Still Wicked

by Ayers, Kathleen

  “My lady,” Bertie asked, “please forgive me if I’m overstepping.”

  Elizabeth and Bertie had grown close since the maid had been assigned to her at Gray Covington and she’d proven herself stalwart and helpful as Elizabeth navigated her new circumstances. “Of course not, Bertie.”

  “It’s only,” Bertie’s forehead wrinkled, “perhaps you would be happier if you weren’t wed to Lord Kelso.”

  The same thought had crossed Elizabeth’s mind, but her heart stubbornly refused to relinquish the connection to Kelso. Her feelings for her husband were constantly in flux. Some days, like today, when she was in charge and running the small sphere of Kelso’s house as she saw fit, Elizabeth acknowledged how much she enjoyed her freedom. But at night, in Kelso’s bed, with his presence all around her, she longed for him.

  “Perhaps you can go downstairs and ask Dolly if the other fabric swatches have arrived. I’ve no more need of you at the moment,” she instructed the maid, declining to reply to Bertie’s comment.

  “Of course.” Bertie bobbed a curtsy, her lips pursed, sufficiently silenced for now. Bertie had made similar comments over the last week. And the plump, blonde maid didn’t like Dolly, or rather, Elizabeth thought Bertie liked him a bit too much.

  Elizabeth did like Dolly. Initially, she’d been concerned by her unwelcome arrival in London. She was in a strange household populated by men, save for Bertie. Happily, she’d experienced no signs of anxiousness. Kelso, while not here physically, was a presence in this house, safeguarding her. And she could protect herself now. Her pistols were loaded and tucked inside her armoire. She knew Porter. And Dolly, for all his intimidating size, hovered over her protectively when he wasn’t dutifully holding up fabric samples or giving his opinion on paint swatches. Bertie alone was the recipient of Dolly’s flirtatious glances.

  “I’m sorry, my lady, if I overstepped,” Bertie said quietly.

  “It’s all right, Bertie.” Elizabeth had no friends her own age and she’d naturally been drawn to the maid’s cheery nature. She didn’t think Bertie had meant anything cruel by her comment, the maid was only concerned for Elizabeth.

  Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s eyes welled with tears, she suspected her husband was not.

  32

  Spence reread the note his wife had written him for the third time.

  Kelso,

  What an unfortunate coincidence you were called away on business as I meant to arrive in London. Rest assured, I have made myself at home. What a lovely suite of rooms set aside for my use. I’m happy you need not waste time retrieving me from Gray Covington. I’ve taken the liberty of replying to several of the invitations which litter the tray in the foyer in my preparation to ‘dangle’.

  E

  His little nun was furious with him.

  A surge of longing for Elizabeth hit him square in the chest and he rubbed it away. He wasn’t in the best mood. He tossed the letter on the table and rubbed at his eyes, wishing for the hundredth time he’d taken a moment to read the letter from Cambourne. Had he done so, Spence may not have taken off for Beckford Abbey. Which would have saved him from being shot at. Twice.

  He often took an evening stroll around the pond. There were poachers in the woods, something his agent had informed him of, the result of an absentee owner. When a pistol shot lodged in a tree behind him, Spence naturally assumed it an accident.

  The following evening, when two shots were fired, one taking the hat off his head, Spence had payed attention. Then the axle of the carriage he’d driven into town just this morning had snapped in two and he’d been thrown to the road. Upon later examination, it appeared the axle had been sawed nearly clean through.

  After being shot at and having his coach tampered with, Spence was certain the fire had been deliberately set in order to draw him out of London. Someone was trying to kill him. His first thought was the ministry, but Feathersmith had already agreed to release him. And he hadn’t been back in London long enough to anger anyone enough for them to want him dead.

  Well, he had royally pissed off one person.

