Not Wicked Enough

by Carolyn Jewel

  He plucked the other coat off the top of the chair. His most comfortable coat, his favorite coat. An old friend. He threw it on the seat of the chair where one sleeve drooped to the floor, looking to him like a fair match to the olive green of his waistcoat. He was stubborn. He knew that. He’d kept to his old habits of dress out of sheer muleheadedness. Daring people to think the Duke of Mountjoy mattered less because of his clothes and not more because he’d saved the title from extinction and then done his bloody duty every day of his life since.

  Mountjoy sighed. “Bring me a coat that goes with this waistcoat, then.”

  His valet broke into a smile. “Yes, your grace.”

  While Elliot brought out the better coat, Mountjoy returned to the cheval glass. He looked like himself. More to the point, he looked much the same as he’d looked when he was not in possession of a title, an estate, or the income that went with it. But he wasn’t that boy. God knows he’d changed in just about every way since then. In truth, he was a bigger man, two inches taller and still as broad through the shoulders as the farmer he’d once been. Older by a dozen years. A man, now, not a boy. Not a farmer, whether by his choice or not, but a duke.

  As far as he was concerned, the new coat looked very much like the old one. Except not as comfortable. His valet went at him with the lint brush, and he gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to snatch the brush away and throw the damned thing out the window. “Thank you, Elliot.”

  “Your grace.”

  He headed for the door but halted halfway there. He turned. “I will be ordering a new wardrobe presently. If there are London tailors you think are suitable, please write me a list of names.”

  His valet smiled. “Your grace.”

  “In future, Elliot, I will endeavor to listen to your advice.”

  The servant beamed at him as if he’d handed over the damned Crown Jewels and told him they were a gift from the Prince Regent himself. “Sir.”

  He headed downstairs. Eugenia had made a particular point of asking him to attend her tea this afternoon, and he had agreed. Duty and all that. Nigel wasn’t due home from London for another two or three days at least, leaving him the only Hampton male to attend. Besides, Lily would be there.

  The function Eugenia had begged him to attend, since Nigel’s business in London kept him away, was in the Oldenburg salon, and he arrived to find at least twenty people crowding the room. There seemed to be a great deal of food either on trays or being carried about the room by footmen in livery. Everywhere he looked were dainty sandwiches, petit fours, cheese, bread, biscuits. Jellies, and cold ham and pastries he did not recognize. Three other footmen strolled through the room, one collecting abandoned or unneeded dishes, another with a tray of meringues, and the last with a salver of assorted sweetmeats. This was the sort of gathering a duke ought to have, he thought.

  He recognized the vicar, holding a plate of half-eaten cake, deep in conversation with Dr. Longfield. He saw several of his neighbors. Fine men, all of them, some of whom would have traveled upwards of two hours to reach Bitterward. At least half of the people in his house were young ladies of the sort mothers and fathers liked to have introduced to men like his brother Nigel. And him. He stayed in the doorway and scanned the room for Lily without admitting that he was.

  He’d been living at Bitterward for more than ten years, but he had not had a formal gathering since Eugenia was married. No dinners or fetes. He didn’t hunt much, and he had never attended any of the dances in town. Other than irregular appearances at church and somewhat more regular evenings at the homes of neighbors he liked, he’d kept to himself. He knew the gentlemen but not their wives and children.

  Lily stood by the window, fingering her medallion, counting up and down the gold beads worked into the ribbon. Several men were gathered around her, some more boy than man, but they all had the same besotted expression. Eugenia stood next to Lily, wearing a lavender gown. She was laughing at something, and, Lord, his sister was still young and pretty.

  Good God.

  Jane Kirk was here, too, sitting for now with her mother and sisters. The woman everyone thought was his future wife. He was aware he was an object of her interest and even trepidation. He stayed where he was and watched Lily while she was unaware of his presence. She’d been naked in his arms, and he’d looked into her face while he thrust into her. She’d had her mouth around his cock, and he’d had his hands on her, everywhere he could reach, and she was smiling as if none of that had happened. Lovers for a few days and nothing more? Would she return to Syton House and her dratted father and never think of him again?

  “Your grace.” The vicar walked across the room to him, sketching out a bow while holding his plate of cake. Dr. Longfield had joined the crowd around Eugenia and Lily. “Delighted to see you, sir.”

  “Vicar.”

  “You really must try this cake.” He picked up his fork and pointed at the remains of a slice of yellow cake on his plate. “I had no idea your cook was capable of such transporting delights.”

  “You ought to come to tea more often,” he said.

  “I shall, oh, I shall. Now that you ask. And you, your grace, I hope will one day accept my invitation to tea at the vicarage.”

  “I will, sir.” He imagined sitting there with Lily beside him.

  “Lovely tea,” the vicar said.

