Chapter 45
Uncle placed one hand on Nick’s shoulder, another on Darcy’s. Nick’s chest tightened to be the recipient of such care from a man he respected and admired. His uncle.
“Your betrothed shall need to be informed of this development.” Uncle lowered his hands.
“Go to them. I will see where Mr. Rouncewell’s questionings lead us with Richard and Miss Rothschild, and I shall secure Connell’s services in tracking her down.
” He looked over their shoulders, his gaze darting back and forth. “If I know Connell, he is nearby.”
A stiff west breeze brushed past them. An ill wind that sent a shiver down Nick’s spine.
Uncle felt it too. “Go,” he urged.
They ran to the carriage, Darcy calling “To Gracechurch Street!” in a manner that left the coachman in no doubt of their need for haste.
Darcy wedged his knees against the cushion, and Nick was grateful he imitated his brother’s posture when the carriage jolted and turned abruptly. “He used to race curricles before he came to work for me,” Darcy explained.
Nick chuckled. “Ye know how to pick a fine crew.”
“My estate is only as sound as the people in my employ.”
“Just like me ship.”
“It is not so different. We are both masters in our own domains.”
“‘Cept yer quarters’re far more extensive than me frigate. Over one hundred men occupying one hundred thirty-five feet from bow to stern gets crowded.”
“You shall love Pemberley. High ceilings and large rooms indoors, rolling green hills and forests as far as you can see out of doors.”
The shelter he’d never known. The place he’d have played with his brother and cousins instead of mending nets with raw fingers in a damp hut.
Where he’d have been loved by a mother and father instead of working to pay his way until he was old enough to apprentice on a ship with nothing but the shirt on his back and a pair of castoff shoes that didn’t fit.
Not that Nick carried any resentment toward the old man who’d taken him in.
He’d fed him, taught him a trade, let him learn to read, and never raised his hand against Nick.
He’d even given him his name. After knowing what his fate was supposed to have been, Nick was grateful for his life.
He rubbed his chest. “Sounds lovely, Darcy.” So lovely, he didn’t want to see it until he’d learned to control his resentment. He’d make peace with the past, then he’d embrace his future with no reserves. His family deserved as much, and so did he.
The carriage slowed. They were close.
Darcy peeked through the glass, leaning forward abruptly. “What is that blackguard doing here?”
Nick snapped to attention. The door to the Gardiners’ house was open, and Wickham stood in the entrance with his arms crossed, a smirk on his mug.
Nick clenched his fists at the sight. He’d love to draw that man’s cork.
The slimy eel wouldn’t think himself so charming with blood running out of his nose and staining his starched shirt.
Darcy descended from the carriage and charged across the street. Nick tried to catch up with him to prevent him from doing what he would do for the both of them.
But he was too late.
The fool lifted his chin haughtily. “Not so high and mighty now, are you, Darcy?”
Leaping up the steps, fist raised, Darcy landed a solid shot right where Nick had imagined punching only moments ago.
Wickham’s reaction was most satisfying. Shriveling into himself, covering his face, he sputtered and moaned.
Darcy was too dignified to gloat or exchange a word with the rogue. He breezed past Wickham, where the Gardiners’ man attempted to suppress a smile. “They are in the parlor, sir,” he announced.
“Thank you, Parrot,” Darcy answered coolly, as though nothing had transpired. He was so smooth and composed, and Nick could not be prouder. That was his brother.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and tossed it to Wickham before continuing into the parlor. He could be smooth, too.
Connell stood when they entered. The satisfaction on his face stopped Nick short.
“My uncle was looking for you,” Darcy said.
Mr. Gardiner rubbed his temples. His wife stood behind him, clutching the back of his chair. Elizabeth’s jaw clenched, and Alex cast him a look that tensed every muscle in Nick’s body.
Connell stood. Gesturing at the Gardiners, he stated, “This family is harboring a known criminal.”
“His Lordship, the Earl of Matlock—”
Connell raised his hand, stopping Darcy short. “Not that criminal.” His smile widened and he pointed at Alex. “That one. She is wanted for crimes against the Crown.”
Alex’s nostrils flared. “I am not!” She attempted to stand, but Elizabeth reached for her arm to prevent it. Less confidently, she added, “I don’t think.”
