“I’m aware,” Kit said. “You’ve had your share of misfortune, but I can only hope that we are both in a better place for us right now.” Of course, it would help tremendously if said place were not inhabited by restless spirits. If Vera had seen the figure at the end of her bed last night, she would have run all the way to Birmingham without ever looking back. And though she risked raising the maid’s alarm, Kit had to know more.
“Vera,” she added softly, “You mentioned rumors about Rosedale Hall. What have you heard?”
Vera’s eyes widened. “It’s bad luck to speak of it! Speak of it and they’ll hear!”
“Who will hear? There’s no one present but the two of us!”
The maid shook her head vigorously. “That we can see, Miss… but you talk of the dead and they’ll come. I’ll not be responsible for drawing them here.”
They were there already, but bringing that up would hardly aid her cause. Instead, Kit shrugged. “Superstitious nonsense, Vera! We can’t summon the dead just by uttering their names!”
“Tis not what my Nan told me,” Vera said solemnly. “She’s a wise woman… some called her a witch when she was a young woman. ̓Twas naught but harmless fortune telling and a few love charms, but as a girl, even those things were dangerous for her, lest she be tried for practicing the black arts!”
“Your Nan is still living, is she not?”
“She is,” Vera said. “But she’ll not come here. I think. She might, though. Knowing what she’ll do next is like picking which spot on the ground a hen will peck!”
“When the weather breaks, we shall go to her. I’d be curious to hear what she knows of this place… and surely there would be no danger in discussing our alleged spirits so far from here, would there?”
Caught and with no graceful way to decline, Vera chewed her lip nervously. “I suppose not. But if she says no, you should listen, Miss Katherine! This place gives me the chills… Like someone is pacing on my grave instead of just walking across it!”
“You don’t have a grave for anyone to cross, walking or otherwise. Really, Vera! There’s nothing here to fear!” Except for the stranger soon to be her husband, a house as riddled with decay as it was with secrets and ghostly apparitions that had the power to manipulate objects in the physical realm, slamming doors and the like. No, Kit reasoned, there was nothing to fear at all.
As if she’d conjured him from thin air, he appeared outside. Kit’s eyes were drawn to him as he moved through the nearly shin deep snow. He carried lengths of wood that she knew from experience were a heavy burden to bear. Yet, they seemed to weigh nothing to him. Of course, she knew he was strong. She’d felt the firm press of his muscles against her the night before when he’d kissed her.
“He’s certainly a handsome one,” Vera whispered. “I still wouldn’t trust him any further than I could swing a cat, but doesn’t mean he isn’t fine to look upon!”
There was no point in offering any argument to refute her, as Lord Hadley—Malcolm, she mentally corrected herself—was certainly one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. But she and Vera were no longer compatriots, she was no longer a servant alongside her in her cousin’s house. It would be imprudent to brook such familiarity and informality with the woman who would be her maid. She wouldn’t encourage her by agreeing. “Vera, he is to be your employer. You mustn’t say such improper things.”
“Was it improper then to voice what I could see going through your mind?” the maid asked, her tone indignant and her feelings clearly hurt to have been reminded so callously that their positions were once again on very unequal footing. In a sharper tone, she added, “Have a care, Miss Katherine, that your face doesn’t tell a truth you’re not ready to have pass your lips.”
Kit said nothing as the other woman stormed from the room. It was easy enough to stalk off in a tizzy during the bright light of day. The house was far less intimidating then, but when twilight fell and the dark shadows of the house formed menacing phantoms in every corner, she knew Vera would be more than happy to set their little disagreement aside.
Turning her attention back to the man she should have already been married to, Kit watched him as he stacked piece piece brick of wood near the door and within easy reach. She knew of no other gentleman who would do such, and yet it was clear that this was not an unfamiliar task to him. What had he said to her? I am not like these men you know, Miss Wexford. I come from a wilder place, a place where one has to work to survive.
