by Hatch, Donna
Now, as she ran her hands along the rippled scars resembling melted flesh, she was sure. Cole’s scars were exactly like Nicholas’s.
The burns were the same.
Her heart gave a lurch. The men who bore them must be the same, as well.
Nicholas and Cole were the same man.
She leaped to her feet and curled her hands into fists. She wanted to weep, scream, rail against the world. She nearly laughed with relief that she no longer loved two men. She was tempted to slap him soundly for deceiving her.
How could she have not noticed sooner? They had the same masculine scent. They kissed with the same gentleness and passion. They’d both been burned in a fire while serving in the Navy. What other clues had she missed?
She almost smacked her own forehead. Nicholas Amesbury. Cole Amesbury.
But wait, that wasn’t possible. She’d seen Cole and Nicholas side by side many times—a moment ago, for example, and many other times since Cole had been shot. In London, she saw them together in the park. And when Nicholas first arrived, she’d seen them together twice. Surely there were other times as well.
Alicia froze. A moment ago, Nicholas walked steadily without a cane and his voice sounded different. Earlier that day, he’d limped strangely and he’d held her differently. He was different.
The man in the mask a moment ago was not her husband.
With growing certainty, she knew that was not the man she’d grown to love. Someone else wore Nicholas’s mask just now. Cole’s mask. Perhaps he’d worn the mask many times—every time she’d seen them together.
But why? Who? Jared? Grant?
All three brothers had a similar build. They could have all been trading places, taking turns wearing the Nicholas disguise.
Surely not Grant. He seemed incapable of any of Nicholas’s gentleness. But Jared? Possibly. She’d only spoken with him for a few moments, so it was difficult to judge, but he had shown instances of gentleness that had surprised her. And he had born a stunning resemblance to Cole.
She pressed her hand over her eyes. It was too awful to contemplate. Had they been switching places only since Cole had been shot, or had it happened several times?
Another horrifying thought occurred to her. Had it been Cole she’d loved at night, or Jared? Or both?
No. Somehow, trading places in her bed seemed too unbelievable. It had been Cole each night. Hadn’t it? The scars. She held onto that thread as if it were a lifeline. The back she’d touched, the scars she’d touched at night were the same on Cole’s back now.
Whom had she married?
She hugged herself, staring at Cole’s back.
Nicholas was Cole. How could she have been so blind? How could she not have noticed?
He’d deceived her.
Had he laughed at her all those times she had shrank from his frightening form as Nicholas? Had he mocked her when he tried, as Cole, to seduce her?
He’d lied to her.
All those times they had spoken, what had been truth? What had been fabrication to further his masquerade? What had possessed him to do it?
He’d frightened her.
She had been so terrified marrying a stranger, a man in a mask which supposedly concealed a scarred, disfigured face and body. She recalled her crippling fear each time she thought of being intimate with the masked baron. All of that had been for naught. A ruse.
Was their marriage a ruse, too? Was it even legal?
Cole’s laughing blue eyes and self-deprecating grin settled before her mind’s eye. He had told her that he felt a responsibility toward her. Had he married her to save her from marriage to Colonel Westin? Had he married her because he wanted her? Or because he felt he owed Armand?
Duty or love?
Did it really matter now? She sank down in the chair and pressed her hands over her face. Whatever his original motivation, he loved her now, of that she had no doubt. Nor did she doubt that she loved him, both as the confident, roguish Cole, and as the thoughtful, gentle philosopher Nicholas. It was funny, really, or maybe just really sad, that she’d feared she was torn between two men, only to learn that they were one and the same.
But could she forgive him? Could she trust him to not break her heart? Or lie to her? He’d worn a mask. She wondered in what other ways he had deceived her. What else about him did she not know?
Hoof beats drew her attention. She went to the window as horse and rider galloped to the house. Stephens had returned. She squared her shoulders. Cole needed her now. She’d deal with his deception after they saved his life.
Stephens entered the room and took command with confidence. Jeffries, Nicholas’ valet, assisted.
Nicholas’s valet. She wanted to scream. He’d taken his deception so far that he’d even had two different valets. The rogue! And where was the man posing as Nicholas now? She wanted to tear off the mask and face the imposter.
“Hold him,” Stephens said. “This is going to really hurt.”
Returning her attention to the matter at hand, she pressed Cole’s wrist down on the bed and anchored it while Stephens cleaned out the infection. In sleep, Cole moaned and beads of sweat formed on his skin. Tears stung Alicia’s eyes. Even through her anger and confusion, seeing him suffer caused her pain. Stephens poured distilled spirits over the injury. Cole cried out, thrashing so violently that she had to use her whole body to keep his arm pinned down. Stephens applied a sweet-smelling poultice of herbs, and bandaged the wounds with clean bandages.
Alicia sat back and drove her gaze into his eyes. “I hope this helps my husband.”
The men froze. Jeffries ducked his head.
Stephens sighed wearily and nodded. “I knew you’d figure it out before he was ready to tell you.”
“What’s his real name?” she demanded.
