Wicked

by Shannon Drake

  “But how did he die?”

  “I think we’ll find out that it was a massive dose of arsenic poisoning, and that Alex managed to administer it to Lord Wimbly when they were together here. I suspect Alex was afraid that Lord Wimbly might crack under pressure, and he’d also decided that his noble friend was faring far better than he from an illegal enterprise in which he was the one taking the risks.”

  Camille turned to Sir John. “And you! How could you let us believe that you were dead!”

  Sir John cleared his throat. “Lord Stirling’s idea, my dear. You’ll have to take it up with him. I would have been dead, however, had he not arrived at my house, ready to question and accuse me!”

  Brian’s deep blue eyes settled on Sir John. “I was never more delighted, sir, to find myself able to believe in the innocence of anyone.”

  “You might have told me!” Camille said to Brian with a flash of anger.

  He shrugged. “I’m sorry. Truly. But I wasn’t taking any chances. If people believed that Sir John was dead, there would be no more attempts on his life.”

  “I imagine we’ll be talking about this forever and ever,” Hunter murmured. “Still, with Lord Wimbly, Alex, and even that man, Green, dead, we’ll never know the complete story.”

  Evelyn stood angrily. “Perhaps this is very wrong of me, but I’m only sorry that Alex didn’t suffer as Lord and Lady Stirling did. He died in the same manner, but far more quickly, I’m certain. He was saved a date with the hangman, and true contemplation for his heinous greed and cruelty.”

  Tristan stood and walked over to her. “But it’s over, my good Mrs. Prior. It’s over now. That will have to be enough.”

  “It’s not just enough. It’s everything,” Brian said quietly. He turned to Detective Clancy. “I’ll ride into the city with you now. I believe we’ve explained everything the best we can. The body has been removed?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Clancy said. “Don’t blame my poor fellows—they were afraid of coming upon more asps any second! They were like a group of women, afraid of mice!”

  “All women are not afraid of mice!” Camille said, and she was startled when her exact words were spoken nearly in unison by Evelyn Prior.

  They laughed together nervously. There was relief among them all, yet a touch of sadness remained that so much truly precious life had been lost to greed.

  “I’ll go in with you,” Camille told Brian.

  He absently fingered the scar on his cheek, and she knew that, though he wasn’t a beast, it might take a bit of time to accustom himself to a life without pretense.

  “Camille, it’s not necessary,” he told her.

  “I choose to come in with you,” she said firmly. Then she added, “Please. I’d really like to be with you.”

  She thought that he would protest again. After all, this had been his passion, his quest, for a very long time. The pain, sorrow and loss had been his. Finally it was over. Now he could allow himself to be the Earl of Carlyle in all ways, taking his place in society. And she would go back to her life as she knew it. But right now, she merely wanted to be with him.

  “Brian,” she murmured.

  “As you wish, my love,” he said.

  IT WAS LATE when they left the police station, having told the story over and over again. And Brian and Clancy had prepared a release for the press together, one that would expel all rumors of curses, put blame where it belonged—and extol Queen, country and learning.

  As they rode back to Carlyle Castle, they were finally alone in the back of the carriage.

  “So, what will you do now?” Camille asked him.

  He turned to her and grinned. “Hire a gardener? Open the grounds to the public on certain days? Bring in dozens of little orphans for picnics and games?”

  She smiled. “Well, as for me, I believe I’ll still have a job. Sir John will certainly remain working head of the department. I wonder who the board of trustees will find to take Lord Wimbly’s place.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “Me.”

  She was startled. “And you…you will want the position?”

  “Indeed. Men killed my parents, not learning or the wonders of history and the ancient world.”

  “Well, at least I should have work, then,” she murmured.

  “No.”

  “You would fire me?”

  “Well, I don’t see how you’ll be able to keep your old position.”

  “Oh?” She was dismayed to feel bizarrely breathless, as if her heart had leaped to her throat and lodged there.

  “An expedition down the Nile can take many months.”

  “Are you offering to hire me on for an expedition?”

  “Hire you? Good God, no!”

  Even in the dim light, she could see the cobalt-blue glitter in his eyes. “Well, then, Lord Stirling, just what are you suggesting?”

  “As an Egyptian scholar, my love, you show me up a million times over. But as to hiring you, I don’t think that one actually hires his wife for a honeymoon!”

  Her heart leaped. Honeymoon! And the Nile, an expedition, something she had only ever dared dream before.

  She looked away from him, tears stinging her eyes suddenly. “You needn’t jest, you know. You stated quite clearly that you’d never marry a commoner, and solved though your riddles may be, I remain a commoner. And when the rest of the flurry dies down, some intrepid newsman will discover that my mother was an East End doxy and…”

  “Camille?”

  “What? I am merely speaking—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what? You’re the one—”

  “Oh, my God you are argumentative! I shall just have to learn to live with it, or else find a way to keep you quiet. Ah! I may know one!” he said, and before she could draw away or protest, his mouth was on hers. When he finished with the tenderness and passion of the kiss, she couldn’t remember a word she had intended to say.