Nick could reach into his boot and rid them of Connell with one flick of his dagger.
He dismissed the idea the instant it reared its ugly head in Nick’s mind.
Aye, they’d be free of Connell, but he’d have murdered a man in cold blood in front of people who believed him changed.
He couldn’t betray their trust like that.
There had to be another way. He met Alex’s gaze, and was relieved to see her fingers relax at his warning look.
Darcy stepped closer, his shoulders brushing against Nick’s. When Nick looked at him, Darcy winked. Twice.
Nick tensed again. Whenever Alex winked like that, disaster was soon to follow.
Standing taller, Darcy nodded at Nick. Understanding that he must be on his best behavior, Nick lowered his shoulders and lifted his chin.
At least, Darcy appeared to have a plan …
which was more than Nick had. When Wickham slithered through the doorway behind them, Nick expanded his chest as Darcy did.
Wickham scurried behind Connell like a scared cur.
Darcy spoke again. “Ye don’t wish to cross Lord Matlock. He—”
Nick’s eyes widened. What was Darcy doing?
“His Lordship is not here.” Connell failed to notice what so completely unnerved Nick. Could the man not tell them apart? “And even if he were, he can’t protect her.”
Cold fear gripped Nick by the throat. If they took Alex, he’d never get her back.
It wouldn’t matter that she’d changed. She’d pay not only for her previous crimes but for her brothers’.
Their infamy was too grand. The Admiralty would make a show of her hanging, using her to send a warning to those who raised their glasses in her name and sang the poems revering her exploits …
just as they’d have done to him. They’d exact their revenge on her all the more cruelly because they’d still be sore from being forced to let him go.
Connell jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “This gentleman said you assaulted him at Bath … and it would seem you have done it again.”
Handkerchief stuffed up his nose, Wickham grumbled, “Once a pirate, always a pirate.”
Darcy opened his mouth to defend him, but Nick shook his head.
It didn’t matter what he said. People would always assume the worst of Nick, and he wouldn’t allow his brother to lose face before a man like Connell.
He’d only accuse Nick of being a corrupting influence, and Darcy would be in danger. Nick would not allow it.
Taking courage, Connell added, “Furthermore, the Gardiners can be accused as accomplices. They knew they were housing a renowned criminal.”
That, Nick could not allow either. He spoke in his most dignified tone, trying to imitate the authority with which his brother exercised his influence. “I asked them to. They’re only doing so as a favor to me. They trusted my word and had no inclination of their guest’s former activities.”
Connell looked between him and Darcy, confusion marking his brow.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Darcy wink at him again. Dear Neptune, what was he up to? Nick watched Darcy closely, trying to figure out his plan, but Darcy didn’t reveal anything. Drat the pest.
With a parting raise of his eyebrow that filled Nick with dread, Darcy offered, “Leave the Gardiners be, and I’ll come with ye.”
If Darcy was trying to confuse Connell, he’d be the one to end up behind bars, and Nick refused to go along with it. Crossing his arms over his chest, praying his imitation was as sound as Darcy’s had been, he asserted, “I will come with you. I am the man you want.”
Darcy, the stubborn blighter, jabbed his thumb at his chest. “‘Tis a lie. I’m the man ye want.”
If lives weren’t at stake, Nick would have laughed at the sight of Connell scratching his head.
“If ye want to arrest Nicholas Blackburne, ye’ll have to pick yer man.” Darcy grinned, his eyes pleading with Nick to go along with the farce. Under his breath, he added, “Think of Alex.”
In that exchange, Nick understood. His brother was willing to go to prison to save Alex.
Uncle might not be able to secure Nick’s release again, but he could for Darcy.
He’d show up with irrefutable proof of his true identity, leaving Connell humiliated before the very men he sought to impress to earn his reward.
He’d have no choice but to drop the matter and chase after Mrs. Finchley, grateful for the guaranteed payment Nick himself would contribute to. In a flash, he saw it.
But the risk was overwhelming.
His brother was willing to go to prison … for him. Choking down his emotion, Nick matched Darcy’s grin and taunted Connell. “Choose yer man, sir.” He held his wrists in front of him, praying Connell would choose him. “Is it me?”
“Or me?” Darcy—curse him!—held his wrists up, too.
Alex and Elizabeth clung to each other, eyes as wide as the bores of a cannon.