by Donna Hatch
"Does he live a life of debauchery, then?"
"Undoubtedly. I think it's in our blood."
"You value a woman's virtue so little, then?” She looked away.
Cole softened his voice. “I have never robbed a woman of her virtue. The first virgin I make love to will be my wife. And it will be with her consent. Not only her consent—her desire."
She turned to him, astonishment clear in her expression. “Then you will marry someday?"
He laughed. “Of course. Don't look so surprised. We discussed this the time first time we met, remember? I must, sooner or later, produce an heir, which requires that I be married to his mother at the time."
"Then it will be a business match.” She looked disenchanted.
"Good grief, I hope not. I am not so foolish as to think that everyone marries for love as my parents did, but I hope to be at least fond of my wife.” He watched her, falling further under her spell. “I entertain hopes that I might actually love my wife. Whoever she might be."
"I dreamed of marrying for love once,” she murmured, her eyes far away.
He remained silent to allow her time to her thoughts, and only admired her. And desired her. And plotted how to make her dream come true. And his.
She hugged herself, staring out of the window. She spoke so softly, he had to lean forward to hear her. “Of course you should marry. Your family is counting on you."
Cole wasn't sure what to make of her words. She appeared sad, disappointed. In him? He wished he could truly divine her thoughts. She used to be easier to read, but with his emotions so strongly overshadowing his judgment, his perceptiveness regarding her had dimmed.
"My father's health is poor. Soon he will leave me with his title. Much is expected of an earl."
"You never speak of your father."
"He lives in Bath with my brother, Christian, and my sister, Rachel. We hope he will improve. Since my mother's death two years ago, his health has steadily declined. They were desperately in love. Some of his friends tried to convince him to take a mistress in the hopes that it would restore his vitality, but he refused."
"It is my understanding that many men keep mistresses. Even while still wed."
"That doesn't make it right, does it?"
Her golden eyes appeared luminous so near his face, and his eyes were drawn downward to her lips. It took all of his self control to not move nearer and capture them with his mouth.
"Then you would not do the same?” she asked.
He had to replay their conversation to remember what she meant. He forced levity into his voice. “Take a mistress? Absolutely not. If a lady were mad enough to marry me, the least I could do is be faithful to her."
A smile touched her lips. “You surprise me, Cole."
He swallowed at the sound of his name on her tongue and his voice was husky when he found it. “How so?"
"I thought you a man of loose principles and morals."
"Perhaps you were wrong about me,” he whispered.
"Perhaps,” she whispered back.
Her light fragrance taunted him, her lovely face tormented him and their conversation had taken an unexpected turn. This was getting too serious.
Turning on a flippant grin, he leaned back lazily and stretched out his legs. “You were right the first time, I am an unprincipled, incorrigible cad."
"Oh, good. Glad to hear I was right about you all along, then.” Though she attempted to use levity, she sounded strained.
He admired the fine lines of her face, the soft ringlets brushing against her neck, the fullness of her ripe, soft lips. “Astonishing."
She blinked at him.
"Mesmerizing. Exquisite."
"Pardon?"
He grinned. “I am thinking up new words to describe your beauty. Remember, I promised to compliment you more often."
"Oh.” A smile began at her mouth and found its way to her eyes. “Do you flirt this brazenly with everyone, or only married women?"
"I haven't earned the reputation of a shameless philanderer by accident,” he quipped.
She frowned. “Did I say incorrigible? I meant impossible."
"Thank you."
"You said earlier you have three brothers, but you've only mentioned Jared. Tell me of the others."
Cole grinned again at her obvious attempt to introduce a new topic. “Grant is younger than Jared. He's friends with some Bow Street Runners and often helps them on their more interesting cases. He also likes skulking about the streets going after the most dangerous criminals. He tracked a fleeing murderer all the way to Scotland."
"An odd pastime for the son of an earl,” Alicia mused.
"Like the rest of us, he's always sneered at convention. But he came back from the war positively hardened. I can't decide if he's that dedicated to making London a safer place, or if he's trying to get himself killed. Maybe he just likes scrabbling in the streets with ruffians. I never understood Grant."
"Poor man. He must be protecting a wounded heart."
Cole uttered a sharp laugh. “You wouldn't say that if you met the lout."
"And the youngest?"
A surge of mingled protectiveness battled with old resentment. “Christian. The favorite. He, unlike the rest of us, plays the piano with admirable skill and he's one of the finest amateur painters I've ever seen. Women adore him, but he's a bit shy around them."
"How refreshing."
Cole ignored the barb. “He fences, boxes, and hunts with the best of them. He's also mad about the steeplechase. It has been the plan all along for him to become a clergyman, but he hasn't seemed to be in any hurry to do so. He frequently buries himself in his art. Still, he's young, only three and twenty. There's time to decide."
"You mentioned sisters?"
"Two, both older. Rachel is with Christian in Bath with my father. Margaret is here in Town. I hope to introduce you to her soon."
The carriage stopped in front of the house on Pall Mall and he saw her to the door. Formally, he bent over her hand and stepped back. He clenched his hands behind his back to avoid touching her. A soft light entered her eyes and she looked up at him with affection. Encouraged, he returned to the carriage grinning like the fool he knew he was.
* * * *
"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, or any specifics, I'm only looking for a possible motive."
"Are you in trouble?"
"No. But a friend is. I'm looking into the possible murder of her family."
"'Her family', huh? And now you're a Bow Street Runner?"
"No. 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."
"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 be with 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. 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. But why?
"Amesbury?"
"Thanks, Grady, I appreciate it."
"She got 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 it.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER 23
Alicia seldom saw her husband during the day, but Cole was with her frequently. They went 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 the walled garden. She looked over at him, thinking that, 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."
She looked up at him, but when that proved futile, looked away again.
"I want you to stay here in London. Permanently."
Desperate, she gasped, “My lord, please no."
He turned to her and awaited an explanation for her outburst.
"I will be your wife in every way if I must, but please, do not cast me off."
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, knowing she would grow to love him and that 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 for those involved.
Her only chance lay with her husband. Her current husband.
Lord Amesbury remained silent, and she imagined he carefully weighed whether he wished to continue this unprofitable marriage with his unwilling and undeserving wife.
Alarmed that he seemed so unmoved, 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."
"Why? You clearly do not desire to be with me. My very appearance makes you shudder."
She closed her eyes as the realization of how badly she hurt him sank in. She had treated him poorly. She'd indulged in selfishness far too long.
"Your appearance does not make me shudder. I'm much more comfortable with you. I enjoy your company. I can be a good wife. A true wife. In every way.” Her words nearly choked her, but she held her head up and looked directly into the mask.
She tried to recall every act of kindness he'd ever shown her, every pleasant conversation, every soft spoken word. Her courage strengthened.
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 came 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 and felt tears run down her cheeks.
He drew in a long breath, held it, and let it out. “I ache for you, Alicia. I crave you. But I will not take you when you fear me this 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. Then she heard him gather up his protective coverings and pull 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 hall.
"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 shaking 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.
