A Little Bit Wicked

by Victoria Alexander

  “There he is.” Aunt Louisa’s voice rang out across the room. The other men jumped to their feet out of respect or to get a better view, Gideon wasn’t sure which.

  “Good God.” Cavendish stared in disbelief.

  Sinclair choked back a laugh.

  Norcroft shot Gideon a quick look of support.

  Gideon knew he should do something, but shock and the most perverse sense of amusement rooted him to the spot. His aunt swept through the hallowed room toward him.

  “My lord.” Sheer horror sounded in the steward’s voice. “I must insist that you do something immediately. A lady has never set foot in this room before.”

  “I shall do what I can but I can make no guarantees,” Gideon said mildly, realizing in the back of his head his days at this particular club were probably numbered. “That lady is a force of nature unto herself and has, to my knowledge, rarely been deterred from her goal. Which, at the moment seems to be me.”

  Aunt Louisa made her way toward Gideon with a single-minded determination, scattering club members in her wake. “Gideon, I must speak with you at once.”

  “Apparently,” Cavendish muttered.

  Aunt Louisa cast him a quelling glance. Cavendish smiled weakly and stepped back.

  “You do understand, women are not allowed in this club,” Gideon said coolly.

  She waved off his comment. “Of course I do, although now that I am here I don’t see why.” She glanced around the room. “It’s not nearly as grand as I thought it would be.”

  The steward gasped. “Madame, I must insist—”

  Aunt Louisa ignored him. “Gideon, you must do something at once. It’s Lady Chester.”

  His breath caught. “What about Lady Chester?”

  “She’s leaving London,” Aunt Louisa said. “She’s going off to the jungle to look for orchids.”

  Gideon clenched his jaw. “With Lord Thornecroft no doubt?”

  Aunt Louisa’s eyes widened. “Is Frederick going as well?”

  “I don’t know.” Gideon glared. “You just told me.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t put it past the old goat but I have no idea if he’s part of this or not. And it scarcely matters.” Her gaze met her nephew’s. “Your Lady Chester is about to flee your life and if you don’t act immediately, you might well lose her forever.”

  Gideon studied his aunt. “You said she was wrong for me.”

  “She is.” Aunt Louisa heaved a resigned sigh. “But there are worse things in life than choosing the wrong woman if that particular wrong woman is the one who makes you happy.”

  Gideon raised a brow. “You wish me to be happy then?”

  Aunt Louisa huffed. “Apparently. Gideon.” She placed her hand on his arm. “If this woman is the one woman who will make you happy, then”—she squared her shoulders—“you would be a fool to let her go.”

  “You would hate to be a fool,” Norcroft murmured.

  “Indeed I would.” Gideon gazed down at his aunt. He should probably tell her he had already decided not to let Judith go but he was rather enjoying this change of heart on the part of his aunt. “What of my responsibilities? Continuation of the family name? Children and that sort of thing?”

  “You’re still a young man, Gideon, and please God, you have a long life ahead of you. As much as duty is important, I hate the idea of you being unhappy for the rest of your days. As for children”—she gestured dismissively—“they are not a complete impossibility. One never knows after all. Odder things have happened.” Aunt Louisa sighed. “And your cousins will be thrilled.”

  “Are you certain about this?”

  “I am always right.” Aunt Louisa drew a deep breath. “She’s only leaving because she thinks it’s what is best for you. She loves you, nephew. She as much as admitted to me.” She gazed into her nephew’s eyes. “Go to her, Gideon. Tell her how you feel. Stop her. Marry her.”

  “Very well then, you’ve convinced me.” Gideon bit back a grin. “When is she leaving?”

  “Today,” Aunt Louisa said without hesitation. “Any minute now.”

  “Then I should go.” He started toward the door. “I should hate to have to follow her all the way to South America.”

  “Paris,” Aunt Louisa called. “She’s going to Paris first.”

  “Very well. France it is, then.” He glanced back over his shoulder at his friends. “Would you be good enough to escort my aunt out of the premises before you are all asked to leave and not ever return?”

  “It would be an honor,” Norcroft said.

  “Although now that I am here,” Aunt Louisa’s voice trailed behind him, “I should think a small glass of whisky would not…”

  Gideon grinned to himself and ignored the indignant glares of club members as he made his way to the door. Bless his aunt’s interference. As much as he had already decided not to give up on Judith without a fight, now that he knew she loved him as he loved her, exhilaration had vanquished the vestiges of melancholy. Determination filled him. He would not let her go. Not now, not ever. He should have known he was right about her feelings. He’d never been the kind of man to allow doubt to color his thinking. It was obviously an underrated benefit of arrogance. She had done this to him, or rather love had done this to him.

  He exited the building and paused at the top of the steps leading to the front walk. If he missed her at her house he would go to the docks and then all the way to France if he had to. He was not about to let this woman out of his life. Not now. Not ever.

  Hours later, Gideon stalked through his front entry and continued without pause into his library.

