Heart's Desire (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 2)

by Cheryl Holt

  He was coated with mud, his legs still partially buried. He hadn’t had the strength to drag himself out of the hole, so he might have been a ghost crawling out of his grave—which he was.

  On seeing him, Rafe murmured, “Holy Jesu, Matthew…”

  But the other man—Matthew’s brother, Matthew’s twin—didn’t curse or comment. He staggered over and fell to his knees, and he hovered so they were nose to nose. He laid a hand on Matthew’s head and traced it across Matthew’s face, wiping away the dirt and grime.

  For an eternity, they simply stared, and if Matthew had been a weepy type of person, he’d have burst into tears.

  Ultimately, as if satisfied with one another, they nodded and broke into the same arrogant grin. There was such a sense of completion, of destiny being fulfilled, that Matthew couldn’t think of a single pertinent remark. Apparently Michael couldn’t either.

  Perfect, Matthew thought.

  Yes, everything is perfect now, Michael thought in return.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance—as if the entire universe agreed.

  “It’s really you, isn’t it?” Matthew was overflowing with a quiet sort of awe. “After all this time, it’s you.”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Michael replied. “Tell me your father’s name. Let me hear you say it.”

  “Julian Blair.”

  “Yes, Julian Blair. And our mother?”

  “Anne. Anne Blair.”

  At Matthew speaking of their parents, thunder rumbled again, the air crackling with energy, as if the universe was electrified by the announcement, as if the universe was taking note.

  It was all too strange, too overwhelming, and Matthew couldn’t bear to ponder what any of it might mean. Instead he smiled at Michael and said, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in a bit of a jam here.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I might have suffocated, you slow oaf. What took you so damn long?”

  “I delayed so that when I finally arrived, you’d be extra glad.”

  Matthew barked out a laugh that hurt very, very much. “I am glad, you cocky bounder. I’m so glad I’m dying with it.”

  Rafe stepped into the hole too, and he dropped to his knees. Suddenly Matthew was surrounded by his brothers, the one he’d lost, and the one he’d raised. He knew he was safe. He knew it would be all right.

  “You’re a mess,” Rafe said.

  “I admit it. I’ve been better.”

  “Can you stand?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t tried.”

  Matthew looked at Michael. “How did you find me?”

  “I saw you in my head. You were calling out to me clear as a bell.”

  “I guess all those years of you haunting me paid off.” Matthew said to Rafe, “Roland Merrick shot me.”

  “We heard. I can’t believe it.”

  Matthew scowled. “You heard? How?”

  “Angela confessed. Michael burst into the parlor at Greystone and scared the life out of her. She thought he was your ghost, come to extract retribution.”

  “Where is Roland?” Matthew asked. Rafe and Michael exchanged an odd glance that alarmed Matthew. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Roland left with Clarissa,” Rafe said.

  “Left…for where?” Matthew inquired.

  “We’re not certain, but we’ll get Angela to tell us.”

  “Would he harm Clarissa?”

  “If you’d asked me yesterday,” Rafe replied, “I’d insist he was too cowardly to possess murderous tendencies. But now? I have no idea.”

  The news that Roland had absconded with Clarissa, that she might be in danger, spurred Matthew as nothing else could have.

  “Help me up,” he told his brothers.

  They positioned themselves on either side, and with a swift lift, they had him on his feet. He wobbled, then gained his balance, deciding he could probably walk, if they went slowly and kept him upright.

  “Take me to the gamekeeper’s cottage.” Roland wasn’t there, so it seemed a good choice.

  “What shall we do for you?” Rafe asked. “What do you need?”

  “A bath, clean clothes, some laudanum, and some doctoring.”

  “I can doctor your wound,” Michael said. “I’ve treated plenty of them.”

  Matthew gaped at Michael, wondering about his past and how he’d have experience with gunshots. Was he a soldier? Was he a physician?

