Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4)

by Kathleen Ayers

  “Forgive me, my lord. Lady Malden is not at home. She has gone out for the evening.”

  Their butler, a rather portly man with the whimsical name of Oberon, looked up at Rowan with apology. “Would you like your rooms prepared my lord? We were unaware of your return.”

  “Yes. Immediately. And find someone who knows where Lady Malden has gone.” Rowan regarded the butler, frustration making his voice caustic. “Now.”

  Oberon bowed, his mustache quivering at Rowan’s displeasure. “Immediately, my lord.” The butler clapped his hands and a footman appeared. “See to his lordship’s things.”

  Rowan raked a hand through his hair and took the stairs up to his chambers. Good God, he’d ridden as if the devil was after him and Arabella wasn’t here? She didn’t attend parties. Nor musicales. God knows she detested the opera. Where would she go? Especially alone? A flash of jealousy caused his step to falter. Had she sought a lover after he deserted her and even now was with him?

  Storming into his rooms Rowan called for his valet, Parker. He’d left Parker in London when he left for Surrey, much to the valet’s displeasure.

  “My lord.” Parker appeared out of nowhere.

  “How do you do that, Parker?” Rowan greeted his valet over his shoulder. “Popping up whenever your name is whispered. Where do you hide when I am not in residence?”

  A slight frown crossed Parker’s lips. “A good valet anticipates his employer’s needs, my lord. I’ll have a bath prepared.”

  “Ssh.” Rowan snapped as a sound came from Arabella’s room. “And my evening clothes. I’ve a wife to find and a ball to attend.” Could Oberon have been wrong? Was Arabella hiding in her room?

  Leaving Parker sputtering at being shushed, Rowan placing his hand on the knob, throwing open the door with a bang.

  Edith, Arabella’s lady’s maid gave a cry of alarm. Wet towels dropped from her outstretched arms. “Lord Malden.” She hastily dipped into a curtsy. “Begging your pardon, my lord. We didn’t expect you home.”

  “I neglected to send word in my haste to return.” He looked down at the wet towels. “Where is Lady Malden?”

  “I—” the maid stuttered.

  Rowan’s heart caught at Edith’s hesitation. Dear Lord, Arabella had taken a lover. A growl came from him and the maid stepped back. “Where is she?”

  “Lady Marsh is hosting a ball tonight, my lord.” The maid reddened.

  “Yes, I’m aware, for my sister.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord, but Lady Malden’s gone looking for you. At your sister’s celebration.”

  43

  Rowan strode through his mother’s ballroom ignoring the curious glances and quiet whispers his appearance garnered. He imagined his mother had gleefully spread the news around London of her son’s separation from Arabella so soon after the wedding and a potential annulment which would result. Not even the damage to his manhood would deter her.

  Mother would be disappointed.

  Lord and Lady White hovered about in the ballroom, Lord White watching him with avarice. Gwendolyn, possibly tired of Rowan’s constant rejection, looked away as he passed by.

  But there was no sign of Arabella. Perhaps Edith had misunderstood her plans?

  “There you are.” Petra breezed towards him, pale blue skirts fluttering behind her. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your fun, playing with trains and such.” Petra smiled up at him looking beautiful with her glossy blonde hair pulled up into a series of ringlets to frame her face.

  Rowan smiled down at his sister. “It’s your birthday. I dared not disregard such a momentous event. I’m sure Mother has the entire evening choreographed to her satisfaction. Mother wrote me she’s certain Dunning will offer for you tonight.”

  Petra shrugged in a careless manner. “Dunning is not my preference. He’s nice enough and certainly wealthy, but there’s no spark.” She snapped her gloved hands.

  “Spark? Most marriages are based on property, security and status. Rarely are they based on a spark.”

  “Yours is,” Petra replied tartly. “You look at Arabella as if she were an enormous tea cake you wish to devour.”

  He regarded his sister in shock. When had Petra become so direct? And so well-versed in such things? “I see Jemma has been influencing you. You’d best not allow Mother to know.” His eyes roamed the room beyond his sister’s shoulder. Where was she?