It was easy enough to see the truth of that. She had no idea how to carry on with him. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever known and predicting his behavior was simply impossible. She was at a terrible disadvantage and there was only one way to correct it. While he was busy outside, she would snoop.
Hastily, Kit stepped back from the window and made her way toward the kitchen. She didn’t enter because she didn’t have to. From beyond the door, she could hear Lytton instructing Joseph on proper etiquette. God bless the man, she thought, even as she turned toward the stairs intent upon pilfering through his master’s things.
Malcolm paused in the bruising task of stacking firewood. He didn’t mind hard work. He’d done more than his share in his life. Of course, he’d gotten little sleep the night before. Between the ghostly activity in the house and the knowledge that his voluptuous bride was tucked into a bed just a room away, he’d been wide awake for most of the night.
The snow had come down far heavier than anyone had anticipated. As it stood, they’d be stuck together at Rosedale Hall for at least another day before they could safely make it into the village, assuming that no more snow fell. He’d made a promise to himself that he would not dishonor her; that he would wait until they were safely wed before pursuing fulfillment of his desire for her. Of course, that promise had been easy to make when he thought he only had to make it through the night.
Wiping sweat from his brow, he reached for another length of wood and cursed as fumbled it and smashed his thumb. Placing the wood from the cart onto the pile near the door, he decided he’d done enough for the moment. He needed a drink, and while it was too early in the day for spirits, he was hardly in the mood for tea. To avoid a lecture or scandalized Lytton, he’d return to his room and the bottle of brandy stashed there.
Entering the house, Malcolm scanned the hall but saw no sign of his bride, her kin, or their two lonely servants. Just as well, he thought grimly. Lytton would eye him just as suspiciously as Katherine’s evil-eyed maid. The woman had glared at him or ducked her head like she expected to be beaten every time they had crossed paths. The boy had been positively hostile.
Climbing the stairs two at a time, Malcolm paused outside his chamber door. The noises from the other side of the door gave him pause. Deciding that those noises had a very earthly origin, he reached for the door handle and set the door swinging inward. He paused, reconsidering his initial assessment. The room appeared to be empty and yet one of the drawers had not been closed entirely. Malcolm stepped inside, and considered his options.
The question that came to mind, of who would be spying on him and going through his things, was fairly easy to answer. Lytton didn’t have to. The man knew every item that Malcolm owned better than he himself did. The maid wouldn’t dare as she seemed to be utterly terrified of both him and Rosedale Hall. The boy would, but Malcolm doubted he’d have the sense to hide. He was too angry and defiant for that. So that left his betrothed. Given her ample curves, there were limited places in the room where she could actually conceal herself.
Malcolm moved deeper into the room. Leaning down, he flipped back the bed skirt and peered beneath. It was empty. Next, he moved to the wardrobe and opened each of the doors. Again, nothing. His last option was the dressing screen in the corner that concealed the heavy and ornate tub. Moving toward it, his lips quirked as he heard a slight squeak of alarm. She’d been well and truly caught.
Rather than go behind the screen, he simply paused in front of it. “You can come out, Ka
therine.”
No response.
“I know you are behind there and while I do not understand precisely what your purpose is in being here, I’ll be happy to assist you with it.”
He heard rustling and then she emerged, dusty and with cobwebs in her hair. Apparently, they hadn’t cleaned the room as well as he’d first thought.
“I imagine you are furious with me,” she admitted with a huffed breath.
“I have many reactions to finding beautiful women in my bedchamber. Anger is not one of them. Curiosity however, is. What are you doing in here?” he demanded.
She wanted to lie, but no believable excuses came to mind. It was humiliating to have been caught red-handed, but there was too much at stake. Taking a deep breath, Kit admitted in a tremulous and halting voice, “I don’t wish to say.”
He turned away from her and went to the trunk at the foot of the bed. From the pocket of his waistcoat he produced a key and unlocked it. Facing her once more, he said, “Go ahead… I imagine you’ve searched everything else. You might as well have a go at that.”
