by Hatch, Donna
Grant stood over Hawthorne, his face grim and drawn. “Why?”
Hawthorne’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Would it be too blasé to say revenge?”
Alicia sank into a chair near the bed. “What wrong have I done you? What has anyone in my family done to you?”
“Your father used my mother, sired me, and then cast us off like trash. All for a ‘proper lady’. The man who later married her—John Hawthorne—never let her forget that he took her despite her fallen state and claimed her son as his. All my life, I thought my father hated me. That I disappointed him. All those beatings…” His voice faded, his face twisted in pain and hatred. “It was only upon my mother’s deathbed a year and a half ago that I learned the truth; my real father had rejected us.”
A weight pressed on Alicia’s heart. “I didn’t know until yesterday after the fire. I found my mother’s journal. She never knew the name of my father’s mistress or her son.”
“Her name was Ruth Scarlett. She both loved and cursed your father until the day she died.” Hawthorne coughed and blood seeped out of his mouth.
Alicia leaped up to help but he waved her away and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Alicia sank back against the chair weakly, heaviness weighing upon her soul. “If we had only known…”
“What would you have done? Tried to form a relationship with your bastard half-brother? Protected us from the man who called himself my father? I think not.” Another wave of coughing left him spent. His lips developed a bluish tint.
Robert leaned forward. “So her death prompted you to kill us all?”
He dipped his chin once, his breathing becoming more labored.
Grant wasn’t finished. “You paid someone to kill Mrs. Palmer, but she was only mildly injured. Then you hired Vivian Charleston to arrange for Armand to duel.”
“Vivian was so easily persuaded.”
“Did you poison Armand’s opium?”
Hawthorne’s eyes took on an unholy glint. “Of course. After I arranged for the dressings to be tainted so his arm would sicken and have to be amputated. I enjoyed watching him suffer through that.”
Alicia wrapped her arms around herself. Captain Hawthorne, the handsome man with the serious dark eyes, her unknown half-brother, had destroyed Armand. All the time that she blamed Cole, hated Cole, he was an innocent pawn in this madman’s deadly game.
“And the carriage wreck?” Grant pressed.
“I had it sabotaged to fall apart and the coachman drugged so he would not be able to save them. And I personally walked among the wreckage and killed the survivors.” Hawthorne’s eyes turned to Alicia, filled with cold hatred. “I had thought you dead already. I should have made sure and broken your neck. Like I did your mother’s when I found her still living.”
Alicia pressed a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes closed. Hearing the depth of this man’s hatred and his capacity for violence left her ill. How could he have coldly wrapped his hands around Maman’s neck and taken her life? She remembered too clearly his hands around her throat, choking her until she had no breath.
Nicholas squeezed her shoulder. She drew a shuddering breath and ordered herself to not fall apart.
Warming to the idea of horrifying them with his actions, Hawthorne continued. “Your father—my father—was supposed to have been the last to die. I wanted him to lose everything and everyone that he loved. I wanted him to suffer. He wasn’t supposed to have been in that carriage. Hannah was.” Another coughing fit brought up more blood and halted his confession.
Alicia moistened her lips, remembering that day. “Father planned to take care of some urgent business first. He was supposed to join us late that night at the inn where we planned to spend the night. At the last minute, he decided to go with us instead. Hannah had been too ill to travel and had remained behind.”
“Did you tamper with Willard Palmer’s investments when he inherited?” Grant demanded.
Alicia stared. The thought hadn’t occurred to her.
Hawthorne’s mouth twisted into a smile. “I made sure all of them failed. It was so satisfying to watch you all suffer through debt and poverty. Then you married and saved them.” He turned a poisonous glare upon Alicia.
“Then your adopted father died,” Grant said, “and you learned he’d changed his will and left you cut off. Didn’t want any of his money to go to his wife’s by-blow.”
Hawthorne’s face twisted in anger and pain.
“So you decided to finish us all off in revenge,” Robert said in disbelief. “Including my father.”
