His Wicked Wish

by Olivia Drake

  Maddy took her time putting the fire iron back in its proper place. “Protecting?” She affected a laugh. “No. I only spoke to him in private because I was hoping to convince him to allow his brother to court Emily. How did you find us, anyway?”

  “The two of you walked past the card room. You looked quite cozy.”

  His fingers were still clenched into fists. His jaw was taut, his gaze hard and angry. Reaching up, she stroked his cheek to soothe him. “It was a misunderstanding, that’s all. He and I had a short conversation. A few minutes, nothing more.”

  He looked only slightly placated. “It was foolish of you to come in here with him. He’s a reprobate of the worst ilk. Even if you did only mean to talk, you could have been seen by one of the guests.”

  “Perhaps, but a bit of outrageous behavior will only be an embarrassment to your father. So why would you object?”

  “Because you’re my wife, that’s why. You’re to stay away from miscreants like him. Is that clear?”

  Maddy knew he was possessive of her, perhaps because of his mother’s affairs. Yet she couldn’t resist playing with fire. She stepped closer to him, gliding her fingertips over his lips. “Very clear. I’m sorry if I made you jealous.”

  He caught hold of her wrist and gripped it. His stony gaze lowered to her mouth. His chest heaved with barely restrained emotion, and her insides contracted with eager anticipation. He would kiss her. He would wrap his arms around her and subject her to his passion.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he released her arm, turned away, and stalked out of the room.

  Chapter 19

  Nate cupped the pair of dice in one palm and blew on them before flinging the ivory cubes onto the green baize cloth of the hazard table. He struggled to focus his bleary eyes. To his displeasure, the numbers came up a one and a two.

  Groans erupted from the other five gentlemen around the table. “Crabs!” one of them shouted. “You’ve lost, Rowley.”

  “That’s it, I’m out,” Nate muttered.

  Grabbing his glass, he stood up, swaying on his feet from far too much brandy. Aside from a few hoots, no one really objected to his departure. Another fellow immediately slid into his chair and scooped up the dice. Although he’d once been cronies with these men, they already had forgotten him in anticipation of the next roll.

  Nate ambled drunkenly away. He had lost nearly five hundred after several hours’ play. He could afford to lose more, but the notion sickened him. He had known men who had played through the night and lost a hundred thousand or more. Back in his youth, he had gone deeply into debt playing hazard. It hadn’t mattered to him because Gilmore had been forced to pay off those obligations.

  But now, the funds came out of his own pocket. And Nate worked too damned hard to squander his wealth on a roll of the dice.

  He set down his empty glass and took another from a passing waiter. Smoke from cigars formed a haze in the low-ceilinged chamber. The gaming club was located in the back room of a brothel. While a number of the patrons played dice or cards, women in scanty attire nuzzled with gentlemen in dark corners.

  This was his old hunting ground. The place where he had whiled away his dissipated youth. The hellhole where he’d drilled countless whores in the upstairs bedchambers and had mistakenly thought that made him a man.

  What a damned fool he had been. He didn’t belong here anymore. Especially when he was unsteady on his feet. He ought to be home in bed. With Madelyn.

  I’m sorry if I made you jealous.

  Her infuriating apology of the previous night still irked him. He tilted his glass and drained it, the brandy sliding down his throat. Like hell he was jealous. Jealousy implied devotion to his wife. It meant he adored her so much he couldn’t bear to see her with another man.

  Utter nonsense.

  Jealousy had nothing whatsoever to do with his violent reaction to finding her with Dunham. Rather, Nate had paid a steep price for her in the form of a generous stipend and the honor of his name. He expected Madelyn to please him, not engage in trysts with other men.

  Especially Dunham.

  Nate burned to know what was going on between those two. She claimed to have no interest in Houghton’s heir. Yet something there wasn’t right and Nate couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Especially not now when he was in his cups. He bitterly regretted not planting his fist in the man’s face while he’d had the chance.

