Twice as Wicked

by Elizabeth Bright

  What mattered was that in a week’s time, Mr. Nicholas Eastwood would be bound for India, and Nathaniel would finally be safe. All she had to do was wait.

  And deliver that letter.

  She tiptoed down the stairs, hoping to go unnoticed by Aunt Bea and Nathaniel, specifically, and everyone else, in general. She had cleared the parlor door when she heard a throat clearing behind her.

  She turned slowly. “Eliza.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Into town,” Alice said evasively.

  Eliza was not so easily evaded. “Why?” she asked bluntly.

  Alice pursed her lips. “You know why.” She hadn’t told Eliza about meeting Nicholas, nor about their agreement. She thought that might be a bit much for her friend to keep quiet, and keeping quiet was so deeply important.

  Eliza rapidly took several steps forward. She reached out, touching Alice’s sleeve. “Please don’t do this, Alice.”

  “I must, Eliza.” Alice took her hand and clasped it tightly in her own. “I must.”

  Eliza sighed. “Very well. Let me accompany you. No, don’t argue. You know as well as I do that Mr. Manning cannot be trusted. Likely, he is there at the inn, hiding, watching, and waiting for you to slip your note into the book as arranged. It is too dangerous for you to go alone.”

  Alice opened her mouth to protest, but closed it quickly. Eliza was right. Mr. Manning had been so careful to conceal his face. Perhaps he would welcome an opportunity to make Alice disappear, as well, just in case. It would be better to take Eliza along.

  They had the use of Aunt Bea’s carriage, since she had not yet risen. When they arrived at the inn, Alice quickly looked about. Mr. Manning was nowhere to be seen—not that she had expected otherwise. Still, she instinctively knew Eliza was right. He was here, somewhere, waiting for the letter.

  She went directly to the appointed bookshelf, removed A Modest Proposal, and pressed the note inside the cover. She moved to put it back just as Eliza lifted her arm to straighten her bonnet, and the book was knocked from her hand.

  Alice gasped. “Oh!”

  Eliza stooped to retrieve it, giving Alice a reassuring smile. “You’re just nervous.” She handed her the book. “We should leave as quickly as possible.”

  Alice peeked under the cover. The note was still there. For a moment, she had thought it had slipped out—she’d glimpsed a white corner between Eliza’s fingertips. But no, here it was. Alice carefully slid the book to its proper place.

  “Shall we return to Haverly?” she asked.

  “Or perhaps we could visit Winchester Cathedral?” Eliza suggested, linking their arms as they hurried out of the inn. “The drive is no more than a half hour. I know you have a fondness for all things old and dusty, and I have reasons of my own to make the pilgrimage.”

  “What sort of reasons?” Alice asked curiously, ignoring the fact that a great deal of her delight at the abbey had been because of their unexpected company… She accepted the footman’s help into the carriage.

  “Oh, the dull sort.” Eliza followed her in. “Dillingham is plaguing the life out of me. I cannot bear another sermon on cravats.”

  Alice laughed and breathed a sigh of deep relief as she settled against the cushion. It was done. The letter was delivered. She had done her part, and now it was on Nicholas to hold up his end of the bargain. She could relax for the moment, perhaps even enjoy these last few days at Haverly before she parted from Nathaniel forever.

  “In that case, by all means, let us go to Winchester. You are correct, of course. I find musty old cathedrals positively thrilling. The older and mustier the better.” She rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Do you know that King Harthaknut was buried there in 1042? Well, not exactly—it was Old Minster then. England hasn’t had a Scandinavian king since. Doesn’t the name just roll off the tongue? Harth-a-knut. Harth-a-knut.”

  “Fascinating,” Eliza said drily.

  “It is,” Alice insisted. “All history is. Consider this, then. A hundred years from now, our great-great grandchildren will stand on those very stones and wonder the very same questions. How can that not be fascinating?”

  “Well,” Eliza mused, “if the choice of conversation is between ancient bones and the perfect cravat knot, I must choose the bones. I may not share your passion, but I daresay I shall not be bored.”

