It was the sort of night where the only men out were those who needed to be: wild riders scaring passersby to keep an area protected, men spying on the wild rider, and smugglers sailing from France, seeking a particular cove because that was the only safe place for them.
The wild rider protected the area on two days, not one. Of course.
“Let’s go down to the cove,” William hollered.
Joshua looked back at the shelter of the forest. “As you wish, Captain.”
William nodded, rushing toward the cliff’s edge. The cave was just a storage place. Maybe tunnels connected it to Sir Ambrose’s property, maybe building the tunnels was what kept Sir Ambrose’s men so muscular.
He grasped the taller, sturdier plants as he clambered down the now-slippery rocks to the cove, his back to the ocean. Thorns slashed his hands. Rain drenched him; his clothes stuck to him and water from his hair dripped into his eyes. Salt water splattered from the waves, made mightier from the sudden downpour. Dirt and grime seeped into the cuts as he slid down the muddy slope, burning his hands.
Joshua followed him down.
William’s feet hit the pebbled ground, and he smiled. This part at least was complete.
Joshua reached the landing and jumped down beside him.
He hesitated, pondering whether to go for the larger cave with its complex caverns and tunnels or the smaller one which would at least serve as a place for the smugglers to hide their cargo. He headed for the smaller one; Joshua had found French wine there once.
He started to run, the wind smashing against his face.
“The boat is coming to shore,” Joshua called between huffs.
He groaned. They were late. They should be hiding in the cave. Not on the open beach. If they were caught . . .
William turned to Joshua. “You go. I’ll stay here.”
“Never. You’re my captain.”
William groaned. Joshua didn’t seem to realize he was only in the militia. But the danger existed all the same.
He continued forward and scrambled into the cave. He exhaled as he entered, shielded from the heavy rain.
Joshua followed William, and they picked their way over the uneven ground. He ushered Joshua to a cavity in the cave that offered some protection. He might be safe there.
French accents filled the cave, and Joshua and William froze, their breaths suspended in the echoing chamber.
Well, mostly French— one voice had a peculiar accent that sounded more like an English tourist before the war.
The men hoisted crates over their backs, and the English-sounding man directed them in the cave.
The bandits’ gazes returned often to the cave entrance and the glimmer of moonlight that pierced the murky hollow, lit now by a single torch. The weather worsened outside, and the men dropped the crates onto the cave ground.
The French murmurs filled the cave, ricocheting off the narrow walls.
“Faites attention.” The Englishman waved his hands, ordering them with the enthusiasm of an orchestra conductor. He stepped into the light, and William shivered.
Sir Ambrose.
He clenched his fists, a wave of fear stiffening his back.
And was that the butler? And the footman? They pried the crates open, inspecting vases and sculptures. Finally Sir Ambrose expressed satisfaction, and the Frenchmen departed, returning to the stormy sea.
Sir Ambrose remained with a few other men. They worked near William, unloading the crates into manageable packs.
William shrank farther back into the nook, pressing into the cave’s cold and wet surface, desperate for the shadows to protect him.
But it was all over.
A cold, round object pressed into him. The hair on William’s neck rose, and his muscles tensed, prepared to flee, still optimistic that he might save himself.
“Look what I have here,” a deep voice broke through the darkness.
“What is it, Barnesley?” Sir Ambrose asked, and William’s heart and stomach fell.
Sir Ambrose’s feet crunched against the rocky interior, stopping inches before William.
Sir Ambrose stood before him and smirked. “I see you found my scheme.”
Sweat prickled William’s back and his heart raced. He stepped into the light, away from Joshua, who was still undiscovered.
“No movement,” Barnesley grumbled.
Sir Ambrose laughed. “There’s no hope of escape for him. To think that he came to me.”
“Then you have no excuse.” William gestured at the vases and paintings the men had brought to shore.
“I don’t need one. You are going to be dead soon!” Sir Ambrose stepped nearer, the scent of his cologne pervading the air, incongruous in this setting.
