Highwayman!”
“No, sweet liar. You came because you know my identity.”
Nick awakened slowly, without opening his eyes. He could feel the curve of her back against his chest, feel the velvet flesh of her breasts cupped in his palms. A tendril of her hair brushed against his lips, and he buried his face in the tumbled mass of curls. Instantly his cock stirred and lengthened against her bottom cheeks. When he opened his eyes, he could not believe that she was not in the bed with him. He mocked himself for a fool. Only in his dreams did he have the will to steal her from his twin.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Christopher Hatton knew he was in a race against time. His twin was an extremely shrewd man, and Kit knew if he was to keep his brother from learning of the true state of Hatton’s depleted wealth, at least until he had secured his heiress, Kit would have to keep his wits about him.
Kit left the decanter of whiskey in the library untouched and decided that under no circumstances must he take any of the money that his twin had put in the safe. He wanted to restore Nick’s trust in him; if his brother was suspicious and came to check on the money or the liquor, he would find them undisturbed.
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