A Hint of Wicked

by Jennifer Haymore

  Mr. Fisk raised his brows, clearly impressed by her knowledge, but Becky didn’t notice, for she was staring in rapt attention as the action began on stage. They didn’t have the opportunity to watch the show for long, because five minutes after the spectacle began, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Mr. Fisk opened it to the Countess of Harpsford and her four daughters, who crowded into the box in a flurry of colorful silk and bows and lace. Sophie made the necessary introductions, and within moments, the girls were chatting like lifelong bosom friends to Becky, who kept glancing longingly at the stage as if she’d prefer to be watching. Mr. Fisk politely bowed and went to the corner of the box to peer down at the audience through tiny golden opera glasses. The countess, who wore a gown of midnight blue and a matching turban over her powdered russetcolored hair, drew Sophie toward the opposite corner.

  “My dear, Lady Trelawny is pining to see you, but her gout is troubling her so, she hardly could limp up to her box this evening. Would you mind popping in on her?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t,” Sophie said warmly. She liked both ladies and had seen neither since Garrett’s return. It troubled her to hear Lady Trelawny’s gout had flared again. She flicked a glance at Mr. Fisk, hesitating.

  “Oh, don’t worry yourself,” Lady Harpsford said in a low voice meant for Sophie’s ears alone. “We’ll stay till you return.”

  “Ooh!” squealed one of the girls, pointing at the stage. “Look! The water’s made of gold!”

  Sophie glanced down at the stage to see that, indeed, a golden lake rippled across the stage. An orange sun shone upon the lake, and a soft mist rose up from the surface. The effect was marvelous, and she chuckled as all five girls gathered at the rail to murmur their amazement.

  Sophie looked back at her friend. “They seem content. I’ll try to return quickly. Thank you, Sarah.”

  Lady Harpsford squeezed both her hands. “Lady Trelawny will be absolutely ecstatic to see you. We’ve all missed you, my dear.”

  She smiled at the other woman, realizing how much she’d missed her female friends in the last few weeks. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Lifting her skirts so they wouldn’t drag on the floor, she slipped through the door and turned down the carpeted corridor that led to the stairs. Lady Trelawny was in a lower box, so she’d have to descend to the lobby, then ascend the stairs on the other side. When she reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the lobby, someone grasped her arm, pulling her to a stop. She let out a small yelp before a hand closed over her mouth.

  “It’s me, love.”

  Sophie went from high alert to placid calm in an instant. Tristan’s low voice slid through her like the finest wine, sweet and familiar, and so very welcome. His fingers slipped down to her wrist. “Come with me.”

  She glanced back at him. Dressed in a dark, close-fitting double-breasted jacket that accented his broad shoulders and formal breeches that highlighted his narrow hips and long legs, he took her breath away. He took a step closer to her, close enough that his arm brushed against her side, sending tingles through her body. Sophie nodded mutely. He turned and set off in long strides to the end of a deserted passageway that curved around the outside of the orchestra seating, tugging her along behind him. He stopped at a tall, narrow doorway. Papered in the same red and gold wallpaper as the walls, the door was undetectable unless one was searching for it. He opened it and ushered her into a small, dark retiring chamber consisting of one flickering lamp and a low sofa upholstered in green to match the darker green flourishes on the wallpaper. As soon as he closed and locked the door behind them, he tossed his hat to the ground, jerked her to face toward him, wrapped his gloved fingers behind her neck, and slanted his lips over hers.

  Heat, desire, longing. They all swept through her, then spread through her limbs and straight into her blood. She needed him. She reached up and gripped his lapels to pull him closer.

  Tristan. Handsome, and commanding. Forbidden. She missed him. She needed him. She wanted him. It had been too long.

  She slipped her arms around him, her buttery soft kid gloves scraping over the wool of his coat.

  Their tongues tangled, hot and smooth. He smelled of spice. Her body had long since equated his essence to desire. Lust rode through her veins, rushing between her legs. She was hot, so hot and achy.

