Still Wicked

by Ayers, Kathleen

  “I’m recently married. Perhaps you’ve heard?” How could Feathersmith have avoided the news? The ton was awash with gossip that the notorious Lord Kelso had finally wed.

  “Congratulations.” Feathersmith clasped his hands and regarded Spence with his cold, reptilian gaze. “The Marquess of Cambourne’s youngest sister. I don’t believe she’s even made her debut. The announcement in the papers was very brief. You’ve caused quite a stir.”

  Did the bastard ever blink? “Lady Elizabeth and I were married at Gretna Green.”

  “So the announcement claimed.” Feathersmith’s flinty eyes roamed over Spence with cold efficiency. “Yet there is no sign of Lady Kelso in London.”

  Was Feathersmith accusing Spence of making Elizabeth up? The cockstand in his pants whenever he thought of his wife was certainly real enough. And damned inconvenient. “She’s visiting her family at Gray Covington, Cambourne’s estate outside of London.”

  “As she should. I would imagine after being at St. Albans since she was a child, Lady Kelso would wish to spend a significant amount of time with her family.”

  Spence’s jaw hardened, but he didn’t reply. He’d expected the ministry to check on the validity of his marriage to Elizabeth; after all, why would they take Spence’s word for it? The fact Feathersmith felt the need to dig into Elizabeth’s background was further irritation. It was none of their bloody business where Elizabeth had been before he married her. Spence shouldn’t have to beg to be released from his duties to Feathersmith. Didn’t he get to enjoy his life? Must he constantly live in the dark, snuffing out perceived enemies of the Crown?

  “I’ll begin processing your request.” Feathersmith sat back, his face composed, only a small twitch of his lips telling Spence how much the bastard was enjoying this conversation. “I look forward to meeting Lady Kelso.”

  Spence started to stand up when Feathersmith waved him back down. “I nearly forgot; there is a small reception planned for an acquaintance of mine at the home of Sir Lendon. A small gathering. You must bring Lady Kelso.” Feathersmith paused. “We’re all curious, you see.”

  Bloody hell.

  Feathersmith’s meaning was very clear. “Lady Kelso and I wouldn’t miss it.” Spence didn’t think Feathersmith would be quite so smug if his nose was bloodied.

  “Again, my felicitations on your marriage, Lord Kelso. The Crown is grateful for your family’s service.” Feathersmith smiled, looking like a crocodile sunning itself. “Don’t forget this.” He passed a sealed invitation across the desk to Spence, almost daring him to refuse.

  Bastard.

  “Good day, Lord Kelso.”

  Spence nodded and strode out of the room, a place where lives were decided, and assassinations plotted. He made his way out of the nondescript warehouse, identical to the dozens surrounding it. Nodding to Porter, Spence climbed inside the dark interior of his coach, relived to have the meeting over.

  “Home, Porter.”

  Spence sat back against the squabs, drumming his fingers against his knees in agitation. He’d been given his freedom, albeit with strings; namely, Elizabeth dangling on his arm at a ministry function. Lendon’s reception was at the end of the month. He’d have to fetch his wife whether she wished to leave Gray Covington or not.

  Spence had opened his house in London. He’d managed to hunt down an old friend from India who had agreed to employment as a butler and had begun hiring staff. A cook had been hired, and she’d brought along a maid. He’d taken on a valet, even though he’d been dressing himself for years. The larger problem was his house was barely livable after being closed up for so many years and was in dire need of redecoration, something Spence had little patience for doing. Possibly Elizabeth could direct the maid and purchase some new linens.

  His wife’s stay under his roof would be temporary. The temptation of having Elizabeth so near to him was going to be difficult. He’d congratulated himself, after leaving her at Cambourne’s, on being free of Elizabeth. They’d gone their separate ways as agreed. But his success had been short lived, barely lasting the week. Spence drummed his fingers against his thighs, hating that he missed her. Wanted her.