  Nate felt a caressing touch on his arm. He turned to see a curvy brunette smiling at him. She had pretty features, a Cupid’s-bow mouth, and a large bosom that strained at the low-cut bodice of her green gown. Like a cat wanting to be petted, she rubbed herself against him, her flowery perfume like a cloud around her. “You appear in need of companionship, my lord. Perhaps you’ll join me upstairs.”

  Her invitation left him unmoved. At one time, he would have jumped at the chance to bed such a comely female. Now, however, he could only think she wasn’t Madelyn.

  I’m sorry if I made you jealous.

  The sly jab of his wife’s words continued to gnaw at him. It implied that Madelyn thought she had him on a short leash. That she could lead him wherever she pleased. Dammit, he owned her, not vice versa. He couldn’t allow her to rule him.

  He put down his glass and grabbed the woman’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  As they proceeded toward the door, he tried not to weave. He’d bed this doxy, by God, and prove that Madelyn had no control over him. One female was as good as any other in the dark.

  At that moment, they passed a twosome snuggled together on a chaise in a darkened corner. The fair-haired man looked familiar. With a nasty jolt, Nate recognized those sharp, narrow features.

  He stopped dead. He blinked, certain his muddled brain must be playing tricks. But no. It really was Dunham.

  The scoundrel had his hands beneath the skirts of a blond woman. She was sitting astride his lap, whispering and giggling as she undulated against him. She was slim and shapely and in that crimson gown with her back turned, she looked like …

  Madelyn.

  Nate didn’t stop to question the logic of his wife visiting a brothel. He didn’t stop to think at all. In a rage, he charged toward the pair. “Blast you, Dunham! Ge’ away from m’ wife!”

  He caught hold of the woman’s shoulders and yanked her away. She squealed in alarm. The face that looked up at him was sloe-eyed with a tiny doll nose and a rather vacant expression.

  She wasn’t Madelyn.

  Dunham scowled. “What the devil—Rowley?” Then he barked out a laugh. “You can’t truly have thought this whore was your wife.”

  Nate felt like a fool, and that fact only deepened his fury. “Filthy dog. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  Dunham curled his upper lip in a wily expression. “Well, I do prefer whorish blondes, after all. Especially when they kiss well.”

  He reached for the prostitute to settle her back onto his lap.

  Even in his befuddled state, Nate recognized the insult. Dunham was calling Madelyn a whore. He was implying he’d kissed her, too.

  Was that what had happened the other night, when Nate had caught them together? It had to be.

  In a red mist of fury, he seized hold of Dunham’s lapels and yanked him to his feet. He hauled back his arm and drove his fist at the man’s jaw. A solid crack resounded, the satisfying force of it traveling up his arm. Dunham staggered sideways into a small table and overturned it, glassware crashing to the floor.

  Men shouted, women shrieked.

  Nate paid no heed. He went after his nemesis, pummeling him with both fists. From out of nowhere, Dunham struck a glancing blow to Nate’s nose. Tasting blood, Nate shook his woozy head and tried to land a jab, but Dunham ducked and Nate’s fist swooshed through the air.

  The momentum of the missed strike sent him barreling into the wall. He banged his shoulder and the side of his face so hard that his teeth rattled. His head spun as he turned around. Even as he started to lunge again, several men rushed
forward to clamp onto his arms. Nate howled in rage and struggled to free himself.

  Especially when lily-livered Dunham escaped out the door.

  * * *

  Maddy had arrived home after midnight in the company of Nathan’s family. They had attended a musical evening featuring an opera singer and a harpist at a neighboring town house. She would have enjoyed the entertainment much more had she not been annoyed that Nathan had begged off at the last minute.

  Prior engagement, indeed, Maddy thought as she scanned the titles of the few books on a shelf in her bedchamber. He’d claimed to be joining some old friends, though he hadn’t specified who.

  Could he have gone on the prowl for another woman?

  The possibility disturbed her much more than she cared to admit. His behavior had been rather cool toward her since the previous evening at Emily’s debut ball when Maddy had implied he was jealous. Perhaps she oughtn’t have provoked him. But she had not been able to stop herself. The words had just come out.

