His Wicked Wish

by Olivia Drake

  Maddy projected her voice over the hubbub. “Never fear, milords, never fear! Miss Swann has instructed me to gather the offers from the lot of ye. Now, if ye’ll be so kind as to wait, I’ll make me way down there. Mind, the stairs ain’t easy fer an old biddy like meself.”

  With that, Maddy limped toward one side of the stage. She stooped over the cane and grimaced as the padding beneath her black gown pinched her ribs. Concentrating on her performance, she kept her back hunched and took a series of short, shuffling steps. Little did these aristocrats realize, the act was a test to see if any of them had the heart to lend assistance to an ancient servant.

  When the gentlemen began rising from their seats, she had high hopes of witnessing a skirmish over which one of them was to be her knight in shining armor. Then she realized they were merely jockeying for position in a queue to present their bids.

  Blast the lot of them. Were they so ignorant of common courtesy toward their elders? So blind to the humanity of servants?

  It would seem they all deserved a black mark by their names.

  To hide her displeasure, she glared down at the floorboards, pretending to watch for obstacles. Now and then, the garnet slippers kicked up the hem of her gown. So much for expecting the shoes might bring her good luck.

  Lady Milford’s bribe had gone to waste. Her much-vaunted godson had failed to make an appearance. Unless …

  Maddy slid a glance toward the rear of the fan-shaped theater. The mysterious figure was gone now from the shadows. If that had been Viscount Rowley, he’d scuttled out like a bashful coward without even delivering his bid.

  Charming, handsome gentleman with a quick mind and a noble heart—hah! It seemed far more likely that Lord Rowley was nothing at all as Lady Milford had described. Rather, he must be a drooling, cross-eyed, sniveling, chinless buffoon.

  Her cane tap-tapping, Maddy reached the short flight of stairs and pretended to teeter on her descent to the first step. She was half tempted to fake a tumble to see if any of the gentlemen would even notice her lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. While aiming a glower in their direction, she detected a faint sound from behind her.

  Half a second later, a hand gripped her elbow.

  Startled, she jerked up her head and found herself staring into the most arresting pair of male eyes she’d ever seen. They were forest green with flecks of gold beneath strong dark eyebrows, and set in boldly chiseled features. The stranger had shoulder-length black hair tied back neatly in a queue like the men in portraits of half a century ago. Although his garb was well tailored, it was plain and utilitarian: a charcoal-gray coat, black trousers, and white cravat.

  He must have come up the matching stairs on the other side of the stage, Maddy realized. How had she not heard his approach until the last instant? More to the point, who was he?

  Viscount Rowley.

  No, it couldn’t be him. Lady Milford’s godson was a half-witted dolt … wasn’t he?

  Wasn’t he?

  This man’s face looked attractively bronzed from the sun … as if he’d just undergone a long sea voyage from the Far East. He was the only participant whom she’d never met. That led her to one inescapable conclusion.

  Dear God. It was him.

  Viscount Rowley bent his head nearer. “Trust me, madam. I shan’t allow you to fall.”

  His deep charismatic voice sent a shiver over her skin. And those eyes … they were too keen, too intelligent, too observant. They caused a quivery twist in the pit of her stomach, a sensation Maddy attributed to the fear of discovery. She hadn’t intended for any of the gentlemen to have quite so close a look at her face. If he were to detect that her wrinkles were sculpted from putty …

  Quickly, she tucked her chin into her bosom and said in a rusty voice, “Thank ye, sir. ’Tis most kind of ye to aid a poor old soul.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  As he assisted her down the stairs, his closeness made her so skittish that she wanted to abandon the pretense and scramble nimbly to the bottom. The steps were narrow and their hips bumped at the slightest movement. Maddy was acutely aware of his superior height, the heat of his body, and the firmness of his fingers around her upper arm. To make matters worse, she caught a whiff of sandalwood along with something mysterious, something that could only be called the deep dark allure of masculinity.

  So intent was her focus on him that Maddy failed to notice they’d reached the base of the stairs. She took another step, expecting her foot to descend. Instead, her sole struck the floor hard and she stumbled in actuality this time, nearly dropping her cane.