  At the moment it hardly mattered. There would be loads of time in the coming weeks and months to learn every detail.

  “Fine, you can doctor me,” Matthew agreed. “Just promise you won’t kill me while you’re at it.”

  “I’ve waited twenty-seven years to find you, and I’m not about to let you die on me.”

  “You’d better not,” Matthew griped. “While you stitch me into shape, Rafe can get us ready to ride.”

  “Where are you going?” Rafe asked.

  “I’m going to save Clarissa—and kill Roland.”

  Michael grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. If you hadn’t suggested it, I would have. Now let’s fix you up. We need to be on our way.”

  * * * *

  “You are crazy, Roland.”

  “Crazy like a fox.”

  Clarissa glared at her cousin. “I’ve never understood what that phrase means, so please be more precise. What are you claiming? Have you been shrewd? Cunning? Clever? What?”

  “Shrewd, cunning, clever and so much more.”

  He’d pulled off the road into a deserted clearing. He hadn’t unhitched the two horses, but the animals were resting, catching their breath, scrounging for water in a narrow stream.

  Clarissa was seated on a boulder, Roland looming over her, whip in hand, and to her surprise he had a pistol in his coat. She’d never seen him carry a weapon before, and the entire fiasco was so bizarre, with Roland behaving so oddly she might have been dreaming. If she pinched herself, would she wake up?

  “Even if I consented to marry you,” she said, “which I never will, you’ve forgotten one important point.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m married to Captain Harlow.”

  “Yes, well, about that…”

  Roland looked so sly and devious that her pulse raced. It hadn’t slowed since he’d shown up at the Dower House.

  “What about Captain Harlow?” she demanded.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead!”

  “Yes, and I’d say you have my condolences, but you don’t. I’m glad he’s gone.”

  Clarissa couldn’t believe it. If the Captain had passed away, wouldn’t she sense it? She’d loved him so dearly. Wouldn’t she feel an absence in her heart? Then again, with how bitterly they’d parted in London, were they connected in even the slightest fashion?

  “He can’t be dead,” she insisted. “You’re lying.”

  “I killed him, Clarissa. I shot him in the back as he was riding down the lane to Greystone.” He reached into a pocket and retrieved a gold medal. “I ripped this off his coat.”

  The medal unnerved her—it certainly might belong to Matthew—but she firmly stated, “You did not take that from him.”

  “I did, so I’m fairly sure I’m correct in what I’m talking about.”

  “Where is his body?”

  “It’s in a place where he’ll never be found. And while I imagine there will be a bit of a kerfuffle over his disappearance, the fuss will wane.”

  “If you’re telling the truth, then I know what happened. I’ll shout your crime to the world. I’ll never be silent.”

  “You’d implicate yourself? Honestly, Clarissa, when it’s discovered how swiftly you remarried after your husband vanished, you won’t seem very innocent. People will suspect that you and I plotted against him, so you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

  “I repeat, Roland. You are crazy as a bedbug. Why don’t we head for London, and I’ll rent you a nice soft bed at Bedlam Hospital?”

  In all the years they
’d been acquainted, he’d been vain and self-absorbed, but he’d never exhibited the traits of a lunatic. He was in a manic condition, his movements fast and choppy, his cheeks flushed as if he had a fever. He was determined to proceed to Scotland, and she couldn’t persuade him to turn around.

  They weren’t that far from Greystone, probably only two or three hours. Throughout the passing miles, he’d had the horses run until they were too winded to continue. That was the real reason they’d stopped, and it was another sign of his mania, that he’d mistreat the horses. It was so unlike him.

  “What is your plan, Roland?”

  “We’ll wed in Scotland.”

  “I won’t do it. You’ll never make me.”

  “I’ll make you.”

  He had such a cold gleam in his eye that a shiver slithered down her spine. “You’ll make me? How?”

