by Donna Hatch
But who would be his next target?
Cole glanced toward the door where his brother, Grant, sat, alert and ready. Grant had arrived quietly after sunset. He had a suspect, but no concrete proof. Grant sat utterly still.
Cole peered into the next room where his valet, Stephens, kept a quiet vigil. The darkness prevented him from seeing the other man, but he knew Stephens would be attentive. The coachman kept watch from the far end of the house by the wing that had been burned. Every two hours, they whistled to each other and to those keeping watch outside to ensure each remained safe.
The sound of a door creaking upstairs sent Cole to his feet. Tensed, he stood motionless, listening, waiting. It might be someone getting up to use the necessary. Alicia's room remained out of view, but he wanted more than anything to be inside it with her now instead of waiting in a cold room with a gun in his hand.
A door closed softly. All Cole's senses strained. Grant arose silently, his gun at the ready.
A muffled scream spurred them both to a run.
Cole raced up the stairs, taking two or three at a time, with Grant only a pace behind him. Stephens's footfalls trailed Grant. When they reached the hall, they paused to listen. The sounds of a scuffle came from Alicia's bedroom. With cold fear turning his blood to ice, Cole dashed to her room, his pistol primed and ready. Inside the doorway, he crouched down and scanned the darkened area. He crept forward with Grant and Stephens flanking him. Heavy breathing and a soft whimper nearby drew his eye. Two shadows lay on the bed; one prone, the other straddling.
A feminine voice let out a strangled cry.
The thought of what the killer might be doing to Alicia flooded him with terror. And rage.
Cole launched his body at the upright figure, knocking him off the bed. They both landed heavily on the floor. The killer let out a grunt of surprise. Alicia gasped and began coughing. Cole landed a punch on what felt like a jaw. A sickening crunch rewarded his efforts. He began swinging his fists, using his ears more than his eyes to guide him. The other man fought back with surprising strength. Someone lit a taper and Cole blinked in the sudden light at the man crouched in front of him.
"Hawthorne.” So Grant had been right.
An ugly smile darkened Captain Hawthorne's bloodied face. “Amesbury. You are supposed to have gone home."
"Sorry to disappoint you, old boy,” Cole shot back.
Hawthorne threw a fist. Cole dodged it, then lunged. His hours spent at fisticuffs had not been for naught. Fueled by anger, he pounded Hawthorne until he collapsed, senseless, his face a hardly discernable mass.
Alicia's coughing turned into weeping. She lay curled up in a ball.
"Alicia?” He moved to her.
At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head and said hoarsely, “C-Cole? You're here?"
He pulled her into his arms and began rocking her. “Alicia, my love, did he hurt you?"
Crying so hard that she could not speak, she only burrowed into his chest while his alarm spiraled. He held her while fury and helplessness battled for power.
"Alicia, what happened? Did he—? Did he—?” He could not bring himself to say the word.
"He was choking me,” she sobbed, her voice raspy. “Couldn't breathe. Thought he would crush my throat."
"Then he didn't ... force himself on you?"
"No."
Cole nearly wept in relief. But the monster would pay for trying to strangle her.
From behind him, Grant's voice thundered, “Look out!"
Cole flung Alicia down onto the bed with his body as two simultaneous gunshots roared through the night. Searing pain exploded in his back. It transported him to Trafalgar, to the middle of a sea battle. He sank into utter darkness.
* * * *
Alicia watched in mute horror as Cole stiffened, his face twisted in pain, and then collapsed on her. A male's voice moaned, drawing her gaze away from Cole. Captain Hawthorne, badly battered, dropped the smoking handgun he'd been pointing in her direction, and crumpled into a heap.
A man Alicia had never seen stood by the door holding a gun aimed at Hawthorne. A tendril of smoke curled out of the barrel of his pistol. The stranger lowered his arm and tucked away his gun. Behind the stranger, Stephens stared with ashen face.
For a brief moment, stunned silence fell over the room. Then it erupted into sound and movement. Cole lay motionless.
"Please, no,” Alicia gasped.
The stranger sprang forward and bent over Cole. “He's still breathing."
