by Cheryl Holt
He owned the estate Rafe had given him as a reward after Matthew had…
Well, he didn’t like to think about that. But the land was in Yorkshire, and it was rocky and arid and covered with sheep. It provided a stable income, but while it had a certain stark beauty, it couldn’t compare with Greystone, which was lush and verdant and beautiful.
Off in the distance, thunder rumbled, and he peered up at the sky, figuring it was about to rain. He hoped he’d get to the house before he was drenched.
A vision of Rafe and Miss Edwards—naked in Rafe’s bed—intruded on his pleasant ruminations, but he shoved the memory away.
Had a babe been sired? Like the despicable swine he apparently was, he was considering whether to lock Miss Edwards away until they learned if there was one. If there wasn’t, they could claim no harm had been done. Rafe could flit back to his regiment as if he’d never trifled with the girl.
Yet no matter how Matthew tried to convince himself he should pursue that path, he knew he wouldn’t. Was Rafe about to marry Miss Edwards? Were his bachelor days at an end? After all the years Matthew had worked to keep Rafe on the straight and narrow, it was a vexing situation, and at the moment he was too disconcerted to solve it.
He had bigger issues, bigger problems, and he intended to focus only on Clarissa and how he could win her forgiveness.
The gates to Greystone beckoned, and as he trotted under them, he drifted off as he occasionally did. There was a voice in his mind, a man calling to him. His guardian angel? A devil? An evil spirit? No, he’d never sensed any menace. An angel, he decided.
I’m coming for you. I’m almost there…
“You bloody ghost,” Matthew muttered.
It will be all right. I’m with Sissy. I’m close by.
At the mention of Sissy, who had to be Lady Run, Matthew was startled. Was it the brother she’d wanted him to meet? Was it Michael Blair? On realizing it might be Michael, Matthew experienced such a rush of unexpected, unexplainable joy that he was totally perplexed.
To Matthew’s great irritation, the other fellow was looking at the world through Matthew’s eyes, studying the lane, seeing what Matthew was seeing.
Are you at Greystone? Is that where you are?
Matthew frowned. The man had never before asked such clear, probing questions.
Yes, I’m at Greystone, Matthew testily thought, now get your nosy ass out of my head!
The other man laughed, that laugh an exact copy of Matthew’s own, so he was even more bewildered. It was a good thing his horse could find its own way to the manor. In Matthew’s current condition, he couldn’t have given the animal any directions.
He was passing the gamekeeper’s cottage, vaguely aware of his location, vaguely aware of his surroundings when, in the trees behind him, he heard a noise that raised his hackles. He knew that sound. He’d been a soldier too many years not to know it. He was in danger, grave danger, and warning bells chimed.
A rifle was being cocked, a trigger pulled. It happened so fast, and he was so dazed and unsteady from his trance, he might have been trudging through water. He tried to spin in the saddle, grabbing for the pistol he always carried, but he was too sluggish, his stupor keeping him from reacting with his typical speed and precision.
The shot rang out and hit him in the back, and he couldn’t prevent it from occurring. He felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. His arms flew up, his pistol dropping to the ground. His horse shied, its hooves scraping on the gravel, and as it caught its balance, Matthew lost his own.
He fell from the saddle, and it was a very long plummet, the descent quick but very slow too. His limbs wouldn’t obey his commands, so he couldn’t order his body to break the fall.
He landed with a very solid thump, his torso smacking into the dirt, and though it hurt immensely, the pain was barely noted. His eyesight was waning, the canopy of trees over his head rapidly disappearing.
Shortly footsteps approached, and he recognized that he should jump up and fight, but he was paralyzed and couldn’t move. A figure leaned over him, blocking out the light, and Matthew was surprised to discover it was Roland Merrick. He’d never considered Merrick much of a threat, but obviously he’d misjudged.
The rifle still clutched in his hand, Merrick stared down at Matthew.
“Vain bastard,” Merrick spat. “You’re not much of a hero now, are you?”
He ripped Matthew’s medal of valor from his coat, tearing a hole in the fabric, then he kicked Matthew in the side, ferociously enough to crack a rib. Matthew was sufficiently cognizant to comprehend he should be furious, but his rage drifted away, the sounds of the forest fading too.
The last thing he saw was Roland Merrick, leering, smirking, pinning Matthew’s medal onto his own chest. Then Matthew saw nothing at all.
* * * *
“You’ve done all right for yourself, little sister.”
“Yes, I have.”
Michael grinned at Evangeline. Or Annie. Or Sissy. He was never sure what to call her. He wasn’t about to call her Lady Run—as propriety required.
They were at Fox Run, her husband’s country seat, and she’d just given him a tour of the mansion. It was quite grand, but Michael wasn’t exactly bowled over. He was growing accustomed to ostentatious settings. His marriage to Maggie had brought him the fine property of Cliffside, and he was starting to wallow in opulence, almost as if he’d been born to wealth. Which of course he had been.
His childhood should have been one of affluence and ease, of nannies and tutors and the best schools and lofty friends from aristocratic families. But his despicable relatives had betrayed Michael’s parents, had stolen what should have belonged to Michael and his siblings, and they would eventually pay—and pay dearly—for their crimes.
