by Hatch, Donna
****
“Lieutenant Amesbury, you ol’ dog, what brings you here?”
Cole grinned and clasped the hand of his former shipmate, Charles Grady. “I heard you needed a good navigator. Something about guiding your bank through the murky waters of finance.”
Grady laughed. “If I needed a good navigator, why have you come?”
“For a chap who couldn’t add, I’m surprised they gave you a job in a bank,” returned Cole.
“Come into my office, dolt, before I embarrass you publicly.
“That’s Lord Dolt, to you,” Cole corrected him with a wry smile.
“Oh, right, you’re some kind of swell, eh? I know you were an officer and all, but you so seldom acted respectable.”
“Not respectable. Just born under the right blanket.”
A few bank employees smiled at their exchange as Grady led Cole to an office in the rear of the bank.
Grady closed the door and sat down at the desk. He folded his hands and eyed Cole searchingly.
“What brings you here, my friend?”
“I need a favor. And you’re not going to like it.”
“Do I ever?”
“I need to know if a large sum of money mysteriously appeared in Vivian Charleston’s account a year and a half ago.”
Grady frowned. “You’re right. I don’t like it.”
“I’m not asking for you to reveal any sensitive information nor any specifics; I’m only looking for a clue.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No. But a friend is. I’m looking into the possible murder of members of her family.”
“‘Her family’, huh? And now you’re a Bow Street Runner?”
“No, of course not. I’m just trying to determine if my gut instincts on this are right before I take action.”
Grady stroked his chin. “Your gut instincts got us out of a few scrapes on the ship. Think they’re as reliable on land?”
“One can only hope.” Cole waited while his former shipmate struggled between ethics and his desire to help a shipmate.
“You’re doing this for a bit of muslin?”
“A lady,” he corrected firmly.
“Ahh.” A glint came into his eyes and he grinned. “Not as untouchable as we thought, eh?”
Cole mustered up his most fearsome scowl. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“All right, all right, I’ll see what I can find. Wait here. Ah, my lord,” he added as an afterthought.
Cole paced the office while Grady was gone. In the wee hours of the night as he wrestled with his conscience and the desire to simply throw Alicia over his shoulder and carry her off, he relived details of the encounter with Armand and their subsequent duel. Those urges danced with a suspicion that continued to nag him that something seemed terribly wrong with the duel, not only the incident itself, but everything that led up to it.
Then, only days after the duel, a carriage accident killed both of Alicia’s parents as well as the coachman and footman while they traveled to London to visit their injured son. From the moment he first heard of the accident, it had seemed wrong. Too neat.
Then Armand had died of an opium addiction. Since opium was so addictive, no one would have questioned it. He could easily have been poisoned with no one the wiser.
Before Alicia married Nicholas, Robert had told Cole that she’d been bitten by a snake, a venomous snake, whose bite might have killed her. Someone who knew where she liked to walk could have placed it in her path.
Later, there had been a fire in her room; apparently a candle had fallen out of its holder. Had someone set the fire?
Then highwaymen attacked and only demanded Alicia. What highwaymen would rather have a woman than money or jewels or a future earl for ransom?
Cole had given up on sleep and departed for London to solve the riddle.
If he failed, he’d enlist his brother Grant’s help. Grant was as cynical and acerbic a man as Cole had ever known and preferred to keep a low profile, but Bow Street Runners, some of whom were his friends, often turned to him for aid with their most difficult cases. He was resourceful and intuitive and had never failed to learn the truth. Grant would certainly make asking for his help an unpleasant task, but Cole trusted him to ferret out the truth.
What Cole didn’t understand was motivation. Her uncle would profit most by her father and brother’s deaths. But why attack Alicia now, more than a year after the last murders, if that’s what they were? Willard had already inherited. Then he had practically sold her and profited handsomely in the transaction. Even greed seemed a thin reason to kidnap her for ransom.
Unless he, or someone else simply wanted her dead. Which would explain the snake and the fire in her room. And if her family were being systematically murdered, it also meant Alicia’s younger sister, Hannah, could be in danger as well as Alicia. But why?
Grady returned looking deadly serious. “The sum of two thousand pounds was deposited into her account on May fourteenth of last year. That’s a bigger sum than ever appeared in her account prior. Does that mesh with your gut feelings?”
Cole nodded soberly. That would have been about a week after his duel with Armand. So Vivian was involved. She had set them up and someone had paid her well to do it. But for what reason?
“Amesbury?”
“My thanks, Grady, I appreciate it.”
“She married a few months ago. She is Lady Featherstone now.”
“Featherstone? He’s thrice her age.”
Grady shrugged. “He’s titled. Rich.”
“I knew she was only a fortune hunter,” Cole said with disgust.
“Aren’t we all?”
They shook hands and Cole left with as many questions as he had answers. He dreaded seeing Vivian again, but he would do whatever he must to protect Alicia. This time, honor had little to do with his fierce desire to keep her safe.
CHAPTER 23
Alicia seldom saw her husband during the day, but Cole frequently escorted her to the museums that interested her, and knowing her love for the gardens, he even arranged to take her to some of the more famous private gardens.