  “If you don’t agree, I’ll kill Edwina.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You think I won’t? You think I can’t? I killed your precious captain easily enough. After that, Eddie will be a piece of cake.”

  “What’s come over you, Roland? Obviously you’re not well. Would you take me home? Angela should be informed of how you’re acting.”

  “This was Angela’s idea.”

  “What was?”

  “When Harlow showed up at Greystone and decided to marry you, Angela saw right away how we could get the property returned to us.”

  “By marrying me?”

  “Yes. You’re his wife, and with him being deceased you’ll inherit. Now I shall be your husband and it will all be mine again.”

  “But what do you guess will happen, Roland? We’ll wed—completely against my wishes—and flit to Greystone and…what? Live together and pretend this horrid secret isn’t hanging over our heads?”

  “Yes. You can move into the Dower House, and if you remain silent and don’t pester me, we’ll carry on as we did before any of this trouble started.”

  “You truly imagine that’s possible?”

  Clarissa threw up her hands in disgust, and Roland actually slapped the whip across her arm. She was wearing one of her grey dresses, and it had long sleeves, so the whip didn’t land on her bare skin, but he’d struck her hard enough that the spot stung and throbbed.

  “Don’t denigrate me, Clarissa,” he warned. “Don’t make me be cruel to you.”

  She wanted to laugh, wanted to remind him that he’d always been cruel to her, but she had to tread carefully. The fact that he’d hit her definitely had her rattled. If he would kidnap her, if he would strike her, what other brutality might he attempt?

  He claimed he’d killed Matthew, and she probably should have been in mourning, but she wouldn’t grieve. Not yet. She simply couldn’t accept that Roland had murdered him, and she wouldn’t believe it—not until they were at Greystone and it was clear that Matthew had vanished.

  In the meantime, she had to figure out how to lure Roland home to Greystone. She couldn’t let him take her to Scotland, couldn’t let him force her into a marriage.

  “What if your plan goes awry, Roland? There are so many ways it could. Wouldn’t it be better if we discussed this with Angela? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Aren’t you listening?” he hissed. “Angela gave me her blessing. I have her full support and approval.”

  His eyes were glowing with an almost religious fervor. He was more deranged by the second, and Clarissa had to get away from him, but how?

  Currently he hadn’t bound or gagged her. She could shove him and run off, but he’d easily catch her, and then he’d be on guard. He would bind and gag her, so she’d be prevented from crying out to passersby. Wasn’t it best to keep him talking? Wasn’t it best to reason with him?

  “Let’s go,” Roland suddenly said. “We’ve lingered here too long.”

  “The horses need a bit more rest.”

  “The horses are fine.”

  “They’re not fine.”

  “Don’t argue with me!”

  He yanked her up, and without his noticing she grabbed hold of a large rock, and she hid it in the folds of her skirt.

  “You don’t have to manhandle me,” she grumbled.

  “Things have changed, Clarissa. I’ve been kind to you in the past, but those days are over.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  “If you behave as I command, you’ll come through this without a scratch.”

  “And if I won’t or can’t?”

  “There will be consequences.”

  The way he pronounced the word consequences sent another chill down her spine. Had he always been deranged? Had it always been bubbling under the surface? Or had the events of the prior two years driven him insane?

  No matter the cause, it was ludicrous to continue on the journey as he was demanding. Not when he was in such a confused state. Nor could she pin her hopes on some nameless, faceless stranger blustering in to offer assistance. She had to save herself.

  “You’ve been vexing me,” he said.

  “How?”

  “You keep shouting and drawing attention to yourself. You tried to climb out the window.”

  “You can’t expect me to meekly accompany you without protest.”

  “I absolutely expect you to meekly comply. You owe me, Clarissa. Haven’t I fed and sheltered you? Haven’t I supported you?”

  “Yes, Roland, you’ve been extremely generous.” She nearly choked on the lie.

  “It’s time for you to repay me. It’s time for you to do as I tell you.”