  Alice repressed a sigh. She loved old buildings, so she would not be bored, either. And she enjoyed Eliza’s company. But she could not help longing for Nathaniel.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “But why? Why are you dragging me to God-knows-where, when it is obviously going to rain?” Nathaniel asked. Wessex was being obnoxious to the extreme.

  His friend tugged on his gloves. “It is not going to rain.”

  Nathaniel shot a dubious glance heavenward. He pointed meaningfully at the heavy gray clouds.

  “It always looks like that,” Wessex said dismissively.

  “That’s because it’s always raining, or just about to,” Nathaniel shot back. “This is England. If I am to spend an afternoon soggy and cold, I demand at least an explanation.”

  “I’m investigating a theory,” Wessex said vaguely.

  Ridiculous. Wessex didn’t have theories. He tried not to think too much, at all, if he could help it.

  Nathaniel didn’t have time for this nonsense. He had a brother bent on murder and a lady bent on revenge, and never the twain should meet…if he could only manage it.

  “I would much rather stay home,” he said bluntly. “Go without me.”

  “I can’t go alone.” Wessex’s expression was one of horror. “She’ll suspect—” He snapped his mouth shut abruptly.

  Nathaniel was immediately suspicious—not that he had ever believed Wessex’s motives to be pure. Wessex’s motives were never pure. “Who will suspect? What will she suspect?”

  Wessex pushed him toward the waiting carriage. “Your mother. Your mother will suspect that your ankle is broken, not merely sprained, and lock you in your room for the remainder of the fortnight. And if you are locked up, who will protect Miss Bursnell from the constant overtures of Colonel Kent? More important, who will assist me in my schemes?”

  Nathaniel halted by the carriage door and turned slowly to face his friend. “Let us get one thing straight right now. I will not be party to any of your schemes, particularly the ones involving Miss Benton. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Of course.”

  Nathaniel peered deeply into his eyes. Wessex did not so much as blink.

  “You are full of shite.”

  “Quite so.” Wessex rapped his knuckles on the driver’s box to get the man’s attention. “Follow the ladies’ carriage, but for God’s sake, stay out of sight.”

  Nathaniel bit back a growl and climbed into the carriage. Of course Wessex would drag him into every blasted scheme, and of course they would all involve Miss Benton. And wherever Miss Benton was, there Alice would be, as well. She was using Miss Benton as a shield, to protect her from him.

  It had been two days since he had touched her so intimately, two days since he should have offered and didn’t. She had not spoken a single word to him during those two days. It had been the worst kind of torture, knowing she was under his roof and hating him so much that she couldn’t bear to speak to him.

  Although, to be fair, he hadn’t spoken to her, either. Mainly because she had such a dreadful way of ferreting the truth out of a man. It would be a matter of moments before she knew Nick’s exact location. Nathaniel swallowed a silent groan. Hell, all she had to do was kiss him, and he would escort her there himself.

  No. It would be better to avoid Alice altogether until he had solved the issue of Nick. He could not marry Alice with Nick standing between them.

  The coach made a sudden swing to the right and came to a halt. Wessex pushed the curtain aside and stuck his head out the window. “Where is she, Smeet?”

  “Around the corner, Your Grace. They went into
the inn.”

  Wessex pulled his head back inside, looking puzzled. “Wait here.” He exited the carriage. A moment later he came dashing back. “They’re on the move again. Winchester Cathedral, Smeet.”

  Nathaniel groaned again, this time out loud. “No more of this! Leave Miss Benton alone, for God’s sake.”

  Wessex crossed his arms. “Why are you whining? The cathedral is ancient and boring. Hundreds of bones have decayed there. Isn’t that just the sort of thing that interests you?”

  “Generally speaking, I should love nothing better than to spend an afternoon surrounded by centuries of England’s history. But you forget that I have lived here my whole life. I’ve been to Winchester dozens of times. I would much rather go home and spare myself Alice’s wrath.”

