Make Me Love You (40 page)

Brooke sank back into her seat, having forgotten that. Now
she was grasping at straws just like Harriet—unless . . . “She could have gone there with an older servant she’d known all her life, rather than a young maid she might not have trusted yet. And they could have been far enough down that coast to have missed that storm completely.”

“She still died, either way.”

“Yes, but if her baby is in Sevenoaks—my God, Freda, if I could bring Dominic her child, it would change everything!”

“And put your two families at war for a new reason.”

Brooke ignored that to say excitedly, “Tell the driver to drive faster!”

“D
ON
’
T BE ALARMED,
”
DOMINIC
told Willis, who was staring agog at the two animals Gabriel was trying to get into the town house. “They’re big, but harmless.”

The improvised leashes were proving useless. Storm slipped her head out of hers and raced across the hall and up the stairs. Wolf ripped his loose from Gabe’s hand to follow, as usual.

“Storm must have caught Lady Brooke’s scent,” Gabriel suggested with a sigh as he came through the door.

“After two weeks? It’s more likely the house, one they’re not used to. They’ll settle down as soon as they’ve sniffed out every corner.”

Willis finally cleared his throat to say stoically, “Welcome back, m’lord.”

But then they heard a screech upstairs and Anna’s alarmed cry. “What are two wolves doing in my house?!”

Dominic yelled up, “Actually, Mother, there are three of us here.”

Anna appeared around the upstairs corner so delighted to
see Dominic back in London that she rushed down the stairs to hug him. She was apparently fully recovered, dressed fashionably, cheeks blooming with health instead of fever. He should be pleased. He would be, if he weren’t still so angry at her.

He returned her embrace, but quite stiffly. “The animals are just large dogs from the moors. I brought back the white one because it’s Brooke’s pet and I need to return it to her.”

Anna stepped back to peer at him hopefully. “Dom, have—”

He cut in curtly, “If you’ll excuse us, Gabe and I need a whiskey after the long ride today.”

He led Gabriel into the parlor and closed the door on his mother. He simply wasn’t ready to talk to her yet, but he did need a drink. Pouring them each one, he raised his for a telling toast. “To bad luck: I’m forced by the Prince Regent to marry my enemy’s sister. Worse luck: I fall in love with her. Worst luck: My mother interferes, the Regent retracts his decree, and I lose the woman I love.”

Gabriel refused to drink to that. “You’ll win her back.”

“Maybe now that I have Storm on my side. But even if I do, I have less than a year to live to enjoy her.”

“You don’t really believe in that stupid old curse, Dom!”

“I didn’t used to. But now with this recent string of horrendous luck on top of Ella’s death and my father’s premature demise, I’m beginning to wonder. . . .”

“Well, stop wondering. There is no curse. I know because . . . because I’m the one who’s supposed to kill you.”

Dominic raised a brow. “Kill me? Are you trying to make me laugh? I think you’ve found a winner of a distraction from my misery, Gabe. Much appreciated.”

“As much as I’d like to accommodate, no. You might want to sit down.”

“You might want to explain a little faster.”

“It’s that bloody curse,” Gabriel said in disgust. “And it’s not even yours. The only curse you have is
my
family, and it’s been mostly believed since it was screamed in the 1500s by that damned ancestor of mine, Bathilda Biscane. She was the one who was mistress to the first Viscount Rothdale. The village priest at the time, another relative of mine, had already believed her to be a witch. How else could she have bedazzled her way into a noble’s bed if not by casting a spell on him? But the priest couldn’t get at her while she was under their lord’s protection—until the night she came home to the village in tears. He immediately accused her and sentenced her to burn, but before they could get her to the stake, she cursed her own family, promising that if a Biscane firstborn doesn’t kill every titled Wolfe firstborn from that day forward, and before the end of their twenty-fifth year, then
all
of their firstborns will die instead. And she killed herself in front of them, screaming those words and using her own blood to seal the curse.”

“And you believe that?”

“That it happened that way, yes. But some of my relatives believed the curse. Soon after Bathilda’s baleful theatrics, many Biscanes moved away, some because they didn’t want any part of the witch’s evil incantations, some because they knew it was superstitious nonsense. Over the next century the curse became a secret that was passed down from the firstborn male of one generation to the firstborn male of the next. Only he could do the deed.”

“And you’re a firstborn,” Dominic said flatly.

“Yes. Arnold didn’t relay the secret to me until the night you got that note about your mother’s illness and Arnold knew I would be following you to London. He wanted me to act
before you married Lady Brooke, so your line would end for good and they can stop committing murder.”

“Arnold told you all this? My head groom wants to kill me?”

Gabriel nodded. “He’s the eldest living Biscane in Rothdale, my mother’s eldest brother. He’s terrified that Peter, Janie, and I will die if you don’t before the end of this year. He had hoped you wouldn’t live this long, which was why he waited so long to tell me I was next in line to kill you. I tried to ram some sense into his head, but he was quite anguished to see you alive when we returned to Rothdale last week.”

“You know I’m having trouble believing any of this. Are you sure he wasn’t pulling your leg?”

“Do you really think he would have let me leave Rothdale with a story like that if he wasn’t serious?”

“I suppose not.” Dominic moved to refill his glass, but swung around with the thought. “My father?”