  Spence looked down at the note from Elizabeth. Her comment on the comfort of her rooms was blatantly sarcastic. The tip of his forefinger traced the small ‘E’ at the bottom of the note, reminiscent of the way he’d signed his note to her. He wondered what had possessed her to come to London without his permission. Why couldn’t she have stayed put until he came for her? He was trying to keep her safe, for God’s sake.

  Bloody disobedient little nun.

  He walked out to his waiting horse, crumpling the note and putting it in his pocket. He’d been gone far longer than he’d planned. If he rode without stopping, he could be in London sometime before midnight. Unless someone succeeded in shooting him. But this time, Spence would be ready. The old thrill of excitement coursed through his veins at the idea of a game of cat and mouse. The comforting feel of his knives and pistol assured him he wouldn’t be taken unawares again.

  Mounting his horse, he set out for London.

  And his wife.

  33

  Elizabeth rubbed the muscles of her neck, exhausted from a long day spent working on the beginning transformation of the gardens. She wanted nothing more than a tray in her room, a hot bath and the bottle of brandy she’d filched from Kelso’s study.

  An hour later, after the delicious souffle her new cook had prepared, Elizabeth sighed in pleasure as her shoulders sank beneath the warm water in the large, copper tub. Elizabeth tilted her head back to look up through the skylight, staring in wonder at the stars shining above her. She tried without success to pick out a constellation or two. At least she recognized the moon.

  Elizabeth glanced through the door at her new bed, delivered earlier today. The linens and mattress wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. She shrugged, in no hurry to leave the comfort of Kelso’s massive bed. She was quite comfortable. And Kelso hadn’t sent word or given any indication of when he would return to London.

  Bertie strode across the tile, a stack of fluffy towels and a sweet-smelling cake of soap clutched in her hands.

  “Will you bring me the bottle of brandy? I left it on the table in my husband’s room,” Elizabeth said, closing her eyes. “And a glass.”

  “Are you certain you should be drinking spirits? What if the butler—”

  “His name is Dolly.” She opened her eyes to look at Bertie. “He’s the last person who would object to me drinking anything. Why don’t you like him?”

  Bertie’s creamy complexion flushed a dull pink.

  “Bertie,” Elizabeth chided in a laughing tone. “You could do worse. He’s quite handsome.” Bertie reacted oddly, her movements jerky and hurried. “Though I do suppose he can be rather imposing.”

  “Hmph.” Bertie set about washing Elizabeth’s hair. “He’s always interrogating me around the servant’s table. Asking me where I grew up and how long I’ve worked for you. Wanted to know about my family and if I liked daisies.”

  “I don’t think that’s interrogation, Bertie. I believe Dolly is only trying to know you better. Maybe he’s even flirting with you.”

  The maid dropped the soap. “Jane doesn’t like him.”

  Bertie referred to one of the maids, the one who’d been here when Elizabeth had arrived. “That’s likely due to Dolly having fired her friend, the cook. I asked him to do so. Would you pour me some of the brandy?” Elizabeth decided to stop tormenting Bertie. She’d noted Dolly’s interest in the plump, blonde maid and was fairly certain his interest was returned.

  Bertie gave her a look of disapproval but did as she asked and walked into Kelso’s room, returning with the bottle of brandy and a snifter. Setting both gently on a small table within Elizabeth’s reach she took a towel and proceeded to wrap it around Elizabeth’s hair.

  “Shall I help you out?”

  “I can finish myself, Bertie. I want to soak for a bit and enjoy my brandy. You’ve worked just as hard today. I’m capable of putting myself to bed.
”

  “My lady, if I may.” Bertie waited for Elizabeth’s nod to continue. “I don’t understand why you are going to such trouble. Redecorating. Redoing the gardens. Do you mean to stay here?”

  A brilliant question. What had started as her need to be comfortable and perhaps tweak Kelso’s nose by redecorating his home had become a true passion for her. Maybe he would even thank her. Or maybe she was doing it because she wished to stay. “I will release you from your duties if you do not like London. You can return to Gray Covington without me.”

