No. It couldn’t be. Malcolm stumbled backward, fell over the rock they had been sitting on, and tumbled sideways into the sand. “Paul?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
His brother walkedover to him and stood above him like a damn specter in the night. Except the sun was shining and Paul wasn’t dead. Alive and breathing, looking nothing like the young man who had run around town making trouble with the ladies of the ton and gambling in London’s dens of iniquity. This man had twice the breadth of that boy, and the beard that covered the bottom half of his face was bushy and wild. His long hair was pulled back into a knot at his nape, showcasing a row of silver hoops running up his left ear. But there was no mistaking those eyes.
Paul reached out to offer him a hand. His eyes were wide and wary. “Malcolm, what the hell are you doing here?”
Malcolm scrambled to his feet. “What the hell areyoudoing here?”
Paul ran a hand down his beard. “It’s a long tale. I never meant for you to find out.” His brother sent an exasperated look over his shoulder at Marielle.
“You mean that you are alive? That you left me to believe you were dead?” Malcolm clenched his hands into fists. “That you left me alone in this world at fifteen thinking I was an orphan?” He took a step forward, a volcano of anger propelling him.
He swung out and clocked his brother in the jaw. Paul took the blow without even taking a step back. Blood tricked from the corner of his mouth. But it wasn’t enough to assuage the pain that was burning its way up Malcolm’s chest.
“Bastard!” Malcolm tackled Paul to the sand.
He landed one solid punch to his ribcage before Paul flipped them with a grunt. Adeline screamed his name. But he only saw Paul, his stupid beard hiding his stupid face. Alive and a fucking smuggler.
Paul pushed down on his shoulders. “Stop, Mal. Just stop.”
But Malcolm was far from done venting his anger. He used his legs to roll them again and managed another good punch to Paul’s cheek. He became vaguely aware of more voices shouting as he and Paul rolled around on the ground, taking jabs at each other. Then Paul kneed him in the groin. Malcolm let out a long wheeze.
Paul shoved him down by the shoulders again. Pressing down with all his weight, he straddled Malcolm’s thighs. “Stay down, you stupid bastard. Someone’s going to shoot you or your girl if you don’t stop.”
The mention of Adeline froze him. He struggled to suck in air, but he nodded. Where was Adeline? He craned his neck to look around his brother’s hulking form. Then he saw her. She stood beside Marielle, the older woman’s arm around her shoulders. Malcolm let his body go lax as the fog of his rage slowly cleared.
Paul got off him. “Take him up to the house. Her, too.”
Four strong hands picked him up from the ground. Malcolm’s arms were shoved roughly behind him, and his wrists were tied quickly with rope. The brute squad shoved him forward. “Walk.”
He twisted to see what was happening with Adeline. Marielle still had her by the shoulders, leading her gently behind them. Their gazes collided, and Adeline’s eyes were filled with fear.Christ. “Adeline, I’m all right. Just follow directions.”
She nodded and huddled against Marielle, who said, “Come, let’s go to the house.”
The walk past the rest of the gang was embarrassing as hell. Haddonfield sneered at him with an unholy glee in his eyes. As Malcolm carefully ascended the stairs, he prayed that he wouldn’t lose his balance and fall to his death in front of Adeline. She had been through enough for one morning. Good Lord, how could Paul be alive? And the head of a smuggling gang? And who was the woman, Marielle?
She’d seemed to know all along who he was. Her earlier comments, cryptic at the time, all made sense now. Paul didn’t look the same at all. Long hair and beard aside, his tanned skin, the wrinkles that fanned out from the corners of his eyes, and the sheer breadth and bulk of him all were the antithesis of the lean, elegant young man Malcolm remembered.
Marielle and Adeline walked up next to him and the henchmen as they turned onto the gravel drive that led to the house. Malcolm could hear Adeline asking questions.
“Do you live here? I saw smoke coming from one of the chimneys earlier.”
“Non, we have a cottage down the coast. Paul thinks the manor is haunted by the ghosts of his family.”
“Malcolm, too,” Adeline replied.
“I didn’t say I thought it was haunted,” he grumbled. “I said it felt too empty, like all that was left was ghosts.”
One of the men, Jacob maybe, looked over at him. “Are you really Paul’s brother?”
Malcolm nodded.
“How come you attacked him? Think you’d be happy to see he’s not dead,” Hank said from Malcolm’s other side with a shake of his head.
Malcolm pressed his lips into a thin line. He didn’t owe these two any explanations. They reached the manor, and Marielle nodded her head to the left. They all trooped around to the back of the house.
“Take off the ropes. He will behave now, won’t you, Lord Kingsbury?” Marielle said to him. “Mr. and Mrs. Ford keep the house. They are not from these parts, so they don’t recognize your brother. He doesn’t go into the village at all. His privacy is a top priority.”