  His erection pressed hard against her belly, straining against his breeches. She rubbed wantonly against him, kissing his soft lips, nipping across the slant of his cheekbone, sucking the rough, masculine skin on his neck as the starchy linen of his neckcloth rubbed her jaw.

  He held her tightly, his arms strong, like steel bands encircling her. She never felt so safe, so open and free, as she did when locked in Tristan’s embrace. With her next gasping breath, reality slammed into her. Garrett… She yanked away from Tristan and stumbled backward.

  Her cheeks on fire, she glanced up at him. What she saw in his expression made her bury her face in her gloved hands. She couldn’t look at him, at any part of him, without wanting to fling herself at him. Or at least beg him to take her away so that they could be together again.

  But that wasn’t her. The steadfast, loyal Duchess of Calton. He stepped toward her, gripped her wrists, and pulled her hands away from her face. As much as she wanted Tristan, she couldn’t do this. Garrett was hurting, he was ill. He was the father of her daughter. He needed her.

  “You know we cannot,” she whispered. “We can’t touch each other. We shouldn’t even be seeing each other.”

  His eyes narrowed and he dropped her hands.

  Composing herself, she reached up to push a strand of hair off her forehead. “I cannot—I won’t—betray him.”

  Tristan lurched backward as if she’d dealt him a blow to the stomach. “You’ve slept with him.”

  “No.”

  “But you will.” His voice was low, but so cold it chilled her blood. She couldn’t lie to him. “I’m his wife.”

  There was a long silence. She stared at the tips of her yellow slippers peeking out from the darker yellow of the beribboned hem of her gown.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw him inch closer to her. “You will refuse my touch now? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No… yes. I don’t know.” Sophie wanted to pull out her hair by the roots in frustration. She looked helplessly up at him. “It’s not for lack of wanting you, Tristan. You know that.”

  “No, I don’t.” His lips tightened. “Do you approve of my appealing the court’s decision?”

  “I… yes. I approve. But…”

  His face looked ghostly with the pale light of the lantern shining behind him like a halo.

  “But what, Soph?”

  “I don’t… I can’t… hurt him.”

  His lips were so thin and tight, they had lost color, too.

  “I want you both,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.” She looked at her feet, the lamp, the sofa, the green walls. Anywhere but at him.

  He cupped her chin, tilting her head to force her to face him. She stared into his piercing dark gaze. “Do you see what you’re doing?”

  Miserable, she shook her head, looking at him with pleading eyes. Please, Tristan. Please understand why I can’t. Please…

  “You’ve chosen him over me.”

  “No—”

  “You’ve said you can’t choose, but you have.” He pushed his hand through his dark hair in frustration. “You accept your marriage to him.”

  She couldn’t say no to that. At the time of her marriage to Garrett, she’d never desired anything more in the world.

  He reached to the floor to retrieve his hat. Turning the brim in his hands, he gazed down for a long moment. When he looked up again, the anguish had left, leaving his expression flat except for the strain pulling at his eyes. “I apologize for my outburst, Soph. I didn’t come to throw accusations at you—I came to speak of other matters.”

  “I wish I could talk to you all night, Tristan, but Lady Trelawny is expectin
g me in her box and Lady Harpsford is chaperoning Becky in ours. I can’t be too long.”

  Tristan’s lips curled in the ghost of a smile. “I asked Lady Harpsford for her assistance tonight. Lady Trelawny isn’t here. And don’t worry—I chose her for a reason.”

  Relieved, Sophie nodded. Lady Harpsford was a gem, one of the few who didn’t thrive on gossip and scandal. She might ask Sophie for details later, but she’d never expose their secret to anyone.

  “Please sit down with me for a few moments.” Tristan gestured to the sofa.

  “All right.” She settled onto the soft cushions and he lowered himself beside her.

  “How are Becky and Aunt B? Does Garrett continue to improve? Miranda?”

  “Miranda is well, as always. She is a sweet therapy for Garrett, and they’ve grown quite attached, in their way.”

  Tristan’s gaze sharpened. “You say she is spending time with him?”

  “Every day.”