  “I wouldn’t leave you.” Bertie looked shocked by the suggestion and twisted her fingers together. “I only wish for your happiness, Lady Elizabeth.”

  “I know, Bertie. But I’ll have no more talk about my husband.” Her maid had a point, it just wasn’t one Elizabeth wished to examine too closely.

  Bertie nodded before leaving Elizabeth to her bath, shutting the door behind her.

  Elizabeth leaned back into the tub and sipped her brandy, thinking of Kelso, wondering when he would reappear. He’d been gone much longer than he’d originally planned, according to Dolly.

  Maybe he’s staying away because of me.

  It wasn’t a ridiculous thought. Depending on whether she chose to stay in London, Elizabeth supposed she could purchase her own home if Kelso didn’t wish her to live here. Or return to Gray Covington.

  It was possible he’d never meant for them to share a residence at all, in which case her redecorating would come as an enormous surprise to her husband.

  * * *

  Spence managed to arrive in London without incident.

  No one tried to shoot him from his horse. Or followed him. In fact, he’d had an altogether uneventful journey. The trip was so boring, he considered he was only being paranoid, except the fire had been set deliberately. And carriage axles didn’t saw through themselves.

  His stomach growled again. He doubted Dolly had hired a new cook ,and the thought of returning to his house for a meal of cheese and burnt bread did not excite him. Given the tone of Elizabeth’s note, he wondered if she’d gone to her brother’s home to await him in comfort. Spence wouldn’t blame her if she had. Lord Cambourne was reputed to have an excellent cook and his little nun was often hungry.

  A tavern, lights spilling into the street, appeared as he approached London, along with the smell of roasting meat. He’d thought to go straight to White’s but had no desire to sit amongst the ton and dine.

  “Christ, I’m hungry.” He dismounted, flipping a coin to the boy standing outside. Now that he’d arrived in London, Spence was in no hurry to return home. The more he considered it, the more certain he became that Elizabeth had probably gone to Cambourne’s. He wasn’t even sure what he would say to her when he did see her.

  Longing curled around his heart. He didn’t even try to push it away. Doing so was fruitless. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could smell the warmth of her skin and feel the slide of her hair between his fingers.

  “Bring me the chicken,” he told the barmaid as he sat down. “And scotch. The bottle.”

  34

  A short time later, with half a bottle of scotch still clutched in one hand, Spence found himself stumbling up the front steps to his house, determined to speak to his wife. He’d ridden by Cambourne’s first, but the house had been dark.

  Elizabeth had to be here. The more he considered it while he ate his meal, the more Spence had decided he didn’t care for the tone of her note to him. It demanded his rebuttal. Immediately.

  A small lamp had been left burning in the hall, though it didn’t stop Spence from nearly breaking a toe on the crate standing in the middle of his foyer.

  “What the bloody—?”

  He winced as a stack of fabric rolls seemed to come from nowhere to fall atop him. The smell of fresh paint and plaster assailed him as he flung away velvets and damasks. The bottle of scotch slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. “Son of a bitch.”

  Dolly appeared from the depths of the house, barefoot, his hair unbound and streaming over his shoulders, pistol in hand.

  “Don’t shoot, it’s me,” Spence growled as glass crunched beneath his boots. “What the fuck is all this?”

  A soft chuckle came from Dolly as he lowered his pistol. “Welcome home, Kelso. Those are fabric samples for the drawing room. Lady Kelso is redecorating.”

  Bloody sneaky little nun.

  “Well who the hell told her she could do such a thing?” This was what happened when he didn’t watch her every move. She’d turned his home into a wreck. There was no telling what would happen if he allowed her to continue. “She’s here?”

  “Yes. And I believe you gave her permission, Kelso.” A broad grin split Dolly’s face.

  “I thought she’d buy…some dinner napkins and have the floor cleaned. Not whatever this is. And why are you smiling at me like a bloody idiot?” Dolly never smiled. He smirked, but he certainly didn’t grin like an idiot.

