One Wicked Winter

by Emma V. Leech

  “I’ll be fine,” Crecy replied, her tone light, before leaning in to give Belle a kiss on the cheek. “Do stop worrying. I might not be back for lunch, so don’t fret over me.”

  Belle nodded, though in truth, for once in her life, she wasn’t the least bit worried about Crecy, but about herself.

  “Oh, I almost forgot, here are the scandal sheets for you; don’t worry, they’re last week’s, so we’re not in there yet,” she added, with what Belle thought was unnecessary good humour.

  “It’s only you that likes those dreadful things, as you well know,” Belle huffed, but her sister merely grinned at her.

  “And don’t worry, I’ll tell Aunt Grimble you’re sick as a cushion, or the dreadful creature will be in here fretting you to death and making plans for you.” Her sister clapped her hands together and squealed with delight. “Oh, just think, Belle! We can be rid of her once and for all.” Crecy beamed at her and Belle could not help but smile back. “Lord, you should have heard her crowing at breakfast. Honestly, you’d think the marquess had proposed to her, she’s so full of herself.”

  Finally, Crecy left in with a swirl of velvet skirts, and Belle was left alone. Of course, the moment she was, she wished Crecy would come back again. Because if left alone, she had no distraction from her thoughts and the inevitable turn they took. In a very short time indeed, she would be married to Lord Winterbourne, and she didn’t think her future husband was the slightest bit happy about it.

  ***

  “Jab, slip, hook, cross.”

  Edward tried to focus on the pads, in putting all of his frustration and anger and ... whatever it was he was experiencing that he could not name, behind each fist. Perhaps if he hit hard enough, for long enough, everything would become clear.

  Because right now, everything was very far from clear.

  “Jab, slip, jab, hook, cross.”

  Charlie’s voice penetrated the fog of his thoughts and he clung to the sound of them like a drowning man at a straw. If he kept hitting, kept on fighting ...

  “Jab, jab, hook, jab.”

  They had moved indoors to the ballroom, now that everyone had gone. That was one blessing, at least. He’d not have to contend with the curious stares and the whispers that would question why he should marry a penniless nobody. Not that he cared what they thought. It was no one’s affair but his own.

  “Jab, slip, hook.”

  Though why had he offered? Well, of course, honour demanded it, but ... he still couldn’t quite believe it. He was marrying Miss Holbrook. Of all the annoyances and irritations he’d known this bloody weekend was bound to be filled with, finding himself leg-shackled hadn’t even been on the list.

  How had it happened?

  “Hook, jab, cross, jab, slip.”

  He’d known it was a set-up. That’s what he couldn’t get over. He’d gone with the intention of saving Nibley and ended up trapped himself, and he’d bloody well known they were coming!

  Why, if he’d been so desperate for her - and that much he did remember – why hadn’t he just hauled her off somewhere more private and comfortable? She had been utterly in his power: he could have had her and gotten rid of this dreadful itch beneath his skin. If only he’d chosen any one of hundreds of bloody rooms in this vast castle where the entire guest list wouldn’t have stumbled upon them. But no ... he had to do it in full view of the cream of the ton and find himself honour-bound to marry the chit!

  “Jab, slip, hook, cross.”

  And his sister hadn’t helped, the wretch. Anyone would think she’d planned it to happen, she was so bloody thrilled at the outcome. Though, with hindsight, she’d at least saved them all from a terrible scandal with her quick thinking.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if a scandal might have been preferable, for him at least.

  “Jab, jab, jab, jab, Jesus, man, give me a break!”

  Edward dropped his fists as Charlie collapsed to the ground red faced and blowing, this thin chest heaving with effort.

  “You tryin’ to kill me, blast you?” his sweaty valet wheezed, clutching at his heart.

  Edward merely grunted and started to unbind his knuckles.

  The creeping sense of frustration still lingered under his skin, and he knew just who was to blame. He should at least find some satisfaction in the idea that the wretched creature would be his to bed as often as he desired in a few short days, but somehow it didn’t help.