Sir Ambrose gave a curt nod to Barnesley. William winced at the pain in his shoulder blades as the butler’s thick fingers dragged him into the open.
Sir Ambrose laughed. “You didn’t expect to be caught, did you?
William’s heart hammered.
“You thought you caught me red-handed.” Sir Ambrose’s eyes shone.
He laughed again, as if regaling a dinner party. “You’re just like your father. He also underestimated me. And look what happened to him!”
William’s stomach hurt and he struggled to inhale. He forced his words to be steady. “What happened to him?”
“Oh, you’re interested in that now, are you? Wasn’t that way when you were little. You sodomite. It was all ‘pitiful me, I favor men.'”
William bit his lip. He hadn’t discussed his preferences with anyone.
“What happened to my father?” William repeated. His chest tightened, as if it knew he was on the precipice of a terrible disclosure.
“It was all so easy. You never questioned it. I worried, but really I shouldn’t have.”
Energy surged through William, and he pushed Sir Ambrose against the edge of the cave, his hands clasped around the baronet’s neck. He shook him, longing to see some fear in the man’s eyes. Sir Ambrose’s hat toppled to the ground. “What did you do?”
The muscular butler pulled William off.
Sir Ambrose brushed his trousers and sneered. “You want details?”
“Yes!” William’s voiced echoed in the cavern.
Sir Ambrose turned. “Barnesley, go to the crates. Start moving them.”
“Are you certain?” Barnesley’s eyes darted to William’s.
Sir Ambrose removed a silver pistol, pointing it at William. “Out.”
The butler disappeared. William waited, unsure what the baronet would do.
Sir Ambrose directed William to exit the cave and start climbing the cliff, following after. They trudged up the rocky terrain, William ever conscious of the gun pointed at him.
Finally they paused under the deserted sky.
“I do want you to enjoy the last fifteen minutes of your life,” Sir Ambrose said. “I will tell you about your father. You see, I really am a nice person.”
“You are the devil himself.” William crossed his arms.
“You don’t agree? Perhaps not.” Sir Ambrose sighed and leaned against a slab of rock. “But you see, I could have been a nice person. If only your mother had let me.”
“My mother?”
“Bianca.” Sir Ambrose smiled and his eyes glazed. “She was so pretty. I adored her. A prettier version of Dorothea. Though Dorothea will do. Perhaps after Sebastian is dead, I will marry her.”
William was conscious of little else than his heartbeat pounding away. First he would die, and then Sebastian? Sweet Sebastian who had never done a thing wrong in his life except perhaps choosing not to live in a way that made him happy? Sir Ambrose had loved his mother? And he was determined to marry his sister? He scanned the horizon. Perhaps he could stop Sir Ambrose in some way. The man waved his pistol, and William feared it would fire even before he pointed it at him. Perhaps that would be a manner in which to discharge bullets, but William found the tactic imperfect.
“I am
going to have you climb until you reach the top of the cliff.” Sir Ambrose pointed to William’s right. “And then I am going to shoot you. I have little desire to shoot you near the cave.”
“You cannot get away with it.”
Sir Ambrose smirked. “I have gotten away with many things in my life. I will certainly get away with killing you. Smugglers are, after all, a very big problem in Sussex. Surely you can understand how they might panic and shoot you. Such a tragedy.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Or perhaps I should blame it on French spies? That worked last time.”
William tightened his fists. “What did you say about my father?”
The clouds parted, and moonlight shone on them. William’s last minutes would be spent in clarity. The shadows from the few trees extended in jagged shapes over the Downs.
“I wouldn’t miss sharing it with you for the world.” Sir Ambrose’s eyes flashed. “I have long despised him. It brought me great pleasure to destroy him, and it will bring me even greater pleasure to destroy you, you molly.”
The last words were little more than a hiss. William wished he had not heard them, but there was little use denying them. Sir Ambrose knew his preferences.
