Too Wicked to Kiss: Gothic Love Stories #1

by Ridley, Erica

  “I did not spy on you.” Miss Pemberton crossed her arms and sent him a baleful stare. “I literally cannot. Besides, you have no call for indignation. Aren’t you asking me to do the same to others?”

  “I…I suppose I am.” Unease soured Gavin’s stomach briefly before his desire to escape the gallows returned to the forefront. “Then you agree? You’ll help me prove my innocence in exchange for temporary freedom?”

  “No.” Her arms tightened below her breasts. “If we’re negotiating terms of the arrangement, then I should like permanent freedom in exchange for my help.”

  “Mr. Pemberton is your legal guardian,” Gavin reminded her. “I cannot keep you here forever.”

  “I do not wish to be with a self-centered extortionist like you a moment longer than necessary,” she bit out. “Once I’ve done my part, I should like enough money to take the mail coach anywhere I choose.”

  Gavin stared at the angry young woman on the other side of his desk, surprised that she’d caught him off guard with her response. Of course, she had no wish to stay. She wanted to leave him. Forever. Just like everyone else. How could he have imagined otherwise? Guilty of murder or not, he did not deserve her—or, likely, anyone. After all, he was in fact the self-centered extortionist she proclaimed him to be. And worse.

  So, he nodded.

  “Fair enough,” he said softly. “But I am not so cruel as to send you off in a mail coach. I will provide a carriage, and if you will not accept that, then at the very least you will allow me to hire a hack for wherever you plan to go. And you must also take enough money to assure me you will have a roof and a bed until you get…on your feet.”

  His blood iced as he looked at her. The most common source of income for a young girl living alone in the streets required her to remain on her back, not her feet. What kind of a man was her stepfather that she would willfully choose such a life over returning home?

  Miss Pemberton slumped, defeated. “That is, if I live through the worsening aftereffects long enough to prove you innocent.”

  Her words instantly called to mind the image of her pale form lying unconscious after the terrifying experience in Heatherbrook’s chamber. Rose had reached out merely to offer support, and Miss Pemberton…Miss Pemberton had dropped to the ground as though struck by a bullet. Gavin swallowed. He had no idea how serious her condition might be. Could he be asking her to risk her life to save his? Did it even matter?

  “Yes,” he said aloud, unsure which question he was answering. Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.

  Miss Pemberton nodded, rose, and crossed the room.

  “Wait,” he called. She paused, her back to him. “You never said why you sought me out this morning.”

  When she glanced at him over her shoulder, her gaze was shadowed and unreadable. “Ironic as it now seems, I came to apologize.”

  He stood, began to go to her, stopped. “For what?”

  “For my role in Lady Stanton’s contrivances. I came to tell you I was against it from the beginning, and that I never intended to compromise you to Susan against your will—or hers. I came to tell you I’d paid lip-service out of desperation, and that I was delighted to find I couldn’t follow through even if I wanted to, because I think secretly using visions for the sole purpose of spying on or deceiving others is the worst kind of cowardice, and wholly reprehensible. I see now that such an apology would’ve been a wasted effort, as you are cut from precisely the same manipulative cloth as my stepfather and Lady Stanton. Although I do not get visions from your touch, my lord, I would prefer in the future for you to keep your hands to yourself. Good day.”

  This time when she turned to leave, Gavin made no move to stop her.

  Chapter 25

  Evangeline stormed back to the guest quarters in a high fury.

  What was it about her that attracted arrogant, violent, self-centered men? Did she have the appearance of someone easily cowed? Angels above, even her hair wasn’t easily cowed, so why would the rest of her be? Her stepfather had spent the past twenty years trying to beat her into a pathetic submissive state and failed every time. She might have followed his dictates more often if he’d commanded with words rather than with his fist.

  And Mr. Lioncroft! He was no better. He could’ve simply asked her to help him prove his innocence. She’d gone to his office to apologize, for heaven’s sake. She would’ve fallen all over herself in her eagerness to make amends. But, no. A man like that didn’t ask for what he wanted. He ordered. He demanded. He extorted. Much like Lady Stanton, a creature of worse evil than Evangeline had imagined. The harridan penned a note to her stepfather on the grounds of a single day’s ineffectiveness at getting Susan into a compromising position? Evangeline was clairvoyant, not a saint. Miracles were quite outside her ability.

