Twice as Wicked

by Elizabeth Bright

  He stumbled over a root, barely catching himself before he hit the ground. He cursed, groping wildly for purchase among the branches. His hand hit stone, and he stopped.

  He felt about, pushing at the vines. Some clung firmly, but others shifted easily, as though they had been moved before. Recently.

  He pressed deeper there, and found the door. He turned the knob, and it swung open.

  He hesitated on the threshold.

  Perhaps it would be better not to know…

  “Do not be a coward,” he growled out loud.

  And stepped inside.

  It was pitch black. He could make out nothing more than shadowy shapes. He went perfectly still, every sense heightened, and listened. There was his heartbeat. Outside, the wind rustled amongst the trees. Other than that, there was nothing. He was alone.

  Obviously. Or he would be dead.

  Filled with relief, he struck a match, using the light to find a candle. Once lit, he surveyed the room. It looked much the same as the last time he saw it.

  Except—

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

  Someone had definitely been here.

  The room was not dusty.

  It did not smell of stale air.

  Furthermore, most damning of all, a blue pelisse was folded neatly over the chair. It was Alice’s. He was sure of it. The one she had left behind after rescuing him from the ridiculous hole. Whoever had set the trap must have found it and brought it here.

  And that someone was Nick.

  Who else could it be? Who else would have been at that deadfall but the person who dug it? Who else knew of this old cottage but himself and Nick?

  No one.

  A wave of nausea gripped Nathaniel, and he stumbled for the door.

  It couldn’t be true.

  There must be some other explanation. Nick was his brother. His brother. They shared flesh and blood and a birthday. Before they were forcibly separated, they had always been together, since before birth. Nick had even saved Nathaniel’s life, once. The river had swollen to twice its normal size from rain, and he had fallen in. The current nearly swept him away. He would have drowned if Nick hadn’t waded in and hauled him back to the bank.

  Was he regretting that decision now?

  Because Nick obviously wanted him dead, or he wouldn’t be here.

  It was unthinkable.

  It was unbearable.

  All the evidence was crystal clear before him, and still his heart refused to accept the truth. His own brother could not be guilty.

  Probably, poor Philip Eastwood had felt much the same way, until he felt the first stab of poison twisting his gut.

  Nathaniel gulped in air, letting the cool air calm his heated face. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

  Damnation.

  What was he to do now?

  Should he wait for Nick to return? No, he was unarmed. That couldn’t end well for him.

  And Alice—

  Oh, God. Alice.

  He had hoped, somehow, that she was mistaken, that Nick hadn’t seduced Adelaide any more than he had tried to kill Nathaniel. Now he appeared to be guilty of the latter, and Alice had evidence of the former.

  Whoever Nick had been as a boy, as a man he was a villain. He had to be stopped.

  But how?

  Nathaniel’s heart was breaking for what he must do. How could he possibly confess the truth to Alice?

  But confess he must.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Alice had watched Nathaniel leave the house, counted to ten, and followed him. He had not been going for his morning run. She’d known that because he was wearing boots and he’d been heading away from the lake rather than toward it.

  He’d walked quickly, his stride sure, and she’d done her best to follow as quietly as possible. When her foot had snapped a twig, she’d darted behind a tree and held her breath. Would she be found out? But, no. He had not turned around, nor even hesitated. His mind had been occupied fully by other matters.

  He’d been looking for Nicholas. Without her. As she had known he would.

  Would he find him? By God, she’d hoped not. It had surprised her how strong the feeling had been. Which had not made sense. Wasn’t finding Nicholas exactly what she’d wanted? One couldn’t make a man and his reputation suffer without first knowing where he was and what he was up to. And yet, she had hoped that he would not be found anywhere near Haverly. If he were found close by, it would mean she had been right, and Nicholas was trying to kill Nathaniel.

  It had suddenly been of utmost importance that Nicholas was not guilty of that particular offense, no matter what other crimes he had committed.

  In her entire life, she had never hoped so strongly to be wrong.

  Hopeful, but not stupid.

  She had come prepared with a dagger hidden in her skirt. Someone had to carry a weapon, just in case, and she’d known it wouldn’t be Nathaniel. It would never have occurred to him to defend himself against his brother, much less with a weapon. Until that point, his plan had been to avoid the kill-or-be-killed scenario at all costs. That was sweet, really. It was a shame his brother most likely did not return his tender feelings.

  Which was why she’d brought the knife.

  The air had turned even colder as they’d moved deeper into the forest. Then Nathaniel had stopped, and she had ducked behind a thicket, startling a chipmunk. It had scurried past him and disappeared into the trees. She’d breathed quietly and tried not to move as she’d watched Nathaniel turn in circles, examining this tree and that, muttering to himself.

  She had begun to think they were lost.

  Brilliant.

  Then he’d stumbled. She’d gasped and quickly covered her mouth with a hand. Had he heard her? No, he’d started feeling amongst the vines, pushing them aside.

  Oh, honestly. How could he not have heard her? The man paid so little attention to the world around him. How was it even possible that he was still alive? Nicholas should have found it easy enough to kill him and make off with the earldom long ago.