She touched Cole to assure herself he did indeed still live. He breathed. He had a pulse. But the color drained out of his face. On his back, a spreading red stain soaked his clothing.
From somewhere in the crowd, she heard Robert and another voice she didn't recognize calling out commands. Alicia cradled Cole's head in her hands and carefully pulled her legs out from under his limp body. She snatched a pillow and slid it under his head. Voices became a jumbled cacophony, creating a buzz that made thinking difficult.
"Everyone out! Now!” Her voice sounded strangled to her own ears.
Men picked up Hawthorne's unconscious—or was he dead?—body and removed it. Robert ordered Hawthorne placed in the bedroom down the hall. Other male voices reverberated outside the door, but she returned her attention to Cole on the bed.
"Don't you die. Don't you dare die.” With shaking fingers, she ran her hands over his hair. “Cole!"
He did not respond. Kneeling beside him, she tried to roll him on his side so she could reach the buttons of his waistcoat. He was a large man, and completely limp, moving him proved a greater challenge than she had supposed.
"Here.” Another pair of arms turned Cole.
She looked up into a pair of steely gray eyes set in hard, yet handsome features. A thin scar ran raggedly down the right side of his face from eye to lip. Black wavy hair, longer than fashionable, framed his face. He was the man who shot Captain Hawthorne at the same instant that Captain Hawthorne had shot Cole. At the time, she'd assumed him to be someone who'd been helping guard the house, but he seemed too commanding to be merely hired help. He bore an imposing mien. He wore simple clothing in subdued colors, completely without adornment.
Alicia stared. “Who—?"
"I'm Grant Amesbury."
She saw the family resemblance to Cole immediately; they had an identical build and the same well formed mouth, but where Cole was masculinely beautiful, this man had harsher features, making him appear stern and unyielding. His silver-gray eyes were unnervingly hard. Whether the hardness arose from years of war, or his recent pastime dealing with criminals, she did not know. She only knew she never, ever wanted to cross this dangerous, determined man. If she'd had to guess, she would have assumed this was Jared, the pirate.
Grant's gaze passed over her briefly, his steely eyes grim before turning his attention to his brother lying still and pale in bed.
Stephens appeared. “My lady. He would trust me over a doctor."
She nodded. Cole had said something like that the last time he had been wounded for her sake.
The three of them turned Cole and stripped off his stained waistcoat and shirt. In her concern, Alicia did not even flinch at his state of undress. The amount of blood gushing unimpeded from Cole's back left Alicia sick with worry.
Grant stepped back and waited silently at the foot of the bed while Stephens examined Cole. The bullet had gone in at an angle in his back from his waist up to his left shoulder and exited below his shoulder blade. Stephens pressed his lips into a white line, his face set and grim. Coles’ blood continued to bubble out, soaking Alicia's nightgown and the bed. Stephens cleaned Cole's wounds and pressed a cloth over them. Grant remained perfectly detached, watching without the slightest sign of emotion.
"Press here firmly,” Stephens instructed, placing her fingers over the lower wound.
He did likewise on the upper wound. He called for aid, and Jeffries arrived, looking ill at the amount of blood on the linen
s. Stephens gave specific instructions of a salve he needed, and exactly where to find it. Jeffries left unsteadily as though he might faint at any moment.
When Jeffries returned, Stephens applied the salve to the wounds. “Grandmother's special blend,” he quipped in an attempt to appear optimistic.
They applied thick bandages using torn cloth. Grant wordlessly helped them lift Cole so the bandages could be wrapped and secured.
Terrible, ugly scars marred Cole's muscular back. Alicia recognized the new pink scar high on his arm from the highwaymen's attack when he protected her. Another above his other shoulder blade looked much older.
She reached out and traced the scar. “He was shot here, too?"
Stephens nodded soberly. “In the war."
She traced large scar on his side. “And this?"
"A pirate's cutlass."
Other scars were even more alarming. All along the left side of his back were white, wrinkled scars that looked as if his flesh had been melted.
"Was he burned too?"
"Fire on ships are a more common occurrence than people realize."