  Lord Rowley grabbed her close to him. “Steady there,” he said. “It could be tragic for a woman of your advanced years to suffer a fall.”

  Was he teasing her? Had he guessed—

  She didn’t dare risk a peek up at his face to read his expression. And his arm! It lay firmly around her waist now. Heaven help her if he detected the padding of her disguise.

  Maddy contrived a cackle of laughter. “There be no need to fuss, milord. I ain’t in me grave yet.”

  Using the cane, she waddled away as swiftly as the masquerade would allow. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief. Handsome and charming … a good heart. Well, he had been the only one to help her. She would give him good marks for that. But the time had come to focus her attention on the other participants.

  They had formed a line down the center aisle of the theater. It was just as well, for she could take up a stance with her back to the stage lights so the men would be less likely to notice her heavy makeup. Had Lord Rowley seen through her masquerade?

  The question nagged at her like a sore tooth. But surely that fear was only a trick of her overactive imagination …

  Out of the corner of her eye, she observed his tall figure as he headed down the outer aisle toward the back of the theater. He must be taking the long way around in order to go to the end of the line.

  Or not.

  Gertie had seated herself in the shadows of the last row to observe the proceedings. Much to Maddy’s dismay, Lord Rowley sat down beside the maid and proceeded to engage her in conversation. What could he possibly have to say to her?

  Despite the fine acoustics, Maddy couldn’t detect a word of their discourse. But at least Gertie’s stiffly upright posture proved she wasn’t charmed in the least.

  “You there,” Mr. Gerald Jenkins snapped in an aggrieved tone. “Will you require us to stand here all night?”

  Maddy snapped to attention, realizing the loudmouth had pushed his way into the first position. “Beg pardon, milord. Have ye a bid, then? If ye’d be so kind as to put it on the bench o’er there.”

  With an arrogant flick of his wrist, the stout man tossed down a folded paper sealed with red wax. “You make certain Miss Swann gets mine first.”

  For that, she’d fling it into the rubbish bin and strike Mr. Jenkins off the list, Maddy decided. She’d never be able to tolerate the company of such an arrogant fool. “’Tain’t me place to give me mistress any such order,” she said. “Next, please!”

  The Marquess of Herrington stepped forward. Brown-haired with unremarkable features, he seemed a mild-mannered man and unlikely to cause any drama. Her research had revealed him to be a scholar on a wide range of topics, which boded well for stimulating conversations.

  He opened his book to show her the inscribed flyleaf. “I should like to present this treatise on astronomy to Miss Swann, for she shines brighter than any star in the heavens.”

  Maddy swallowed a bubble of mirth. She had only ever encountered such melodramatic nonsense in poorly written scripts. But she couldn’t laugh, not when he looked so serious.

  “I say!” chimed a fellow halfway down the line. “I was never told we were allowed to give trinkets. It isn’t very sporting to the rest of us.”

  Rumbles of agreement came from the others. A number of men began to crowd forward, their faces angry and aggressive.

  Faced with mutiny in the r
anks, Maddie acknowledged their point. “’Tis right kind of ye, milord,” she told Lord Herrington. “But Miss Swann said there’s to be only the written bids. No gifts allowed.”

  As Herrington sighed and stepped away to add his folded paper to the pile, Mr. Stanford stood next in line, his shoulders drooping in boyish dejection as he stared unhappily at his huge bouquet of flowers. “The devil you say! I tucked my proposal inside all these blasted ribbons. It was to be a game for Miss Swann to unravel them.”

  While he fussed with untying the pink streamers, Maddy felt sorry for the young man who had put such time and effort into pleasing her. That ought to elevate Mr. Stanford as a solid prospect—except for the fact that she couldn’t honestly say he awakened her lusts. Rather, she felt the urge to mother him, to give him a sympathetic pat on the head and send him back to the nursery.

  As the others came forward to tender their bids, a titter of laughter drifted from the rear of the theater. Maddy craned her neck to peer around the line of gentlemen. She blinked, unable to believe her eyes.