She could feel the heated blush stealing over her, giving away her embarrassment. But it was fear that prompted her to keep her gaze lowered. It was quite possible that he might toss them out into the snow. It was quite probable that he’d cast her aside and look for another bride since she clearly couldn’t be trusted. “I shouldn’t have searched your things, my lord. I apologize.”
His reply was firm, but remarkably calm, as he said evenly, “My name is Malcolm, Katherine. Since you’ve had your hands on every article of clothing I possess, including those items ladies should not see, I think it perfectly proper that you now use my given name.”
Kit did look up then. His expression was just as unruffled as his tone. “You really aren’t angry?”
“Should I be?” he asked. “We are to be married as soon as it is possible to safely do so. All that I have will then be yours and vice versa.”
“I don’t understand you! You should be livid with me!” she protested. “Under the circumstances, most people would be positively enraged!”
“Would you like me to feign anger to make you more comfortable? I can, if you wish it. But the simple fact is, Katherine, I am a stranger to you. If you were not curious, or at the very least concerned that I am all that I appear to be, you’d be quite foolish. And you are not a foolish woman… not at all. So look. Search through every drawer, every nook, and every cranny. Be my guest. If you wish, I’ll take you to the study after and you can go through the desk there, as well.”
Kit simply deflated for lack of a better word. It was as if the wind completely left her sails and she sank to the floor. Her dust covered skirts billowed about her prompting a series of sneezes. He was standing before her, a handkerchief in his outstretched hand.
Accepting it gratefully, Kit wiped her now teary and dust-irritated eyes. “I’ve simply no idea what to make of you… on the one hand you seem wild and reckless and even dangerous! Then you do and say things that are kind and generous… and I can’t fathom any of it!”
“Can I not be all of those things?” he asked, squatting down until they were almost eye to eye. “I’ve no ulterior motives. I’ve told you everything that I can about this house, about myself—.”
“How are you Lord Hadley? What’s your relationship to the previous lord?” she interrupted.
“He was a distant cousin to my mother’s father,” Malcolm answered. “There were others heirs between Lord Hadley and my grandfather who had perished from illness or injury. I am the last of the line, diluted as it may be. Sadly, when the representatives for Mooney and Drake found him, he was too ill to travel. He passed only days afterward and the title passed to me,” he continued. “My mother passed away when I was a boy and it was my grandfather, primarily, who raised me as my father was something of a rambler.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t even explain why it had been necessary for her to ask. It was grasping at straws, feeling desperate to know enough about him to justify marrying him, to rationalize that she was marrying him for something beyond her own mercenary reasons. In another life, she’d sworn to marry only for love. That was a luxury lost to her, along with new gowns, a warm and comforting home and the belief that life could be something other than the bleak misery she’d endured for the last three years.
“Is there anything else you care to know?”
“I’m sure there is, but I cannot think of it at the moment,” she admitted.
“Please let me know when you do.” There was a hint of amusement in his words, as if he found her uncertainty to be entertaining.
“I’m afraid I cannot be as blasé about this as you, my lord—.”
“Malcolm,” he corrected. “My name is Malcolm and you will use it.”
“Well, Malcolm,” Kit shot back angrily, “You’ll have to forgive me if my thinking is clouded by the enormity of what we’re undertaking!” Turning away she made for the door, her strides angry and brisk. She was running away from him, from her guilt and embarrassment and from the fear that consumed her—the fear that she was making a terrible mistake.
Kit had just reached the door when she felt a strong hand close around her arm, hauling her backward as she let out a yelp of surprise.
“If it’s a mistake I’m making,” he whispered hotly against her ear, “Then perhaps I should start now.”
Chapter 12
Finding her in his chamber hadn’t angered him. Finding her rifling through his possessions he’d easily attributed to natural curiosity. But he was honest enough to admit that it stung his pride to have her continually suggest that their postponed marriage would be a mistake. Tugging her back against him, he felt her curves settle against him, felt the soft press of her flesh. If it was a mistake, it was one that he would make eagerly.
