Still Wicked

by Ayers, Kathleen

  “What’s wrong with my neckline?” Her ebony brows rose up as Elizabeth took her cloak from a waiting footman. “It’s perfectly acceptable. Rather modest, if you must know. At least, according to Madame Moliere.”

  “She’s French. Don’t you have a shawl or something?”

  “Kelso, don’t be silly.” She took her cloak from a waiting footman. “Thank you, Edgar.”

  And she was on a first-name basis with the help. He glared at young Edgar who swallowed and took a step back.

  There was a slight tremble in her hand as she settled the cloak carefully around her gown, unnoticeable unless one was looking for it, as Spence was. Elizabeth was nervous. This would be the first social gathering she’d ever attended. He took her elbow. “I won’t leave your side.”

  “I’m fine, Kelso,” she said as he helped her outside and into the waiting coach.

  She wasn’t. Her teeth were worrying her bottom lip.

  “Don’t crush my gown,” she cautioned him as he settled beside her instead of sitting on the opposite bench.

  “I won’t leave your side,” he said again, grabbing her face between his hands. He pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. When Elizabeth’s fingers curled around his lapels of his coat, he deepened the kiss, teasing her lips until she made a noise of surrender in the back of her throat. If they didn’t stop, Spence would take her in the carriage. Such a thing would definitely crush her gown.

  “I know you won’t.” She toyed with the buttons of his coat. “I’ve something to ask you. My timing is poor, but I should like to know before I face a room of society tonight.”

  He couldn’t see her face clearly in the darkness of the coach, but he sensed her trepidation. Heard the odd note in her words. Spence’s heart gave a dull thud, waiting for her to ask him the one thing he feared. How did you spend your time in India?

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and, God help him, despite the seriousness of the conversation, Kelso’s eyes immediately went to the tops of her breasts.

  “I realize you may have taken a mistress, but you must get rid of her,” she said firmly. She tugged hard on the lapel of his coat to make her point.

  “A mistress? No. What would make you think such a thing?”

  “It came to me, as Bertie helped me dress. We both agreed such a thing is common. Men of your position often keep a mistress. It isn’t unusual.” She looked up at him. “But I’m warning you, I will not be understanding of such an arrangement.”

  Spence was going to murder Bertie for putting ideas in Elizabeth’s head. “You won’t?”

  “No. And don’t forget I am skilled with pistols,” she said.

  “Good Lord, I haven’t. You naked, with a brace of pistols in your lap is a fantasy of mine.”

  “Do not make fun of me.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m serious, Kelso.”

  He could see she was. Elizabeth’s slender form was stiff and tense, waiting for him to agree to discard a mistress he didn’t even have.

  “Elizabeth.” Spence lifted her chin before pressing her forehead to his. “There has been no one since you. Since Scotland.” He took one gloved hand and pressed it over his heart. It was incredibly important to Spence, before they entered an entire room of people whose opinion of him was less than positive, that Elizabeth not doubt this one truth.

  “I find my tastes lean more toward disobedient, convent-bred girls, and they are in short supply in London. I’ve only managed to find one, in my coach, of all places, and she keeps me well occupied. So, there won’t be any need for you to go waving pistols about in a threatening manner. I take your meaning.”

  She cleared her throat. “Good.”

  “I only want to debauch you.” He kissed the end of her nose. “Only you.”

  37

  Elizabeth pasted a perfect smile on her face, one she’d been taught years ago as a child, on those rare occasions her mother had put her on display. A steady succession of names and faces flashed before her as she and Kelso moved through the receiving line. At each introduction, a gentleman took her hand. Somehow, she managed to keep her fingers steady and not pull away. Some of those gentlemen snuck looks at her bodice, often turning away quickly once they caught sight of Kelso’s displeasure.

  The few ladies in attendance regarded her with thinly veiled curiosity. One or two eyed Elizabeth with outright hostility, their gazes running past her to admire Kelso at her side. She was well acquainted with her husband’s reputation. He’d cut quite a swathe though the ladies of the ton on his last visit to London some years ago. Grandmother knew everyone in society, and the gossip about them. She certainly knew a lot about Kelso. Elizabeth had questioned her grandmother relentlessly, not wishing to enter the rounds of London events blind and unaware.