  “I’ll obey you. I promise.” She struggled to appear humble, but she doubted she’d managed it. She’d never been angrier.

  “I don’t believe you, so I’m afraid I have to bind you. I’ll gag you too, so you can’t call out.”

  “No, don’t be silly. I told you I’ll behave.”

  “And I told you I don’t believe you. Hold out your hands.”

  “Why?”

  “Why won’t you listen?” He shook her very hard. “Hold out your hands!”

  She took a deep breath and let it out. Took another and let it out too.

  Lord, give me strength!

  “Fine,” she mumbled, “fetter me if you must.”

  He glanced over at the carriage, and she shifted away. She was clutching the rock she’d picked up, and she swung around and hit him on the side of the head with as much force as she could muster.

  There was a loud crack, her aim strong and true. He collapsed, his knees buckling, as he dropped to the ground.

  The violence of the moment stunned her, and for an instant, she was too paralyzed to move. Her hesitation meant he had an opportunity to clasp her ankle, and the feel of his cold, vicious grip yanked her out of her stupor. She screamed for help, and though she kicked and fought, she couldn’t free herself, couldn’t run for her life.

  * * * *

  “Do you remember the night of the fire?”

  “Bits and pieces—mostly from having dreams about it.”

  “Me too.”

  Matthew and Michael were riding down the road. They’d left Rafe at Greystone to keep Angela under lock and key, so it was just the two of them racing after Roland and Clarissa.

  With his finally being reunited with Michael, there was a sense of unreality to the entire affair. It didn’t seem possible that they had found each other. Though they’d parted twenty-seven years earlier, they were still so attuned, so close. They might not have been separated a single day.

  “How did you escape from the coaching inn?” Matthew asked.

  “I recall stumbling blindly down a smoky hallway, and somebody grabbed me and threw me out a door. How about you?”

  “We were traveling with servants, I think.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was Mr. and Mrs. Wilson.”

  “Was that their names? I don’t recollect.”

  “He carried me outside, and you and his wife were supposed to be right behind us. We got out
, and we watched for you, but you never exited the building. He tossed me onto the grass, then went in to look for you. He never came back out either.”

  Michael gave a mock shudder. “Do you hate fire?”

  “Yes, I always have. I can barely sit in a parlor where there are flames burning in the grate. I can’t relax, because I’m terrified the room is about to ignite.”

  “Exactly.” Michael glanced over. “Have you any memory of why we were at that coaching inn? Has Sissy told you?”

  “I haven’t heard the whole story yet.”

  “Well, let’s rescue your wife, then I’ll fill you in on the details. You and I have some vengeance to extract.”

  “On who?”

  “On our relatives. We have to avenge our parents.”

  “Over what betrayal?”

  “They might have murdered our father.”

  Matthew sucked in a sharp breath that made his ribs pound. “Seriously?”

  “They claimed it was a hunting accident.”

  Ah…Rafe’s father had suffered one of those. It happened occasionally.

  “But you don’t believe it?” Matthew said.

  “With human beings, I typically find greed brings out the worst conduct.”

  “So it’s likely true?”

  “Most likely. And they detested our mother.”

  “Why?”

  “She was an actress who was too far beneath them, and they were determined she wouldn’t inherit any of their money or property after Father died.”

  “What did they do to her?”

  “She had a lot of Father’s things in her possession. They insisted there was never a marriage between them and that she’d stolen it all. They had her convicted of theft and transported to the penal colonies in Australia.”

  “Our…mother?”

  “Yes, with her young children weeping on the dock and begging her not to leave them behind.”

  “Who were these blood-thirsty people? Why were they so powerful?”

  “Our grandfather was Earl of Radcliffe. Our father would have been an earl.”

  Incredulous, Matthew snorted. “Are you saying we’re a couple of lost lords?”

  “Yes. We have an older brother, Bryce, who should be earl now.”

  “Lady Run mentioned him.”