“You brought such shame on your mother. Dear Bianca.” He stroked his gun, its iron ridges gleaming under the moonlight.
“You told them,” William said. “About the groom. I didn’t tell. Henry didn’t tell anyone. It was you.”
“I was your neighbor,” Sir Ambrose said. “I wanted to be close to your mother. I loved her. If nothing else, I wanted to be near her. Get invited to parties. As her nearest neighbor, she could hardly not invite me. It would have been unseemly. So I got to see her. And that was wonderful. She was so beautiful. Some people thought Bianca was too affected a name, but I found it the loveliest name in the world.”
Sir Ambrose laughed bitterly.
“And then she had you and Dorothea. William. Such a vile name. Your father’s name. No imagination in it. I hated you at once. Do you know about William the Conquerer?”
William nodded.
“He landed his boats just a bit farther down this coast. And then did despicable things to the populace and declared himself the King of England, even though the Saxons already had a perfectly good king. Well, at least until William’s men shot him in the eye with an arrow.” He paused. “Maybe I should shoot you in the eye. With a gun. Wouldn’t that be fitting? I could definitely say the French must have gotten hold of you.”
William thought French spies would not go around shooting people in the eye. Only lunatics did that, and Sir Ambrose most certainly seemed lacking in sanity.
“Because that’s what your father did. He strolled into the London season and swooped up your mother even though everyone said she was going to marry me, her clever next-door neighbor. I am titled. Not quite a duke, of course, but still very special indeed. Much more special than her family. And so many more times more special than his family.”
“I see,” William said, willing Sir Ambrose to go on.
“Your father conquered my Bianca. He made her fall in love with him, with his height and his dark, handsome looks. Your looks. Do you think I like seeing you?”
Sir Ambrose pointed the gun at William. “But you were cleverer?” William prompted.
Sir Ambrose beamed. “I was always more clever. Your father used to come to me to ask me about his estate. He trusted my judgment. Ha! And as a friend of his wife’s, he imagined I would be happy to help.” He shrugged. “So I helped. I met with him in his library and recommended investments for him. All the while making him invest in my projects. He poured his money into them, and I then said the projects didn’t work. I am very clever. My projects always work. Just like your death now will work.” He smiled at William.
William swallowed, his throat parched. All the blood drained from his head. “You stole from him.”
Sir Ambrose shrugged. “You could say that. You could say I made a career of it. I really should credit your father with everything. He gave me his money to invest, and I told him the investments had failed. I used that to build my estate even larger. I even own my own castle now!”
For a moment, William thought the man would clap with glee. “How could you?”
“He took from me, I took from him. I say it’s all fair. Wouldn’t you? An eye for an eye?”
Sir Ambrose viewed him curiously, and William hoped Sir Ambrose would not decide to shoot him now.
“And I saw you. Don’t forget. I saw Bianca’s son run to the barn bordering my property. I saw the groom follow you. You did this at night. Who goes to a barn at night? And you would saunter out with a wrinkled coat and rumpled hair.”
“You spied on us?”
“Really, Captain Carlisle. You phrase it so indelicately. When it is you who should be ashamed! You were both so foolish. So in love.”
Sir Ambrose stepped closer to William, his eyes flashing. “It was unnatural. It just proved your father never should have married your mother. That was also unnatural. If she had married me, this would never have happened. You would never have happened.”
“What did you do?” William glared.
“Well. As a good neighbor, I did my duty. I told. I did all that was proper.”
William’s legs shook, and he struggled to stay upright. His father had known about him and the groom. He had always thought it strange—his father so adamant that he leave. His father had practically begged the headmaster at Harrow to let him enter the school in the middle of the year. And this was why.
He had adored his father, and his father had sent him away. His father had been repulsed. He had shamed the family.
“Not that your father cared. He forbade me from entering the property again. Can you believe it?”