  Still, she had the sense Grandmother hadn’t told her everything.

  As he had promised, Kelso hovered protectively over Elizabeth, snarling like an angry bear if any man got too close. She loved him for that, and a host of other things. Her anxiety had become a dull hum with Kelso at her side. He was her armor.

  After circulating the room, her husband finally brought her to the side of an undistinguished looking gentleman with dark, brittle eyes. There was a coldness about the man, as if he were devoid of any emotion.

  “Sir Feathersmith.” Her husband said the name with the mocking arrogance she detested. “May I introduce my wife, Lady Kelso.” Dislike rolled off Kelso in waves. His animosity was evident, though Feathersmith seemed undisturbed by it.

  Feathersmith turned to her, a smile crossing his thin lips. The flinty eyes widened slightly as if surprised by her appearance. “Lady Kelso. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Elizabeth made sure to smile broadly as if delighted to make Feathersmith’s acquaintance. “Sir Feathersmith.”

  “Are you enjoying London?” The man’s jet-black gaze flickered over her bosom.

  His cool assessment was rather unsettling. She would need to take care with Feathersmith. “Tolerably well, Sir Feathersmith. I spent my childhood in London but haven’t lived here in some time. I’d forgotten how loud the city can be.” She gave a careless shrug. “I am looking forward to attending the opera. My brother has one of the best boxes in the entire theater.” She gently reminded Feathersmith of her lineage. “My grandmother so adores the theater.”

  “I’m acquainted with Lord Cambourne. We’ve met, but only in passing. I had the privilege of hearing him give a lecture on Macao. His dealings with the Chinese were especially fascinating.” Feathersmith seemed genuinely impressed by her brother. “I’ve also had the pleasure of conversing with your grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness, at length.” The hint of a smile crossed his lips. “She is excellent at discerning a person’s motivation. Very opinionated.”

  Elizabeth digested that. He spoke as if he knew her grandmother and not just in passing. “She assures me everyone is entitled to an opinion, the benefit of her exulted age. That and wielding a cane, in lieu of a sword.”

  This time, Feathersmith’s smile was genuine, showing a line of crooked bottom teeth. “I consider myself fortunate Lady Cambourne did not wield a sword at our last meeting.” A soft chuckle left him. “Most fortunate.”

  How did Sir Feathersmith know her grandmother?

  “Lady Kelso, I should like to introduce you to a friend of mine whom you might find interesting, with your family’s interest in exploration and cultures. I understand your sister, Lady Kilmaire, is quite enamored of Egypt.”

  “Indeed, she is. Have you met my sister as well?”

  Feathersmith’s face gave nothing away. “No. I’ve not had the pleasure. Dr. MacGregor is an authority on Mesoamerican culture. Not quite Egypt, but I find the Aztecs and Incans to be just as interesting. He’s only just arrived from South America, where he’s spent the last decade or so.”

  “I look forward to making his acquaintance,” Elizabeth said politely, wondering what on earth Miranda’s interest in mummies had to do with Dr. MacGregor.

&n
bsp; “Until then.” Feathersmith bowed and moved off.

  Kelso finally relaxed beside her. He mumbled some rather colorful things about Feathersmith which made Elizabeth’s cheeks pink, barely. She supposed she’d eventually stop blushing at his colorful language.

  Elizabeth was proud of herself for handling Feathersmith, still wondering how he knew her grandmother. She thought him to be grandmother’s contemporary and fairly close to her in age, but she couldn’t see Feathersmith circulating a ball or attending some other social function in the ton.

  Thirsty, she snatched a glass of what looked like wine from a passing servant circulating the room. She took a sip, giggling as the bubbles hit her nose.

  “First brandy and now champagne? Christ you are going to become a sot,” Kelso said in his usual disgruntled tone, but he was smiling. His eyes were warm and tender on Elizabeth. “I blame myself for introducing you to the evils of spirits.”

  She traced the lapel of his coat with her finger wishing she could curl into his chest and escape this room. “I think it may be time to return home, Lord Kelso.” She stood on tiptoes and flicked her tongue out to touch the tip of his earlobe.

