Wicked in His Arms

by Stacy Reid

  “It speaks,” he said dangerously soft, and all the contrition she had been feeling melted away.

  It?

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You are clothed in the drabbest God awful sack, your hair…your hair appears to be a bird’s nest— Can you not tame those maddening curls?”

  Before she could retort he continued, “With only one candle in the hallway, I thought you a frightful apparition until you opened your mouth. I must assume your presence here in my wing is the reason I have a dozen or so slugs in my bed? I swear I can still feel one in an area no unmarried young lady should know about.”

  His mien was so icily polite his indifference intimidated her, and she resented it most heartily. “You insulted me most grievously earlier and I have settled the account.”

  His dark eyes were intent on her. She could have imagined it, but she thought his lips twitched. “I see,” he murmured.

  “Yes, you were rude…and hurtful.”

  He was irritably silent and the tension made it hard for her to swallow. “Now if you will excuse me, my lord…I bid you good night,” she said in a voice of careful nonchalance.

  His gorgeous lips curled into a cruel smile and a warning danced down her spine. Then she glanced up. Oh dear. “It seems one of the slugs has a particular partiality to your hair.”

  “Hmm,” he said noncommittally, then his hands darted like a striking adder and grabbed her. Before she could protest, he dragged her into his chamber, lifted her into his arms, and dumped her onto the bed of slugs. Good heavens! A cold, wet sliminess slithered down her neck. She shrieked and scrambled from the bed, tumbling to her knees on the lush green Persian carpets.

  Livvie surged to her feet, gripped the slug attached to her cheek, and threw it at him.

  The dratted man chuckled, provoking amusement dancing in his eyes.

  He is the devil.

  Within two strides he was in front of her, pulling her to him so she was flush to his chest. “My lord!”

  Her heart clambered up to her throat, and she fought to gather her composure at their close proximity. She became very aware that she was alone in his chamber at such an indecent hour. Not that any time of the day would have rendered her visit respectable. But somehow, knowing it was dark outside, and the household slept, and that they were alone in an entire wing had nervous energy coursing through her veins.

  “Release me at once,” she said, and to her acute annoyance and embarrassment, she sounded breathless.

  Dark green eyes roamed over her face. “No.”

  She floundered. “No?”

  “You invited yourself to my chamber, and you chose to come when all servants are abed, now… Do you truly wish for me to release you, Lady Olivia?”

  She almost fainted. Was she imagining the menace in his tone? The earl was a tall man with very wide shoulders, so she had to tilt her head at an odd angle to meet his eyes. He was so still…and watchful.

  “I did not invite myself to your rooms! I was at a perfectly safe and respectable distance in the hallway.”

  Once again, he remained maddeningly silent.

  “I am sure you know the consequences of keeping me here.”

  The dratted man smiled. “If this is a ploy of yours to be caught with me, know that I will never marry you,” he said drily.

  She stared at him, dumfounded. “You are the one who pulled me into your chamber,” she whispered furiously. “And I assure you, my lord, there is nothing on this earth that could induce me to marry such an arrogant—”

  She spluttered as he plucked the slug that had finally slid from his hair to his forehead and held it close to her face. She prevented herself from twitching.

  “Are you ready to place them back in their home?”

  “Their home?”

  “I assume you went by the lake?”

  “Yes,” she admitted softly.

  He nodded and released her, suddenly looking brisk and business-like. “I have a long day ahead of me, Lady Olivia, I suggest you get to work.”

  “Me?”

  “This was your handiwork, was it not?”

  She drew a deep, steadying breath. “I’m deeply sorry,” she said abruptly.

  His eyebrow arched in evident surprise. “An apology?”

  She looked at him helplessly. “It was childish of me to place slugs in your bed. I felt no satisfaction from it.”

  “You had one or two snails in there as well.”

  Her gaze sought the massive bed in the center of the room and the gray mass situated comfortably in the middle between silken sheets. There were indeed a few snails. “Do you accept my apology?”