  He was angry with himself, no, with her, for being trapped, and he didn’t want to see her at all, ever - and yet he didn’t know how he’d get through the next few days without crawling out his own skin if he couldn’t touch her.

  The only image behind his eyes was Miss Holbrook in the library, her eyes a far brighter blue than he’d previously realised, highlighted perhaps by that lovely blue gown. It had been the finest he’d seen her wear so far, clearly saved for the ball.

  Not that it had been in any way fancy, a simple cut and style and the bare minimum of frills. Miss Holbrook didn’t wear frills; he doubted she had time for them. He didn’t much care. All he’d wanted, all he wanted still, was to strip it from her soft curves with as much haste as was possible. And he’d been well on his way to doing just that, before the blasted guest list had filed in to watch.

  Edward walked over to where Charlie was still sprawled on the ground, and offered him a hand up. Charlie accepted and hauled himself upright with a groan.

  “P’raps once you’re married, you’ll find other ways to occupy yerself without killin’ me on a daily basis,” Charlie grumbled.

  Shooting his outspoken valet a warning look that suggested this was not a safe topic of conversation, Edward began to walk away. “Have a bath prepared for me, please,” he said, his tone curt, before pulling his shirt on and heading back to his room.

  ***

  Belle dithered behind the bedroom door and wondered if she could get away with having a tray sent to her room instead of going downstairs to eat. Surely that was cowardly? Well, yes, obviously it was, but it also seemed a lot more sensible than the possibility of facing the marquess over food. If she had to eat in front of him, she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite, and after missing breakfast, as she’d been too stressed to eat, she was now famished.

  Instead of opening the door she returned to the looking glass to check her reflection, again. Though why it mattered, she didn’t know. The marquess had made a bad bargain, and well he must know it. Though admittedly, he had seemed enthusiastic enough in the heat of their embrace last night.

  Belle watched two high spots of colour appear on her paler than usual complexion and sighed. Yes, well, best not think of that. She was old enough to have no romantic illusions. The kind of woman that a man would bed without a second thought was not usually the kind he would happily marry. The idea that she’d been consigned to the first category rankled more than Belle liked to admit.

  Belle stared at her reflection and decided that she had nothing to blush for – well, except for Aunt Grimble, and surely everyone had a relation like that somewhere? She would just have to prove to Winterbourne that he had made a far better choice than he realised. Longwold might be a vast and intimidating place - so vast and so terribly intimidating - and she may have little experience of running such a household - she had precisely no experience - but she was a quick a study and she would learn – oh, heaven help her!

  Belle reconsidered the idea of eating in her room before dismissing it again with regret. She was made of sterner stuff than that. With a deep breath, she replaced one errant curl, pasted an awkward smile on her face, and walked out of the door.

  Chapter 15

  “Wherein our hero gets angry, our heroine gets furious, the valet gets anxious, and Crecy gets lost.”

  Edward stalked the corridor, heading towards his bedroom, his mind overcrowded with a combination of dark thoughts and sexual frustration. The first part was fairly normal; his thoughts were comprised of a permanent snarl of anger and nightmarish memo
ries these days. The second part was new, unwelcome, and he knew just who was to blame, especially since now, not even his usual physical exertion had eased his temper. Usually a good session like that morning’s would at least take the edge off his simmering anger so that he didn’t feel the need to bite the head off anyone who dared to speak with him.

  Not so this morning.

  This morning, he would need to hide himself away in his study and make sure everyone knew to keep well clear. This morning, he was not fit for company, polite or otherwise. He considered the idea of changing into the clothes he’d kept from the Dials - much to Charlie’s disgust - and heading out to find a tavern, a cheap bottle of gut rot, and a fight. Maybe that would make him feel better? Then he thought of what his sister would say if he attended his own wedding hungover and looking like he’d been run over by the mail coach.

  Perhaps not.