  “Thank you.” Mountjoy, with the vicar in tow, joined his sister.

  “Mountjoy,” Eugenia said. Her smile transformed her into the sister he remembered from years ago. She went to him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  Lily was right. His public support of his sister mattered a great deal, but he’d rather be tromping through the fields than standing here in a room full of people he barely knew.

  He glanced at Lily. Nothing could be more natural. A gentleman ought to greet his houseguest. Their eyes met, all innocence between them. Mountjoy acknowledged her with a nod.

  “Your grace,” she said. She was regally calm.

  By God, there would be another time for them.

  Lily said, “Shall I fetch you a plate of food, your grace? There is the most astounding Edam, and some delightful strawberry preserves. Cakes, too, if you’d like some.”

  The vicar lifted his plate. “His grace must have a slice of cake.”

  At Lily’s confirming look, Mountjoy said, “Yes, thank you.” Anyone who looked at him must surely know he’d had carnal knowledge of her. “Miss Wellstone.”

  Lily went to the sideboard. He contented himself with counting the number of men who stared at her. Damn near every man in the room. Including him.

  “Tea, Mountjoy,” Eugenia said.

  He waved her off. “Not hungry. ”

  “Dear brother. You drink tea, not eat it.” Eugenia’s eyes sparkled, and he tore his gaze from Lily. “I made some for you with Lily’s Lapsang, but if you’d rather have the gunpowder, I’d be happy to make that for you instead.”

  “The Lapsang is perfect. Thank you.” With a smile, he took the cup and saucer from his sister. They were using the best china today. The Mountjoy crest was painted on every piece. He took a sip of his tea. Someone had taken the vicar aside and left him standing more or less alone with his sister.

  “Mountjoy?” Eugenia said.

  “Yes?”

  “May I ask a favor of you?”

  He sipped his tea and liked the flavor even better than before. “You may.”

  “I’d like you to speak to Lord Fenris.”

  He set his cup on its saucer too hard. What he remembered was the way Fenris had asked after his sister, how quickly the man had gone to Eugenia’s assistance. If he’d made himself unpleasant to her, he’d see that Fenris was sorry he’d ever stepped foot near Bitterward. “Why?”

  “He’s not to be trusted. I know from personal experience that’s true. He means Lily no good.” She put a hand on his arm. “Protect her, Mountjoy. She deserves better than whatever Fenris has in store for her. Wi
ll you promise me?”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  MOUNTJOY WATCHED LILY CHARM EVERYONE. SHE wore a frock with a pink bodice and a white skirt with narrow pink stripes. Her slippers were pink.

  He was aware that he might be ignoring her too assiduously. He’d left the knot of men he’d been speaking with and had made a point of moving from one group to another, the epitome of a good host. One of the young ladies from High Tearing was sitting at the piano in the corner of the salon playing Bach and doing a creditable job, too. He spoke with his neighbors, made the acquaintance of wives, sons, and daughters, and observed that his clothes were, in the main, flavorless compared to anyone else’s.

  At one point, he found himself in a crowd that included Jane Kirk. He should get his proposal done with. Invite her to stroll with him, and tell her he hoped she would consent to be his duchess. “Miss Kirk.” He bent over Jane’s hand. She smiled coolly. There was just nothing between him and Jane. No spark. He could not deny she was a pretty woman. He liked her. She was pleasant and intelligent and there was simply nothing between them. Had there been, he might have done something about the two of them when the sly innuendos about a match first began.

  “Delightful to see you at Bitterward,” he said to her. “My brother will be devastated to know he missed you today.”

  “Your grace.” She flushed and didn’t meet his gaze.

  They stood there with nothing more to say to each other. He opened his mouth to ask her if she would like to see the roses and what came out was, “I beg your pardon, Miss Kirk. There’s someone I must speak to.”

  He escaped the room and, taking in great breaths of air, leaned against the wall just beside the door. The sounds of the gathering carried on the air. Laughter. The clinking of cups. Mountjoy rested his head against the wall. He was no good at parties. No good at all. He would speak to Jane another time, when his house was not full of people he barely knew. He would get to know her.

  “Your grace?”

  He opened his eyes and saw Lily standing before him. “Lily.”

  She curtseyed. “Are you well?”

  “I am now.”

  “Mr. Kirk was asking after you.”

  “I will find him presently.”

  She put her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels in that way she had. “Is aught well?”

  “When do you intend to take command of my wardrobe?” he asked in a low voice. The question reminded him of the luscious curves of her body, and the sound she made when he entered her. He did not want to think of the inevitable time when she would be gone, but it killed him to know she would be. At his side, he clenched his fists then released them.

  “Your tailor will need additional measurements. I trust you will oblige him.” She leaned back and swept her eyes over him. “I’ll be sending fabric samples and strict instructions for how the cloth is to be cut.”