“Nicholas Richard Amesbury the Third. He has been called Cole since he was a child. I suspect few outside of his family even know that’s not his Christian name.”
Alicia was silent. She should have figured that one out. She could have looked up his name in a book of peerage. How many other clues had she missed?
“And the titles? Baron is one of his father’s secondary titles?”
He nodded. “I believe there are seven or eight family titles, but baron goes back to William the Conqueror.”
She clenched her fists and glared down at Cole. “If he survives this, I’m going to make him miserable.”
The corner of the valet’s mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. “I hope that means you’re planning on staying with him.”
She turned to Jeffries. “Who were you before you became his valet?”
He managed a sick-looking smile. “A footman. When he said he needed two valets, I thought he was mad. Then when he swore me to secrecy and told me his plan, I knew he was.”
“Who’s been wearing the mask since Cole was shot? Jared?”
Stephens nodded wearily.
“How many other times have they traded places?”
“Twice that I’m aware of in London, and on and off while we were here.”
Alicia made up her mind. “Stay with Cole, Stephens. Jeffries, please ask Jared to meet me in the parlor. And tell him to leave behind the mask and cane.”
Looking supremely uncomfortable, the valets obeyed. Alicia went into the parlor and glared at the fire popping in the grate. She did not have to wait long.
Jared burst in looking so much like Cole that she almost threw herself into his arms. The brighter light of the parlor revealed other subtle differences—Jared’s deeply tanned face, roughened by constant exposure to the elements and vivid aquamarine eyes, not to mention the rolling motion of his walk as if more comfortable walking on a wind-tossed ship. With dark circles under half-opened, blood shot eyes, he looked so exhausted that a pang of remorse stole over her for having him awakened.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot.”
“I’m not holding a gun, you scoundrel, but I would like to throw someth
ing at you.”
“Get in line,” he muttered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He stared at her as if she’d sprouted a horn. “It isn’t my secret to tell.”
“What if Cole had died?” her voice rose to a shrill note.
“Then I’d tell you, of course. I certainly wouldn’t carry on the charade. Tempting as it is.” A rakish glint entered his eyes and one corner of his mouth lifted in such a perfect imitation of Cole that her heart gave a lurch.
Ignoring his innuendo, Alicia sat down weakly. “So you donned the disguise the moment you arrived here?”
“Yes.” He threw himself down into a chair and stretched out his legs as she’d seen Cole do on so many occasions.
“And in London, when I saw you together in the park?”
“That was by accident.”
She folded her arms over her chest and glared. “You put on a mask by accident?”
He smiled faintly. “No. You saw me by accident; our meeting wasn’t staged for you. I wear the Nicholas costume so I can move freely about London. There are certain reasons I can’t let my presence in London be known.”
“I imagine there’s a price on your head, what with being a pirate and all,” she said dryly.
“I have enemies on both sides of the law.” He had Cole’s build and exuded the same latent sensuality. How many times had he posed as her husband? And under what circumstances?
He watched her quietly, waiting.
Frightened of what his answer might be, she hesitated, then, steeling herself, forced herself to ask the question that had been nagging her. “Have you ever…” she had to draw a breath, “Did you ever wear the mask when you were…with me…in a private way?”
He jerked backward. “Certainly not! I would never touch another man’s wife, especially not my own brother’s.”
She watched him doubtfully. Had he spoken the truth, or only what she wanted to hear?
Gravely serious, he leaned forward. “I give you my word; I never touched you beyond a brotherly hug.”
She let out her breath, relieved and confused and angry about all the deception. Jared joined her on the settee but made no move to touch her. Anxiously, he searched her face with blue-green eyes. Next to Cole, he was the most handsome man she’d ever beheld.
“He didn’t do it to hurt you,” Jared said quietly. “Or embarrass you.”
“He’s done both,” she snapped indignantly. Unable to sit still another moment, she left the room. Her traitorous feet took her to Cole’s side.
She sat next to him and began stroking his hair. Her thoughts swirled, some forging a coherent line, others spinning off unconnected. All those nights filled with guilt for rejecting her husband. Desiring Cole. The loneliness. The despair. If only he had told her.
But up until a few weeks ago, she would have rejected him, just as she had when he’d asked her to marry him.
She pulled herself together. In spite of the deception, she knew him well enough to draw her own conclusions. He had worn the mask to marry her, to protect her from Colonel Westin and save her family. She pressed her hands to her head. All that time she’d thought Cole was a callous philanderer trying to steal his cousin’s wife, and that Nicholas wanted to cast her off.
He’d seemed different as Nicholas. It was possible Cole used his charming, practiced unconcern to protect the hurting man underneath. Only when he’d worn the mask, did he feel safe enough to show the man inside.
She smiled wryly. Perhaps he used his handsome face as a mask as much as he used the dark cloth.
Robert brought Alicia a tray of dinner and remained to eat with her. They sat in comfortable silence.
She struggled to swallow her food past her sore and battered throat. “Did you know, too, Robbie?”
“Know what, Lissie?”
“That my husband, Nicholas, and Cole are the same man.”