  Wessex laughed. “Coward. You do realize she spent half an hour in the garden with Colonel Kent? If they are not already engaged to be married, they will be soon. Your only option is to be a man and finish the job you started. Seduce the lady and, for the love of all things holy, ask her to marry you instead of slinking off like a scoundrel.”

  Nathaniel glared. He did not like thinking of Kent in the garden with Alice. It made him want to roar and tear things apart with his bare hands. “Is that your scheme for Miss Benton, then?”

  “Don’t be absurd. Our situations are entirely different. You actually want to get married. I don’t want anything of the kind. I don’t want to marry Miss Benton. I just want her to want to marry me.”

  “What?” Wessex had him truly flummoxed this time. “If you do not wish to marry, why does it matter whether Miss Benton wants to marry you?”

  “It’s damned bothersome, that’s why.” He scowled out the window. “Every other woman wants to marry me. Why won’t she fall in line? It irks me.”

  Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “Heaven forbid.”

  The carriage pulled up to the cathedral. They paused at the entrance. It didn’t matter how many times he visited, the building always captured his awe and admiration.

  “Look at that.” He waved an arm, gesturing broadly at the whole structure. “Just look at it. Look at those arches. That is perfect symmetry. Symmetry that has survived seven hundred years of renovations and even a change of religion.”

  “Terribly fascinating,” Wessex said in a tone that suggested the complete opposite. They entered the cathedral, and he cast a sharp look about. “Let’s start in the south transept.” When Nathaniel nodded and followed him dutifully, he said, “Aren’t you going to ask why?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because when Miss Bursnell asks—and she will ask, make no mistake about that—what the devil you’re up to, I want to be able to say in all honesty that I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  Wessex considered this. “Good thinking.”

  “Yes, I thought so.”

  They turned the corner. Nathaniel found himself confronted by exactly what he expected—and exactly what he feared. There was Miss Benton. And next to her stood Alice.

  Their backs were to them. Was it too late to flee? Perhaps the women were not yet aware of his presence.

  It would help if he could move his legs. But they kept him firmly rooted, refusing to budge even a millimeter away from Alice. It was all he could do to keep his arms from reaching for her. His heart pounded in his chest. Mine, it thumped. Mine, mine, mine.

  “Good heavens. Izaak Walton was buried here?” Miss Benton was saying.

  “Indeed. Because writing a book about the art of fishing exalts him above other, mere mortal writers, such as Shakespeare, for instance,” Alice said dryly.

  Miss Benton chuckled. “Well, I suppose they had to find someone appropriate to bury in here,” she conceded, glancing around at the small chapel dedicated to St John the Evangelist and the Fisherman Apostles. “I suppose we can take comfort in that.”

  “Why must we take comfort?” Wessex asked.

  Miss Benton clutched Alice’s sleeve. “I believe I heard a donkey bray. Did you?” she whispered loudly.

  “Come now!” Wessex protested. “One doesn’t cut a duke. Not even you, Miss Benton.”

  The ladies turned in unison and dropped curtsies. “Your Grace,” Miss Benton murmured. “Lord Abingdon, it is always a pleasure.”

  Nathaniel doubted that.

  From the sideways glance Alice sent Miss Benton, he thought it a safe bet that she felt the same.

  Look at me, he willed her silently. If she would only look at him, his eyes would tell her the truth. Blame Wessex. It’s all his fault. But she kept her eyes stubbornly on the stone floor.

  “I must say, I’m terribly relieved to find you ladies here,” Wessex drawled. “You have saved me from Lord Abingdon’s lecture on the symmetry of old rocks. I thought a brandy in the library was better suited for today’s weather, but he would have none of it.”

  Oh, wonderful. Now Alice would think the outing was his idea, with the purpose of following her, naturally. Nathaniel immediately wished himself buried six feet under the cathedral—or, better yet, he wished Wessex buried six feet deep. With a heap of old rocks stacked on top, just to be safe. If any a man were ever to turn vampire, it would be Wessex.

  Alice was still refusing even to glance in Nathaniel’s direction, but Miss Benton’s eyes twinkled at him. “Did he also tell you about King Have-a-nut?” she asked Wessex. “That was the lecture I received from Miss Bursnell.”