His sister had summoned him to Fox Run to meet the mysterious Captain Harlow who was living at a neighboring estate. Michael couldn’t believe it would be that simple to locate his brother, but who could predict how it would wash out?
If he came face to face with Matthew, what might happen? Would they know one another? Would they be awkward and wary? He didn’t think so. He thought they’d instantly take up again as if they’d never been parted a single day.
The notion was electrifying, as if the air around him was charged with a strange energy. Was it because his sister was standing so close? She definitely stirred any room she entered. Or was it because Matthew was nearby and he and Michael were about to cross paths?
Michael suspected once he and his brother were together again, the entire universe might explode.
“I can’t ever get used to how magnificent this place is,” Evangeline said. “I never expected to have so much in my life. You should see where I grew up.”
“You should see where I grew up,” Michael countered.
She had grown up at a posh girl’s boarding school. He had grown up an orphan on the streets of London.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, my darling brother, I’m aware that your circumstances were much more horrid than mine.”
“They certainly were.”
“I was just saying that I’ve come a long way in a very short time.”
“Yes, you have.”
“My husband rescued me.”
“He’s smarter than I gave him credit for being.”
“Yes, he’s very smart. He met me, and he latched on like a leech on a thigh.”
“That’s not what I heard. I heard he was almost foolish enough to let you slip through his fingers.”
“Well, he had to reflect on what kind of future he wanted.”
“Good thing he grabbed you when he did.”
“Good for him and for me.”
They’d planned to have a glass of wine on the verandah, but thunder was rumbling, sprinkles dampening their shoulders, so they were in the music room. She was an accomplished vocalist, having inherited their lost mother’s talents, and he intended to make her sing for him for as many hours as he could keep her at it
.
He was seated on a sofa, and she was at the harpsichord, shifting about on the stool, but she couldn’t seem to begin. There was a powerful force in the atmosphere—they could both feel it—and again he couldn’t help but wonder what was causing it.
Maybe it was the approaching storm. Or maybe, just maybe, their mother’s ghost was lingering. Evangeline insisted their mother was watching over them, that even Captain Harlow had seen her. Who was Michael to say it wasn’t their mother?
“I sent a note to Greystone,” she said. “I invited Captain Harlow and his wife to supper.”
“Has he replied?”
“No, and I’m not sure he’s returned from London. But you should just go over there. Let’s not delay another second.”
“Wouldn’t that violate all the fussy rules rich people have about social calls? Don’t we have to invite him, then wait forever to learn if he’ll grace us with his exalted presence?”
“That’s usually how it’s done, but he’s not rich. He’s a soldier, and I’m not giving him a chance to avoid us. I talked to him about our family history, and he behaved so oddly, as if he couldn’t bear to discuss it.”
“If I remember correctly, when you first raised the issue with me I wasn’t keen to discuss it either. The truth is a tad overwhelming.”
“Which is precisely why we’ll barge in and surprise him. I am Lady Run. If I show up in his parlor, he has to come inside and offer me a cup of tea. You’ll be able to get a good look at him.”
“What if I agree that he’s our brother?”
“Then you have my permission to wrestle him to the ground and pummel him until he admits who he is.”
He chuckled. “It will certainly endear us to him.”
“I don’t care about his tender feelings. I’m positive he’s hiding his identity, and it’s too coincidental that he was in a fire when he was little. When I was regaling him with our past difficulties, I received the distinct impression that I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.”
“Please don’t get your hopes up too high.”
“They’re not too high,” she said, smiling. “They’re just high enough.”
She began to play an old lullaby, one their mother sang when she was tucking them into bed at night, and Michael let the melody wash over him. He had no memories of his mother, and didn’t recall her singing any specific songs, but the lullaby brought on the sweetest sense of peace and joy.
He relaxed against the sofa cushions, and he drifted off, gliding into one of his peculiar stupors where he could see the world through Matthew’s eyes.
While growing up, he’d assumed he was suffering bouts of insanity, but after he’d met his sister, he’d found out he wasn’t mad. He was actually experiencing a mental link with his twin brother.
As tiny boys, they’d been so thoroughly attuned they hadn’t had to ever speak aloud. They’d been able to read each other’s thoughts, to anticipate each other’s wishes and needs. The fire at the coaching inn had ripped them apart, but whatever distance had separated them, they hadn’t lost their mental bond.
Currently Matthew was riding down a country lane. Michael reached out and connected with his brother. Thunder rumbled outside, but in his mind too. Matthew heard the approaching storm and peered up at the sky, wondering if a deluge was about to soak him.
Michael’s pulse pounded with excitement. Was his brother that close by that they were hearing the same storm? Could it be?
“Michael,” his sister said, “is my singing so boring that you fell asleep in the middle of it?”
“Matthew…” he murmured to her, but it was the only word he could force out.
Instantly she understood what was happening. She’d sat with him previously when he’d plunged into one of his episodes, and in fact she was the person who’d helped him to realize he wasn’t insane.
“It’s Matthew?” Her fingers hovered over the keys. “Can you see him? What’s he doing? Where is he?”