  “I know more than you think. Are you looking for someone?” Petra gave him an innocent look. “You need to direct your gaze just there.” She tilted her head to a darkened corner by the punch bowl.

  Bella.

  Arabella stood alone and aloof, as she had the first time Rowan saw her. Only tonight her dress was not a pale rose but crimson. She moved slightly and the gold threads sewn into the velvet winked in the candlelight. The ruby he’d bought for her dangled provocatively between the valley of her breasts. The cut of the gown left little to the imagination and he instantly regretted that Arabella no longer favored necklines starting at her chin. With her dark hair piled high atop her head and just a touch of red to her lips, Arabella looked decadent. A sensual feast in slippers.

  Jesus. His trousers tightened. She’s never wearing that damn dress again in public.

  “What will you do?” Petra repeated the question the Duke of Dunbar had asked him not two days ago.

  Rowan didn’t answer. “You helped her.” His eyes never left Arabella who had yet to look in his direction. “Why?”

  “Possibly.” Petra waved her fan. “I prefer to think of it as helping you.” She lay a hand on his arm. “Arabella loves you madly, Rowan. So much so, she is braving Mother, the Whites and half of London to prove it to you. If Jemma can forgive her, you can. She may always be slightly terrible.” Petra’s lips twisted. “But I suppose that makes her interesting.” Then she added, “I believe she is truly sorry and not unredeemable.”

  “She is not unredeemable,” he whispered. “Thank you, Petra.”

  His sister swatted him with her fan. “Do not forget the service I’ve done you. I may yet need your assistance. I’ve no intention of marrying Dunning no matter Mother’s scheming.” She sailed off towards a group of young ladies, all waving in her direction.

  Rowan turned, his gaze tracing every curve of the beautiful woman in red. It was time to claim his wife.

  As he started towards Arabella, she caught sight of him.

  Eyes, dark like pitch watched his approach. She lifted her chin in challenge, perhaps daring him to cut her in front of the room, which of course he had no intention of doing. A twitching hand against her skirts proved her bravado false. Arabella was nervous. Frightened. Brave.

  Heat rose up his skin thinking of her and how badly he wished to touch her. Taste all the delicious hollows and curves of her body, so delightfully displayed in the crimson gown.

  The dark lashes brushed against her cheek as she lowered her eyes and her lips parted before her head raised.

  What Rowan saw in her eyes took his breath away, the dark pools full of longing as if her soul were speaking to him. Had he not been sure of Arabella or feared she would play him false again, her eyes told him different. Possession glinted briefly, a small hint of her reluctance to share him with anyone else. He knew that about her and accepted such, for he didn’t wish to share her either.

  Bergamot, such an odd scent for a woman, filled his nostrils, rippling across his skin, tempting him with her nearness. Rowan wished to be far from this ballroom, alone with her where he could inhale her scent as his body covered hers. The matching chemise he purchased likely lay beneath the crimson velvet, caressing her skin as he wished to do.

  He had wondered until this moment if he would be able to forgive her.

  I need not have worried.

  The strands of a waltz sounded from the orchestra and she held out her hand.

  “Will you dance with me, Malden?” Her voice was husky.

  “Rowan.” He swung her onto the dance floor and into the s
teps of the waltz.

  * * *

  At the touch of his hand, warmth radiated through her as if she suddenly stepped into the sun after standing in the rain for hours. Arabella leaned into Rowan, her body molding against his. The gold braid lining her bodice teased his chest, catching against the buttons of his shirt. Each brush across her breasts was agonizing, making her long to be alone with him.

  The ballroom buzzed with speculation as dozens of eyes watched them dance.

  His hand splayed against the small of her back. “Hello, Bella.” The deep growl echoed and bounced through her to finally settle between her thighs. Green and gold lights flashed in his eyes as he stared down at her. Still, she could not completely read his mood and worried over it. Was he glad to see her?

  “Do you like the dress?” she murmured.

