by Hatch, Donna
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. “I couldn’t breathe. I 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 utter 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 bore such a strong resemblance to Cole that Alicia gave a start but after a brief, second glance, their facial differences became apparent. A brother, perhaps?
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’s face to assure herself he did indeed still live. He breathed. He had a pulse. But the color drained out of his face leaving a ghastly gray behind. On his back, a spreading red stain soaked his clothing.
From somewhere in the crowd, unfamiliar voices called out commands. Alicia cradled Cole’s head in her hands and carefully pulled her legs out from under his limp body. She snatched a pillow and slid it under his head. Voices became a jumbled cacophony, creating a buzz that made thinking difficult.
“Everyone out! Now!” Her voice sounded strangled and desperate to her own ears.
Men picked up Hawthorne’s unconscious—or was he dead?—body and removed it. 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 over 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 onto his side.
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 at 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.”
The family resemblance to Cole became immediately apparent; they had an identical build and the same well-formed mouth, but where Cole was masculinely beautiful, this man had harsher features, stern and unyielding. Unnervingly hard, silver-gray eyes stared back at her. Whether the hardness arose from years of war, or his recent pastime dealing with criminals, she did not know. 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. He called for aid, and Jeffries, Nicholas’s valet, arrived, looking ill 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 as though he might faint at any moment.
“What can I do?” Nicholas’ voice barely rose above a whisper.
So focused on Cole, she hadn’t noticed Nicholas enter.
Stephens shook his head. “Pray.”
Nicholas sat in a nearby chair and went perfectly still, his gloved hands clenched.
When Jeffries returned with a small jar in hand, Stephens applied the salve to the wounds. “Grandmother’s special blend,” he quipped in an attempt to appear optimistic.
They applied thick bandages using torn cloth. Grant and Nicholas wordlessly helped them lift Cole so the bandages could be wrapped and secured.
Terrible, ugly scars marred Cole’s muscular back. Alicia recognized the new pink scar high on his arm from the highwaymen’s attack when he protected her. Another above his other shoulder blade had faded to a pale pink.
She reached out and touched the older scar. “He was shot here, too?”
Stephens nodded soberly. “In the war.”
She traced a large scar on his side. “And this?”
“A pirate’s cutlass,” Nicholas said heavily.
Other scars were even more alarming. All along the left side of his back were white, wrinkled scars, as if his flesh had been melted.
“Was he burned too?” she asked.
Nicholas replied, “Fire on board ships is a more common occurrence than people realize.”
Alicia marveled that Cole had survived at all. She glanced at Grant to see if he would reveal a hint of any emotion. He didn’t. He was handsome in a terrible, ruthless sort of way. He would have made a great model for a statue of the Greek god of war. Grant stood like a soldier at attention, looking as if he cared nothing at all about Cole’s well-being. How could anyone be so cold and unconcerned about his own brother?
Nicholas, of course, had no expression, but his breathing sounded unsteady.
Stephens answered. “I sometimes think he was trying to get himself killed to rid himself of his guilt. He got so reckless after the war.”
“Guilt for what?” Her voice cracked.
Grant broke his silence. “
Living. Hundreds around him died. He lived.”
Grant spoke sharply, accusingly, but the bleakness in his eyes revealed Grant Amesbury wasn’t as unfeeling as she’d first supposed. He shared his brother’s anguish, but hid it beneath an impenetrable armor.
When Stephens finished, he attempted a smile. “He’ll be all right, my lady. He’s survived much worse.”
She nodded, hoping Cole’s faith in his valet had been well-placed. “I pray you’re right.”
Alicia realized, belatedly, that she wore nothing but a nightgown and had been thusly immodest in the presence of several men. At the moment, her bloodstained gown probably looked more ghoulish than indecent.
Alicia rang for Dobbs. When the housekeeper arrived, looking strained and overset, Alicia requested clean bed linens and the assistance of a footman. As Stephens gathered up his things and moved them to a bedside table, Dobbs returned with the linens with Jeffries trailing behind her. The men lifted Cole while Alicia and Dobbs pulled off the soiled bed linens and replaced them with clean ones.