  His face shuttered. “If you would be gracious enough to accept mine.”

  “I…what?”

  “I insulted you. There was no cause for it, nor did I make amends when it was evident you were grievously injured,” he said gruffly. “Forgive me.”

  Her mouth opened, but no words came forth. He’d rendered her speechless. Never had she expected him to offer any apology.

  She smiled tentatively. “Thank you. So are we to be friends?”

  “Good God, no. I am sure we will be back to crossing swords tomorrow. The sooner the better.”

  A pang went through her heart. “I will fetch the pail.”

  He frowned, taking a few steps away from her. “It’s best you return to your chambers. The servants will sort it out in the morning.”

  “Are you certain, my lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “But where will you sleep?”

  “The bed is big enough for me and my slimy friends.”

  It certainly was. The large four-poster bed dominated the earl’s chamber. But what if they migrated onto him through the night? “My lord, I—”

  “Go! Before…” He lowered his lids and hissed between his teeth.

  Before what? “My lord, I—”

  “Go,” he snapped again, low and dangerous, and once more awareness of their seclusion slithered through her.

  “Of course,” she muttered hastily, and hurried from the room. Livvie all but ran down the hallway and the winding staircase, feeling her way in the dark, confident of her steps after memorizing all the fine details of the house before she painted its interiors.

  Her heart was a beating mess inside her chest. She had been childish enough to place slugs into the earl’s bed and he had apologized.

  For a few moments no animosity had existed…and…and…it had been wonderful.

  Chapter Five

  Tobias jogged toward the cliff’s edge abutting his estate, his three great boarhounds rollicking along at his side. They bounded up the hill, and he laughed, enjoying the invigorating run. They crested the peak, and he slowed to a walk, picking up a few twigs and sticks and throwing them. His dogs ignored his antics and instead bounced against his side, urging him to play. Sinking to his knees he tousled with the massive animals, laughing as they slobbered over his face, one even going as far as to nip him on the collarbone.

  “You were always the rebel weren’t you, Hera,” he murmured, gripping her by the scruff and rolling with her. He hated that he had to return to London soon. The peace and tranquility he felt at Grangeville Park, he’d never found elsewhere. But there were problems to solve, meetings to be had, influential lords to convince to his way of thinking, or to blackmail if his gentler methods of persuasion failed. There was so much to do to alleviate the poverty he found in the city.

  There was another reason he needed to depart for Town with haste.

  Lady Olivia Sherwood.

  Hot, urgent desire stirred inside at the mere thought of her and the realization touched a raw nerve. Surging to his feet, ignoring his dogs’ howls for him to continue playing with them, he walked to the edge of the incline overlooking the rolling hills and ravine of his lands. There he stood, the wind at his back, tugging at the simple white shirt he had donned with his breeches and top boots this morning.

  He tilted his head to
the heavens, breathing in the crisp fresh air, trying to clear the vexing woman from his thoughts. Then he felt it. Eyes were on him, piercing and intent. He held himself still, absorbing the sensation of being watched and instinctively knowing such a bold regard belonged to Lady Olivia. Without glancing about, Tobias could tell she was studying him…avidly. Her stare strolled and kissed over his skin like a silken caress. A grim smile curled Tobias’s lips. The knowledge that she was just as attracted to him was unaccountably appealing. Why?

  He turned his head left and spied her sitting under his favorite cypress tree, her light pink dress billowing across her ankles. She had a sketchpad gripped in her hands, her cheeks and chin were smudged with paint, and her glorious hair tumbled in loose waves around her shoulders. He suddenly wished his hands were buried in her tangled, silken mess. At that realization, he returned her regard, causing her eyes to widen and a flush to work its way up to her cheeks. There was something charming about her when she was flustered.