  His gaze heated, dropping to the valley between her breasts where the ruby hung, then raised to focus on her lips. He swung her around gracefully, moving his legs further into her skirts, the hard length of him pressed briefly against her thigh. “I would like the gown better were it on the floor of my bedroom and you naked against the coverlet.”

  Arabella tripped and narrowly avoided stepping on his toes. At least that question was answered. He still desired her at least physically. “Poor of you to say such an outrageous thing when I am trying not to embarrass us both,” she snapped.

  “There’s my girl. Not the shy wallflower standing alone. I miss her, you know.” He nuzzled briefly against her neck

  “Do you? Your lack of communication would tell me otherwise.” Her head turned away from his, not wishing him to see the moisture gathering behind her eyes. What had she expected? That he would completely put aside his distrust upon seeing her?

  “We have both behaved badly,” he agreed.

  “Me more so than you,” she murmured into his shoulder, clasping the muscles beneath his fine evening coat. He smelled heavenly, that particular mixture of leather, tobacco and something that was only Rowan.

  He pressed his lips lightly against her temple and the fingers at her waist tightened their grip. “Shh, Bella.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” she whispered, her voice breaking just a bit knowing she could not fall apart in a ballroom full of the ton. “Or see me and flee the premises.”

  A frown crossed his beautiful mouth and Arabella longed to press her fingers to his lips.

  “We cannot have this conversation here, where half of London watches.” He danced her over to the terrace doors leading to the garden. Grabbing her hand, he led her out onto the terrace and down a small set of marble steps, stopping beneath a large tree.

  The cool evening air chilled her shoulders and arms, helping to chase away her melancholy. She told herself it was far better she know his feelings rather than guess at them. Still her heart beat furiously. He was watching her, his face thoughtful, waiting for her to speak.

  She pulled back on his arm and he let her go. Too quickly, she thought.

  “Please, Malden,” she started unsteadily, “if you cannot forgive me, I…I will sign whatever you wish.” The words wrung from her painfully. “I will understand your choice.”

  Rowan gave a snort of disbelief. “No, you won’t.”

  “I can. It would be unfair to trap either of us in a marriage based only on our baser desires, a lack of trust and a mutual appreciation for correcting ledgers.”

  “Baser desires?”

  A slow burn of anger crawled up the length of her chest at his attitude. Anger was useful and gave her the illusion of power though her heart shattered with every word she spoke. “Or we can continue to live apart. I will find a house of my own to let. I have my own money,” she hastened to add. “You will not be required to support me.”

  “I’m afraid I am not in agreement with your strategy.” He crossed his arms.

  Arabella swallowed. He would not make this easy, but what did she expect? She’d shown up dressed in this extravagant gown to try to seduce her husband into forgetting what a terrible person she was. It was incredibly unfair. She was changed. Could Rowan not see it?

  “The Continent then. Or America. My cousin Spence is in India. I’ve always wished to visit.” A brittle laugh bubbled out of her. “See tigers and such.”

  “Are you insane?” He stepped away from the tree and took hold of her arms as if he would shake her.

  “Then what do you want me to do?” A sob left her.

  “I am not here for my sister’s birthday, Arabella. I went to our home first and you, bloody contrary woman that you are, decided to attend a ball. Something you don’t particularly care for. The only thing more surprising would be if you’d attended the opera.” He pulled her close, encasing her in the warmth and security of his embrace.

  A deep ragged breath came from her. “You came here to find me?”

  “Bella,” he said softly. “I will always come for you. No matter where you go. I’m only sorry it took me so long. And I have missed you desperately.”

  She brushed at a tear. “I’ve done some rather unkind things motivated by my own anger at the world around me. I thought while in Wales I had come to terms with my jealousy and bitterness. But then Corbett…” She swallowed, remembering the fear of being trapped with him. “I should have told you. Trusted you with the very worst of myself, but I was so ashamed. “

  “I know.” He kissed her gently. “You are not perfect, but neither am I. If we are to move forward, there must be no more secrets between us. No scheming or deceit.” His mouth hinted at a smile. “No dressing like a distressed swallow about to attend a funeral. And I will leave the country should I see even one braid gracing your head.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Can you live with my terms?”