  Solving the mystery of Lord Heatherbrook’s murder might likewise be outside her ability. But she had to try. And she had to be fast. Her home in the Chiltern Hills wasn’t more than a single day’s drive from Braintree and Bocking. If her stepfather received Mr. Lioncroft’s response today, he could arrive by tomorrow evening. Why hadn’t she thought to ask when Mr. Lioncroft had sent his reply? Or how he’d sent it? Ah, yes. Because the thought of Neal Pemberton coming to fetch her from Blackberry Manor had struck fear into her very bones. Perhaps she shouldn’t bother confronting Lady Stanton. Perhaps she should pack her things—what things? She had nothing!—and leave this very moment.

  But…on foot? With no food, no clothes, no money? As Mr. Lioncroft had pointed out, such an action would be borne as much of foolishness as desperation. And autumn was cruel. She had no wish to flee, only to die from the elements. Then again, she had no wish to live to be one hundred, trapped in some corner of a rural cottage.

  Nothing for it. She would have to solve the murder today, accept Mr. Lioncroft’s guilt money, and be gone at first light.

  Thus resolved, Evangeline found herself once again standing outside a closed door. This time, she had no gloves to remove. As far as she knew, those scraps of cloth still resided on Mr. Lioncroft’s desk. Nor did she make any attempt to tame her hair. The pins were lost forever, and besides, her looks had never been palatable in Lady Stanton’s eyes anyway. Why bother attempting to please the unpleasable?

  With a twist of the handle, Evangeline thrust open the door and charged inside.

  Lady Stanton shot up from a cushioned seat before a small vanity. Her lady’s maid started, hairbrush in hand, at Evangeline’s unexpected countenance in the mirror.

  “How dare you enter without permission!” Lady Stanton’s words cut across the room like glass.

  Evangeline strode forward. “How dare you pen a letter to my stepfather.”

  “I don’t have to respond to such peevishness, Miss Pemberton. Barging in here like you own the place.” Both Lady Stanton’s tone and expression turned glacial. “Such behavior is the height of rudeness.”

  “That’s why I did it,” Evangeline returned. “What excuse do you have for your actions?”

  “I need not excuse myself to a ragamuffin like you, in any case. Just look at you. Dolled up in Susan’s castoffs and you still manage to look like the grubbiest urchin alive. Be gone from my room. I’ll summon you if and when I feel we have matters to discuss.” Lady Stanton sat back down on the cushioned seat before her vanity. “As you can see, my maid is attending to my hair. I suggest you find a servant to attempt something with yours.”

  Evangeline’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care about my hair.”

  “Well, you should. It’s a right mess.” Lady Stanton swiveled back to face the glass and motioned for her lady’s maid to continue.

  “I want to know why you corresponded with my stepfather.”

  “You showed no interest in complying with my stratagem. What use had I of you?”

  “What use? I would have been happy to peel potatoes in the larder until you returned to Stanton House. I came to you for safety. For shelter. For—”

  “For a handout, you m
ean. No doubt you took one look at Lioncroft and decided his pockets were deeper than mine. And you’re right—they are. But you shan’t have him. Despite his many flaws, he was born a member of our class, not yours. You have no class at all, just like your mother. Blood will tell, I always say. She was a tatterdemalion like no other. Looked every inch the gypsy.”

  “Leave my mother out of this. She was a better woman than you’ll ever be.”

  “Is that right?” Lady Stanton’s brittle laugh was like shattered glass. “Then why, in the years I knew her, did she spend the majority of her evenings locked on the wrong side of the attic door? Because she was a witch like you, that’s why. Her husband would never have married so far beneath him had he not been convinced of her talents being an asset at the gaming table.”

  “What?” Evangeline stared at Lady Stanton’s reflection. “The Gift doesn’t even work like that.”