  Gertie was giggling. The maid had half turned in her seat to face Lord Rowley, and they appeared to be enjoying quite the lively chat.

  Maddy compressed her lips. Like a debutante at her first dance, the middle-aged woman was flirting with Lord Rowley. How on earth had the viscount managed to charm her in the space of a few minutes? And more curious, what could be the topic of their conversation? The two surely could have nothing in common …

  “When can we expect Miss Swann to announce her decision?”

  The snooty, aristocratic voice yanked Maddy’s attention back to the auction. Lord Dunham stood in front of her, one pale eyebrow arched in disdain as if he were annoyed by the need to address a servant.

  Maddy leaned heavily on the cane, playing the crone and peering up at him through slitted eyes. “Dunno, milord,” she rasped. “Could take a day or a week for her to weigh the offers. ’Twill be a lucky man, indeed, who wins her favor.”

  “Tell your mistress that Lord Dunham trusts that she will make a prudent decision.” He dropped a sealed paper onto the pile, then turned on his heel and strolled up the aisle.

  Maddy controlled a shiver. His tone had held an unmistakable threat. How angry her cousin would be if he knew he’d already been cut from her list of prospects. In truth, he’d never really been on it. She had only invited him to the auction so as not to stir his suspicions.

  Much to her surprise, he stopped at the last row of seats to address Lord Rowley. The viscount rose and the two men exchanged a few words while the last stragglers deposited their bids and filed out of the theater. Then Lord Dunham departed as well, with Gertie also heading into the lobby, presumably to see the men out.

  The only one left was Lord Rowley. He alone had not submitted his offer.

  Maddy found herself intensely curious. Were he and Lord Dunham cronies? That would be a black mark against Lord Rowley. Then again, the viscount had been halfway around the world for the past ten years, so they could hardly be very close.

  She tensed as Lord Rowley started toward her. He advanced down the center aisle with a self-assured stride, giving her a moment to assess him. Lady Milford certainly hadn’t overstated his attractiveness. He had strong masculine features, a firm jaw, and faint indentations on either side of his mouth that made her wonder if he had dimples when he smiled. The overlong black hair and green eyes were an unusual and alluring combination.

  Her knees softening to jelly, Maddy tightened her gloved fingers around the knob of the cane. She hunched her back and worked her heavily wrinkled face into a sour glare. It was a difficult pose to maintain once he stopped in front of her. His superior height forced her to twist her neck in order to peer up at him.

  “Laggard,” she croaked. “There always be one in every crowd.”

  “Pray forgive me.” He made a slight bow. “Nathan Atwood, at your service.”

  Maddy’s heart sank like a stone. So he wasn’t the viscount, after all? She felt unaccountably disappointed to realize her mistake. She would have liked to have reviewed this man’s offer and compared it to the others.

  After all, he possessed physical attributes in abundance. And he deserved a gold star for his courtesy toward servants, too.

  Who was he, then? Her vivid imagination leaped with possibilities. Could he be a journalist from one of the tittle-tattle news sheets writing an undercover story on the auction? Heavens, maybe that was why he’d been chatting with Gertie, to pump her for information.

  “Weren’t no Atwood on Miss Swann’s list,” Maddy said. “Ye best be gone, sir. Ye ain’t allowed here.”

  She shook her cane at him, then hobbled over to the bench and started to gather up the dozen or so bids.

  “I am indeed on the list. Miss Swann will know me as … Viscount Rowley.”

  Maddy fumbled the papers. Several dropped to the wood planks of the floor. He sprang to her side at once, collecting the folded sheets and handing them back to her. It was a good thing because she could scarcely bend over with the dense padding constricting her midsection.

  It was a bad thing, too, because Viscount Rowley was crouched right in front of her. Once again, he gazed into her face. He was close, so close she could see the golden flecks in his gorgeous green eyes.

  Clutching the papers to her severe bodice, Maddy backed away and assumed the humble pose of a servant. “Thank ye, milord. Ye be most kind. Have ye a bid, then?”