“My dear,” he sneered, “sweet half-sisters…” his voice trailed off. His breathing turned into wheezing.
“You put the snake in the garden where I always walked. And you sent the highwaymen to attack me,” Alicia accused.
“And I set your bed curtains on fire.” Blood came out of both sides of his mouth. “I am only sorry I did not avenge her fully…” But Hawthorne lacked the strength to continue. He drew a rattling breath and then was still.
Alicia left the room and wandered the halls, cold down to her soul. A moment later, she realized Grant and Nicholas strode on either side of her. She reached for Nicholas, finding strength in the touch of his large, gloved hand. She turned to Grant.
“You knew.”
“I did. But I lacked concrete proof. That’s why I came here. We needed to catch him.”
“And now your brother—”
“Lies dying because I thought to trap the killer.” His narrowed eyes, clenched jaw, and the flat tones in his voice betrayed his protected emotion.
“It was the only way to catch him, Grant, don’t blame yourself.” Nicholas’s voice sounded oddly hollow, as if he shared the blame he sought to dissuade Grant of bearing.
Robert joined them, his shoulders bowed, his expression haunted, a broken man.
“Mr. Palmer, a word?” Grant had a way of making a polite request sound like a command.
Robert turned toward him bleakly. “Of course.”
“Many of your staff are new, correct?” Grant began.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever employed anyone from the Hawthorne household?”
“Yes. The stable master, but that was about a year ago, and…” Robert paled. “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 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.
She ran in through the open doorway to see Grant grappling with 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.
Nicholas picked up the pillow from where it landed on the floor at his feet, and turned toward Grant and Dobbs. Grant subdued her 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 folded her arms over her stomach is if to keep herself from falling apart.
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 began to thrash and
moan 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. When she wasn’t bathing his shivering, feverish body, she tried to coax water, or Stephens’ 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.” 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, with the same chiseled features and full mouth, 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 frockcoat. His shirt parted open and his cravat hung in disarray. His tousled dark hair, longer than Cole’s, curled boyishly around his face, and several days stubble darkened his jaw. A cloak lay wadded on the chair behind him.
She blinked. He looked familiar.
“Have you notified the rest of the family?” the stranger asked Grant in a hushed voice.
Grant nodded. 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 narrowed.
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.
“I arrived a few nights ago to help Cole guard the house.”
“T-thank you,” she stammered, unnerved by the resemblance between this man and Cole. “Are there more of you here?”
“Just the two of us; Christian was unable to come.” He shot a meaningful look at Grant that spoke in a language only the two of them understood.
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. The upper part of his face was deeply tanned, unlike the lighter skin of the lower half, as if he’d only recently shaved off a beard.
Alicia nodded toward Cole. “How is he?”
“No change.”
Stephens entered and bent over Cole, his concern resurfacing. “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.
She nodded numbly. “I’ll have the slipper tub brought in.”
“I’ll see to it.” Jared scooped up his cloak and left. In the corridor, he called out orders.
“I must take my leave,” Grant said. “The constable took Dobbs to the local Magistrate. I’ll deal with Vivian Charleston—er, Featherstone—in London.” He paused, his gaze meeting hers. “Take care of my brother.” It sounded more like an order than a request.
“Of course.”
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, wrapped her arms around him, and snuggled against him the way she had curled up next to 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, the 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 guestroom where 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 hid behind grey, wispy clouds as if unwilling to bring warmth to the mortals below. Alicia’s gaze absently followed the garden pathways. Gloom settled over her. If Cole died, she didn’t know what she’d do.
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.”
“Perhaps we should still send for a doctor.”
“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, wishing again she could read his expression. “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. I will return as quickly as I am able.”
Alicia nodded. “Of course.”
Nicholas sank into the neare
st 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.
“Get some rest,” 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. Her heart leapt to her throat and she ran to his side. 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 has returned, 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 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 sculpted muscles on 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.