When they had Cole resettled and lying on his stomach, Alicia said, “He’ll be all right.” She tried to be assuring but instead sounded forlorn.
Grant’s face was an impenetrable fortress. Nicholas nodded once. Stephens tried to form a brave smile but his eyes betrayed his concern.
She drew a breath. “Is Captain Hawthorne dead?”
“No,” Stephens replied, “but I doubt he’ll live through the night.”
“If he dies, it’ll save me the trouble of dragging him to the nearest Magistrate. I’d like to plunge a knife in his heart to make sure,” Grant said savagely.
Alicia shivered at the ferocity in his tone and the murderous look in his cold, gray eyes. It was a pity he hadn’t acted an instant sooner than he did, thus saving Cole from Hawthorne’s bullet. Grant must be berating himself for the same thing.
She touched him lightly on the sleeve. “I’m sure you did all you could have.”
Grant stiffened and pulled away. He turned to Stephens. “Notify me immediately if Hawthorne rallies. I want answers.”
“Of course,” Stephens replied.
Alicia wanted answers, too; why Hawthorne attacked her, and if he had indeed arranged the death of the rest of her family. If he died, she might never know. What possible motive he had, she could not imagine. They’d been acquaintances since childhood and she could not remember any sort of altercation.
She stilled. Her father’s illegitimate son. Could he be Captain Hawthorne? They both had dark eyes that Alicia had mused bore a resemblance to her father’s but no other likeness was apparent. And that still did not explain why he’d seek to destroy them. No illegitimate son could inherit, so that removed any motivation she could imagine.
Phillips and Stephens left the room. Nicholas moved back to a chair in the corner. With a silent prayer, Alicia coaxed water between Cole’s lips and brushed his hair back from his pallid face. His lashes lay close to his cheeks. Alicia despaired of ever seeing the deep sapphire of his eyes.
He must not die. He must not.
“I don’t believe Hawthorne acted alone.”
Alicia tore her eyes away from Cole and focused on Grant. She’d forgotten he was there. He stood utterly still, his face immovable, his mouth pressed into a line. Only that brief flicker of pain in his eyes a moment ago hinted that he was in possession of some humanity. Deep, deep inside.
Grant continued speaking. “Hawthorne’s had many accomplices, most of which he later killed to cover his trail. But there’s someone within the house who’s been aiding him.”
She turned cold at the thought. “Any suspects?”
“Not yet. I’ll question the servants.”
She nodded numbly and turned back to Cole. Grant left as silently as a wraith but she heard him conferring in whispers to someone in the corridor. Nicholas sat hunched over in the chair by the bed.
Stephens returned. “You’d best look in on your sister. I think she’s being slowly poisoned.”
Alicia drew back in horror.
“I gave her some herbs that should help. Your abigail is with her now.”
With a small cry of alarm, Alicia fled the room for Hannah’s. Hannah, lying in her bed, opened her eyes at Alicia’s arrival.
“How are you, dearest?” Alicia asked.
“Is it true? Mr. Hawthorne tried to kill you?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Alicia nodded.
Hannah closed her eyes but tears squeezed out between her lashes. “I almost lost you tonight.”
Alicia stroked her hair. “I’m all right. He won’t hurt any of us again.” She prayed that the herbs Stephens had given her would fight off the poison and heal Hannah.
“Why would Mr. Hawthorne want to hurt us? We’ve known him forever. I thought our families were friends.”
“I’m not sure, dearest. But I hope he’ll tell us. And who his accomplice is.”
Monique spoke from the corner. “You said he has an accomplice, madame?”
“Cole Amesbury’s brother, Grant, thinks so. It could be anyone. Monique, don’t let anyone near her. And don’t give her anything to eat or drink that the others don’t consume. This may not be over.”
Monique nodded, her eyes wide and darting as if a killer would leap out from the shadows.
“I’m going to go check on Cole. I’ll return shortly.”
“Madame, take a moment to change,” Monique advised.
Only then did Alicia remember her badly bloodied nightgown. “My clothes are in the room where Cole is resting.”
“Take something of mine,” Hannah murmured weakly.