  “I do, indeed.” He paused, his eyes narrowed slightly. “However, I’ve a request to make. That’s why I waited to be the last one here.”

  Maddy found her curiosity piqued. “Aye, an’ what might that be?”

  “I’ve been abroad for the past ten years. The other gentlemen have all had the pleasure of making Miss Swann’s acquaintance—which puts me at a distinct disadvantage. It seems only fair that I should be allowed to meet her in person before tendering my offer.”

  “Nay!” she snapped. “I already said she’s indisposed—she’s ill.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear it.” His expression reflected sympathy, though his sincerity immediately became suspect as he continued, “I won’t keep her very long. It need be only a brief introduction. Enough for me to determine for myself if we are well suited.”

  “’Tis impossible! She ain’t here, anyhow, and that’s that.”

  “Then pray take me to her.” His mouth curved into a smile, proving that he did indeed have a matching set of attractive dimples. “Surely it can’t hurt for you to ask her on my behalf. Please, madam, I’d greatly appreciate your help in the matter.”

  The charm of that smile caused a quake inside of her. For one feverish moment, she was tempted to agree to his demand, to dash back to her dressing room and transform herself into a fashionable actress. But it would take far too long to untangle herself from this contraption around her waist and to scrub off her sticky makeup. She would need a bath to get the smell of the horsehair wig out of her tresses.

  Why should she humor Lord Rowley, anyway? She already had granted him a special favor by allowing him to participate. He had no right to wheedle her for another.

  He was probably hoping for a chance to use that dazzling smile on Madelyn Swann and gain an advantage over the other men. Well, she would call his bluff.

  Maddy shook her head. “Beg pardon, milord. But I have me orders. Ye’ll give me yer bid now or be cut out of the auction entirely.”

  Lord Rowley’s smile vanished. He studied her for a moment. Then, to her great satisfaction, he reached into an inner pocket of his coat and brought forth a folded paper. He tapped the edge against his open palm, his face serious as if he were deep in thought.

  Excitement tingled inside her. He had been bluffing. He would give it to her. She’d have the chance to see just how much he was willing to offer for her.

  He extended the bid to Maddy. She reached out to snatch it. Just as her fingers brushed the paper, however, he abruptly withdrew it, tucking the envelope b
ack inside his coat.

  “No,” he said decisively. “I’m afraid I must stand by my condition. No meeting, no offer.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll bid you adieu, madam. Pray convey my sincere regrets to Miss Swann.”

  With that, the viscount turned on his heel and strode away down the aisle. He didn’t look back, not even once. A moment later, his tall figure disappeared into the shadows of the lobby.

  Chapter 5

  Maddy straightened up, abandoning the stooped posture of her disguise. She frowned at the darkened doorway and willed the viscount to reappear. He couldn’t just walk away like that. He’d had the proposal right in his hand. Her fingers had touched it!

  She wanted to march after him, to tell him that he could have his audience with Madelyn Swann on the morrow. Yes. Why hadn’t she suggested that as an option? She need only hurry and catch him before he exited the theater …

  Maddy darted three steps, then stopped in the aisle. Blast it, she couldn’t go running after him as if she’d undergone a miraculous healing of her half-crippled state. She’d give away the masquerade. And why should she humiliate herself by chasing him down, anyway?

  She had plenty of offers from the finest gentlemen in society. One less wouldn’t matter.

  Her lips pursed, Maddy laid the cane on the nearest bench. She took a moment to straighten the mess of folded papers that she’d been clutching against her bosom. There were fourteen of them in all. Discounting her cousin’s and Lord Gerald’s, that left twelve choices.

  A full dozen who were every bit as eligible as Lord Rowley.

  She aimed another scowl at the doorway where he had vanished. It was just as well he’d gone. Giving up so easily on the auction proved him to be a fickle man. It didn’t speak well for his determination to acquire Madelyn Swann as his mistress.

  She listed his faults. He was far too good-looking, which meant he was likely vain. In addition, he was entirely too charming. He must be accustomed to getting his own way, using his spellbinding smile as a tactic to entice women, even ancient hunchback crones.