  “Harthaknut,” Alice muttered.

  “Ah!” Wessex’s expression was one of deep sadness. “Then you understand how I have suffered.”

  Miss Benton laughed. Alice glared at them both…and stepped closer to him. Nathaniel willed every muscle in his body to freeze, lest the slightest twitch scare her away.

  “If we hadn’t stumbled upon you ladies, he would ramble on about who was buried where and how they took their tea,” Wessex continued.

  “That is just like Alice!” Miss Benton exclaimed. “She always wants to discuss the daily minutiae of the long-ago departed.”

  Alice growled low so low only he could hear it, and stepped even closer. “Insufferable creatures,” she murmured.

  Nathaniel blinked. Us against them. That’s what Wessex had done. When they had first entered the room, the pairings were obviously males against females. But Wessex had shifted the teams. He had given Alice a reason to side with Nathaniel.

  The man was a genius. Annoying, perhaps, but a genius, nonetheless.

  A sudden clap of thunder ricocheted like a gunshot through the cathedral, echoing off the stone walls and halls.

  Sending Alice flying straight into his arms.

  Chapter Fifty

  Alice couldn’t help herself. Truly. At her parents’ estate in Northumberland, she had often heard the French and English trading cannonballs from across the channel. When the teeth-rattling boom of thunder now filled the small chapel, she launched herself at the closest safe harbor.

  Perhaps she clung to him longer than was strictly proper, but how could she deny herself the pleasure? Since the moment he had screamed in anguish in the forest, she had longed to comfort him, to hold him through the storm of his disappointment until he reached equanimity on the other side.

  He touched her back gently. “It’s all right.”

  “Of course it’s all right. It’s thunder, not war.” She released him in embarrassment and stepped back.

  “Shall we hunker down here and wait for the storm to pass or brave the rain?” Wessex asked.

  “We can’t drive in the rain—at least, Miss Bursnell and I can’t,” Eliza said. “We came by open curricle, and we would get soaked through.”

  Another clap of thunder shook the windows.

  “I doubt the rain will let up soon,” Nathaniel said. “If we wait much longer, the roads will be impassable.”

  “You can come with us in my carriage,” Wessex said. “We can leave the curricle in the stable here and arrange for its return this afternoon. That is, if you ladies do
n’t mind driving backward. I get terribly sick, so Lord Abingdon and I must claim the forward seats.”

  “Oh, dear. I have the same malady, so I must beg Lord Abingdon to allow me his seat,” Eliza said. She eyed Wessex suspiciously. “I was not aware that you get carriage sick, Your Grace. How odd.”

  Alice gritted her teeth, instantly realizing the implications.

  Wessex declined to answer. He led them back to the cathedral entrance, where his footmen dashed out to meet them with umbrellas. Before she could protest, Alice found herself in the carriage with Nathaniel seated beside her.

  But, really, what could she say? She did not want poor Eliza to cast up her accounts. Alice doubted Wessex was in any similar danger, but one simply did not call out a duke, no matter how much the duke deserved it.

  Everything would be all right, she told herself. She and Nathaniel weren’t alone together—Eliza and Wessex were right there, practically toe-to-toe with them. The carriage was spacious, as befitted a peer of Wessex’s standing. It was not as if she and Nathaniel would be forced to touch.

  Yet, touching was all she could think about. Her hands in his hair. His hands tugging down her bodice. His mouth on her breast.

  She shivered. He silently removed his cloak and draped it over her lap. It was still warm from the heat of his body.

  Her resistance sank a little lower.

  She tilted her lips in a small smile. “Thank you, Lord Abingdon.”

  He nodded and turned to look out the window. The rain had colored his red-gold waves a slick, dark bronze. As if he could feel her eyes on him, he ran his hand over his damp hair, brushing water droplets onto his ear and neck.

  She was overcome with a sudden longing to kiss those beads from his skin…and…and to nuzzle, to warm her body with his own. She wanted to take care of him and let him take care of her.