The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(109)

Except that Alexander couldn't remember his old life. Not that they would believe him! But people looted dead bodies on the battlefield all the time. What on earth was the key? Not just any arm and leg, one that was special, which could not be easily duplicated. A birthmark, a defect.



Of course! She nearly laughed aloud. Only someone who knew him very well would notice his distinguishing features, someone like her, who had reveled in every inch of his body. Distinguishing features which could not possibly be imitated, unlike the tattoos, which, with time and patience could have been.



Alexander must have known he was in danger and left instructions that no one could inherit without a reputable doctor having certified that the dead body presented was that of Jason Alexander Davenport. It had been his insurance policy to keep him alive as long as possible. Up until now it had kept the plotters from their goal. Any number of 'accidents' could produce the body they needed, and any number of biddable doctors would not inquire too closely into how the poor man had died.



But it would be far easier now if they just got him to make a new will. Or seized him and killed him. A blind and crippled man. Suicide. Who would wonder at it? The cliffs around Lyme Regis would serve very well. Unless of course the will said something about that too?



His so-called wife had most certainly seemed familiar with all of his identifying attributes, but not in terms of intimacy. She hadn't mentioned them all. No, they were simply a list of the obstacles which prevented Ferncliffe from getting what he wanted.



Sarah clicked to her horse, an almost peaceful clarity of thought and purpose filling her as she rode. There was still time. Not much, but some. She could only hope that Alexander might become alert to the danger by something one of them said.



Perhaps they would not harm him immediately. It was far better to get him to make a new will, lull him into changing his instructions. He had to be vastly wealthy, with valuable holdings throughout Europe. It was worth their while to keep him alive a bit longer. She just had to hope their greed would win through in the end. At least long enough to save him.





Chapter Thirty-two



Jonathan and Pamela Deveril rolled up to the vicarage, and looked in consternation at the hastily repaired front door, and once inside, at their much altered drawing room.



"What on earth has happened here?" Pamela gasped.



"More to the point, where's my sister?" he asked, unable to hide his alarm.



They commenced calling from room to room, but all was silent and empty.



"Some of my clothes are missing, and various other of my things have been used. Her riding habit is gone," he reported back to his wife a short time later.



"Your things?"



"It looks like she's had someone staying in the blue room. A man."



"A man? With Sarah, of all people?" Pamela squeaked.



He nodded. "Now, now, let's not jump to any conclusions. I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation--"



"For your spinster sister to have a man living in the house? I dare say, but not one any of us are going to be pleased about. Except possibly her."



Jonathan gave his pert blonde wife a quelling look. "I trust her implicitly. But when I get my hands on the swine--"



"Now who's jumping to conclusions? She's old enough--"



"Oh, never mind," he said impatiently, ruffling his sandy hair with one hand. "We've come back to a house that's been wrecked and put back together, and is completely empty. No sign of Sarah, or the man who has been staying here. It makes no sense. You wait here, love. I'm going down the road to see Jenny and Caleb."



Pamela sped after her husband. "I couldn't bear the suspense. I'm coming with you!"



They scrambled back into the carriage with alacrity and the vicar whipped up the horses urgently.



The old man was delighted to see the newlyweds back, but broke down when he told them the news about Jenny.



"What do you mean, Jenny's dead?" Jonathan asked, aghast.



"Aye, shot her so they did when they were trying to take Mr. Alexander."



"Who on earth is Mr. Alexander?"



The old man look thunderstruck. "Why, your cousin, of course."



"My cousin?" Jonathan gasped, feeling more ill by the minute. So far as he knew, his only cousin was Ferncliffe. And by rights he ought to have been executed by now.



"Huge, black hair, golden eyes, covered in scars all over his back."



Jonathan collapsed onto a stool, stunned. "He was HERE?"



"Aye, staying here and in Bath. With Miss Sarah."



The vicar gaped at the old man.



"Jonathan, darling, who is--"