  Kelso made a soft groan. “Agreed. I’m tired of every man in this room, including that pompous ass, Feathersmith, admiring your bosom.”

  “At least I’ve proven he’s human.” She gave him a saucy look, enjoying the way her body tingled at his nearness.

  “Little, disobedient nun. I’ll punish you later.” His arm slid from her elbow to the small of her back. “You’ll enjoy it. I promise you.”

  “Kelso, I didn’t expect to see you here this evening, and in such charming company. You are a lucky devil.”

  Elizabeth looked up at the words as Kelso stepped back. A slightly built gentleman stood before them, eyes shining with humor. His dark blond hair was perfectly styled, as was the oversized mustache above his lip.

  “Ogden.” Spence shook the gentleman’s hand. “I didn’t realize you were back from France. May I present my wife, Lady Kelso.”

  “Lady Kelso.” Mr. Ogden took Elizabeth’s hand politely. “I’d heard Kelso had married but couldn’t quite believe it.” Ogden must have been smarter than most because he didn’t once take his eyes off her face. “You must be very brave.”

  “I don’t scare easily,” Elizabeth assured him.

  Ogden laughed. “No, I don’t suppose you do, Lady Kelso.”

  Kelso asked about Ogden’s time in France, his questions oddly vague. Elizabeth had the sense the conversation was for her benefit, though she couldn’t imagine why. After a few minutes, Ogden excused himself and wandered away after congratulating her and Kelso again on their marriage.

  “He was nice,” Elizabeth said.

  “He’s devious.” Kelso grumbled. “I don’t actually care for any of these people.”

  “That’s becoming increasingly evident,” Elizabeth replied, wondering why they’d attended at all.

  “I need to speak to Lendon and then we can be on our way. Will you be all right for a moment?”

  Lendon, tall and thin, held court on the other side of the room. She’d been introduced to Lendon and his wife earlier. Lendon possessed the same emotionless gaze as Feathersmith. His wife barely spoke, only twittering and flapping her fan nervously.

  “I’ll be fine.” She took another glass of champagne ignoring her husband’s frown. “Go. I wish to return home as well.” Elizabeth felt the loss of his presence immediately, as if she were suddenly exposed to everyone in the room without Kelso beside her. She sipped at her champagne, ignoring the looks shot her way and pretended to admire the painting before her. What an odd event Kelso had brought her to. There seemed only a small collection of titles in the room. No dancing. No gaming. Her gaze roamed over the people in the room. There were also far fewer couples in attendance.

  It was an interesting gathering, to be sure.

  38

  It wasn’t only Lendon Spence wished to talk to. He’d spied a rat, so to speak.

  The Duke of Langford stood in a far corner of the room, watching Elizabeth with ill-concealed lust in his craggy face, a glass of champagne in his hand.

  Spence sidled over next to him as if meaning to make casual conversation.

  Langford’s thin lips curled into a sneer. “Kelso.”

  “Your Grace.” Spence greeted Langford in a cheery voice. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  The duke was about the same height as Spence, but he was broad and barrel chested, his midsection stretching the fabric of his waistcoat. His chin was fleshy, the skin of his cheeks sagging and marked with broken capillaries. Deep-set eyes watched Spence with dislike.

  Spence smiled and lifted his glass. From across the room it would appear as if the two men were only having a casual conversation, perhaps about horses or the weather. Certainly not about Spence’s wife.

  “If you go near Elizabeth, for any reason, I’ll garrote you,” Spence said, winking at the duke. “I’ll use a string from your own piano.”

  Langford, to his credit, barely flinched. “I haven’t a death wish, Kelso. And I don’t intend to incur your family’s attention.”

  Sometimes, Spence thought, it was beneficial to be related to the Devil of Dunbar.

  “One virgin is much like the other with their sweet tightness,” the duke intoned. “I do so enjoy introducing them to an assortment of pleasures. At any rate, Elizabeth appears too fragile to have withstood my attentions.”

  Spence gave no indication of the rage simmering within him. He thought he might garrote Langford at some point in the future, just for fun. “I’m so glad we had a chance to clear the air, Your Grace. I’d hate for us to have a misunderstanding.”