Robert let out an ungentlemanly expletive. “Are you sure?”
Alicia glanced over at the man lying on his stomach in bed. Despite her earlier hurt and anger, tenderness overcame her. “A woman knows her husband.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “And his valets—both of them—confessed when I confronted them.”
Robert shook his head. “But I’ve seen Nicholas since Cole was shot—Oooh. Someone else in the mask? Grant? No, Jared.”
Alicia stabbed her chicken viciously. “Jared.”
Robert shook his head. “Bastard sons trying to eliminate an entire family, murderous housekeepers, rakes disguised as scarred cripples and getting married, brothers switching places, what next?”
“I would appreciate some predictable joy.”
“Nicholas. Cole. I should have seen that. At least you don’t have to decide where your loyalties lie. You clearly loved them both.”
She rubbed her eyes. “I did. And I suffered for it.”
“Are you angry at him for lying to you?”
“Yes!” With her eyes fixed upon Cole’s motionless form, she heaved a mighty sigh, releasing the last of her frustration, and shook her head. “Not any more. But I look forward to needling him about it for years to come.”
But could she trust him?
After checking on Hannah, who was eating and looking noticeably better, she returned to Cole. He remained unconscious all evening, but his fever came down. She lay next to him, trying to offer him comfort with the warmth of her body, and finally fell into an exhausted slumber.
She awoke gradually, aware first that a large, masculine arm was wrapped around her, pulling her in closer. The rhythm of Cole’s breathing had changed. His eyes were open and focused.
Relief, warm and soft, stole over her.
“Good morning.” She touched his forehead. The fever had left him.
A tiny smile appeared in the corner of his mouth.
“How do you feel?”
He moistened his lips. “Like someone shot me.”
“You gave me a terrible fright, my husband.”
The smile faded. He closed his eyes and he let out his breath in a long exhale. “Do you hate me?”
She caressed his face. “I was hurt. Angry. But no, I do not hate you.” Putting a light-hearted tone in her voice, she added, “It’s fortunate you were unconscious or I might have done you bodily harm when I figured it out.”
He did not smile. “I married you because I wanted you for my wife. I hated deceiving you.” He coughed, and then winced. “Now that you know my secret, what are you going to do?”
“Help you get better and give you a chance to make it up to me.”
The fearful hope and vulnerability in his eyes softened her ire and would have thawed her heart if it had been frozen. “Then ... you’ll stay with me?”
“Of course I’ll stay. I’m your wife.”
His gazed darted over her face uncertainly. She resisted the urge to reassure him but he’d made her suffer for so long; it felt like justice to keep him in anticipation for a few more moments, or maybe she was just too angry to let it go so easily.
“Hawthorne is dead,” she told him. “But he made a full confession first.” Alicia related all she had learned about Hawthorne and his mother while Cole listened without expression.
Cole touched her face. “I nearly died when I thought he had hurt you.”
“You were there to protect me just as you have been since we met.”
A haunted expression flitted over his face. “I tried to do the right thing for you, Alicia, but I don’t know if I have.”
She tried to bring levity into her voice. “Of course you have. And now I no longer have to be torn between loving Nicholas, my gentle, thoughtful husband, or Cole, the reprehensible scoundrel who could always make me laugh.”
Despite her effort to coax a smile from him, he remained grave, searching her face, her eyes, seeking any sign that she loved him.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you wed to another man, especially someone like that boorish
colonel. But you refused when I asked you to marry me. I didn’t know what else to do.”
She swallowed, but her throat was still so battered and bruised that it caused pain. “Did you ever mock me behind my back?”
He blinked. “Mock you? Of course not, why would I?”
“Because I was afraid of you in that mask as the baron, but I was tempted by you as Cole.”
“I hated deceiving you. But I couldn’t tell you until I was sure you no longer hated me.”
She sighed. “I was so stubborn.”
“You are wonderful, and beautiful, and I’m fortunate you are even speaking to me.”
“You and Jared must have shared a laugh over staging a time for me to see you together,” she groused, still feeling petulant.
“Jared was enchanted. He threatened to steal you away if I don’t treat you well. And truly, Alicia, we never laughed at you.”
“And if I’d asked for an annulment?”
He stared straight ahead. “I don’t know. Since I married you in such a deceitful way—wearing a mask, and pretending to be another—the marriage could have been declared invalid. It still wouldn’t have been a clean process, but it could have been done, if you’d wanted it badly enough. But I doubt I could truly let you go.”
“Then our marriage is legal?” she asked.
“Yes. I stood next to you in front of vicar, used my full name, and spoke my vows, as did you. It is legal, unless you decide to contest it.” He watched her.
“I have no intentions of contesting it, Cole.”
As if a terrible burden had been lifted, he drew a deep breath. With his eyes closed, he raised her hand to his lips, kissed it and held it against his cheek. He was silent for so long, she thought he had fallen asleep again. “I hope you will love me someday. As I love you.”
She touched his face. “I already do.”
His hand tightened on hers. How she loved this man! If only she could truly trust him.