  Muttering obscenities, and with his temper rising further still, things were not helped as the door he was passing swung open and Miss Holbrook stepped out. He wondered if she’d been lying in wait for him. To make matters worse, there was a slightly odd-looking smile on her face, which made her appear a little unhinged. Though why shouldn’t she be grinning from ear to ear, he thought sourly; she was about to go from a penniless nobody with a bleak future to the Marchioness of Winterbourne. She should be giddy with her triumph at having snared one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. Especially when all she’d had to do was trap him in a compromising position.

  Bravo, Miss Holbrook.

  Yet when she caught sight of him, the change in her expression was quite comical - that was, if someone who retained a sense of humour had been viewing it. The rigid smile tightened into a grimace, and then fell away with such speed that it was hard not to feel insulted. She looked positively horrified at seeing him.

  His temper climbed a notch higher.

  “M-my Lord W-Winterbourne,” she stammered, looking for all the world as though she’d been cornered by a rabid dog. “Y-you gave me a start.”

  “Evidently,” he growled, staring at her with growing satisfaction. She was quite obviously afraid of him, which was probably a good thing. Best she know now that her victory wasn’t quite as sweet as she might imagine.

  He realised that they had not actually seen each other since the grand unveiling of their passion in front of the assembled guests. The high spots of colour that were rising on her cheeks suggested that she was also well aware of that fact.

  She swallowed and stared at him, and he glowered right back. If the deceitful little wretch thought he would make this easy for her, she was very much mistaken.

  “You ... er ... you’ve been ... umm, hitting those pad things again?” she asked, waving a trembling hand at him as he realised that he was sweaty and unkempt and probably stank to high heaven.

  “Boxing, Miss Holbrook,” he growled, with mounting irritation. “I box.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said. Though she probably didn’t.

  “I ... May I watch you do that one day?” she asked.

  For a moment he stared at her, torn between outrage that his future wife should demand something so unladylike and uncouth, and pure masculine pride. He was well aware of why she wanted to watch, and the thought made his body tighten in a not altogether unpleasant fashion. The fact that she had the power to do that to him did not improve his temper one bit.

  “No.”

  She blinked, and then swallowed, and he glowered at her some more, wondering what it would take to make her run away in terror. But Miss Holbrook was clearly not done yet. He saw the moment she decided that she would not be frightened away as a mulish expression settled into place, and her blue eyes glinted with obstinacy. Great, just what he needed, a woman who didn’t have the sense to turn and run when she faced danger.

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  He gritted his teeth.

  “Because it is a totally unsuitable, not to say shocking thing, for a gently bred young woman to take an interest in. Only a hoyden with no care for propriety would even suggest such a shameless idea.”

  He watched with interest as the glint in her eyes grew brighter and sharper.

  “How dare you! When have I ever given you cause to doubt that I know how to conduct myself in polite circles?”

  Edward just raised one eyebrow. The flush that stained her cheeks was quite remarkable. He almost fancied he could feel the heat from her face from where he was standing.

  “T-that was your fault!” she flung back at him. “I have n-never ... would never normally act in such ... such ...”

  “A wanton manner?” he suggested, narrowing his eyes as he stepped closer. “Promiscuous?” He lowered his voice, advancing on her as he tore her character to shreds. “Abandoned?”

  He shouldn’t have been surprised by the stinging slap she dealt him, but somehow he was.

  “Why you ...”

  Snatching at her wrists he grabbed hold of her, holding her before him and glaring at her with fury. She gave a little shriek, and suddenly he realised her bravado had fallen away, and he could see real fear in her eyes. Somehow, he hadn’t expected that. The woman actually thought he might physically hurt her, and she was terrified.

  He dropped her hands like she’d burned him and stepped back, appalled at both his own behaviour and the belief in her eyes that he would do such a thing. But, then, he’d not exactly given her reason to think otherwise. She had no reason to know he would never ... never .... She knew nothing about him at all.

  “I suggest you don’t do that again,” he said, guilt and regret coiling with revulsion in his gut, his voice strained. “Ever.”

  She stared at him for a moment, the dawning horror that this monstrous creature was to be her ever wedded husband perfectly visible in her eyes. He almost laughed.