  “I take your meaning,” Langford hissed and began to move away. “Her mother does not.”

  Spence made a small bow in the duke’s direction and walked back toward Elizabeth, mulling Langford’s words.

  * * *

  “Lady Kelso.” Feathersmith interrupted Elizabeth’s perusal of the painting before her. “May I introduce my friend, Dr. MacGregor.”

  Elizabeth turned with a polite smile to face Feathersmith.

  “Donata.”

  A tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick head of burnished auburn hair laced with gray stood before her, his face frozen in shock. Absolute adoration softened his features before he coughed, his cheeks turning red in embarrassment. Blinking several times, he stuttered, “Oh, I beg your apology.” His words held the hint of a Scottish brogue.

  “Dr. MacGregor, I’d like you to make the acquaintance of Lady Kelso.” Feathersmith looked far too pleased. “Her brother is the Marquess of Cambourne.”

  The color drained from Dr. MacGregor’s face. He cleared his throat, still staring at her.

  “Dr. MacGregor, are you all right?” Elizabeth thought the poor man looked as if he might faint.

  “Yes, are you well, Liam?” Feathersmith parroted Elizabeth’s concern. Though he didn’t look at all worried about Dr. MacGregor’s health. He looked…smug.

  “You’re a bastard,” Elizabeth heard Dr. MacGregor say under his breath to Feathersmith before he turned back to her. “Forgive me, Lady Kelso. You resemble someone I once knew. You gave me quite a start.”

  He called me Donata. Dr. MacGregor thought I was Grandmother.

  Elizabeth glanced at Feathersmith. He’d intentionally made sure to introduce her to Dr. MacGregor, and she didn’t think the point was to discuss ancient civilizations.

  “Dr. MacGregor is recently arrived from the wilds of South America, as I mentioned. If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to have a private word with an associate of mine.” He passed by Elizabeth and leaned so close she caught the scent of his shaving cream. “Please give your grandmother, Lady Cambourne, my regards.”

  Elizabeth looked up in surprise. “I shall.” The evening was proving to be far more interesting than she’d originally assumed.

  Once Feathersmith left, Elizabeth turned to Dr. MacGr
egor. “I think you may have had me confused with my grandmother.”

  “Donata.” He said her grandmother’s given name with reverence. “I beg your pardon, I meant to say Lady Cambourne.” The Scottish accent deepened. “I was only taken aback at seeing you. The resemblance is uncanny.”

  “Are you a friend of my grandmother’s?” Or a past lover? Elizabeth hadn’t ever thought about Grandmother having a past. But looking up at the handsome, older Dr. MacGregor, Elizabeth surmised her grandmother did.

  “I knew Lady Cambourne many years ago.” MacGregor’s eyes grew shadowed. He took a deep breath as if in pain. “Before she married.” He smiled at her. “Before I left on my travels.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t immune to such a smile. Dr. MacGregor, no matter his age, was still quite an attractive man. “Are you visiting London?”

  “Yes and no. I’ve been asked to take a post at Oxford and give a few lectures on my experiences exploring the Amazon basin. I’m also cataloging some artifacts for the museum. Bits and pieces of things I picked up on my journeys. Feathersmith and I have been friends for many years. I chose to become a scholar and,” he cleared his throat, “well, Feathersmith chose to work for the ministry.”

  Elizabeth glanced around the room. She thought that the case for almost everyone in the room. Including her husband. Kelso had acted as if they were approaching an execution when they’d exited the coach earlier.

  “And your wife, Dr. MacGregor?” She turned back to him. “Did she follow you to the Amazon? I would find such a thing daunting but also exciting.”

  “I’ve never married. Not many women care to give up a roof over their head to live in a tent and cook dinner over an open fire.” He flashed her another smile, but Elizabeth saw the sadness lingering in his eyes. “How is Lady Cambourne?” Dr. MacGregor did a poor job of pretending casual interest.

  “Quite well. She’ll be in residence at my brother’s home by the end of the week, should you care to renew your acquaintance.” Elizabeth gave him an innocent look. She couldn’t wait to tell Miranda about Dr. MacGregor.