  And then Nathaniel had simply vanished into the vines.

  Good lord.

  Which was where she stood now, caught in a web of dilemma.

  Should she go after him and risk coming nose-to-nose if he’d merely stumbled into a thicket? Or face-to-face with his would-be assassin? Or just wait to see what happened…

  Perhaps a bit closer examination.

  She reached into her skirt pocket for the knife and darted to where he had disappeared.

  It was a door! Well hidden and ancient, to be sure, but definitely a door.

  She froze at the vine-covered entrance, listening. There were no scuffling noises, no cries of pain, or shrieks of murder, thank goodness. Just the muffled sound of footsteps on a dirt floor, then silence, then footsteps again coming back toward the door.

  She looked about and quickly hid behind a tree. A moment later, Nathaniel stepped through the vines. His face…

  Oh, dear heavens, his face.

  It was gruesome to witness so much pain. She took a step toward him, remembered where she was, and quickly hid again. She pressed the heel of her palm to her mouth and bit, hard, at the flesh of her thumb, to keep the tears at bay.

  As she watched, he covered his eyes with his hands then threw back his head and howled. The sound of his anguish and heartbreak ricocheted off the trees. She felt his pain as if it were her own.

  He stood there for a long time before angrily swiping his sleeve across his eyes. Then he stormed away.

  She waited, clenching and unclenching her fists, the sharp crescents of her nails leaving deep marks against her palms.

  When she was certain he was gone, she pushed through the vines as she had seen him do. She opened the door and stepped into a room.

  She saw a chair, a desk…and her blue pelisse. Understanding instantly what its presence here meant, she moved to the desk and found a bit of paper and pencil.<
br />
  She scrawled a note, the pencil biting and ripping at the paper with her fury. She placed the note against a wooden beam, removed the knife from her pocket, and stabbed it through the paper, holding it impaled on the beam.

  She thought that made her point rather nicely.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Alice prepared herself carefully for meeting Nicholas. Mary braided her hair in tight coils so that it resembled a crown about her head. She wore a dress of deep red—the same dress she’d worn the night she’d first met Nathaniel. As a final touch, she swiped red rose balm on her lips and a bit of crème on her cheeks. She rarely used such things, but tonight she made an exception.

  Men wore armor into battle.

  Women wore rouge.

  “That will be all, Mary,” she said, dismissing her maid.

  Mary didn’t budge. She clasped her hands as though in prayer and stared at her mistress in the mirror. “Please, Miss Alice, don’t do it.”

  Alice paused. “Don’t do what?” she asked cautiously.

  “Whatever you are about to do. I have been with you these seven years, and I know when you are up to something dreadful. Please, Miss Alice. I beg you.”

  Well. It was nice to know that Mary held some affection for her, even if she did consider Alice to be something of a hoyden.

  “All will be well, Mary. You needn’t have any fear.” She gave the girl’s hand an affectionate pat. “Now, if you will please look the other way so I can make my escape…”

  Mary groaned, but she did as she was told.

  It was ridiculously easy to leave the house without notice. The men were playing billiards in one room, and the ladies were taking tea in another. Alice merely walked by both rooms without pause and slipped out the door.

  She felt slightly ridiculous marching through the fields in a ball gown the color of blood, but no matter. One could not wear one’s afternoon dress to meet an enemy on the battlefield.

  When she came to the lake, she paused. Here was the spot she had assigned as their meeting place. The hole had since been covered, but he would know its former location. He had dug the damn thing, after all.

  The wind rustled. The daffodils bobbed their golden heads, and the hair stood on the back of her neck. She turned slowly.

  And there he was.

  Nicholas Eastwood looked exactly like Nathaniel…only not. They shared the same red hair and crystalline blue eyes, and they were both sleekly built like lions. But something about this man struck her as dangerous. He was tightly coiled, as if ready to attack, and his face had a gaunt, menacing look to it. One glance told her he knew what it felt like to kill a man.

  Suddenly, Adelaide’s fall from grace made sense. This was a brooding hero, if ever there was one.

  Her heart hammered in her chest. She wanted to flee and at the same time hurl herself at him and scratch his eyes out.

  “Adelaide,” he said, and stepped toward her.

  She lifted the gun from her skirts.

  He froze.

  “I’m sure you understand why such drastic measures are necessary,” she said conversationally. “You are a dangerous man, and I have no wish to be murdered. We must talk.”

  He studied her closely. “You are not Adelaide,” he said finally.

  “I am her sister, Alice. Did she never mention me?”

  He shook his head.

  Alice frowned. “I wonder that she did not. We were very close, my sister and I.”

  “Did she ever mention me to you?” he asked. When she shook her head, he said, “Then perhaps you were not as close as you thought.”

  Alice glared. Insufferable man.

  “So,” he continued. “You are not Adelaide, and yet you believe we need to talk. What do you wish to speak of? The health of our prince regent? Apple tarts, perhaps?”

  Alice gritted her teeth. “I would like to discuss Nathaniel. Particularly, your attempts to murder him.”

  For a moment Nicholas looked truly surprised before he wiped all expression from his face. Again, he studied her. She had the odd sensation that she was watching a master chess player shift pieces around on a board.