  The electricity between them made him feel alive. He pulled at his cravat.

  “Stop,” she said. “You’re making things worse.”

  “The bloody thing is strangling me. Come with me, Lily, and fix it.”

  She glanced at the door and then at him. “Is that all?”

  “No.” He took a step toward her. “You know that’s not all.”

  “Your sister has guests, Mountjoy. I can’t abandon her. Or them.” She put a hand on his sleeve. “Come back inside.”

  “I’ve had enough, Wellstone.” A servant came out of the salon with a tray.

  “Poor man.”

  “You like all that. The people. The talk and noise.”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t.” He speared her with a look. “All I want is to be alone with you.”

  She smiled, and he thought his heart would break at the sight. “Later, Mountjoy. I promise you.”

  “Now,” he said.

  “You know I can’t.”

  “I won’t go back in there.”

  She shrugged. “Then go, your grace. You’re no good to anyone scowling like that anyway.”

  “I’ve done my duty to Eugenia.”

  “You have.”

  He checked the hall again and, seeing no one, risked a touch to her cheek. “Do what you must, then. Enjoy yourself.” They were so different, the two of them. “So long as you know I want you with me.”

  She didn’t return his smile. “Your grace.”

  He walked away, thinking he ought to have gone back inside, but equally aware that the crowd would have quickly worn away his civility. Some minutes later he ended up in his office, which, it happened, overlooked the same back lawns as the Oldenburg salon. The guests had moved outside, Lily among them. He gazed out the window, unable to work, though there was a mountain of correspondence and ledgers awaiting his attention. He ignored it all.

  She would leave him. Every minute that passed brought them closer to that moment. That had been the understanding from the beginning. If he were honest, that impermanence had, at the start, been a relief. It would eventually happen that they would go their separate ways. But not yet. Not just yet. Even from a distance one could tell Lily was the leader, the others followers, she the sun, everyone else planets in orbit around her. She was the light of any room. In a crowd, one noticed her. Exuberant and full of spirits. Passionate beyond belief. Beautiful in his arms.

  He rested a hand on the sill and his forehead on the casement. He was endangering his good name and his family’s trust by thinking for even half a second that he could safely conduct an affair with Lily for the rest of the time she was here. Not with his blinding need for her. How long did they have? Two weeks. Three? Could he convince her to stay for a month? What about a year?

  The rest of his life?

  Today the sun shone bright, and the guests outside were laughing and gesturing and dashing about. Someone’s dog was barking, and the sound carried through the window. Two servants came out, each carrying a basket filled with what looked like apples.

  Lily was now arm in arm with Eugenia and Jane, and Caroline Kirk, too. They looked well together, the four of them. Several of the gentlemen held tennis racquets. He grabbed the windowsill and stood there, staring at Lily in that pink frock that fit her like a dream. No other woman out there looked half as fine as she did.

  Miss Caroline threw a stick for the dog, a spaniel of some sort. It dashed after its prize. The footmen set the baskets on an invisible line, with the guests gathered behind them. Lily began an animated explanation that involved gestures and pacing. Dr. Longfield stepped forward, a tennis racquet in hand. At a signal from Lily, he took an apple from one of the baskets.

  The doctor threw the apple into the air, a wizened thing it was, and hit it a smashing serve. The fruit came off the racquet like an overstuffed Christmas goose. Bits split off and plummeted to the ground.

  The demonstration appeared to have been successful, for the doctor bowed once, turned his racquet over to the next gentleman in line, and the rest of the guests lined up. Two at a time, they took turns throwing an apple or other unappetizing fruit into the air and hitting it with the racquets. From time to time one of the gentlemen would lob the fruit into the air for one of the ladies.

  There were a great many misses and an indecent amount of mirth. Not everyone hit their target the first time. Whenever someone hit one of the apples particularly well, cheers and applause rose up. There was, he could see from his vantage, spirited betting going on among certain of the spectators.

  His guests—Eugenia and Lily’s guests—were having a splendid time. The footmen retrieved any apples that hadn’t disintegrated upon being hit and that appeared as if they could be abused again. Lily stepped up to the line and accepted an apple from Jane Kirk. She tossed her missile into the air and whack! The fruit spiraled through the air, shedding bits until the entire thing came apart.

  Mountjoy left the window. At his desk, he dashed off a quick line on a half sheet of paper and put the folded page into his coat pocket. By the time he reached the lawn, Lily h
ad another apple and a racquet in hand. Everyone was laughing and smiling, even people who had failed to hit anything while he’d been watching.

  Lily put her toe to the line again. As before, she threw her apple into the air. He could see that most of one side of the fruit was a discolored brown.

  Thwack!

  The apple shot into the air, split into several pieces, and whirled three different directions. Cheers went up.

  “Good shot, Miss Wellstone!”

  “Applesauce!”