  Temptation tugged at him with relentless force. Clenching his teeth until they ached, he urged himself to look away without acknowledging her presence. He’d left their guests playing charades in the parlor; he should have known Lady Olivia would flee such merriment to bury herself deeper in the countryside. His mother complained incessantly that Lady Olivia was fast and scandalous, despite possessing a comely figure and keen intellect. It was a great pity, according to his mother, that she was not more docile. An assessment he had instinctively rejected. This morning, Lady Olivia had fenced and had soundly thrashed Lord Muir, who had not realized his opponent was a woman until she tugged off the mask. The gasps and outraged whispers were multiple—they had spread through the house at alarming speed. Yet instead of being annoyed…Tobias had been amused at her mettle and had admired her skill, perhaps he had even felt some admiration for the lady herself.

  Anger snapped though him at that very unwelcome thought. It was only last week that she had been outrageous enough to dare place slugs between his sheets. Since then, every damn night he had dreamed about drawing the minx underneath him, parting her legs and feasting on her wetness, then sinking his cock deep and thrusting into her repeatedly for hours on end.

  He needed to escape the estate and her tempting presence. God’s blood, he didn’t even like her. His desire for her had made him curt to the point of shocking churlishness. Olivia, instead of quivering like many who had experienced a whiff of his displeasure, had traded with him blow for blow. It was unusual for him to appreciate her fieriness. Though it could have been because Lady Willa was underfoot, since that young lady seemed to agree with everything he said. It was as if she had no original thoughts of her own, despite the keen, devious intelligence he could see in her gaze at times.

  He had to leave before he did something stupid like stroll over to Olivia now and sit beside her. Then take her lips between his teeth, letting his tongue tease her into opening her mouth. She had the most intriguing mouth he’d ever seen and never had he wanted to kiss a lady as much as he did Olivia. With a soft growl under his breath, and with a sharp command to his dogs, he spun and retreated in desperation back to the main house.

  He would leave tonight. There was not a moment to delay. He must go before he went insane.

  …

  Tobias recognized it was time to admit defeat. Lady Arabella’s inviting stares held no appeal. His thoughts were miles away. She had been trying to entice him upstairs to her bed for the past few hours to no avail. They had been lovers for almost two years, and his desire for her had been waning for some time now.

  No….it had been waning since I first met Lady Olivia.

  He had ridden from Grangeville Park and headed straight to Arabella…and even at such a distance, the infuriating female was preventing him from indulging in his pleasures. He’d truly believed a night with his mistress would cure him of this unrelenting ache he had for the hoyden. How woefully wrong he had been. He’d been unable to even kiss Arabella.

  He swallowed the last of his brandy and placed the glass on the center table in the parlor and stood. “I am leaving.”

  His lover pouted, her calculating eyes tracked his movements. “Have you found someone else?” she asked from her reclining position on the chaise lounge.

  “No.”

  “You seem a touch restless, Tobias.” Arabella shifted, and draped herself on the cushions so she was provocatively posed, the silk peignoir cut low where her breasts were displayed to their best advantage.

  She meant to beguile him, but he felt nothing. It was alarming the degree to which Lady Olivia entranced him, which had him so on edge. “I intend to return to Derbyshire.”

  Arabella stiffened. “So soon, darling? You’ve only just arrived in town.”

  “Duty calls,” he said, shrugging into his superfine coat without assistance.

  For a brief instance, anger flashed across her face, before she buried it underneath false charm. “I so miss you when you leave.” She cleared her throat delicately. “My good friend, Lady Bartley, received an invitation to your mother’s very exclusive and much sought after house party.”

  He glanced at her. “And?”

  A flush climbed her face. “I…I would like an invitation, if you would be so kind.”

  “No,” he said bluntly. His mother had already cornered him and asked if there was any truth to the rumor he and the widow of the late Viscount Trotman were lovers. Tobias had been disgusted with the ease at which the rumor mongrels thought to discuss his private life with his mother. She, of course, had been warning him to stay away from Arabella’s bed, for all of London knew she was seeking her third husband to support her own extravagant lifestyle. Tobias had shook his head and simply changed the topic, much to his mother’s frustration. She had then attempted to throw one of her fits, even crying a few tears, to which he had been coldly immune. Then she had taken to her rooms for the rest of the afternoon. Nothing unusual—he was familiar with such pathetic attempts at manipulation. Tobias acknowledged, however, how important society’s views and expectations were to her, so he would not invite his mistress to his estate while his mother, sister, and the scheming Lady Willa were in residence.

