The Bodyguard (31 page)

The grin had faded from his face, and from hers, as he realized the import of the symbolic gesture. They were handfast, it was true, but setting a ring on her finger had made their union all the more real.

He might have lost his heart to her later that same evening, when she danced for him. He had sat at the head table, his eyes mated with hers, as she moved with nimble grace to the music of the pipes. He had been swept up by the mournful sound and had seen in her elegant carriage the pride of a people unconquered despite Culloden. A fine sheen of perspiration had glowed on her brow, reflected by the bonfire around which she danced.

He had taken her hand before the pipes had died and walked with her into the shadows, as other couples had done.

And made love to her.

It was then that he knew his heart could be broken again.

If he’d had any doubt at all of what a dangerous game he was playing, it was gone after St. Bride’s day, which was celebrated the first day of February with various rituals beseeching St. Bride to bring the earth back to life after the barren winter.

He had been entranced at the sight of Kitt sitting beside the hearth rocking an empty cradle and singing a lullaby. It was an obvious prayer to St. Bride to help a seed take root in her own barren womb.

“Do you really think that will work?” he’d asked skeptically.

“ ’Tis the custom,” she replied.

“Does it work?”

“I dinna know,” she whispered.

But it was plain she was willing to try anything. Because they had been together for a great many months, and while many others had conceived since the fall, she had not.

He had let her finish the lullaby, enjoying the soft, lilting melody, before he reached out his hand and said, “We shouldn’t let your efforts go to waste.”

She had stared at his hand but didn’t reach out to take it. “Sometimes I think ’twill never happen because …”

Because she had tricked him into marriage. Because the couplings were done for a corrupt reason
.

He could have spoken the thoughts aloud, brought
everything out into the open, and yet he had not. He had fought back the rage inside him. Bit back the accusations he wanted to utter.

She doesn’t care who gets hurt, so long as she gets what she wants. How is that any different from Blackthorne’s ruthlessness?

Maybe God was punishing her. And him. Because so long as she did not conceive, he would keep coming to her bed. And this marriage of utter inconvenience would go on.

“Give up, Mr. Ambleside. Concede defeat in this matter and save us both from ruin.”

Mr. Ambleside clucked his tongue at the earl. “My dear boy, it is true our efforts have not—”

“
Our
efforts?” the earl said in a choked voice. “My only crime has been a silence I yearn to break. I was never a willing party to murder. You know that. Some higher power must be protecting the duke. There can be no other explanation for his continued existence. How many of your attempts on his life have fallen short of the mark?”

“Actually, it is only four, and I do not think he can be aware of more than three.”

The earl groaned. “Three. It might as well be seventy and three! The damage is done. I tell you, he suspects
me
. And I am innocent!”

“Not entirely.” Mr. Ambleside sat in a lumpy wing
chair watching the young man pace in the drawing room at Castle Carlisle.

The earl stopped before Mr. Ambleside. “You are right. I am not entirely innocent, because I have remained silent in order to save myself from your threatened accusations of complicity. But no longer. Do you hear me? I will have your word that these attempts on the duke’s life will end, or I will—”

Mr. Ambleside moved like a snake, rising from his chair and backhanding the young man, his ring biting into Carlisle’s right cheek and drawing blood. “Coward. Fool. Idiot. I will not have my plans ruined because you don’t have the courage to keep your mouth shut.”

Mr. Ambleside immediately regretted losing his temper, but he could feel the clock ticking on his lifelong dream. Time was running out. It was nothing short of amazing that Blackthorne had not regained his memory in all these months. His luck was bound to end sooner or later, but he did not intend to give up until it did.

The earl was gripped by a fit of trembling, but Mr. Ambleside determined it was only the result of rage, and not fear, when the young man grasped him by the throat and began to squeeze. At which point, Mr. Ambleside conceded he had stepped seriously amiss with the earl.

While Mr. Ambleside had been able to impose upon Clay Bannister’s youth and inexperience to place him in a compromising position, it seemed the young man
had no intention of remaining a pawn forever in the treacherous game they played. In fact, it seemed if he were not allowed to withdraw, he would soon declare himself the winner by eliminating the other party to the contest.

“I … can … not … breathe,” Mr. Ambleside managed to gasp, both hands clawing at the earl’s implacable one-handed grip.

Another moment and he would have blacked out. A moment beyond that and he would have been dead. A knock on the door was all that spared him.

The loud, abrupt noise brought the earl to his senses. A look of horror and disgust crossed Carlisle’s face before his fingers loosened.

Mr. Ambleside gasped a desperate breath and grabbed at his bruised throat. “I will not impose further upon you,” he rasped through his crushed vocal chords.

He had already started for the door when Carlisle said, “Come,” to whoever had knocked.

The door squeaked open and the butler announced, “The MacKinnon and his wife are here to see you, my lord.”

Unfortunately, the butler had not left them waiting in the front hall. As the door swung farther open, Mr. Ambleside found himself face-to-face with his nemesis.

It was too much to hope that Blackthorne would not divine what had just occurred. Mr. Ambleside still had both hands at his throat, while blood dripped
from Carlisle’s cheek, where Mr. Ambleside’s gold-and-emerald ring—the sole gift from his father—had sliced into the earl’s flesh.

“I see you already have company,” Blackthorne said to the earl. “Perhaps we should return—”

“Stay,” Carlisle said. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you about—”

Mr. Ambleside had no choice. If he didn’t act, the earl’s honesty would sink them both. He turned and pointed at Carlisle, thereby revealing half of his bruised throat, and cried, “Miscreant! Villain! Thief!”

The earl stared at him, stunned.