  “Goodnight, Kelso.” The butler faded into the shadows to return to his own bed.

  Spence banged against the maze of crates, cursing, until he made his way to the stairs, which were thankfully free of fabric, bits of furniture and whatever else Elizabeth was tossing about. He meant to have a pointed discussion with his wife on the state of his house.

  Desire dripped down the length of his body. He couldn’t wait to see her.

  * * *

  Elizabeth looked at the empty snifter of brandy dangling from her hand. She hadn’t remembered draining the glass, nor how much brandy she’d had, but she did feel vastly better. Nothing like a hot bath and a nip to ease one’s aches. She looked down at her toes. Judging by their wrinkled appearance and the coolness of the water, she’d been in the tub for some time. Pity the water had gone cold. She could stay in here forever, drinking brandy and looking up at the stars.

  She reached for one of the towels Bertie had left, meaning to get out. Her fingers curled into the linen, stopping at what sounded like an enraged bull snarling about in Kelso’s room. Not a bull. Her husband.

  Kelso was home.

  A curse sounded as he stubbed his toe. Probably on the side of the bed.

  Her eyes flew to the door. It wasn’t locked. Bertie had even left the door slightly ajar when she’d left. Elizabeth stared at the doorknob as her pulse quickened, knowing Kelso would discover her and come through at any minute.

  “If you are asleep in there, little nun, we have something to discuss.” Kelso was mumbling more to himself than to her. “Destroying my home. Filling it with velvets and ribbons.”

  Heat flicked low between her legs as she stared at the door, the only thing standing between her naked body and Kelso. Would he come in? Looking down at her breasts she was shocked to see her nipples hardening just at the sound of his voice.

  Well, that’s rather unexpected.

  “Is there something I can help you with, my lord?” she said in a loud voice. “I’m afraid I’m in the bath.”

  “I don’t give a bloody hell what you’re up to in there.” He stomped in her direction. “If you redecorate my bathing room with your fabrics and fripperies…” The door opened with a bang.

  Bollocks.

  Elizabeth slid deeper into the tub, her heart leaping at the sight of her husband, disreputable and dangerous looking in his rumpled clothes, unshaven and smelling of scotch. His eyes glowed at the sight of her, narrowing with annoyance.

  She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life.

  Elizabeth gave a deliberate sniff. “Hello, Kelso. You smell of horse.”

  35

  Reckless little nun.

  He stared at Elizabeth, naked, sitting in his oversized copper tub with a towel piled on her head and tried to form a coherent thought. Perhaps he shouldn’t have had so much scotch.

  “I gave you no leave to come in here. Please leave.”

  An empty brandy snifter dangled carelessly from one slender hand. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her fu
ll lips cocked into a seductive half-smile. Her bravado faltered as he came farther into the room. How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? The sight of her punched him in the gut as he deliberately circled the tub.

  “Christ, have you turned into a sot?”

  “Have you?” she shot back, waving her hand in the air. “Scotch. You reek of it.”

  Sassy little nun. He’d missed her.

  “Possibly.” He sauntered over to the tub, watching Elizabeth cross her arms over her breasts in a ridiculous bid to cover herself. The shadow between her thighs played peek-a-boo with him through the soap bubbles floating in the water. “Drinking brandy while in the bath. Cursing. One wonders how much more terrible you would be if you hadn’t spent the last few years in a convent.”

  “I am not terrible.”

  But she was. Terribly beautiful. Terribly argumentative. Spence wanted her so fiercely, he nearly dragged Elizabeth from the tub to take her like some savage on the tiled floor. His heart, an organ he’d never had much use for, actually fluttered…fluttered as he observed her, like some nitwit young girl catching sight of her first crush. Perhaps he was having a stroke.

  “Disobedient, coming to London without my permission.” He realized the futility of sending her from him. It had made no difference.

  “I don’t need your permission.” She tilted her head. “You are being an ass.”