  She had tried to atone for her blunder by being seductive in bed. Their lovemaking had been sensational last night—yet he’d departed directly afterward as he always did.

  Sexual pleasure was all he would ever give her of himself, Maddy reminded herself. Theirs was not a marriage based on love and affection. It was a business arrangement, and he would be departing from her life forever in a matter of weeks. The sooner she reconciled herself to that fact, the happier she would be.

  Too wide awake to sleep, she paced the room. None of the books on the shelf appealed to her. Especially since she had come to crave Nathan’s company in bed. But he likely would be out late tonight, and she needed a distraction to allay a sense of loneliness.

  Perhaps she would go down to the library and find a play to reread. She had always enjoyed Shakespeare in particular, and it would be pleasant to forget her troubles in one of the Bard’s lighter comedies. As she donned a wrap over her nightdress, nostalgia for the theater tugged at her. It was at times like this, when she was alone in her lavish bedchamber, that she missed the excitement of performing, the friendships with the other actors, the close confines of her untidy little dressing room. If only she could attend a play at the Neptune Theater.

  But perhaps it was best to make a clean break. That was her old life. And her stay here at Gilmore House soon would be over. Her real adventure would begin at the end of the season, when she opened her shop. Then she would be so busy and fulfilled that she need never dwell on the past—or pine for the companionship of her husband.

  Taking the candle lamp from her bedside table, she opened the door and went out into the corridor. An occasional flickering taper in a wall sconce lit the long passageway, leaving swaths of deep shadow here and there. The other bedroom doors were all closed. She wasn’t likely to run into anyone, for the family would be fast asleep by now.

  Yet upon walking toward the staircase, she was proven wrong. From somewhere ahead of her came a heavy thump. It was followed by a muffled, disembodied curse that echoed off the walls.

  She froze. It sounded as if something had fallen.

  No, not something. Someone.

  With visions of half-crippled Lady Gilmore lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, Maddy hastened forward with the candle. She couldn’t imagine why the dowager would be wandering the house at such an hour. Was she ill?

  Arriving at the stairs, she peered down into the gloom. Her eyes widened. A dark, monstrous shape crawled up the steps.

  Her heart raced. Her first impulse was to turn and flee. Worry kept her rooted in place. “Lady Gilmore?” she called. “Is that you? Are you hurt?”

  A growl issued from the monster. The creature lifted its shaggy head. The feeble light of the candle fell upon bloodied features. Familiar features with green eyes and a strong jaw.

  “Nathan!” She set down the candle lamp on a side table and hastened down the few steps to reach him. The smears of rusty red on his lower face alarmed her. So did the raw scrapes on his knuckles. “What happened? Did you fall?”

  He muttered something unintelligible.

  As she slid her arm around his back to help him to his feet, Maddy caught a strong whiff of spirits. “Oh, for pity’s sake! You’re drunk!”

  “So wha’ if I am?” he said loudly. “I won’ be your dog on a leash.”

  She struggled to assist him in mounting the stairs. He was swaying, a heavy weight that threatened to topple her. “Stop babbling,” she hissed. “You’ll wake everyone.”

  “Wake ’em, then.” He made no attempt to moderate his tone. “Tell ’em that you’re mine. All mine.”

  “You’re speaking nonsense,” she whispered. “Close your mouth and concentrate on walking.”

  They reached the top of the stairs. Somehow, she would have to guide him down the long corridor and get him into bed. Then he took a wrong step, stumbled, and crashed into the wall. As another curse echoed, she caught hold of his arm. It would be a miracle if no one heard him. “Quiet! Lean on me.”

  A nearby door swung open. So much for miracles.

  The Earl of Gilmore stepped out, clad in a blue silk dressing gown, a look of irritation on his stark, pitted features. “What is all this racket out here?” He held up the candlestick in his hand and let the light fall on Nathan. His expression hardened into a look of disgust.

  Maddy didn’t want him to realize how drunk Nathan was. He’d only despise his son all the more. “He fell on the stairs and hurt himself,” she said quickly. “I was taking him to my room.”