Mr. Ambleside took advantage of Carlisle’s shock to turn back to Blackthorne. “I’ve just confronted the earl with evidence that he forged documents I thought were from the duke, requiring me to raise his tenants’ rents. Oh, the suffering he’s caused! And that is not the full extent of his perfidy.

“He’s also forged a contract allowing him to buy Blackthorne Hall and all the surrounding lands
on credit
. I was suspicious from the first, but the documents looked so authentic! You may see for yourself what his reply was to my accusations.” Mr. Ambleside removed his other hand to reveal further evidence of Carlisle’s attempt to strangle him.

“He’s lying!” Carlisle shouted. “He’s the one who forged the documents. He’s the one who’s trying to kill you!”

Mr. Ambleside put a shocked expression on his face. “Have there been attempts on your life, Mr. Wheaton?”

“Mr. Wheaton?” The sound exploded from Carlisle. “Mr. Wheaton? You know very well Alex Wheaton is the Duke of Blackthorne. You hired three sailors from the London docks to attack him on his own ship and throw him into the sea. And you’ve made four other attempts to kill him, so you can have Blackthorne Hall for yourself!”

Mr. Ambleside observed Blackthorne from the corner of his eye to see whether he believed Carlisle. The duke’s eyes had narrowed suspiciously.

“I am all amazement!” Mr. Ambleside exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest as though such an accusation had caused his heart to lurch. “Mr. Wheaton, the duke? You must be mistaken! The duke is dead, drowned in the sea.”

“He’s standing right in front of you,” Carlisle raved. “Are you blind?”

“Well, actually …” Mr. Ambleside reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a pair of spectacles, and carefully donned them. “I don’t see as well as I might. And I am vain enough not to wear my spectacles in company.” He made a point of looking owlishly through the bottled lenses at the man and woman in the doorway.

Mr. Ambleside gave a loud gasp. “Your Grace. It
is
you! How is this possible? I interviewed Alex Wheaton myself. He did not sound a bit like Your Grace!”

“But you recognize me now?” Blackthorne asked, raising a brow in arrogant condescension.

“Of course I recognize Your Grace. I was at your
wedding, if you will recall. Is it possible you have been Alex Wheaton all these months?”

“As it turns out, Mr. Ambleside, I have.”

Mr. Ambleside experienced a moment of sheer terror. For how long had the duke known who he was? Why hadn’t His Grace come to the Hall for succor, unless he suspected Mr. Ambleside of wrongdoing? “Your Grace—”

“Be still.”

Mr. Ambleside was grateful for the interruption, because he had been about to throw himself on the duke’s mercy. So long as he had not been accused, there was still hope.

Blackthorne focused his piercing gaze on Carlisle and said, “I find it interesting that you know the details of the shipboard assault on my person, if you were not involved.”

The earl looked stricken. “Mr. Ambleside told them to me.”

“You have the most to gain from my death.”

“Mr. Ambleside—”

“Yes, yes, I know. It would take a very clever man to have conceived my demise, to obtain forged documents, to write the contract to purchase Blackthorne Hall. I do not think you capable of it.”

The earl flushed.

Mr. Ambleside gaped. “Your Grace—”

The duke rounded on him, his eyes dark and dangerous. “I might have shown mercy, sir, if it was only my life you had tried to take. But for threatening my
wife, and for your utter disregard for the welfare of my tenants, I will see you spend your life in chains. As for you, Carlisle—”

“I am innocent,” the earl protested.

“I think not,” Blackthorne said, his voice implacable.

“You cannot prove—”

“I have friends in the House of Lords who will believe me when I tell them how you had me stripped and beaten, bound, and thrown into the sea.”

“You’re making a mistake!” the earl insisted.

“No, my lord. You’re the one who has made the mistake by aligning yourself with my dishonest steward. And you’ll pay dearly for it. By the time I’m through, you’ll find yourself chained hand and foot, like the felon you are, and transported to Australia alongside my steward.”

The blood drained from Carlisle’s face. “You cannot possibly get them to sentence a lord of the realm to such a fate!”

“Watch me.”

Mr. Ambleside had not waited to hear the end of Blackthorne’s terrible declaration of vengeance. He had edged his way over to the French doors that opened onto the balcony, intent on making his escape. He had already eased the door open, when the duke’s voice stopped him.

“There is nowhere you can run, Mr. Ambleside. Nowhere you can hide that I will not find you.”

“Perhaps, Your Grace,” he said. “Perhaps. But I am willing to take my chances.”

He slipped through the door and ran. He had not expected the duke to run after him. And he did not. He had no doubt Blackthorne believed what he had said. But bitter as he found the prospect of failure, Mr. Ambleside had not made plans all these years without establishing an escape route for himself. He would disappear as completely as a morning mist on the Highland hills.

But not before he had engaged someone to rid the world of Blackthorne once and for all.

Kitt was still in shock. It was obvious to her that Alex had known for quite some time that he was Blackthorne. Why had he continued the charade? She wasn’t sure whether to pretend she was learning his identity for the first time, or whether to admit she had known all along. It was plain the game was at an end. All that remained was to see what Alex—or rather, Blackthorne—would do.

Alex reached for her hand and said, “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“To Blackthorne Hall.”

“Why there?”

All pretense of a Scottish burr disappeared as he said, “It’s my home.”

She reluctantly took his hand and followed him out of Castle Carlisle. He helped her to mount her horse, then mounted his own, and headed at a walk across the greening hills that led to Blackthorne Hall.

“You don’t seem surprised to find out I’m Blackthorne,
my dear. Why is that?” Alex said in clipped English.

“How long have you known who you are?”

“For a great many months, my dear.”

“Why the pretense, Alex?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he said. “But in your case, we both already know the answer.”

“And what is that?”

“You wanted the castle and the land.” He met her gaze and said, “You aren’t going to get it.”