Wickedly Yours
The Wickeds Book 4
Kathleen Ayers
Copyright © 2019 by Kathleen Ayers
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Kathleen Ayers
1
Wales would never be her favorite place. Gloomy with a gray cast that never seemed to leave, Wales was full of ill-tempered dark, mysterious folk who glared at her with suspicion and at times open dislike. One of the those being the ancient, deaf cousin that dwelled within the walls of the gray stone edifice of Twinings, the Duke of Dunbar’s far-flung Welsh estate.
All the isolation and lack of sunshine did however give one plenty of time to mull over one’s actions. Assisting in the ill-fated abduction of your sister-in-law, for instance.
Lady Arabella Tremaine, sister of the Duke of Dunbar wandered about the overgrown gardens of Twinings, a letter clutched in one hand as the damp mist of Wales wet her hair and cheeks. The letter was from Arabella’s dearest friend, Lady Miranda Reynolds. Well, no longer Reynolds, for Miranda had married the Earl of Kilmaire in a small wedding nearly a month ago.
A wedding Arabella should have been part of, were she not banished to this pile of ancient stone in the middle of nowhere.
Acid congealed to form a pit of bitterness in Arabella’s stomach. Her hand curled into a fist, half crumpling the letter, as she pressed both against the unwelcome ache. This was what came of protecting her brother from himself. Indignation filled her as well as a spike of jealousy at her friend’s news.
Opening the fine vellum once more, she struggled to read her friend’s words. Miranda’s handwriting was deplorable, nearly impossible to read, but one thing stood out.
‘Your brother gives you leave to return to London for the ball Grandmother is hosting to celebrate my wedding.’
“How lovely of Nick.” She hissed her brother’s name in contempt at a spray of morning glory vine. The vine was clearly struggling to survive in the dank, overgrown garden of Twinings. As was Arabella.
Icy cold rage encased the length of her body at the thought of her brother, His Grace the Duke of Dunbar. Sending her to this prison, to be watched over by a small army of Welshmen, most of whom she couldn’t understand when they spoke. No one lived at Twinings save Cousin Millicent, who was not only deaf but half-mad. Some days Arabella felt as if she were Anne Boylen or some other tragic figure of history who had been imprisoned unjustly. Well, she had to admit, her imprisonment was not completely without cause.
“All because of Jemma.” A bird flew out from the morning glory vine, terrified at the venom in her voice.
“Arabella? Darling are you out there?” Footsteps sounded on the cobblestone path as her aunt, Lady Cupps-Foster approached. “I’ve received a letter from your brother. It appears your banishment will be short-lived. Thank goodness. While I am a great admirer of the country, I do not care for Wales in the least.”
Poor Aunt Maisy. Stuck here with Arabella for the last few months at Nick’s request to keep her niece out of trouble. As if her aunt didn’t have her own life. Aunt Maisy was the closest thing Arabella had to a mother, since the death of Charlotte Tremaine years ago. Not that Charlotte had been much of a parent. A sour taste settled on her tongue as it often did when she thought of her little-mourned mother. “Has Nick written to me as well?”
The smile on her aunt’s pretty face faltered as she approached. Eyes the color of sapphires were shadowed with apology. “I’m sure Nick thought a letter to me would suffice.” Her aunt tried to smooth over Nick’s rudeness. “He is allowing you to return for Miranda’s wedding celebration. The Dowager Marchioness is hosting herself and the event is planned a fortnight hence to give you and I plenty of time to arrive in London. We must hurry and pack.” Her aunt’s excitement at returning to London was evident as she took Arabella’s arm. “Dearest, do not frown so. You don’t wish to wrinkle. Time enough for such things when you are my age.” Aunt Maisy tugged Arabella in the direction of the house. “Oh, I do so love a wedding celebration, especially one held in honor for our dear Miranda.”
Arabella was put off by her aunt’s easy acceptance of Nick’s reasoning. “He allows me back only for Miranda and no other reason.”
“What difference does it make why he allows you to return to London?” She pulled Miranda close. “Things between you and your brother cannot be mended while you are in Wales. After Miranda’s celebration you will have ample opportunity to apologize for your actions.”
“Nick will never understand that I only sought to protect him from…her. Why could he not have married Miranda as I’d hoped all these years? Grandfather must be spinning in his grave. The very idea that he married a member of the family responsible for my father’s denouncement from society and ultimately his death befuddles the mind. Is it too much to hope that my brother would consider such a thing as he rattles about London?”
Aunt Maisy pursed her lips as if deciding whether to say more. “Your brother has not been in London, Arabella. He’s been at The Egg since his marriage.”