  “If you wish to discuss my dear brother, Nathaniel, the future Earl of Wintham, I would be delighted.” He bowed gallantly. “But before we delve into such a tedious topic, I request that we come to an understanding on Adelaide. Specifically, where is she?”

  “Dead,” Alice said through clenched lips.

  Again, that careful study behind a facade of indifference. “Do you think so?” he asked curiously.

  “I know so,” Alice spat out. “She died in childbirth, taking your child with her.”

  In an instant, the gun was twisted from her hands and her arms gripped in a bruising vise. She gasped from the pain but did not cry out.

  “Are you certain she was with child? Answer me!” He gave her a firm shake.

  “I saw her belly increasing with my own eyes,” Alice said. “She was sent to a convent in France to hide her condition. A month later, we received word that neither my sister nor her child survived. Your picture was in her locket. Do you deny you were the father?”

  “No.” He released her, his hands dropping to his sides. “I don’t deny it.”

  He returned her gun.

  She stared, startled, at the lethal object in her hand. Was this a trick?

  “You seem more comfortable with it,” he explained. “I don’t wish you to feel unsafe in my presence.”

  Her mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  “This has been a truly enlightening conversation, but I must take my leave. There is a matter that requires my immediate attention. If you will excuse me, Miss Bursnell.” He bowed.

  Alice recovered her tongue. “No, I will not excuse you. We have not yet discussed the issue at hand.”

  “Oh, yes. Nate.” He waved his hand dismissively. “That matter is of no consequence to me.”

  Fury rushed through her veins like blood. “It is of consequence to me.”

  “Very well.” He gestured for her to continue.

  She drew herself up to her full height—which, granted, wasn’t very tall, but at least he wouldn’t see her as weak and shrinking. “I have a proposal to make you, Mr. Eastwood.”

  His eyes glimmered with amusement. She did not like that.

  She also did not like his tone when he said, “Do tell. I am all eagerness.”

  “You needn’t be an ass,” she said crossly. “You are extremely unlikable.”

  “My apologies,” he said, clearly meaning no such thing. “How can I be of assistance?”

  She narrowed her eyes and studied him. She considered herself to be an excellent judge of character, but she could not get a sense of Nicholas at all. The man’s face was like granite and gave nothing away.

  “While in town yesterday, I met a gentleman who called himself Mr. Manning,” she said. “I don’t believe that was his true name, so I don’t expect you to know him. But he knows you. You belong in prison, according to Mr. Manning, and he requested my assistance in putting you there.”

  “And what did I do to deserve such a fate, pray tell?”

  “He didn’t say, and quite truthfully, I find it unimportant.” She shrugged. “You are already guilty of the seduction and betrayal of my sister, and attempted fratricide. I am hard pressed to consider any crimes greater than those.”

  “Truly heinous crimes, indeed,” he said. “So, it is your intention to turn me over to this Mr. Manning?”

  “I considered it. But after giving the matter careful thought, I came to the conclusion that Mr. Manning wishes you dead, not imprisoned.”

  “Ah.” Nicholas nodded. “You did not want blood on your hands to keep you from a peaceful night’s sleep.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Oh, I think I should have slept quite well, sir. But Nathaniel wouldn’t like it. Until this morning, when he discovered your hiding place, he did not truly believe you could be trying to kill him. You broke his heart toda
y, but even so, he wouldn’t like to see you dead.”

  There was the smallest twitch of movement by Nicholas’s left eye. “Nate thinks I am trying to kill him?”

  What an odd thing to say. She tilted her head and considered the man with more care. “He knows so, Mr. Eastwood.” Who else could it be, after all?

  He leaned back against the trunk of an oak tree and crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture so like his brother. “What do you suggest we do now, Miss Bursnell?”

  “Mr. Manning has searched high and low for you without success. He requested that once I find you, I write him a note and deliver it to a secret place, and he would take care of the matter from there.” She laced her gloved fingers together. “I am prepared to write whatever you wish.”

  “You are all kindness,” he said, presumably for no other reason than to irritate her.

  “I want something in return,” she said.

  “Of course you do. Name your price.”

  She smiled. “There is a boat departing for India in a week. I want you on it.”

  “Very well. I accept the terms of your proposal,” he said after a moment’s consideration.

  That was rather easier than she’d expected.

  “I have business there,” he said. “You are not sending me to my doom, to your eternal regret, I am sure.”

  How irksome that he seemed able to read her mind so clearly when his remained a dark pit.

  He proceeded to tell her what the note must say. He repeated it so that she would not forget the exact details. She shot him daggers with her eyes. Then he repeated it once more for good measure, and she considered kicking his knee.

  He bowed.

  She did not return the courtesy.

  She was sure she felt his gaze as she stormed across the field, but when she turned to look back, he was gone.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The note was written. All that was left was for Alice to deliver it. She folded and sealed it carefully, and dismissed the actual message from her mind. What Nicholas had planned for Mr. Manning was of no concern to her. One had to accept certain risks when one associated with nefarious men. Surely, Mr. Manning was aware of that.