  “As he learned, Miss Pemberton. I advise you now to drop whatever designs you think you have on Lioncroft. He deserves better than the likes of you, just as your stepfather did. Mr. Pemberton deserved a woman, not a witch. Your mother was the worst wife he could’ve wed. He never did live down the humiliation of having to keep her locked up at home.” She turned to her lady’s maid. “I think the pearls should be threaded through today, not the strands of gold. You’ll have to start over.”

  Evangeline’s fists tightened until her nails drew blood from her palms. “What about my mother? Wouldn’t it be more truthful to say he was the worst possible husband for her?”

  “Piffle. She brought it on herself by overreaching her station. Just like you. Whether you realize it or not, Miss Pemberton, you bring about your own consequences with the actions you choose. I offered you an arrangement. You did not follow through. End of arrangement.”

  “You asked for the impossible.” Evangeline crossed her arms over her chest, clutching herself tightly so as to prevent her from launching into Lady Stanton and clawing out those cold, colorless eyes.

  “No, not those pearls. The others. Yes, those.” Lady Stanton’s gaze met Evangeline’s through the glass. “I asked you for a simple compromise.”

  “Even Susan said she isn’t ready.”

  “That’s irrelevant. You’ll recall I also asked you whether Lioncroft would hang for his crimes.”

  Evangeline took a breath. “He didn’t kill Lord Heatherbrook.” Probably.

  Lady Stanton arched a thin brow. “Did you see that in a vision?”

  “No.”

  “Then you don’t know that, do you? That was another agreement unfulfilled. We are running short on time, but Susan will wed Lioncroft with or without your help.”

  “You don’t even know if he’s a coldhearted killer,” Evangeline pointed out.

  Lady Stanton lifted a dainty shoulder. “You just said he wasn’t.”

  “You don’t believe me!”

  “Miss Pemberton, do try to view the world as an adult. Susan has ruined her chances with respectable gentlemen, and I refuse to allow her to grow into an old maid, like you’ll undoubtedly become. Lioncroft is the rich, attractive, intelligent son of a respected viscount. He’ll have to do. Another strand of pearls, girl. I’m to be the mother of a bride.”

  “You are not,” Evangeline snapped. “He doesn’t want her.”

  Lady Stanton’s smile could freeze lava. “That hardly matters.”

  Evangeline threw out her hands. “Of course it matters. He’s in charge of himself, and he’s quite determined to remain a bachelor.”

  “I’m even more determined that he shall wed my daughter.” Lady Stanton frowned. “Look, you’ve dirt on Susan’s gown. I have never seen such a ragamuffin—”

  “You don’t understand.” Evangeline resisted the urge to peer at her reflection. “He knows about your stratagem and is unimpressed. Mr. Lioncroft refuses to marry Susan, with or without a compromise.”

  “And how would you know this if you weren’t sneaking around with him unattended, you little strumpet? If you had a reputation to ruin, you would’ve done so long ago. Don’t look at me like that—it’s true. You are a nobody, and shall remain so until you die. I know it; you know it; Lioncroft knows it. Why else would he be sniffing around you, but to rut without fear of the parson’s trap? I’m sure he entertains himself with the maids whenever he pleases, so why should you be any different? You are nothing.”

  “I am nothing?” Evangeline advanced forward until she loomed behind Lady Stanton and the perimeter of the vanity’s looking glass was filled with her dirtstained gown. “I am Evangeline. I am a woman. I am a daughter. I am a person. I’ve spent my entire life helping other nothings like me improve their lives. You’ve never helped anyone but yourself.”

  “And my daughter. She and I are my primary concerns, and we should be yours as well. Those of your class should seek to enhance the lives of their betters, not selfishly dwell on your own lot. If you had a thoughtful bone in your body, you would cease being so impertinent and start helping me match Lioncroft with Susan. I command you to do so.”

  A choking laugh escaped Evangeline’s throat. “You command me? In penning a letter to my stepfather, you’ve long since compromised whatever leverage you might’ve once had. I owe you nothing.”

  “Except the clothes on your back. You ought to be kissing my toes.”

  “Kissing your—”

  A knock interrupted a bout of spluttering Evangeline had meant as an outraged tirade. She stalked across the room and flung open the door without asking Lady Stanton’s permission.