The Egg was the nickname of the Dunbar family seat close to the Scottish border. The estate was nicknamed such because the house was constructed of blinding white limestone, nestled amongst the dark, rocky cliffs that bordered the sea. The impression, as one approached, was of a giant egg in a nest. The Egg was an oddly whimsical name given it was the ancestral home of the most infamous duchy in England. The journey to The Egg was lengthy and the estate isolated. Nick rarely traveled there. He must have wanted privacy for he and his bride.
“It’s a pity Jemma hasn’t tripped and fallen into the sea.” Arabella wasn’t feeling charitable towards the woman her brother married.
Her aunt bit her lip. “Your sister-in-law is with child, several months gone.”
“Several months?” Arabella chose to ignore the fact that in addition to her other sins, her actions towards Jemma inadvertently endangered an unborn child.
“You will be an aunt.”
Guilt stung Arabella. She pushed it aside, clinging to the hope that her feelings towards Jemma were justified in some way. “Are we sure the child is Nick’s? After all-”
Aunt Maisy came to a stop, her fingers d
igging into Arabella’s forearm as she turned to face her. “How dare you.”
Arabella turned away from the vehemence in her aunt’s tone.
“That child is the heir to Dunbar. Should you ever voice such concern in your brother’s presence, Nick may send you away to an even more remote location. Regardless of what you think of Jemma, such a thing in not in her character. I have been assured of the child’s paternity.”
“I do not,” Arabella sputtered, “understand your acceptance of Nick’s marriage to her. I find it rather appalling.
“Do not make me a liar, Arabella. I have spent my time in Twinings writing your brother letters begging him to forgive your misguided attempt to protect him. I’ve made it clear you did not mean to actually have your brother’s bride abducted by her former suitor and his mother. Jemma was in shock over her father’s treachery. Which, I may add, she is not to blame. Corbett and his mother preyed upon you and manipulated you. At least that is what I’ve relayed to Nick.”
Swayed. Manipulated. Cajoled. While she detested the fact that her anger allowed Corbett to use her in such a way, Arabella still thought her actions somewhat justified. Protecting her brother and the Dunbar honor had motivated her. She still could not understand why Jemma was the woman her brother chose.
“Should you continue down this path, Arabella, you will never have your brother’s forgiveness, nor Jemma’s.”
“I don’t care—”
“You should. The bitterness that has festered for years in your heart finally seeped out and nearly killed an innocent woman. Do you wish to end your days alone with nothing but your anger to warm you? The honor of the Duke of Dunbar is not at stake.” Two spots of color appeared on her aunt’s cheeks. “Your parent’s death was a terrible thing, but your father pulled the trigger ending his life and that of your mother, not Jemma’s nor any other member of the Lord of Marsh’s family. Nick has promised Lord Marsh that not a whisper of what transpired between Marsh’s younger brother and your father shall ever be heard.”
“Why wouldn’t Nick wish to clear Father’s name? I don’t understand why he wishes to protect the Marsh family from the shame that has haunted ours.”
“Our family’s reputation was infamous long before Jemma’s father arrived to frame yours for treason. More importantly, Nick loves Jemma. He will do anything to protect her, even if it means sending his beloved sister to the other side of the world. It’s best you remember that.” Aunt Maisy tugged her forward. “Come. Nick has instructed Peabody to send the family coach to fetch us. We will have to inform Millicent. Poor dear, she had just gotten used to us being at Twinings and now we are to leave. Perhaps I can convince her to visit us in London.”
“Cousin Millicent hasn’t left Wales in forty years. You are bound to be disappointed.” Reluctantly Arabella allowed herself to be dragged forward. She did so desperately wish to go home.
2
Rain dripped down the coach windows as the day turned more gray than usual. The Dunbar coach had arrived exactly on schedule bearing two especially large footmen, a groom and the driver. The footmen Arabella recognized from their original journey to Wales. The young groom was little more than a stable boy named Teddy Mac, an unfortunate lad Nick found picking pockets on the London docks. John, the driver, had driven the duke’s coach for many years. The men, with the exception of Teddy Mac, all bore rather stoic expressions. She couldn’t imagine how dull it was to traipse back and forth to Wales at the whim of the Duke of Dunbar.
Arabella sighed and tucked her feet more firmly against the heated brick beneath her sturdy boots. Warmth wafted pleasurably up her skirts but still she shivered. The journey would take a few days as the coach was in no mad rush to get to London and the weather poor. There would be time to stop and rest the horses, much to Arabella’s relief. Between the damp weather and the condition of the roads, any respite from the coach would be welcome.
Camden, a small town just across the Welsh border was the first stop in their travels. She and Aunt Maisy would spend the night at the Duck and Crow, Camden’s finest inn. Arabella wished desperately for tea and a hot bath.
“I am certain I shall never be warm again.” Her aunt tucked the blanket around her form, shivering as she swaddled herself inside the thick wool.