  Spence no longer saw the Belgian’s young son in his dreams; instead it was Elizabeth who haunted him. He dreamt of pressing his lips to the line of her back as the ebony curls of her hair fell over her shoulders. He heard her throaty, seductive laugh. After he’d dreamt of her several nights in a row, Spence had decided it was time to take a mistress. But his plan never came to fruition. He hadn’t the slightest interest in any other woman. Other women were far too compliant. Not one called him unpleasant. They picked at their meals instead of attacking a plate of scones with gusto.

  He only wanted Elizabeth.

  Christ. This was exactly what Spence had wanted to avoid.

  Frustrated by the direction of his own thoughts and the meeting with Feathersmith, Spence rapped on the coach roof.

  “Porter, I need a drink. Take me to White’s.”

  28

  “Lady Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth looked up as Zander entered the room. The butler’s face had gone the color of old porridge. Clearly, he was distressed.

  Setting down her book, a lurid gothic romance in which the hero consistently took on Kelso’s features, Elizabeth shut the book in frustration. She resented him invading her thoughts, especially when she’d received not so much as a note from him in the three weeks since they’d parted.

  “What is it, Zander?”

  A gloved hand pushed past the horrified butler as a regal head of white-blonde hair poked into the library. “Don’t you have something to polish or buff?” The snide remark to the butler echoed in the room.

  The dizziness hit Elizabeth immediately as dread pressed against her chest. Panic simmered and bubbled. They’d all known her mother would show up eventually, though Elizabeth thought Mother rather bold to come here. Clasping her hands, she nodded to Zander.

  He gave her a tiny nod back, assurance her brother had already been summoned. Zander stood firmly in the doorway, refusing to leave.

  “Oh, do go away.” Mother waved at Zander. “I should have you sacked.”

  “He’s not your butler and Gray Covington is no longer your home, Mother.” Elizabeth’s voice was surprisingly clear and calm. She’d tried to prepare herself for this eventual meeting. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “My, how adult you’ve become.” Mother laughed gaily, strolling deeper into the library as if she were still the marchioness. The overpowering scent of gardenias followed her into the room like some evil spirit, tainting the library. Still dressed in widow’s weeds, Elizabeth noticed the cut of her dress was far more fashionable than mourning clothes should be. The veil she’d worn at St. Albans had been discarded, allowing her porcelain skin to glow against the shimmering black of her dress.

  “I was so worried after you ran off,” she purred, approaching Elizabeth. “Poor Gustave was beside himself. We searched everywhere for you, darling. Not even Mother Hildegard knew where you’d gotten off to.”

  Elizabeth had been right not to return to St. Albans.

  Mother’s haughty gaze took in the floor beneath her feet. “I always detested this rug.” The pale blue eyes ran over Elizabeth as she opened her arms. “No warm embrace? Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

  Elizabeth shrank back. “Not especially. If you will recall, you kidnapped me.”

  Mother placed a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle. “Kidnap? Elizabeth, I’m your mother. No one would believe such a thing. I made you a suitable match and came to fetch you. As I’m doing now. Fetching you.” Her eyes hardened to bits of ice. “It is the season, after all. A young girl belongs with her mother at such a time. I’ve a duke who demands an introduction to you.”

  Where was Sutton? Alex? Anyone?

  “Haven’t you heard? I’ve married.” Elizabeth’s eyes flitted again to the open door where Zander still stood guard, but there was
no sign yet of her brother. “I doubt your duke is interested in me anymore. I’m now Lady Kelso.”

  Mother’s lips drew back, showing small white teeth. “Oh, that. Allegedly you married Lord Kelso. I could hardly believe such a wild tale. The marriage is in name only, I’m told. You’re estranged.” She wiggled her finger at Elizabeth as if she were a naughty child. “Such a thing can be fixed.”

  “You’ve been misinformed.” How could her mother know such a thing?

  Mother’s body gave a twitch. “About which part? Not that it matters. Kelso would discard you with little provocation.” Her voice lowered. “Perhaps I’ll even take him as a lover. I understand he’s quite skilled. Not that you would know. Annulments under the circumstances are quite easy to acquire. Langford has promised to forgive you this small rebellion.”

  Her mother was insane. Completely and utterly mad.

