by Hatch, Donna
When her fingers began to hurt, she unclenched them and consciously smoothed her skirt. “I didn’t mean that.”
“You regret our union last night.”
Aghast, she stared at his faceless head. “No.”
Before she could elaborate, he hurried on tersely. “I do not wish to frighten your friend with my horrible appearance. Go.”
She nodded, fighting disappointment. This was the man who had no comment when she spent so much time with his cousin, and who even encouraged her to do so. He’d become distant again, despite the beauty of last night.
“But take at least three servants with you,” he cautioned. “I will make sure they are armed. I do not want our killer to strike while you are helpless. Or better yet, perhaps I will accompany you as part of your guard.”
She stilled. “Why?”
“Because I am not an invalid. I can shoot a gun!” Uncharacteristic anger laced his words.
Confusion and hurt swirled around her heart. “I know you aren’t an invalid. Why are you angry? What did I do?”
He let out his breath and turned his masked face away. “I am not angry at you, Alicia. I see things that aren’t there and then I’m foolishly surprised when I do not find them.”
She blinked. “I do not understand.”
Screams and shouting came from the corridors, interrupting their exchange. “The East Wing is on fire!”
Alicia jumped to her feet and ran out to the corridor, Nicholas right behind her. On the way, she found Monique.
“Monique, please go sit with Hannah. She’ll be frightened.”
The maid’s eyes were wide with fear. “Mais oui.” She disappeared into Hannah’s room.
The faint, but unmistakable smell of smoke assailed Alicia’s nose as she ran to join the servants forming a bucket brigade. Alicia passed more buckets than she could count as the servants battled the fire. It hadn’t spread to the main house yet.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she snapped at Robert who stood further up in line.
“Saving my house!” he shouted back.
“Daft fool,” she muttered.
Nicholas stood in line as well, barking orders like an admiral and passing buckets with the dexterity of a whole man. He may be scarred, but he was certainly no invalid.
Alicia’s back ached and her arms throbbed, but still she passed an endless row of buckets. Smoke stung her eyes and made her cough. The efforts of the group prevented the fire from spreading, but it seemed they worked for hours before they extinguished the blaze.
“That’s done it!” someone called.
Alicia set down her bucket and pressed her hands to the small of her back. The brigade dissolved, some milling around as if unable to determine what to do next. Others drew to the house to view the destruction. Great plumes of black smoke billowed high in the sky as the sunset spread its golden glow over the land.
Weary and aching, Alicia followed her husband and cousin to survey the damage. Ash and charred timber lay in confusing rubble. Fortunately, the structural integrity of the house had only been destroyed on the far end of one wing.
“Seal off the wing until repairs can be completed.” Robert’s voice betrayed his emotion.
Alicia picked her way on the muddy ground among the smoking wreckage, amazed at the loss she felt. A nearby tree she and Armand had climbed as children now stood charred and lifeless. She didn’t even have that to remind her of her twin now.
A blackened corner of a gilded picture frame that once framed a portrait of an ancestor stuck out of the rubble. She picked it up but it was hot and she dropped it. It crumbled into dust when it hit the ground. Others like it that had once lined the corridor of the wing could not be found; probably buried in the rubble, a lost link to her family. She had lived here all her life. And now so much was gone.
Robert moved past, looking as bereft as she felt. One eye in his battered face had swollen nearly shut, and he was smudged with soot, but the grief in his face brought tears to her eyes. Alicia wished she had something to offer as consolation.
She wandered down what was left of the smoke-darkened corridor. The closer she drew to the main house, the less damage she saw. Alicia went into Maman’s room. Everything would need to be washed to remove the soot and ash, but most of it could be saved. The satinwood vanity stood in its usual place. Alicia remembered watching Maman as she prepared for a ball or a dinner party, a smile of anticipation on her gentle, lovely face while her maid arranged her hair.
Alicia ran a hand over the wood, dusting off the ash. She pulled open a drawer and found several letters bound by a ribbon. Further back lay a small book. Maman’s journal. Alicia had known of the existence of the letters and the journal, and had attempted to read them after Maman’s death, but doing so only aggravated her pain. Perhaps now they’d be of comfort.
“The loss isn’t catastrophic,” Nicholas said from the doorway.
“No.”
The servants made exclamations of horror now that the danger had passed as they worked to seal off the gaping hole from the elements.
“What you are holding?” Nicholas asked.
“My mother’s journal and some letters.”
He said nothing. Looking up at him, she wondered if she’d ever really know this enigmatic man. She touched his arm briefly as she passed him and went to check on Hannah.
Monique sat by her bed. She arose silently at Alicia’s entrance and motioned her out the door where they conferred in whispers.
“She grows worse, madame. Her breathing is not good. I think we should call the doctor again.”
Alarmed, Alicia went in and tiptoed to the bed. Hannah had turned a deathly gray. Her chest indented as she drew in a rattling breath as if it required great effort.
Alicia immediately sent for a doctor. Then, when she couldn’t find Nicholas, she went in search of him. One of the servants said they thought they’d seen him near the burned wing. She steeled herself against the sight of such stark destruction, and the loss it would undoubtedly kindle, and made herself return there. Heavy, oiled cloth had been nailed over the charred opening, flapping ominously in the darkness.
Nicholas appeared behind her. Strange how his appearance no longer frightened her, but had the opposite effect now. He pulled her toward him slowly, as if giving her time to escape if she wished. When she went to him willingly, he folded her into an embrace.
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, but he hasn’t been able to do much.”
They waited, unwilling to move from each other’s arms, and stared at the destruction.
“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. “Someone started it.”
“In light of everything else that has happened, 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 h
urt 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 longed 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 we met.”
Warmth and peace flowed through her and she closed her eyes, reveling in the knowledge that he loved her, and in the feeling of his arms around her. If only they didn’t continue to have that barrier 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. “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 but not until you are ready. You gave me time. I shall give you the same. Perhaps, someday, when you trust me enough, you will.”
His arms tightened. “Come. Let’s return to a warm room and wait for the doctor.”
In the parlor in front of a roaring fire, Alicia sat and opened the letters from her mother’s desk. 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 written 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. It will probably take whatever is left of my money to repair the 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 sideboard 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 stared at him in astonishment, and 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 a moment before returning 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. 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. Nicholas was a good man and she loved him. With any luck, she’d never see Cole again and would never risk tearing her heart in half.
The doctor arrived and Alicia showed him to Hannah’s room. When he reappeared, his mouth set in grim lines, her heart gave a lurch. “I’ve done everything I can. “I’ll return in two days to check on her.”
Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Alicia nodded. The smell of the sickroom only reminded Alicia of Armand’s illness that set in after he’d been shot. 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 with Monique trailing behind him. “Come rest, my love. Monique will stay with her.”
“I will watch over her, madame, never fear.”
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 heart beat and inhaled his masculine scent, amazed by the power of that union, and by the tenderness she felt 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 crippled man who could not sit a horse and few servants would not be enough to 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 he knew Jared would be attentive. Stephens had taken up a position on the ground floor by the back door. The coachma
n 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. Inside the doorway, he crouched down and scanned the darkened area. He crept forward 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 and 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.