  “Interesting. I was told you keep them separated.”

  “Who would say such a thing?” she asked in surprise.

  “Fisk. He came to see me.”

  “Why? He’s Garrett’s friend, not yours.”

  “I don’t know, exactly,” Tristan mused. “But go on. How are Becky and Aunt B?”

  “Becky has finally made the transition into womanhood, I think. It seems when she left Yorkshire, she abandoned all vestige of the little girl we adored. And Aunt Bertrice—”

  Sophie released a small laugh. “—is the same as ever.”

  Tristan looked away, and after a long moment, his expression tightened. “And Garrett?”

  She clenched her hands in her lap and her teeth closed down over her lower lip before she answered. “I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but I worry about him, Tristan. He’s hired a quack of a doctor whose medicines seem to exacerbate his nightmares, and—”

  “He’s having nightmares?” Tristan cut in with a frown.

  “Yes.” She shuddered. “Awful nightmares. When I hear him, I come into his room to comfort him and help him back to sleep.”

  “Hm. Fisk said he ‘rages’ at night. Falls into ‘fits.’ ”

  She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t call them rages or fits. Just terrible dreams.”

  “And is he irrational? Violent?”

  “No, neither, but recently it’s become more difficult to rouse him.” She ground her teeth.

  “I’m sure it’s the dratted medicine from that awful doctor.”

  “Does Fisk ever go to him when he’s experiencing one of these episodes?”

  “They’re merely nightmares, not ‘episodes.’ And, no, I’ve never seen Mr. Fisk tending to him, though he might on the nights I’m not there.”

  “Sophie.” Tristan took her hand, his big palms engulfing hers. “Tell me true. Look at the situation not with your naturally optimistic eyes, but as a realist. Please—it’s important.”

  He took a deep breath, as if gathering his strength before voicing the question. “Do you believe he’s going mad?”

  “No, Tristan, I don’t.” She looked up at him. “He’s less confused, more settled in every day. This doctor has thrown him off balance, but before he came, I promise you, he was well on the road back to becoming the Garrett we both knew and loved. I swear to you I’m telling you the truth. I wouldn’t keep my child and Becky near him if I believed otherwise.”

  Tristan let out a sigh of relief and brought her hand up, pressing it to his lips. “I felt it was so, but I needed you to reassure me. The gossip has been brutal, and even Fisk seems to think Garrett is doomed.”

  Her lip curled “Ridiculous. He’s merely… well, he comes off as so rough and harsh, but he was always that way. Remember how people used to fear him, but it used to be our secret what a sensitive, vulnerable man he was? Almost naïve, really.”

  “Yes.” Tristan frowned. “And that’s what concerns me. People—like this doctor you mention—might see his extended illness as an opportunity to deceive him.”

  “I know. But he refuses to listen to reason.”

  “And what about Fisk?”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you feel he is trustworthy?”

  Staring down at her lap, she played with a bit of lace on her skirt, its rough texture scraping gently between the pads of her fingers as she considered his words. Then she raised her eyes, feeling almost guilty for what she was about to admit. “No,” she said softly. “I’ve tried to like him. I’ve tried to trust him, Tristan, because he’s been such a loyal friend to Garrett. Even Miranda adores him. But in truth I try to avoid him as much as I can. I’ve never liked him, not since that first night.”

  “I’ve attempted to learn more about him, but he’s not from London and no one I know has heard of him. I’m going to have to travel to Leeds if I want to discover anything more.”

  The thought of Tristan leaving London sent her heart fluttering. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  Tristan shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m torn between wanting to stay here—close to my family in the event you need me—and riding to Leeds. It doesn’t feel right to have someone we know so little about so intimately entwined with our family.”

  “Speaking of entwined…” She took a deep breath. “Even Becky seems to have developed an affection for him.”

  Tristan stiffened. “Damn it. Could that be what he’s after? Securing Garrett’s trust so he can steal his sister’s fortune by marrying her? Do you think he’s a fortune hunter?”