“Or dry. I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate the feel of my damp skirts. Toadstools could fall out at any moment.” She gave her aunt a weak smile.
“Your mood has improved, niece.” She reached across and patted Arabella’s hands. “I am pleased. Nick has put the past aside and you must as well. I know of the difficulties you’ve faced. The Devils of Dunbar have faced our infamy head on. Really, who believes in witches and such in this day and age? The old tales only give the ton something more to gossip about.” Aunt Maisy sighed. “But, I was young once too. All the notoriety is much worse for we women and I know the stink of treason has made things challenging. Everyone’s path is fraught with difficulty of some sort. I’ve had my own share.”
Sometimes Arabella forgot Aunty Maisy had endured more than most women her age. Widowed three times, her aunt’s first two husbands perished at young ages, leaving her a young mother with two sons to raise. Spencer Hammond, Baron Kelso was Arabella’s eldest cousin. Spence was currently in India doing…something. Arabella was never clear on exactly what Spence involved himself in other than she had a vague notion he worked for the government in some capacity. Brendan, the Earl of Morwick was Aunt Maisy’s other son, as wild and mysterious as the moors from which he hailed in the Dark Peak district of England. Unfortunately, Brendan’s father disappeared while hunting shortly after his son’s birth. It was assumed that the previous Earl of Morwick had fallen into one of the numerous caves that dotted the moors and perished. Aunt Maisy waited seven long years before he was declared dead. Brendan rarely traveled to London. Lord Cupps-Foster, Aunt Maisy’s last husband produced no issue. He died a week after the wedding. Though she was still beautiful and enormously wealthy, no man in his right mind would court Aunt Maisy. Cursed, the ton claimed.
“I forget sometimes, aunt, that you have survived much and yet still smile.”
“Your heart loves where it wishes, even if that love is not perfect. Proper. Expected.” Aunt Maisy’s eyes grew shadowed. “Your brother has found that which he cannot live without. You will understand one day.”
The coach bounced, springs creaking as they rounded a bend in the road and slowed, finally coming to a halt.
Arabella peeked out the window. Another coach blocked the road to Camden. Smaller and shabbier than the Dunbar coach, it nonetheless was large enough so that they could not go around. “The road is blocked with another vehicle. I see no passengers outside and the coach bears no crest. Perhaps it is a mail coach bound for London.”
Aunt Maisy’s brow wrinkled. “I do hope you’re correct, although I’m thankful we’ve these two strapping footmen at our disposal. I did wonder what Peabody was thinking when I first spied them since both men are a bit rough looking to be in service.”
Arabella didn’t answer. She found neither footman to be someone Peabody would hire unless her brother Nick instructed the butler to do so for both were large and muscular with the build of pugilists. And neither wore the Dunbar livery well, something Peabody was a stickler for.
Seagraves, the larger of the two was exceedingly polite, though his manners were a bit rough. He had taken especially good care of Aunt Maisy since leaving Twinings, asking several times if she was comfortable or if he could fetch her another blanket. The attitude of the other footman, Barker, left much to be desired. Barely civil, his insolent gaze had followed Arabella’s every move as she settled herself for the journey. As soon as she and Aunt Maisy arrived in London, Arabella planned to tell Peabody to fire the man.
The coach door opened revealing the red-cheeked face of John, their driver.
“John,” Aunt Maisy greeted him. “Is there no way around?”
“No, my lady. The coach appears aba
ndoned for I see no driver or any passengers. Perhaps they’ve walked to Camden for help, though the horses appear to be fine.” A look of worry entered his eyes. “I’m sure it’s nothing, my lady, but I’ll have Seagraves and Barker move the coach off the road while I inspect the vehicle for damage. Teddy Mac will stay here with you and the horses.” He bowed. “Camden is only another hour and we’ll be there well before nightfall.”
“Very good.” Her aunt sat back with a plop. “I long to be out of this coach and before a fire.”
John closed the coach door and Arabella could hear him speaking to Seagraves and Barker.
“I agree.” The chill and dampness had sunk into Arabella’s bones and she longed to be before a warm hearth where she could discreetly lift her skirts.
A violent lurch rocked the coach. One of the horses shrieked in fright. John called for Teddy Mac just before a large thud sounded as if a body hit the muddy road.
Arabella met Aunt Maisy’s horrified eyes.
“Surely,” her aunt whispered, “no one would dare rob the coach of the Duke of Dunbar. It’s unheard of.” Boots crunched outside and moved closer to the coach.
“Someone does dare.” Arabella threw off her blanket and reached underneath the seat where a compartment held a brace of pistols. Arabella knew how to shoot a pistol, though she doubted she’d have time to load either weapon. Hopefully the thieves who’d stopped the coach wouldn’t realize that.
Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4) Page 1