  “That isn’t why he’s injured. He’s been out brawling.”

  At that icy tone, she put it all together. The bloodied nose. The skinned knuckles on Nathan’s hands. The smell of drink.

  “Yes, well, I still need to see if a doctor should be summoned.”

  “No. I won’t have the entire household disrupted because of his folly.” Gilmore put down his candle and came forward. “I’ll help you get him into bed.”

  As he put his arm around his son, Nathan tried to shy away. “Don’ want yer help. Never did.”

  “Silence!” the earl snapped. “Lest I toss you out of this house at once.”

  Amazingly, Nathan clamped his mouth shut. He lowered his head and scowled like a sullen little boy.

  Maddy grabbed her own candle and followed them. Her husband was half a head taller than his father, though Gilmore was huskier and managed to keep Nathan upright and walking. As they neared her chamber, she ran ahead to open the door.

  A fire still burned on the hearth. She set down the candle lamp by the bedside and made haste to throw back the covers. Gilmore guided his son there and settled him onto the sheets, lying on his back.

  Nathan groaned. He threw his arm over his face as if the scanty light from the candle hurt his eyes. Maddy went to his side, her anxious gaze sweeping over him. But other than his bloodied nose and battered hands, he appeared to be hale enough.

  “I’ll ring for a servant to bring towels and hot water,” the earl said. “That and sleep should fix him.”

  “A pot of strong tea, too, if you don’t mind,” Maddy added. As he walked to the door, she scurried after him. His assistance had been kind, and she needed for him to know that. “Thank you, my lord. I’m truly sorry to have involved you.”

  Gilmore’s mouth twisted. His gaze flicked to the man lying on the bed. Then his dark brown eyes pierced Maddy, and he looked as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he merely nodded and went out the door, closing it behind him.

  What had he been about to say? That he was disappointed in his heir? That Nathan fell far short of his paragon of a brother, David? Oh, she hoped not. It broke her heart to see the strife between father and son. Neither of them seemed ready to budge an inch, and tonight certainly hadn’t helped matters.

  She couldn’t blame the earl for being disgusted. This had been a monumental folly. Where had Nathan been all evening? Who had he been with? Most of all, why had he been fighting?

  Tor
n between anger and concern, she padded to the bed. He lay unmoving, his arm still over his eyes, only the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest giving testament to life. He must have fallen into a drunken stupor. His clothes were untidy, his cravat bloodstained and crooked. Blood also smeared the lower half of his face. One cheekbone showed the darkness of a rising bruise.

  He looked like a ne’er-do-well after a long, hard night of debauchery. Was this the way he’d behaved as a young man? Was that why his father resented him? The dowager had said he’d been a difficult child, quick-tempered and rebellious.

  That was not who Nathan was anymore, Maddy thought in frustration. Now, he was a diligent, dedicated entrepreneur who had traveled to China and made his own fortune. Yet tonight he had shown his worst side to his father and had given Gilmore even more reason to dislike him.

  Perhaps this was all part of Nathan’s plan. Perhaps he’d wanted to irk his father. She still didn’t understand why he refused to make amends with the earl. Was his antagonism just an entrenched habit?

  She didn’t know and he wouldn’t tell her. She herself had loved her own father. She’d give anything now to have her dear papa back again, and it bothered her to see Nathan spurn his chance to have that close paternal love.

  Bending over him, she tugged off his shoes, one at a time, and dropped them onto the floor. He groaned, but didn’t move. She shifted her attention to his neck cloth. It took her a few minutes to untie the intricate folds, and as she leaned closer to him, Maddy caught a whiff of flowery perfume.

  The scent jabbed her like a red-hot wire. It proved that her earlier suspicion was correct. He had been with a woman tonight, damn him.

  In a fit of pique, she tugged hard on the untied strip of crumpled linen. It caught on something at the back of his neck, perhaps the leather thong that secured his long hair. He uttered a growl of protest.

  His arm lashed out and he caught her wrist in a punishing hold. “Stop,” he muttered. “I’ll kill you.”

  “Let me go, you rotten varlet.”