  “My lord,” Wells called after him, “you have—”

  “Not now, Wells.” Gideon shut the library door behind him, strode across the room, and poured a glass of brandy. Damn the woman anyway. Where in the hell was she? An awful gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach had been growing ever since his first stop at Judith’s house. Her butler had sworn she had not yet left for Paris and claimed he had no idea where she was. But the servant was decidedly evasive and Gideon wasn’t at all sure if that was at Judith’s instruction or if the man was protecting his mistress or simply giving her time to put distance between them. Gideon had inquired at a shipping agent’s and determined there were no ships leaving for France today. He had then stopped at both Lady Dinsmore’s and Lord Thornecroft’s. Lady Dinsmore had had no idea of Judith’s plans nor did Lord Thornecroft, although he was annoyingly amused at Gideon’s obvious frustration.

  It scarcely mattered. Gideon tossed back the glass of brandy. If he didn’t find her today he would find her tomorrow or the day after. If he had to travel to the streets of Paris or the jungles of South America or hell itself—

  “Have I come at a bad time?” Judith’s voice sounded behind him.

  His heart caught and he turned and stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  She was here and that was all that mattered. Still…“Have you come to say goodbye?”

  She paused for a moment. “No.”

  He raised a brow. “You’re going off to hunt orchids without saying goodbye then?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Yes. That is, I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing or where I’m going.” She drew a deep breath. “I thought there were things you should know before I leave.”

  “Oh?” He propped his hip on the corner of his desk and studied her. “In the interest of honesty?”

  “If you wish.” Judith chose her words with care. “As you know, I have long felt that I was not destined for permanence…for marriage. My husband—”

  “He hurt you, I know that.” Gideon shook his head. “How can you think that I would ever hurt you?”

  Her eyes widened. “I don’t. Not for a moment.” She drew a deep breath. “My fear was that I would hurt you.”

  “Go on.”

  “My husband’s death was not an accident.” Her g
aze met his. “He took his own life.”

  “Judith.” This was not at all what he had expected. He straightened and stepped toward her.

  “No, please.” She held out her hand to stop him. “I need to say this. You need to understand.”

  “Very well.”

  “The night he died, he had been in a jealous rage for no reasons save those in his own head. He hit me. He forced me to my knees. He broke my finger. He…” Her voice caught. “I have never spoken of this to anyone. I never thought I would. But then I never thought…”

  He wanted to take her in his arms, comfort her, assure her that no one would ever hurt her again. Instead he couldn’t seem to move. “What?”

  “I never thought there would be anyone I could tell.” She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed into a past he could not see. “Afterward, I locked myself in my rooms. He pounded on the door. I was terrified and worse, I was angry. I told him I was leaving him and I meant it. He begged me to open the door and I wouldn’t. He pleaded for my forgiveness and I refused.”

  “Nor should you have forgiven him,” Gideon said under his breath. Anger surged through him at what this man she had loved had done to her.

  “A short time later, he…” She paused as if the words were too painful to say aloud. “He threw himself off the roof.”

  The horror of her words echoed in the room.

  “And I blamed myself.” Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact. She looked at him. “Until today.”

  His heart twisted for her. “Judith.”

  “Today, I learned that my husband took his own life because he thought he was becoming the type of cruel, brutal man his father was.” She blew a long breath. “I had no idea. I didn’t know anything about his father, nor did I know about the demons that haunted Lucian. And even if I had, his sister believes it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  His brows drew together. “She knew this? All these years and she didn’t tell you?”

  “Alexandra has her own demons and a great deal of bitterness.”

  “Even so—”

  “For ten years, I thought it was my fault.” Her voice trembled. “That I was a terrible wife, a vile person. That I was not somehow…enough, good enough, I suppose. That I drove him to his death.” She paused for a long moment. “And all these years, I have not allowed myself to care for anyone in anything other than a temporary, frivolous way.” Her chin lifted and her gaze met his. “Until now.”

  His heart sped up. “Oh?”

  “I have always thought that I would spend the rest of my days alone. Without family or affection. A penance of sorts. I was resigned to it. Now…”

  “Now?” He held his breath.

  “Now, I find I don’t wish to live another day, another hour”—her voice broke—“without you.”

  He stared at her in silence. A myriad of thoughts and emotions filled his head but the right words eluded him.

  “Well?” She gestured in a nervous manner. “Say something. Anything. Tell me that your aunt was right and you do love me or that she was right and I am wrong for you. Tell me that I’m a dreadful person and you could never possibly care for me, or tell me to go away, or…or something. Gideon, I am presenting you with my heart and if you don’t want it, I need to—”

  “Judith,” he said slowly. “Do you remember at Lady Dinsmore’s ball when you looked at her grandmother and said how wonderful it must be to reach advanced age”—without conscious thought he moved toward her—“and be surrounded by family and people who love you?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “People who will miss you when you’re gone?”

  She nodded.

  “At the end of your days, Judith…” He stared down at her, his gaze bored into hers. “You will be missed.”

  An odd sob broke from her and he took her in his arms.

  “You will be missed by the husband who will love you for the rest of his life. And if we are fortunate enough to have children, you will be missed by our children and our children’s children.”

  “Gideon.” She sobbed. “I do love you.”