  Carefully avoiding casting his gaze about the frozen countenances of the persons within, the footman handed Evangeline two squares of paper and quickly took his leave.

  “Well, you meddlesome creature, what is it?”

  Evangeline tossed the missive marked “Lady Stanton” to the floor and unfolded the one bearing her own name.

  * * *

  DEAR MISS PEMBERTON,

  JANE HEATHERBROOK CORDIALLY INVITES YOU TO JOIN IN THE CELEBRATION OF HER THIRTEENTH BIRTHDAY. WE SHALL MEET OUTSIDE THE FRONT GARDEN FOR A PICNIC AT ONE O’CLOCK, FOLLOWED BY KITE-FLYING AND PALL-MALL.

  YOURS SINCERELY,

  JANE

  * * *

  “Maid,” Lady Stanton ordered. “Fetch me that paper.”

  The lady’s maid flashed Evangeline an inscrutable look before placing pearls and hairbrush atop the vanity in order to retrieve the fallen paper. Evangeline imagined she’d strangle her mistress with those pearls if she could.

  “One o’clock,” Lady Stanton exclaimed. “But that’s barely an hour from now. I must finish my toilette. Make yourself useful for once, Miss Pemberton. Go see that Susan is looking her best. She has a husband to catch.”

  Evangeline shook her head. “I won’t help you.”

  “Fine.” Lady Stanton sniffed. “I’m sure we don’t need you. Susan can ensnare him entirely on her own.”

  Probably so. And for some reason, that made Evangeline feel…ill.

  Chapter 26

  At first, Evangeline had no intention of visiting Susan. But as her fury was at the mother and not the daughter, her desire to speak to a friend outweighed her desire to spite Lady Stanton.

  First and foremost, she needed to change into fresh garments. She selected the most flattering gown in the dressing room. Not because Lady Stanton had called her a ragamuffin incapable of catching Mr. Lioncroft’s eye. Because she wished for a fresh gown, that’s all.

  As to Evangeline’s hair, well…as usual, there wasn’t much that could be done with it, but she spent the better part of an hour sitting stock still so Molly could give the tangled mass her best effort. Not because Lady Stanton had called Evangeline an urchin useful only as a receptacle for Mr. Lioncroft’s excess virility. Because her chignon had disintegrated earlier in the day and she happened to have time to fix it before the picnic, that’s all. Well, somewhat fix it. Her hair managed to look…chignon-esque. Most of the pins were even staying put.

 
; After thanking Molly for repairing her unruly locks twice in the same morning, Evangeline squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hall.

  Susan glided directly toward her, looking every inch the well-put-together figure of Quality her mother had proclaimed her to be.

  “There you are!” She fell into step alongside Evangeline. “Did you see Jane’s invitation? I looked for you after breakfast and couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “I was…chatting with your mother,” Evangeline hedged. “I did receive the invitation. It was darling. Are you on your way to the picnic now?”

  “I was hoping we would both be.” Susan linked arms with her. “You know how I am with directions.”

  “The front gardens mean the front lawn,” Evangeline explained, careful not to smile. “It’s the first thing we’ll see when we exit the house.”

  “Yes, well, easy for you to say. And what were you discussing with Mother? Please don’t say I’m to be compromised during the picnic. She already informed me today was The Day, come hell or high water, but honestly…I should like to eat a sandwich or two before linking my name with Lionkiller’s forevermore.”

  So today really was The Day. Evangeline forced her teeth to unclench. “Please stop calling him Lionkiller. I doubt he’s the murderer.”

  “Truly?” Susan gaped at her. “Did you have a vision? Or are you just saying that because you’ve made friends?”

  Friends? Evangeline bit back a humorless laugh. Did friends plaster each other against the nearest wall and melt into each other’s kisses? Did friends demand services from each other in exchange for boons; visions for freedom, vindication for coach fare? She shook her head. Her relationship with Mr. Lioncroft might be indefinable, but whatever they were—they weren’t friends.

  Susan’s spectacles bumped Evangeline’s ear as she leaned over to whisper, “Do you think he’ll be a gentle lover?”