  “Why, my darling?” she asked, pouting.

  “I am quite certain we had this conversation last week, and we will not have it again,” Tobias said flatly. Arabella was a good sport, and he enjoyed their talks of politics as much as when he conversed with any man. She was learned, witty, and beautiful, but he would not allow her to manipulate him.

  “Why not?” Pique filled her tone. “I shall write to your mother and introduce myself as your dearest friend and—”

  Icy displeasure filled him, and he did nothing to suppress the emotions surging through his veins. He met her eyes and she faltered. Arabella suddenly found uncommon interest in the armrest of the chaise lounge, and Tobias sighed. He did not like the idea of any woman being wary of him. “There is no need to shy from me, Arabella.”

  She glanced up. “Your anger is…very alarming, Tobias.”

  “I am not angry.”

  Skepticism flashed across her features before a polite smile tipped her lips. Her reaction annoyed him. From the moment he’d inherited the earldom, every waking breath had been spent trying to restore the honor of the Blade name. Society had waited eagerly for him to follow in the step of his ancestors. They had wagered among themselves when he would soon start the whoring, gambling, and brawling with cuckolded husbands over their wives. They expected him to keep numerous mistresses and to indulge generally in wild debauchery. What young man of twenty would behave differently when they came into their inheritance at so young an age, and with his family’s reputation? Tobias had. He’d had a lifetime of such indignities and he had ruthlessly worked to achieve another reputation for his line, one his future sons and daughters would be proud to inherit and be a part of.

  He’d achieved it through a rigid adherence to his own strict rule of conduct, which he’d crafted as early as
his eighteenth year. He’d never been drunk and never would be, and he would not duel or fight with another man over a woman, nor would he ever allow his temper or passions to be compromised to recklessness. He had done nothing to warrant the unease Arabella showed. He strolled over to her and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “I shall see you when I am next in town.”

  “And when will that be, Tobias? I’ve hardly seen you since the opening of Parliament and you avoid the social whirl. I am sure I shan’t see you for the rest of the year.”

  “Perhaps,” he said noncommittally, retrieving his topcoat and cane, which housed a hidden foil. Whenever he visited his friend, the Marquess of Westfall, as Tobias planned to do this evening, he walked with a weapon. The marquess favored the seedier and more dangerous parts of the city and seemed to be more comfortable among the depraved and villainous.

  After spending a few more minutes reassuring Arabella that he would visit soon, Tobias departed the town house. He jumped into his waiting carriage and tapped the roof. His driver knew his next destination and they rumbled into swift motion. He had been funding several ventures with Westfall, all aimed at helping the poor and unfortunate who dwelled in the slums of London. They were building homes, a school, and even a hospital to ensure affordable care to those less fortunate. The land was on the edge of town, out toward the countryside where the air was fresher but where they could still reach their employment.

  The carriage slowed and then halted. Tobias stepped down into a dirty, narrow, and very smelly alley only a few minutes from Smithfield, where the meat market was. He glanced at his driver. “My company will see me home, you may go.” It made no sense to leave the man out for pickpockets and other nefarious elements to fall upon him.

  “Very well, my lord,” the driver said and tipped his hat.

  Tobias waited until he was gone before strolling inside the tavern. It was mostly empty, and at a glance, he saw Westfall in the far corner, nursing a mug. Westfall had made no concessions to his surroundings and had dressed as fashionably as ever. Tobias was flabbergasted that his fastidious friend would consume anything from this place. He made his way over and sank into the chair opposite the marquess. “You are aware we could have met at White’s or Brooks? Or better, in your town house?”