He was gallant, attentive, and charming. Through it all, her husband gave no indication that he thought her frequent outings with his cousin seemed odd or inappropriate, but Alicia began to worry that tongues were whispering of scandal, despite them always being accompanied by Aunt Livy, or Cousin Mary, or another appropriate chaperone.
One evening after sunset, Alicia had the rare opportunity to sit with her husband in their walled garden. As difficult as it was to discern Cole’s thoughts given his practiced façade, determining her husband’s was nearly impossible, even when he spoke. She tried to pay attention to his posture, his movements, but he always sat erect and still, giving little clue as to his mood.
She attempted again to picture his face. Dark, he’d said. Before he was burned, he might have been handsome, perhaps resembling his cousin. But she only could visualize Cole’s face, not a variation of it.
“Will you trust me with your face, someday, my lord?”
He blew out his breath, and the cloth of his mask rippled. “Trust me, Alicia. You are not ready for this face; seeing it would only drive you further from me.” He arose and offered her his arm.
She took it, wondering if she imagined his tension.
“Alicia, when my business here is concluded, I will return to my country home.”
If only she could see his expression, anything to give her some indication of his thoughts!
“I want you to stay in London. Permanently.”
Desperate, she gasped, “My lord, please ... no.”
He waited.
A tiny voice inside her mind whispered that if her husband freed her, Cole might want her.
Yet, he probably did not want her for a wife— only for a dalliance. Even if he did wish to marry her, she did not dare; she would grow to love him and he would only break her heart with his unfaithfulness. She was
already half in love with him now.
She must not harbor any hope of a marriage with Cole. And the only way she could receive a divorce from her husband would be if he accused her of adultery. Considering her frequent public appearances with Cole, such a claim would be easy to believe. But the scandal would ruin them all. Annulments were even more difficult to obtain, and she had no idea what the legalities were.
Her only chance lay with her husband. Her current husband.
She clasped her hands together and forced her head up. “I will be your wife in every way if I must, but please, do not cast me off.”
The baron remained silent, no doubt carefully weighing whether he wished to continue this unprofitable marriage with his unwilling and undeserving wife.
Alarmed by his silence, she continued, “I’m sorry I have withheld myself from you for so long. You’ve been more than generous. You may have me now, if that is your wish.”
“That is not truly your wish,” he said sharply.
“I beg you, my lord. Do not set me aside.”
“I am not setting you aside, I am setting you free. You clearly do not desire to be with me. My very appearance makes you shudder.”
She closed her eyes. She had treated him poorly, hurt him, rejected him. And she’d indulged in selfishness far too long. She tried to recall every act of kindness he’d ever shown her, every pleasant conversation, every soft spoken word. Her courage strengthened.
“Your appearance does not make me shudder. I’m much more comfortable with you than I was at first. I truly enjoy your company now. I can be a good wife. A true wife. In every way.” Her words nearly choked her, but she held her head up and fixed her gaze directly into the mask.
He was silent for so long that Alicia feared she was too late. “Very well.” He held out his gloved hand.
She placed hers in it. He led her in the house and up the stairs.
Now? Alarm mounting, she stumbled beside him. Her courage fled. Fear coiled, tightened.
Inside her room, he locked the door and pulled the heavy drapes to block out what remained of the sunset. Her heart jumped into her throat as his dark, shadowed form approached.
His gloves rustled as he pulled them off and let them land with a soft thud on the floor. Next, he removed his hood and mask. They too, hit the floor.
Involuntarily, she backed away from him as he advanced upon her. His uncovered face remained completely darkened. When the back of her legs found the bed, she stopped and forced herself to remain still, to breathe. She had asked for this. This was her price for a home and food. For safety.
He had proven himself a good man. Perhaps he would not frighten her or hurt her beyond her ability to withstand. Her breath rasped raggedly in the stillness of the room and she clamped her mouth closed to quiet it.
He neared. His hands found her shoulders and he drew her toward him. A tiny sound of fear escaped her throat as she relived Lord Braxton’s humiliating advances, his rough hands, his violence. She squeezed her eyes closed.
He made no further move. “You are not ready for this,” he whispered.
“I—”
“Alicia.” His bare hand found hers. It was surprisingly warm. “Your hands are icy and you are shaking.”
She swallowed as tears ran down her cheeks.
He drew in a long breath, held it, and let it out. “I ache for you, Alicia. I crave you. But you fear me too much. You must first trust me.”
A bare hand touched her cheek, cupped it. Gentle lips pressed a kiss to her forehead. His mouth felt warm and soft, not cold and lifeless as she had feared. His clothing rustled as he gathered his protective coverings and pulled on his mask. He went out, leaving the door open. Light poured in through the doorway.
“Your coat milord?” one of the footmen asked from out in the corridor.
“Yes, Sexton, thank you,” came the baron’s voice.
“Shall I call the carriage?”
“No, don’t bother. I wish to walk.”
She heard the front door open and close.