  “Good, you’re quiet!” he teased. “I never meant a word of what I said. I’m truly sorry that you never met my parents, for they were blessed, yet the least class-conscious people I ever knew. My mother would have adored you. She would have had the greatest admiration in the world for you and your mother because you had nothing and made everything of yourself from it. Abigail, my dear, was first and foremost a mother, a fabulous parent. She would have admired and had great sympathy for all that your mother did for you and your future.”

  “But you don’t have to marry me just because—”

  His finger fell on her lips. “Good God, let me finish!” His smile eased the firm force of his words. “I am not marrying you ‘just because’ of anything. Ah, Camille! You’re so brilliant, so fierce and yet so blind in some ways! I adore you. I am madly in love with you, with your determination, your stubborn streak, your intelligence—as well as your recklessness in following your heart. But you will have to quit putting your life at risk—that is something I will insist on in my wife! Camille, don’t you see? It wasn’t just a mask I wore. Everything about me was ugly, bitter and cursed. Then you stumbled into my life and stripped away the mask and the curse. Without you I fear I may find myself stumbling again, cursed for all time. You’d not allow that, would you?”

  She was unable to speak.

  “Now I’m asking you to talk,” he said.

  She smiled. And in the small confines of the carriage, she threw herself atop his lap, kissing him with the wildest abandon.

  “You mean it…to marry me?” she asked incredulously.

  “Well, only if you love me.”

  “Oh, dear God!”

  “It is asking a lot, for a woman to love a wretched beast.”

  “I do love you!” she whispered fervently. She locked her arms around his neck. “Absolutely. And we will open the grounds to orphaned children, and we’ll do what we can to help those who are born into poverty and squalor. And the Nile! Oh, Lord, we’ll go down the Nile!” She grew serious suddenly. “But Brian, we must bring
the child to the castle to raise!”

  “What child?”

  “Ally! The sisters are wonderful, but you must take responsibility.”

  To her amazement, he burst into laughter.

  “This is not a joking matter!” she told him fiercely.

  “I dare say the sisters will break both your arms, my dear, if you try to take Ally from them.”

  “But—”

  “I’m sorry, Camille. I should have corrected you before, but I’m not sure you would have believed me. Ally is not my child.”

  “But—”

  “I have no children, my love, though I am quite willing to make all manner of attempts to achieve the state of fatherhood. I would love a little girl like Ally.”

  “But then who…?”

  “The sisters were great friends of my parents. My father granted them several annuities, and thus, they are like aunts to me. I know Ally’s suspected parentage, but it is suspected only, and a confidence. I have to ask you to believe in me, and love us both, if you will. She isn’t my child, but she does refer to me as Uncle Brian.” He hesitated. “She’s not my father’s child, either. There is a possible royal connection, but this is something you must never repeat. Many are afraid it could cost the child her life.”

  “Good Lord!” Camille exclaimed.

  He brought a finger now to his lips. “It must be kept forever secret,” he said very seriously.

  “Of course!”

  He smiled. “She is a lovely child and ever dear to me. She was never frightened by the mask.”

  “Well, neither was I!” Camille told him.

  “Never?”

  “Well, only a little!”

  He laughed and kissed her.

  When they reached the castle, they entered hand in hand. Evelyn came anxiously from the ballroom.

  “Well, the others are back to their lives or picking up the pieces thereof!” she said. “And now, finally, here you two are! Ralph has gone off to some pub with Corwin. Tristan and I waited dinner for the two of you but you didn’t come. Still, we’ve really just begun.”

  “Forgive me, Evelyn. Please go ahead,” Brian said. He cleared his throat and looked at Camille, unable to keep the spark of sheer vitality from his eyes. “I’m afraid I feel the need to retire immediately.”

  “Well,” Evelyn murmured, frowning. “Camille…”

  “Exhausted! Absolutely exhausted!” Camille said, and she flew for the stairs.

  Seconds later, he was behind her. And she was in his arms. Clothing was strewn…and she enjoyed every single, wonderful inch of her naked beast.

  IN THE GREAT BALLROOM BELOW, Evelyn sighed, taking her seat, watching Ajax nap happily before the fire. She looked at Tristan.

  “Well, Sir Tristan, I do believe we’d best plan this wedding quickly!”

  “Ours?” he teased.

  “I never!” she protested.

  “But you will,” he promised.

  Evelyn was shocked to silence.

  “Oh, come, come, Evelyn!” Tristan said. He rose. “Good heavens, woman! You may use that superior little tilt of the nose and perhaps confuse others, but never me.”

  “I never!” she said again, her voice sounding a little strangled.

  He walked around the table, coming up behind her. His hands landed gently upon her shoulders and he lowered his lips to whisper against her ear.

  “But don’t you want to?” he asked with quite an insinuating grin.

  “Their wedding!” she said firmly.

  “Of course. And then ours,” Tristan said.

  “We shall talk!” she said primly.

  “Ah, we shall do much, much more!” he assured her.

  She turned, ready to protest once again, but he kissed her. An excellent kiss, he thought. Not pushing his luck too far, but…

  And at last, when he drew away, she was silent for several moments.

  “We will talk,” he assured her.

  At last, she cast propriety to the wind.

  “And much, much more!” she whispered, whereby he determined he absolutely must kiss her once again.

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-6435-2

  WICKED

  Copyright © 2005 by Heather Graham Pozzessere.

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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