“No! Actually, Arnold assured me that no Biscane still living has killed anyone, not that they weren’t prepared to. But all the more recent viscounts, not counting your father, had bad luck with their children, losing their first either at birth or in childhood. But my ancestors have killed some of yours. The gruesome stock I come from, I’m so ashamed!”

Anna tsked as she opened the door and stepped just inside. “As well you should be, Gabriel Biscane.”

“Taken to snooping, Mother?” Dominic said drily.

“No, I—well, perhaps briefly, but we need to have a word.”

Gabriel tried to get past her. “I’ll go.”

She blocked him. “No, you won’t. Have any members of your family died since Dominic’s twenty-fifth birthday?”

Dominic was incredulous. He put the bottle of whiskey back down and tried to keep the harshness from his tone, but
wasn’t quite successful. “You think to interfere
again
? I will deal with this, it’s not your concern.”

“Actually, this is, and I meant to tell you on your birthday, but you had that at Archer’s house getting your wound treated, the wound you didn’t want me to even know about, and then you took yourself to Rothdale to recover so I still wouldn’t know about it. And answer my question, Gabriel.”

“No, m’lady, not one has died. But if Dom’s next birthday comes, my uncle believes that all the Biscane firstborns—me, Peter, and Janie—will die.”

“Then I’m happy to disprove that silly curse once and for all.” Anna smiled at her son. “You’re already twenty-six, darling. There’s nothing real about that curse, and your father and I proved it by lying about your age.”

Dominic picked up the whiskey again, though maybe he should have pinched himself instead. This sort of bizarre absurdity only occurred in dreams. But twice in one dream?

He took a long swig from the bottle in his hand before he demanded, “How is that possible? The servants would have known when I was born.”

“It was your father’s idea to disprove that curse once and for all, and now he has, he just didn’t live to know it. We were both young when we fell in love during my Season. And I was already pregnant before we married and left on our wedding trip.”

Dominic raised a brow. Anna blushed profusely. Gabriel tried again to leave the room, but she put her hands on the doorframe. “We were actually gone for nearly four years. When we returned to England, we claimed you were a year younger than you actually were. Yes, people marveled that you were big
for your age, but no one ever guessed why. And now I know that we probably saved your life with our ruse.”

She ended that with a glare at Gabriel, but he was too relieved to care. “I’m going to go send my uncle a missive
and
blacken his eye next time I see him. Thank you, m’lady. I feel so light of spirit now I could float!”

She let him go this time to ask Dominic what she’d tried to ask earlier, “Have you forgiven me yet?”

Dominic drained more of the whiskey. “The one has nothing to do with the other. You didn’t save me from a fate worse than death, Mother. You condemned me to a new hell instead.”

“M
AYBE NO ONE IS
home?” Alfreda said when she knocked for the second time.

“I hear babies crying,” Harriet insisted. “They wouldn’t be left unattended.”

The couple they’d been looking for did indeed get a baby last year, then soon after that, another. They were hoping for a third, since they wanted a big family. But Alfreda just rolled her eyes, refusing to repeat for the second time what she’d already predicted. They were going to be let down because even if Ella’s child was one of the Turrils’ adopted children, they couldn’t prove it, the abbess wouldn’t verify it, and the couple would certainly deny it, not wanting to give up either child they’d likely come to love as their own by now.

They’d arrived in Sevenoaks late last night, feeling a bit daunted because the town was bigger than they’d expected, having grown from the time it was established in 1605. They’d gotten rooms at a small hotel, and Harriet had gone off to find
a few churches, though she’d allowed a visit to the mayor could wait until morning. But she’d had no luck with the churches in the heart of the town and had been directed to try farther out, which they did in the morning.

The pastor at the first one directed them to the Turrils’ rather large house on the edge of town. Mr. Turril was a skilled clockmaker, they’d been told. He and his wife had tried for fifteen years to conceive a child before they decided to adopt instead.

As Brooke and Harriet stood anxiously on the front step as Alfreda knocked again, the door opened. The woman who stood there was too young to be Mrs. Turril. Red haired with curious brown eyes and wearing a long white apron, she looked like a servant, perhaps a nanny, because she had a toddler on her hip that neither Whitworth could take their eyes off.

“May I help you ladies?”

From farther inside the house a female voice inquired, “Is that my package, Bertha?”

The maid turned to answer, giving Brooke enough room to brush past Bertha to find the woman who had just spoken. And there she was, black hair tied back, amber eyes like Dominic’s, fashionably dressed. Brooke had never hoped for this, not when there had been not just one but two graves for Eloise Wolfe.

“I know you,” Brooke said almost tearfully as she slowly approached Dominic’s sister. “I cried with you when your dog died. I laughed with you when you landed a perfect hit to your brother’s face with that snowball when you were only twelve. I smiled when I sat on your ‘I win’ bench in the center of that maze at Rothdale. My God, I’m so glad you’re alive, Ella!”

Those amber eyes had gotten wider with Brooke’s every
word, until the black brows snapped together for a stiff reply. “You are mistaken. I’m Jane Croft, not whomever you’re referring to.”

“Changing your name doesn’t change who you are.” Brooke grinned widely. “Don’t deny it. Your eyes give you away, so like his.”

Even stiffer: “You obviously have the wrong address. Whoever you are looking for doesn’t live here. Now I must ask you to leave.”