From their first encounter in the woods, he’d wanted her. Every second in her presence only increased his desire for her. Perhaps it was her fighting spirit, the way she held onto her dignity in the face of everything else, or her willingness to sacrifice everything for her brother. She was a woman worth fighting for, and in his experience, that kind of woman always required fighting with.
“I know you’re afraid, Katherine. Let’s lay some of those fears to rest.”
He didn’t give her time to protest. Instead, Malcolm spun her around in his arms and pressed her against the doorframe. The kiss they’d shared the night before had been chaste. He did not intend for this one to be so. When she let out a startled gasp, he seized the opportunity. She brought her hands up, placing them flat against his chest as if in protest, but it was a weak protest. He knew from experience just how strong she was and just how wickedly she could fight.
“A kiss, Katherine, a real one… it’s a small price to pay for your trespassing.”
“Just as marriage is a small price to pay for breaking a window?” Her tone was angry, her words clipped and sharp, but the fire in her gaze was not about anger. It was something else entirely.
Malcolm didn’t hesitate. He kissed her the way he’d wanted to the night before, with all the hunger, with the need to possess and dominate that consumed him. With her lips beneath his, parted softly, he slid his tongue into the sweet recesses, finally tasting her fully. Her lips were sweet, but it was the soft sigh that escaped her that fueled his desire.
Taking both of her hands in one of his, he pinned them to the door, leaving his other hand to roam freely over her body. Cupping her hip, caressing the generous curve and moving up to her waist, he felt the shudder that rippled through her and savored it. Malcolm moved closer still, pressing against her fully, the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest.
Plundering her mouth, claiming it, every sound that emanated from her—a series of soft sighs and sweet, little gasps—only stoked the fire that had sprung to life in his blood. He needed her, craved her, but more than that, he needed to stoke that same fire in her. As long as Katherine was capable of thought, she’d be
capable of doubt. Robbing her of that ability, even temporarily, was the only way to insure that she would go through with things and see their arrangement through to the end.
For the longest time, she remained passive, accepting his kiss but not actively returning it. When he felt the tip of her tongue slide against his own, a tentative and uncertain but completely welcome movement, he reveled in it. Deepening the kiss further, taking from her and giving back in turn, Malcolm prayed for the strength of will to walk away. He had no intention of taking her before they were wed, of giving into his urges and proving her suspicion that he was like the other men she’d known. He needed to introduce her to desire, to make her feel passion just enough to cloud her judgement. It was a dirty trick, he knew. But he felt that he had no other choice. If he let her imagination continue to run wild, she’d talk herself out of marrying him and ruin things for the both of them.
Bringing his hand up from her waist, coasting gently over her ribcage, he stroked the underside of her breast with his thumb. She didn’t bolt, but he felt her stiffen slightly, but she did not push him away, nor did she pull back. It was permission granted with reservations at best.
Malcolm inched his palm upward until he could cup her breast in his hand. Her nipple hardened beneath his touch and her breath rippled out on a soft sigh. Dragging his lips from hers, he pressed a series of kisses along her jaw, down the delicate column of her throat. When he bit her neck, his teeth scraping that tender flesh, she moaned. More telling, her back arched and her breast pressed more firmly into his palm.
Tugging at the ties of her gown, the fabric parted enough to reveal the deep valley between her breasts. He pressed a kiss there, licking and nipping at each lush, white mound with fervor.
“Stop,” she whispered.
He did. Against every urge that had risen inside him, he halted. As he moved to step back from her, she grasped the lapels of his waistcoat and held him fast. Her gaze was locked on a point beyond him, her eyes wide and a terror that he recognized only too well etching her features. It was only then, without the distraction of her sweet lips, or the softness of her skin beneath his own, that he felt the chill, as if every bit of warmth had been sucked from the room. Reluctantly, Malcolm turned, keeping his body between the spirit and Katherine. It was not the image he’d expected. It was not the same spirit he’d seen before in the house. Which meant there was more than one, and for that he uttered a curse.
A Heart So Wicked (The Dark Regency Series Book 6) Page 9