Michael raised a heavy hand, urging her to silence.
Are you at Greystone? Is that where you are?
Yes, I’m at Greystone. Now get your nosy ass out of my head!
Michael laughed, loving his brother’s scolding tone, loving to know they would be together very soon.
He decided to pull away, suddenly excited to jump on a horse and gallop to Greystone. Evangeline had the right of it. Michael needed to barge in and speak to his brother immediately. He couldn’t wait.
But before he could draw away, a rifle was cocked behind Matthew. Matthew tensed and straightened, grabbing for his pistol.
The bastard! I didn’t think he had it in him!
Who, Matthew? Who is it? What’s wrong?
Matthew tried to turn in the saddle, and—as if Michael was a puppet on a string—he straightened and tried to turn too. His trance continuing, he rose up off the sofa, when there was an ear-splitting bang in his mind. His arms flew up in the air, and he dropped like a stone, hitting the floor very hard as he thumped against the polished wood.
“Michael! Michael!” he heard his sister shout, then he heard nothing at all.
* * * *
“Clarissa, you must come with me.”
“I’m a bit busy, Roland. Surely you can see that.”
“Yes, but you have to come.”
They were in the Dower House, and Roland was irked to discover Clarissa dusting the mantle over the fireplace. She had a kerchief wrapped around her head, dirt marring her cheeks, her dress stained. In all of his imaginings of how he’d arrive at the altar with his bride, he’d never imagined this.
In the adjoining salon, servants were chatting and moving about, and he had to spirit Clarissa away without them noticing.
His pulse was racing, his thoughts scattered, his confusion acute. He’d shot Captain Harlow in the back, as he’d planned for ages, but it had been more disorienting than he’d expected. Roland wasn’t a killer and wasn’t used to bloodshed, so he was reacting to the murderous event in strange ways. He wasn’t thinking clearly, wasn’t able to take the methodical steps that he’d plotted out so carefully with Angela.
There wasn’t time to tidy up all the little details. He simply needed to get Clarissa in the carriage and go, with no one being the wiser as to what had occurred.
She still hadn’t stopped her dusting, so he walked over, yanked her dusting cloth away, and tossed it on the floor.
“Honestly, Roland,” she complained, “can’t you leave me alone for two seconds? I want to stay here tonight. I have hours of cleaning left to do.”
“I have bad news, Clarissa.” He imbued his expression with as much compassion as he could muster, which wasn’t much at all.
“Bad…news?”
That halted her in her tracks.
“Yes. Let’s talk outside. I’ll tell you there.”
“Is it Edwina?”
He tamped down a smirk. She was worried about Edwina rather than her dear, departed husband. Apparently she wouldn’t miss him very much, and Roland was glad. Her lack of concern would make her much easier to control.
“Outside, Clarissa. Please. I’ll explain there.”
“All right.”
She hustled out, in a rush to learn the facts. He followed her, taking a quick peek over his shoulder and delighted that the slothful servants in the other room still hadn’t glanced out. He pulled the door closed, shielding Clarissa from their view.
His carriage was sitting in the drive. Clarissa saw it and whipped around.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s the Captain, Clarissa.”
She gasped with alarm. “Something happened to Captain Harlow?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A messenger rode in a bit ago. You’re needed in town immediately.”
“But…but…what is it? Is he ill? Is he hurt?”
“There’s a letter in the carriage. You can read it, but it sounds as if we should hurr
y.”
“Hurry…to town? This is so unexpected. Will we be there for any length of time? I should…ah…go to the Abbey and pack some clothes.”
“Yes, you should.”
She was shaking, her typical quiet confidence disappearing. What did it indicate? Perhaps she had more interest in the Captain than she’d let on. Perhaps she possessed more affection than Roland had assumed.
It didn’t matter now, but it would be much more difficult to gain her compliance. And he really and truly couldn’t put up with any female hysterics.
“What is it, Roland?” She peered up at him. “You’re making me so afraid. Is the Captain still…alive?”
“His condition is very grave.”
“Grave!”
Her stride faltered, and he had to tighten his grip or she might have fallen to the ground.
“Not Captain Harlow,” she murmured. “He’s too dynamic to be sick or injured. Nothing could lay him low.”
Except a bullet in the back!
It had been so bloody easy. The man had been trotting along, looking so distracted he might have been in a daze. He hadn’t been checking his surroundings, hadn’t seen Roland step out of the trees. No, the only thing he’d noticed was the ball slamming him off his horse.
Roland couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t begun killing people a year or two earlier, starting with his own father, followed by every single person who’d deceived, ignored, or punished him. He should have avenged himself for what they’d done to the Merrick name.
He opened the carriage door and helped her in, but he didn’t need to provide much assistance. She scurried up, eager to read the letter, but of course there was no letter. By the time she’d realized it, he’d tied the door shut.
She loomed in the window. “Where’s the letter, Roland? I can’t find it.”
“Are you sure it’s not there?”
“No.”
“I thought it was on the seat, but I must have left it at the Abbey. We’ll be there in a thrice.”
“Tell me about the Captain. Please! You’re scaring me.”
“Calm yourself, Clarissa. I’ll explain when we arrive.”