Alicia marveled that Cole had survived at all. She glanced at Grant to see if he would reveal a hint of any emotion. He didn't. He was handsome in a terrible, ruthless sort of way. He would have made a great model for a statue of the Greek god of war. Grant stood like a soldier at attention, looking as if he cared nothing at all about Cole's well being. How could anyone be so cold and unconcerned about his own brother?
Stephens pressed his lips pressed together. “I think he was trying to get himself killed to rid himself of his guilt. He got so reckless after the war."
"Guilt for what?” Her voice cracked. She cleared her voice and swallowed, but her throat pained her so badly, she wished she hadn't.
Grant broke his silence. “Living. Hundreds around him died. He lived."
Grant spoke sharply, accusingly, but the bleakness in his eyes revealed Grant Amesbury wasn't as unfeeling as she'd first supposed. He shared his brother's anguish, but hid it beneath an impenetrable armor.
When Stephens finished, he attempted a smile. “He'll be all right, my lady. He's survived much worse."
She nodded, hoping Cole's faith in his valet had been well-placed. “I pray you're right."
Alicia looked down and realized, belatedly, that she wore nothing but a nightgown and had been thusly immodest in the presence of several men. At the moment, it was so bloodstained that she probably looked more ghoulish than indecent. Then it occurred to her that she hadn't seen Nicholas since the attack.
"Have you seen my husband, Stephens?"
Stephens paused, his brow wrinkling slightly. “I haven't seen him, my lady. I was downstairs keeping watch."
Panic seized her. “What if Captain Hawthorne took him prisoner, or killed him before he came after me?"
"He went for the constable,” Grant said.
Her fear quieted. “Oh. I didn't see him leave.” She realized with a healthy dose of guilt, that she'd been so concerned over Cole, she'd given no thought for Nicholas.
Alicia rang for Mrs. Dobbs. When the housekeeper arrived, looking strained and upset, Alicia requested clean bed linens and the assistance of a footman. As Stephens gathered up his things and moved them to a bedside table, Mrs. Dobbs returned with the linens. Jeffries, trailed behind. Grant, Stephens and Jeffries lifted Cole while Alicia and Mrs. Dobbs pulled off the soiled bed linens and replaced them with clean ones.
When they had Cole resettled and lying on his stomach, Alicia said, “He'll be all right.” She tried to sound assuring, but instead sounded forlorn.
Grant's face was an impenetrable fortress. Phillips looked frightened. Stephens nodded bravely, but his eyes betrayed his concern.
She drew a breath. “Is Captain Hawthorne dead?"
"No,” Stephens replied, “but I doubt he'll live through the night."
"If he dies, it'll save me the trouble of dragging him to the nearest Magistrate. I'd like to plunge a knife in his heart to make sure,” Grant said savagely.
Alicia shivered at the fierceness in his tone and the murderous look in his cold, gray eyes. It was a pity he hadn't acted an instant sooner than he did, thus saving Cole from Hawthorne's bullet. It occurred to her that Grant must be berating himself for the same thing.
She touched him lightly on the sleeve. “I'm sure you did all you could have."
Grant stiffened and pulled away. He turned to Stephens. “Notify me immediately if Hawthorne rallies. I want answers."
"Of course,” Stephens replied.
Alicia wanted answers, too; why Hawthorne attacked her, and if he had indeed arranged the death of the rest of her family. If he died, she might never know. What possible motive he had, she could not imagine. They'd been acquaintances since childhood and she could not remember any sort of altercation.
She stilled. Her father's illegitimate son. Could he be Captain Hawthorne? There was no strong resemblance. Although they both had dark eyes that Alicia had mused bore a resemblance to her father's. But that still did not explain why he'd seek to destroy them. No illegitimate son could inherit, so that removed any motivation she could imagine.
Phillips and Stephens left the room. With a silent prayer, Alicia coaxed water between Cole's lips and brushed his hair back from his pallid face. His lashes lay close to his cheeks. Alicia despaired of ever seeing the deep sapphire of his eyes.
He must not die. He must not.
"I don't believe Hawthorne acted alone."