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong, Mother. I’m well versed in my husband’s…skills.” Elizabeth stared back at her mother without flinching. “And as to our estrangement, there isn’t one,” Elizabeth lied. “My husband graciously allowed me the time to visit my family while he took care of business in town. I’ll be joining him before the end of the week.”

  Her mother’s face contorted. Her eyelid began to twitch. “You’re lying.”

  “She’s not. As her guardian, I don’t necessarily approve of Kelso, but he is most definitely Elizabeth’s husband.” Sutton came into the room, followed by two large footmen. “I apologize for not being available to greet you, Jeanette, but you failed to inform me of your visit.”

  Mother’s face crystalized into a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred as she looked at Sutton. “The great Satan Reynolds has finally appeared. Where is your little mouse of a wife? Or that battle-ax Donata? I was so disappointed to hear she hadn’t died yet. Lord, she’s ancient. She can’t possibly live forever.”

  “I’m sorry you won’t be able to stay.” Sutton’s mouth drew into a tight line, a slight tic in his cheek the only indication of the anger and disgust he must be feeling. He came and stood behind Elizabeth, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

  “Zander, would you please show Mrs. Reynolds out? Please make sure her coach makes it safely off my estate.”

  “Where is your little mouse, Sutton?” Mother screeched. “Hiding? Breeding more brats for you? Let’s hope she’s a bit more sturdy than your whore of a mother.”

  Sutton’s body flinched. His fingers bit into Elizabeth’s shoulder.

  Elizabeth immediately placed her hand over her Sutton’s, horrified by the ugliness of her mother’s words. Why couldn’t she just go away? Leave them all in peace?

  “I was shocked to hear of Herbert’s death,” Sutton replied. “Odd. He was in perfect health. Very mysterious.”

  Mother’s face flushed as she gave a small laugh. “A stroke.” Elizabeth saw the brief flash of fear in her eyes before once more smiling. “I’ve powerful friends now, Sutton.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Incredibly powerful friends.” She moved a step closer to Elizabeth. “And I’ll see you soon, darling. You’ll look marvelous in black.”

  Mother sashayed to the door, deliberately exaggerating the swing of her hips as she breezed past Zander and the footmen, the cloying scent of gardenias lingering after her.

  Sutton said not a word as his hand dropped away from Elizabeth’s shoulder. She heard him moving behind her to the sideboard, followed by the sound of liquid splashing into a glass. He cracked a window, allowing the cool air outside to dispel her mother’s scent.

  Elizabeth’s hands were trembling. Mother wasn’t subtle; the threat to Kelso was quite clear. She had no doubt Mother meant to make good on her threat.

  Elizabeth was very determined and only a little afraid. She had to warn her husband and preferred to do so in person.

  “I have to return to London,” she said over her shoulder to Sutton. “To Kelso.”

  29

  Spence looked up from the breakfast table to see his friend and now butler approach him bearing a small silver tray. He threw down his burnt toast and nearly raw bacon in disgust.

  “The cook you hired is terrible. Can’t you find someone else?”

  Daliwal Douglas Taylor, or Dolly as Spence referred to him, shrugged. “I will look. A good cook is difficult to find, Kelso. At least this one brought a maid with her.”

  “Sullen girl? Mopping the floor as if she were half-asleep?”

  The big man nodded. “Jane.” The braid he wore fell over one shoulder. Dolly was the bastard son of a British soldier and his Indian lover. Luckier than most, Dolly’s father had refused to leave his son in India when Dolly’s mother had died and instead brought him to London. Dolly had been raised by his English stepmother and four half-brothers. His accent was nearly as upper crust as Spence’s. “I am having trouble finding the appropriate servants.”

  “You’re intimidating them,” Spence groused, waving his hand at Dolly’s braid. “Thought you were going to cut that off?”

  Dolly shook his head, the morning sun turning his skin to the color of mahogany. “I’ve decided to wait.”

  “For what?” Spence asked. Dolly and Spence had been friends for years, having met in India during Dolly’s soldiering days. He had his eye on a piece of property just east of Spence’s own estate, a farmhouse and stables where Dolly wished to breed horses. Spence had offered to advance Dolly the funds, but his friend refused, asking for employment instead. Spence had agreed.