William froze. Perhaps his father had still loved him. Sir Ambrose laughed. “He was a very foolish man. If I couldn’t enter the property, I certainly wouldn’t be invited to dinners and balls there. And then I couldn’t see your mother anymore. You understand I could not permit that? And I didn’t.”
William’s voice shook, but he had to know. “Did you cause my parents’ deaths?”
“The carriage collapsing. That was supposed to be just for your father. But your mother got into the carriage as well.”
“The wheels falling off? The carriage tipping? That was you?”
“And there was never any investigation. You were too preoccupied with your unnatural state of mind to inquire. And the magistrate never made any inquiries either. He probably thought nobody would have any reason to harm your parents. He thought they were good, upstanding people in the community whom everybody liked. That it couldn’t be anything else except an accident.” He laughed again.
“You killed them.” William repeated. His whole world had shifted. His father had known about him and had still loved him. He had sent him off to Harrow, but to protect him, not to punish him. The reason why they had had no money was because it had been stolen from him.
“And now it is time for you to go as well.” Sir Ambrose directed his pistol at William. “Walk up to the cliff. I don’t want your body to be found near the cave.”
Chapter Twenty-four
William climbed the cliff. His mind raced, unwilling to declare defeat yet unsure how to avoid it. Perhaps if he tackled Sir Ambrose . . . yet Sir Ambrose carried a pistol, and a bullet traveled quickly, slicing through bone and flesh with no discrimination.
Sir Ambrose had killed before and threatened to do so again. No doubt the man’s helpers would rush to protect him as well.
When they reached the precipice, William would grab him. Maybe they would both die, maybe that was the best scenario. At least then Sir Ambrose would not kill Sebastian, dear Sebastian. At least then he would not try to marry Dorothea.
William shivered. All those years he had thought Sir Ambrose simply an annoyance when, in fact, he had murdered his parents and stolen his father’s money.
His eyes darted around. A
few bushes lined the path. Perhaps if he pushed Sir Ambrose into one of those. Would that be wiser? Was there a chance he might live if that happened? Or was there only more of a chance Sir Ambrose would survive?
His head ached, and his hands were clammy. Sir Ambrose crept behind him.
He surveyed the geography and stifled a gasp. Two pairs of eyes stared from a bush, their eyes glistening under the moonlight. Lewis. And next to him crouched Sebastian. His darling! He would recognize his golden curls anywhere. Confusion hit him. Should he not be at his ball? Had he come to rescue him? He hoped they would not do anything foolish. Sir Ambrose was his worry, and he would not be able to bear it if more people were to die.
A gunshot rang out. Lewis had fired. William flung himself on the wet grass.
Lewis and Sebastian jumped from the bushes, pinning Sir Ambrose to the ground.
Sir Ambrose looked at Lewis in horror. “But you’re dead!”
Lewis smiled grimly. “In a manner of speaking.”
Sir Ambrose paled, his eyes widening and mouth opening. “Is this the end?”
“It is.” Lewis placed his foot on Sir Ambrose’s chest.
Sir Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. “You were supposed to be dead.”
“All a ruse.” Lewis grinned.
“But Dorothea was getting remarried! She was in mourning.” Sir Ambrose studied Lewis.
“The home office switched my identification with another soldier. He died. Not me.” Lewis smiled, pulling out a pistol, directing it at Sir Ambrose.
“Oh.” Sir Ambrose paled and tapped his fingers against the ground. “How clever. Perhaps you will kill me, perhaps I can be reunited with Bianca in the afterlife.”
“You were never united with her,” William retorted in scorn.
The men regarded him. Sir Ambrose wiggled under Lewis’s foot, but the duke tightened his foothold on him.
“Let’s take him to the magistrate,” Sebastian said.
William’s heart swelled. The man was so good; Sebastian couldn’t imagine killing the baronet.
Lewis bent down and pulled Sir Ambrose up, shoving him against a wall of rock.
The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex Book 1) Page 25