Alicia tore her eyes away from Cole and focused on Grant. She'd forgotten he was there. He stood utterly still, his face immovable, his mouth pressed into a line. Only that brief flicker of pain in his eyes a moment ago hinted that he did possess some humanity. Deep, deep inside.
Grant continued speaking. “Hawthorne's had many accomplices, most of which he later killed to cover his trail. But there's someone within the house who's been aiding him."
She turned cold at the thought. “Any suspects?"
"Not yet. I'll question the servants."
She nodded numbly and turned back to Cole.
Grant left as silently as a wraith but she heard him conferring in whispers to someone in the hall.
Stephens returned. “I'll stay with him. You'd best look in on your sister. I think she's being slowly poisoned."
Alicia drew back in horror.
"I gave her some herbs that should help. Your abigail is with her now."
With a small cry of alarm, Alicia fled the room for Hannah's. Hannah, lying in her bed, opened her eyes at Alicia's arrival.
"How are you, dearest?” Alicia asked.
"Is it true? Mr. Hawthorne tried to kill you?"
Alicia nodded.
Tears formed in Hannah's eyes. “I almost lost you tonight."
Alicia stroked her hair. “I'm all right. He won't hurt any of us again."
"Why would Mr. Hawthorne want to hurt us? We've known him forever. I thought our families were friends."
"I'm not sure, dearest. But I hope he'll tell us. And who his accomplice is."
Monique spoke from the corner. “He has an accomplice, madame?"
"Cole Amesbury's brother, Grant, thinks so. It makes sense. Captain Hawthorne couldn't have slipped into the house often enough to administer poison. It could be anyone. Monique, don't let anyone near her. And don't give her anything to eat or drink that the others don't consume. This may not be over."
Monique nodded, looking terrified.
"I'm going to go check on Cole. I'll return shortly."
"Madame, take a moment to change,” Monique advised.
Surprised, Alicia looked down. Only then did she remember that she wore only a badly bloodied nightgown. “My clothes are in the room where Cole is."
"Take something of mine,” Hannah said.
With Monique's help, Alicia undressed and took a quick sponge bath to remove the blood that had soaked through her nightgown. Monique made an exclamation when she saw Ali
cia's neck. Alicia turned to the glass.
Ugly, black and purple bruises ringed her throat. The horror of the night's events washed over her anew. She relived her paralyzing terror, the feel of his fingers around her throat, squeezing. Silent sobs shook her body and she pressed her hand over her mouth.
"Lissie?” Hannah called weakly from the bed.
Alicia pulled herself together. “I'm all right.” She dried her eyes and drank some water, wincing in pain with the effort of swallowing with a battered throat.
She returned to her bathing. After donning one of Hannah's gowns, she added a spencer with a high neck to help cover the bruising. She had to arrange the neckline carefully, cautious of her sore and swollen throat. Monique quickly brushed her hair and twisted it into a simple knot.
Refreshed, Alicia leaned over Hannah.
Hannah opened her eyes. Tears slid silently down her cheeks. “I can't get over the thought that he tried to kill you."
"All is well, now. You just get better.” Alicia kissed her brow and went back to Cole's room.
She halted in the doorway. In a chair drawn up to the bed, Grant sat hunched over, bracing his arms on his thighs, and talking softly to an unconscious Cole. Alicia paused, unwilling to disturb him.
"—and I know we seldom saw eye to eye. You and Jared were always inseparable. But deuce take, it Cole, you're the heir. Think of the family line. Father won't be around much longer and the rest of us are too disreputable to marry and have children. Except Christian. He's probably too pure to think of touching a woman.” His head sunk lower and his voice dropped to a whisper. “First Jason, then Mama, then Tanner.” He let out a weighted sigh. “I can't lose you too, Cole. I couldn't bear it."
Tears slid down Alicia's cheeks. She moved to Grant, longing to comfort Cole's hurting brother.
He straightened at her approach. As if donning a mask, his expression turned impassive, with no trace of the grief-stricken brother a moment ago.
She knelt at his feet and touched his arm. “He'll be all right."
Stone-faced, he stood and spoke gruffly. “I'll finish questioning the servants.” He strode from the room.