  It was never a bad idea to surround yourself with men whose talents were on par with your own.

  “Women like my braid.” Dolly’s low voice rumbled in his clipped, polite tones. “And you must treat me more as a servant. You are Lord Kelso, after all. I find it interesting, in all the years we have been friends, you never mentioned your connection to the very powerful Duke of Dunbar. Nor your own wealth.”

  “Boring story. My cousin, Nick, is a bit of a meddler. Not scary in the least. And my connections and title were certainly not relevant in India where I spent most of my time being shot at. Or stabbed. Do you remember the cobra thrown at me in Bombay?”

  “I do.” Dolly reached for the toast, wrinkling his nose with a sigh. “Porter has complained as well. Perhaps your wife will have someone better in mind.”

  Kelso stopped smiling at the mention of Elizabeth. The dream he’d had of her last night, naked and loading his pistols, had finally begun to fade as he sipped the tepid tea and burnt toast.

  Bloody hell.

  “Are those for me?” He tilted his chin in the direction of the silver tray Dolly had brought into the breakfast room.

  Dolly slid the tray to Spence. “Both arrived this morning before you came down. Neither messenger waited for a response.”

  Kelso picked up the first note, from his agent at Beckford Abbey, his family seat. He’d yet to visit the estate since his return from India. Opening the seal, his eyes quickly scanned the contents. “I’ve got to leave immediately for Beckford Abbey.” Spence ran his hand through his hair. “A fire destroyed part of the west side of the house and my agent was injured. He won’t be able to see to the repairs. Broken leg.” He looked up at Dolly. “I’ll only be a few days.” Beckford Abbey was a beautiful estate, incredibly old, and deserved far better care than Spence had given it for the last ten years. Once belonging to a Catholic bishop, Beckford Abbey was surrounded by rolling hills filled with wildflowers. Spence had thought to offer the estate to Elizabeth, thinking she might like to live there. It was peaceful. There were farm animals. Barely any society to speak of.

  The thought of Elizabeth caused the entire lower half of his body to tighten.

  Damn it.

  Dolly made a face as he sipped the tea. “I don’t know how it is possible to not prepare tea properly. Don’t you have a package that must be retrieved at Gray Covington?”

  “My wife is not a package. Wipe that grin off your face.” Spence refolded the letter. “Once I deal with Beckford Abbey, I’ll coll
ect Elizabeth and bring her here.” At least, that was his plan. He hadn’t actually bothered to write to her and tell Elizabeth as much. He had corresponded with Cambourne, but only about his efforts in trying to find out more about the death of Herbert Reynolds. Sometimes Cambourne’s letters held a brief mention of Elizabeth, but she’d not written to Spence directly. He’d no idea what the little nun was up to.

  Spence pushed back from the table. He’d pack a small valise and be off within the hour.

  “Kelso.” Dolly held up the other note.

  Spence waved him away, nearly tripping over the maid, Jane, who stood outside the breakfast door.

  The maid scurried away, mop in hand.

  Shaking his head at the ineptitude of the servants he said to Dolly, “Another of Cambourne’s updates on Herbert Reynolds. I’ll read it when I return. I doubt he’s found out anything else.”

  30

  “We’re here, my lady.” McMannish opened the coach door and held out his hand to assist Elizabeth. The big Scot winked at her, his bushy brows waggling like a pair of hairy caterpillars. He smiled broadly when she took his hand with no hesitation.

  “Good lass,” he said so only she could hear.

  Elizabeth smiled at his praise. She adored McMannish, having spent hours in his company while learning to shoot, but he had always kept his distance, something she knew had pained him. “I’m much better.”

  “You are, my lady.” After riding to London with news of Elizabeth’s disappearance from St. Albans, he’d stayed on for a bit at her brother’s request. For the last month, McMannish had split his time between Gray Covington and the Duke of Dunbar’s London home, keeping an eye on the whereabouts of Langford and Jeanette Reynolds. After delivering Elizabeth to Kelso, McMannish would depart tomorrow for St. Albans to speak to Sister Abigail, then he’d go to Yorkshire to see what more he could find out about those involved in Herbert’s death.