  Sophie shuddered. “I don’t know, but if it should come to that, I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to stop Garrett from allowing it. Aunt Bertrice will support me as well.”

  “All right, then. I’ll let you know if I leave London. If I do, rest assured it will only be a few days.”

  “Where will you leave Gary?”

  “With the servants. I’ve hired him a new governess and they’re getting along splendidly.”

  “Oh, no, Tristan. It is too soon for another change for him—he will be miserable without any of us. If you do go to Leeds, you must bring him home.”

  Tristan raised a brow. “Would Garrett approve?”

  “He wouldn’t turn away family.”

  “Right,” Tristan said wryly. “Unless it’s me.”

  “You’re a special case,” she responded in an equally wry tone. Then she covered his hand with her own and squeezed. “But Gary is not. He’s just a child, and we miss him.”

  “All right, but I must be certain Garrett approves first. And Sophie…”

  “Yes?”

  “Keep an eye on Fisk, and don’t let him near Becky. Promise me you’ll be careful, love.”

  She let her eyes drift shut at the endearment she so loved hearing from him. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. For a long moment, she just allowed his spicy essence to wash over her. “I miss you, Tristan,” she finally whispered. She wished she could convince him to return with them to Yorkshire when the Season was over. At Calton House, where they’d spent their childhood, she might find a way to bring her men together again. Placing her hands over Tristan’s, she sighed—even if Tristan agreed at this point, Garrett would never allow it.

  Releasing her, Tristan stood and reached down to help her up. They stepped out into the corridor to voices behind them, near the door that led backstage. Sophie glanced over her shoulder at the small gathering, and her heart nearly dropped to her toes. For there was a group of costumed actors, clearly actors in the play, but standing in their tight circle was a round little man—none other than the despicable Dr. MacAllister.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tristan glanced down at Sophie’s fingers curling like bird talons over his forearm. “It’s him,” she whispered.“Who?”

  “That blasted doctor,” she said with a scowl. The look of disgust on her face made it abundantly clear she despised the man.

  “Would you like
me to speak to him?”

  She nodded, tight-lipped. “You’ll recognize him right away. He’s wearing black pantaloons and a blue jacket. He’s the shortest of the group, smaller than any of the women. And Tristan—” Her fingers tightened around his arm. “—will you ask about his credentials?

  I’ve asked him several times, and he circumvents the question every time.”

  “Of course, Soph. Why don’t you go back to your box, and I’ll send a message to you through Lady Harpsford.”

  “Thank you.”

  He curved his hand over her fingers and gave them a soothing pat. “Of course. Now go on.”

  With a small smile at him, she inclined her head, then stood tall, took her skirt in hand, and began to ascend the stairs back to her box. Tristan smiled and bowed politely at two ladies lingering in the lobby before he slipped back down the curving corridor. The good doctor sensed his approach and glanced over his shoulder. Before Tristan’s eyes, the man blanched. He turned back to his group, murmured a few soft words, then hurried into the shadows and disappeared through the door that led backstage.

  “Good evening, sir,” said a flirtatious vixen as Tristan approached the group. She was dressed as a fairy, wearing a slip of lace and not much more, and she’d used far too much kohl to line her eyes.

  Tristan bowed. “Good evening to all of you. I just wished to say how greatly I’ve enjoyed the fine entertainments of this evening.”

  One of the actors thumped him on the back. The man’s cheeks were flushed scarlet—no doubt he’d been imbibing. All the better for Tristan. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much, indeed.”

  “I am curious—who was that man who scurried off just now?”

  “Oh well, that was Doctor MacAllister,” said the drunken actor. He glanced at the other actors. “That’s what he told us, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye, Ned. Dr. MacAllister,” confirmed a thin older woman with white hair and prominent collarbones. Beyond the wall, the audience gave a collective gasp. “Oh, my dears, the golden fruits are blooming in the forest. That’s my cue, loves. Goodnight!” Blowing kisses to her friends, the actress slipped through the black-painted backstage door. Tristan turned to the others. “I wished to ask the doctor for some medical advice. Do you think I might go after him?”