With Monique’s help, Alicia undressed and took a quick sponge bath to remove the blood that had soaked through her nightgown. Monique made an exclamation, her gaze fixed on Alicia’s neck. Alicia turned to the glass. Black and purple bruises ringed her throat like a violent necklace. The horror of the night’s events washed over her anew. She relived her paralyzing terror, the feel of his fingers around her throat, squeezing. Silent sobs shook her body and she pressed her hand over her mouth.
“Lissie?” Hannah called weakly from the bed.
Alicia pulled herself together. “I’m all right.” She dried her eyes and drank some water, wincing in pain with the effort of swallowing with a battered throat.
She returned to her bathing. After donning one of Hannah’s gowns, she added a spencer with a high neck to help cover the bruising. She had to arrange the neckline carefully, cautious of her sore and swollen throat. Monique quickly brushed her hair and twisted it into a simple knot.
Refreshed, Alicia leaned over Hannah.
Hannah opened her eyes. Tears slid silently down her cheeks. “I can’t believe he tried to kill you.”
“All is well, now. You just get better.” Alicia kissed her brow and went back to Cole’s room.
She halted in the doorway. In a chair drawn up to the bed, Grant sat hunched over, bracing his arms on his thighs, and talking softly to an unconscious Cole. Alicia paused, unwilling to disturb him.
“—and I know we seldom saw eye to eye. You and Jared were always inseparable. But deuce take it, Cole, you’re the heir. Think of the family line. Father won’t be around much longer and the rest of us are too disreputable to marry and have children. Except Christian. He’s probably too pure to think of touching a woman.” His head sunk lower and his voice dropped to a whisper. “First Jason, then Mama, then Tanner.” He let out a weighted sigh. “I can’t lose you too, Cole. I couldn’t bear it.”
Tears slid down Alicia’s cheeks. She moved to Grant, longing to comfort Cole’s hurting brother.
He straightened at her approach. As if donning a mask, his expression turned impassive, with no trace of the grief-stricken brother a moment ago.
She knelt at his feet and touched his arm. “He’ll be all right.”
Stone-faced, he stood and spoke gruffly. “I’ll finish questioning the servants.” He strode from the room.
&n
bsp; Cole’s moaning brought Alicia to his side. She rested her fingers against his cheek. As she’d feared, he had developed a fever. She bathed his face with cold water and pressed a cup to his lips.
Monique brought her a tray of food. “How is he, madame?”
“Feverish. Who’s with Hannah?”
“Robert is with her, madame.”
“Send Stephens to me immediately.”
“I’m here, my lady,” the Romany valet replied from the door. “I knew he’d develop a fever. We must bathe him in cool water.”
Using cold water and soft cloths, Stephens helped her bathe Cole’s quivering flesh. When they had cooled his skin, Stephens nodded. “That’s all we can do for now. I will care for him, my lady. Go rest.”
A knock sounded and Dobbs came in, her eyes lined and shadowed. “How is he?”
Touched by the woman’s apparent concern, Alicia shook her head. “No change.”
“Captain Hawthorne is awake.” Her tone was dull and shocked.
Alicia nodded and went to the room where Hawthorne lay. Stephens followed her in. Hawthorne’s ashen face turned upon her, his dark eyes, so much like her father’s, flicked to her. She shook her head at her own blindness. How had she missed the resemblance?
His eyes narrowed, glittering with hate, his malevolence palpable. She forced herself to not shrink away from him and instead stared back unflinchingly.
Stephens retrieved a gun from his belt and toyed with it. Grant entered, his grim presence filling the room. He withdrew his pistol and cocked it. What harm they thought a dying man could offer, Alicia couldn’t guess. Stephens glowered at Hawthorne, no doubt wishing he could thrash the man for assaulting his master and friend. Alicia drew a breath of relief as Nicholas’s familiar form approached, leaning more heavily than normal on his cane. He came to her at once, and briefly rested his hand on her shoulder. Robert came in and stood next to Nicholas.
Alicia fixed her gaze upon the man in the bed. The memory of Captain Hawthorne’s hands at her throat made her shiver.