  “And I love you. And if you want to hunt orchids in jungles or lounge under the sun in the south of Spain, you will not do it without me.” He gazed into the blue of her eyes and saw love and joy and everything he’d ever wanted and hadn’t known he’d wanted until her. “And I promise you every day will be an adventure.”

  His lips met hers, and for a long moment she clung to him and he held her and he knew, as he had never known anything before, that this, that she, was what he had waited his entire life for. She was the missing half of his soul. And whether he’d admit it or not, he’d known it from the moment her gaze had met his. The moment lightning had struck and fused the two of them together. Forever. Le coup de foudre.

  He raised his head and smiled down at her.

  “And sometimes, dear Judith, this time, the light lasts forever.”

  Epilogue

  “W here are they again?” Sinclair said idly, swirling the brandy in his glass.

  “South somewhere, I think,” Cavendish murmured. “South America?”

  “No, the south of Spain.” Oliver signaled to a passing waiter and was, as he had been for the past three weeks, grateful that he was still able to do so.

  There had been some discussion among the club hierarchy about whether Warton, as well as Oliver and Cavendish, guilty simply by association, would be allowed to maintain their membership. Sinclair, as an American, was not technically a member at all but had the privileges of membership thanks to the sponsorship of the other men. Warton had apologized profusely, sworn his aunt would never again step foot in the club, although privately all wondered how anyone could prevent that from happening should she take it in her head to do so, and had as well made a sizable contribution to the club’s refurbishment fund. And all now was as it had been.

  Except, of course, now there were only three.

  Sinclair frowned. “I thought they were going to South America?”

  “Lady Chester, or rather Lady Warton now, had apparently planned to go to Paris and then on to Colombia to hunt for orchids,” Oliver said. “Her new husband convinced her otherwise. For the moment at least.”

  “I would wager the man will be in the jungle before the year is out.” Sinclair grinned.

  “I never imagined Warton would be the first to fall.” Cavendish shook his head mournfully. “If it can happen to him, there’s scant hope for the rest of us.”

  “Who did you think would be first?” Sinclair asked.

  “Well.” Cavendish’s gaze slid from Sinclair to Oliver and back. “I would have put my money on you.”

  “Me?” Sinclair scoffed. “I am not the least bit inclined toward marriage.”

  “No, but your father has already attempted to arrange one match for you. A father determined to see his son well married is nearly as bad as a mother.” Cavendish grimaced. “I can attest to that personally.”

  Oliver grinned. “Then I would have thought you would have been next.”

  “Fortunately”—Cavendish grinned—“I am far more clever than anyone suspects.”

  “You do hide it well,” Sinclair murmured.

  “One never expects too much from a man who is interested in little more than a good time. Someday I shall emerge from my cocoon of frivolity fully mature and ready for the responsibility of title and family and wife. Until then”—Cavendish raised his glass pointedly—“I intend to enjoy myself.”

  “Personally, I would have wagered on you to be the first.” Sinclair’s gaze met Oliver’s. “You do seem the marriage sort.”

  “I might have wagered on myself as well. I have no particular aversion toward marriage.” Oliver shrugged.

  “And yet,” Cavendish said, “you are not actively seeking it.”

  “Absolutely not,” Oliver said staunchly. “There are, after all, four shillings and a fine bottle of Cognac at stake.”

  “Still, one does have to w
onder who the true winners are in this game of ours,” Sinclair said idly. “And the ultimate loser.”

  The men fell silent for a long moment. Oliver wondered if the other two weren’t the least bit envious of Warton. He hadn’t expected it, and might well only admit it to himself, but he was a touch jealous of their now-married friend. Not specifically because of Lady Chester, although she was indeed something special, but of what Warton had found that the others had not.

  “In the years we’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Warton quite so…” Cavendish looked at Oliver. “What is the word I’m thinking of?”

  Oliver raised a brow. “Happy?”

  “Yes, that’s it. The man is happy. Annoyingly happy.” Cavendish shuddered. “But at what price?”

  “Marriage to Lady Warton?” Oliver chuckled. “I daresay that is not as much a price as a prize.”

  “To the happy couple then.” Sinclair got to his feet and raised his glass. The other men followed suit. “To Lord and Lady Warton. Wherever they are.”

  “And to the next among us to fall.” Cavendish shook his head. “God help him.”

  “And as always, gentlemen.” Oliver raised his glass. “To the last man standing, whoever he may be.”

  In the following pages

  you are cordially invited to a tea party

  in which the author has invited six characters

  and discusses all sorts of things…

  “S o,” I said in as casual a manner as possible, given I had never before actually poured tea from the pot that matched my mother’s silver coffee ser vice. Frankly, my oversized cup from a family visit to the Baseball Hall of Fame zapped in the microwave with a tea bag—Lady Grey, if you please—tossed in, was about as far as I went when it came to tea.

  Not only was I using the aforementioned never-before-used teapot, but I was serving experts in the art of tea pouring. Women who could probably pour tea in their sleep while engaging in scintillating conversation, serious flirtation, even ruling their worlds. They could be charming, clever, amusing, and never spill so much as a drop. Talk about multitasking.