  Edward watched as she ran to her door and wrenched it open, slamming it shut behind her. The sound of the key turning in the lock was only too audible

  Well, then, it looked like their wedding day was going to be a barrel of laughs. Congratulations, Winterbourne. Well played.

  ***

  “You stayin’ in there all day, then?”

  Edward looked up at his valet and then down at the water, which was by now tepid at best. He glared back at Charlie.

  “Go and get me something to eat, will you?” he growled, because there was no way on God’s green earth that he was eating in company today. “I could eat a scabby horse.”

  Charlie rolled his eyes. “Right you are, my lord. Let no one say I don’t aim t’ please. One scabby ‘orse, comin’ up.”

  Edward grunted and waited until his valet had exited the room before getting up.

  With annoyance, he realised an ice bath might have been of more use. No matter how hard he tried to keep his brain occupied, his thoughts returned over and again to the same subject, namely Miss Holbrook.

  Miss Holbrook pliant in his arms, moaning with pleasure.

  Miss Holbrook with her skirts around her neck, pleading for more.

  Miss Holbrook naked and writhing beneath him.

  It was surprising just how many variations he could come up with on the general theme, but they all came to pretty much the same conclusion: Miss Holbrook clawing at his skin in ecstasy and screaming his name to the rafters.

  And Edward Greyston, Seventh Marquess of Winterbourne, was going to go out of his blasted mind if it didn’t happen soon.

  So naturally, he’d made everything so much easier by terrifying his betrothed out of her wits and calling her a hoyden. Oh, and just for good measure, he’d also added wanton, promiscuous, and, not forgetting, abandoned. Actions and accusations that might have been specifically designed to ensure that she that would never be any of those things for him again. Ever.

  He should be given a medal for idiocy. Truly.

  To his relief, Charlie came back, staggering under the weight of a tray that, on closer inspection, seemed to bear half a cow, a vast dish of Dauphinoi
se potatoes and various side dishes. Perhaps if he ate it all, he’d be too lethargic to spend any more time considering his infuriating bride-to-be and the ridiculous situation he’d managed to manoeuvre himself into? He doubted it, but it was worth a try.

  He watched Charlie move around the room, gathering dirty linen and laying out a fresh set of clothes for him. He placed a pristine white shirt upon the bed, smoothing out any wrinkles with care. The man had a familiar look on his face, his lips moving a little as he muttered under his breath. Charlie had something on his mind.

  “Spit it out,” Edward mumbled around a mouthful of cold roast beef.

  Charlie turned and pursed his lips before giving a heavy sigh. “What you gonna do about Demorte?” he demanded.

  Well, there was a subject that could kill any amorous thoughts. Well done, Charlie.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not sure what I can do?”

  Charlie shook his head and took a seat on the edge of Edward’s bed, a shiny pair of hessians still in his hands. “I reckon ‘e knows exactly what ‘e’s doin’ next,” he said, his tone dark.

  “Why thank you, Charlie,” Edward muttered. “You’re such a comfort.”

  There was a snort, and Charlie place the boots down, moving along the mattress a bit as he noticed he’d sat on the sleeve of Edward’s clean shirt. He smoothed it out again before looking back at him. “No laughin’ matter, I reckon. That fellow’s got it in fer ye. Won’t sit by and leave ye be. Know that as well as I do, don’tcha?”

  Edward sighed and reached to pour himself a glass of claret.

  “Of course I know that,” he replied with irritation. “And what, exactly, would you have me do about it? Assassination isn’t exactly my style; the fellow is a crack shot, so I’d rather not call him out, if it’s all the same to you; and I have no proof whatsoever that he was behind the attempt on my life. So, do please instruct me ...” Edward waved an impatient hand and Charlie glowered at him

  “I never said I ‘ad the answers, now did I?” he retorted with dignity. “But the thought of the wicked blighter out there, plottin’ somethin’ nefarious. Well, it’s enough to make ye blood run cold, it is.”