  Arabella nodded. “I am still unsure concerning the braids, but I can agree to everything else.”

  “Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose, his eyes growing serious. “I was very lonely without you, Bella.” Placing her hand against his heart, Rowan whispered. “This only beats when you are near.”

  She pressed a kiss to his lips. “Take me home, Malden.”

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  “Is there something you wish to tell me, Lady Malden?”

  Arabella looked up from her ledger and stretched her neck. “Yes. This chair is terribly uncomfortable. I’m certain we can afford one whose springs are not about to push through the leather at any moment. How you sit here each day is beyond me.”

  Rowan ignored her waspish tone. She wasn’t feeling well and refused to admit it.

  She opened her mouth to say something else when her face turned a disturbing shade of green. The pen hovered over the ledger and as he watched, Arabella swallowed several times.

  Rowan stood and went to the door to request tea.

  “I do not believe I care for duck even though it is a favorite of yours.”

  He moved to the sideboard and removed the chamber pot he’d discreetly hidden earlier. “I do not think it was the duck, Bella. You’ve been ill more than once in the last several weeks and can barely tolerate a carriage ride.”

  Arabella narrowed her eyes at him. “It is the duck. You were driving too fast through the park which is why I became discomfited.

  Discomfited. Rowan wanted to laugh out loud. He’d had to stop discreetly behind a tree while her breakfast came back up. He was concerned that Arabella didn’t wish to admit what was truly wrong with her. Was she not happy?

  Why do you have a chamber pot in here? What—”

  Rowan sprinted to the desk replacing the ledger before her with the chamber pot. He was not a moment too soon. Poor Bella. He rubbed her back while the spasms shook her. For weeks she hadn’t been sleeping well and became sick nearly every afternoon at the same time. Worried his wife was truly ill, Rowan confided in his mother. Lady Marsh smiled knowingly and sent Bella a box of cherry tarts.

  Bella assumed his mother was trying to poison her, suspicious of any overture Lady Marsh
would make. While the relationship between Bella and his mother had improved, it was still rather…contentious at times. Thankfully, Mother was too busy hovering over Petra, determined to marry her off, to pay much attention to Arabella. That would likely change though in light of recent developments.

  “I think I need to lie down.”

  Carefully, Rowan wiped her mouth with his handkerchief before picking her up and carrying her to the couch.

  “I am capable of making my way to the couch, Malden.”

  “Lay down.” He sat and placed her head in his lap, his fingers sliding through the mass of her hair to loosen the pins. “Better?”

  She nodded, purring like a kitten as he gently massaged her scalp while they waited on the tea tray.

  Rowan looked down at her with a smile. The woman in his arms meant everything to him and now Arabella would give him the most precious of gifts. Unlike many of his friends, Rowan did not view his marriage as a necessary evil. He and Arabella were partners in all things. She was fiercely loyal, brilliant in trade and a skilled negotiator. She terrified Hind as well as the manager he’d hired at the textile mills. But neither man could argue with her business acumen. Arabella was usually correct. Rowan adored her.

  “Stop smiling like an idiot. I’m quite afraid.” The dark eyes shone with a hint of tears. “What if I’m not any good at it? I did not have the best example, after all. What if I make a mess of things?”

  His finger slid down her jawline. “You won’t, my love.” She would be a wonderful mother although he expected her to be slightly overprotective.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He smoothed the worry line from her forehead. “I love you.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes. “I still think it might be the duck.”

  About the Author

  Kathleen Ayers has been a hopeful romantic since the tender age of fourteen when she first purchased a copy of Sweet Savage Love at a garage sale while her mother was looking at antique animal planters. Since then she’s read hundreds of historical romances and fallen in love dozens of times. Kathleen lives in Houston with her husband, a college-aged son who pops in to have his laundry done and two very spoiled dogs.