She drew a shuddering breath. She had just attempted to save herself from ruin by offering him her body like a common whore, but without the courage to go through with the act. And in the process, she had again hurt her husband, a kind and patient gentleman. He would never want her now. He must despise her.
She despised herself.
****
Alicia took a carriage out to Hyde Park early enough in the morning to avoid the crowds. Her husband had already left for an appointment, so Alicia ordered the tamest mare hitched to the phaeton. The servants groused about wanting her to take the landau with a driver, but Alicia had grown weary of the smothering attention of the servants. She drove the phaeton herself, with only a footman in accompaniment, confident that she’d meet few people at this unfashionable time of day.
The morning proved bright and clear, and a chorus of birds serenaded her as she drove along the paths of the park. In the distance, she spotted two figures, one astride a magnificent white horse. She recognized the rider the same instant that she recognized the animal. Sunlight dappled Cole astride his beautiful white horse, André, next to a carriage with the baron’s coat of arms emblazoned on the door. As she moved closer, she spotted her husband’s cloaked form inside the carriage.
Cole spoke earnestly to her husband, his face solemn. They appeared deep in conversation, but when Cole noticed her, his face brightened. He said something to the baron and gestured toward her. The baron turned his masked face her direction. They both raised their hands in greeting.
Feeling strangely as though she’d been caught with rival suitors, she guided her carriage to them, and managed a smile. “I didn’t realize your appointment was at the park with Cole,” she said to her husband upon her arrival.
“I’ve already finished my first appointment,” the baron said softly. “I thought I’d enjoy the fresh air first before going to my next one. Meeting Cole here was a happy coincidence.”
“Have you broken your fast?” Cole said to the baron. “There’s a pub down the street that does a fine breakfast beefsteak.”
“Perfect. I accept,” the baron said, his voice hushed as if deeply troubled.
Alicia realized that she had intruded and wondered what had her husband so troubled. Her behavior last night?
“Then I shall bid you both good morning.” She inclined her head to them and snapped the reins.
After passing them, she glanced back. They had fallen into deep conversation again. Cole, his expression grave, dismounted, tied up his horse behind the baron’s coach and got inside. The coach drove toward the park entrance.
Alicia frowned. Seeing them together came as a stark reminder that she might be coming between not only cousins, but close friends. She needed to stop seeing Cole. No good would come of this dual loyalty.
But the following afternoon, Cole bounded in, his smile lighting up the gloomy day, and she lost her resolve.
“You must save me,” he exclaimed.
Unable to resist his smile, she patted the seat next to her.
He accepted her invitation and held out a printed piece of stationary. “I have been invited to the one hundredth birthday celebration for the grandfather of one of my father’s closest friends.”
She paused. “A birthday celebration?”
“I think one hundred years of life is worth celebrating, don’t you?”
She smiled. “It certainly is.”
“I don’t normally accept invitations to these kinds of social affairs. They always end up being husband marts. But my father wrote me and specifically requested that I attend in his stead.”
“Why is this a problem?”
“If I attend, I become the target of every lady, widowed and unmarried, in Town. And there are a great many, even this unpopular time of year. Others have come into Town specifically for this celebration. It will be a crush as big as those during the Season. I daren’t go unprotected. You have no idea how terrible it is to
be so targeted. It’s like being a fox, surrounded by hundreds of yelping hounds.”
“It must be such a burden to be so handsome and charming,” she said dryly.
He smiled wryly at her comment and then sobered. “I’m the heir to a powerful earl and stand to inherit a vast fortune, plus what I have built up with my own investments. They see only a title and a bottomless money vault when they look at me. Others only desire an empty affair. I’ve grown weary of those. No one knows, or cares, about the man I am underneath.” His voice hushed. “Then again, perhaps they have it aright.”
“You have much more to offer a lady than that.”
“What do I have to offer?” Vulnerability crept into his beautiful face.
She paused to choose her words. “Things you don’t often show others. You hide your kindness and your honor behind a careless exterior. You are courageous and you have a deep sense of justice. You are truly caring, but you keep others at arm’s length, seldom trusting them to see the man you really are.”
His eyes searched hers, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Your good opinion matters more to me than any other’s.” He leaned toward her, desire clear in his face.
As badly as she wanted to taste his lips, she stood. “What do you plan to do regarding the birthday celebration?”
As grim as if he’d received a death sentence, he lifted a hand in a half shrug. “I wish I could avoid it. But for Father, I will attend.” He glanced at her. “Perhaps if you also come, and remain at my side constantly, you might stave off the harpies who will be there.”
She laughed at the image of bejeweled ladies in evening gowns who were half-human and half-bird circling the ballroom floor with outstretched claws extended toward Cole and screeching, ‘Pick me, rich earl’s son!’
“Does that mean you will rescue me?” He smiled at her hopefully, and with a twinkle in his eye.
How could she refuse that charming smile? It reached inside her and drew out a nod. “Yes. I will rescue you. Far be it for me to ever abandon someone in need. Besides, you’re family. I vow to protect you from the harpies.”
