A Heart So Wicked (The Dark Regency Series Book 6)

by Chasity Bowlin

  “But I don’t understand why it has turned on us… if it bound to the Hadley line and Malcolm is the last of the Hadleys, why is it trying to destroy him?” Kit demanded.

  “Perhaps I’m not the last,” he said. “I’m simply the only one of the proper gender and birth to inherit.”

  Nan nodded sagely. “That is all true. I do not know of any bastards, but given the way the last Lord Hadley carried on, it would not surprise me… but there is another possibility. Perhaps it no longer has need of the Hadleys. Perhaps it is tired of being bound?”

  Neither of them spoke, instead they sat back and allowed Nan to ruminate on this thought, to expand upon it at will. And she did.

  “It has soaked in all of their energy. Their anger and hatred of one another has fed it until it no longer needs them. It is strong enough now, having fed on that jealousy, spite and rage, to continue its existence without them.”

  “By them, you mean me?” Malcolm said.

  “And your wife… if she provides the heir, if she bears a child of your bloodline—I suspect that it is longing to rid the world of Hadleys altogether, and then it will finally be completely free,” Nan finished.

  “And what would that mean… if it were to be free?” Kit didn’t want to fathom a world in which such a thing ran rampant.

  “We must find how it is bound to this house,” Nan stated. “Your grandfather, I remember him, my lord. He distanced himself from the whole of his family and the dark magic they practiced. That is why he fled to the Colonies. And that is why you, my lord, have never learned the dark arts that were imparted to every child born into the Hadley line.”

  Malcolm looked at her steadily, his face betraying his complete and utter belief in everything she’d uttered. “It spoke to me the other night,” he said. “No. It spoke in me. It said ‘you belong with us’. And now that makes sense.”

  “Who is the young woman with blonde hair, Nan? I cannot believe that she is an evil spirit!” Katherine protested. “As frightening as her presence is, she’s never attempted to harm us… and upstairs, when I was told to run, I can only believe that it was her voice, warning me.”

  Nan nodded. “The late Lady Hadley. He murdered her, or his mother did… we can never be sure. She was a Hadley, as well. First cousin to her husband. The boy, the heir, was never right. Mean and vicious, he’d kill small animals for the pleasure of watching them die… and yet they taught him all the ways of magic, they gave him such power, and it was terrifying… and then he married that young girl. Her father traded her to them in payment of a debt and what a sad day that was.”

  “And now she’s trapped here?” Kit asked.

  “They’re all trapped here, my dear,” Nan said. “But the others have no reason to interact with you. She thinks she’s saving you, I believe… and she thinks, because your husband is a Hadley, that he must be a devil too.”

  “So what do we do now? We are safe down here, but for how long is anyone’s guess,” Malcolm said.

  “We must find the root… we must find the place in this house where the Dark Spirit is bound. And when we find it, we can use it to rein it in.”

  “But not to get rid of it?” Kit said incredulously. “I’ve no wish to keep this thing on a leash the way they did!”

  “My dear, you cannot be rid of something that is elemental, that is as old as the earth. At best, we can hope to bind it… and whoever is feeding it power right now. We must identify them.”

  “Mooney,” Malcolm said. “He’s the only one that makes sense. He’s been managing this estate for years. Anyone else with a stake in it or a claim to it would surely be known to him.”

  Nan shrugged. “He’d be as good a place to start as any, my lord. But for now, no one goes anywhere on the upper floors alone. We’ll search in pairs starting tomorrow. From top to bottom we’ll go… and in the meantime, I’ll have my work cut out for me making amulets to protect the lot of us. They’re not perfect, but they’re better than facing it empty handed.”

  The conversation drifted then. Nan asked to be shown to the kitchens, where Vera and her grandson had put her collection of herbs and what Kit could only assume were magical items. It dawned on her then that they’d invited a witch into their home when they’d set out to find a priest. But given what Nan had been able to tell them, she couldn’t help but feel it was the right choice.

  “Do you think this is wise? Seeking out its hiding place, as it were?” he asked. “If it feels threatened—.”

  “What choice do we have?” Kit asked. She could see the worry etched in his features, and beyond just worry, fear was clearly evident in his gaze. “This is your home. Your birthright. You’ve traveled half the world to claim it!”

  “And if I were to travel half the world to get away from it, would you go with me?” he asked.

  It wasn’t a question she’d expected to have put to her. But she answered it honestly and without hesitation. “Whither thou goest… You are my husband, and I will follow you.”

  He smiled then, a slight turn of his lips. “What would the good people of Lofton have to say about Wicked Wexford quoting the Bible to me?”

  She scoffed at that. “The good people of Lofton clearly know nothing of wickedness or they would have caught on to the fact that someone was summoning dark spirits right into their midst! Frankly Malcolm, the good people of Lofton can go to the devil!”

  Malcolm stared at her for the longest time. Her face was still markedly pale and she had any number of scrapes and bruises from her fall that would undoubtedly bloom into an assortment of colors over the coming days. Yet she was lovelier to him than any woman he’d every encountered. He’d chosen her for the wrong reasons—primarily because she truly had no other option and was the most likely to agree to his proposal. He’d preyed on her desperation. Yet in spite of their dubious beginning, and in spite of the terrifying events that had unfolded since they’d come together, he couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it.

  Having her in his life, having Katherine Elizabeth Wexford Bryant as his wife, was worth whatever hell he had to walk through to claim her or to keep her.

  Unable to stop himself, unwilling to deny himself, Malcolm reached for her, tugging her forward until she was pressed fully against him. He kissed her hungrily, as if he needed to consume her. Some part of him did. But when she kissed him back with the same eagerness and the same hunger, he was lost. He’d have her in that moment or die of wanting her.

  She pulled back and gazed at him through half lidded eyes. “Lock the door. I don’t want to be responsible for sending Nan to an early grave if she catches us!”

  He laughed at that. “I doubt there’s much we’d do that would shock her!” Nonetheless, he rose and walked to the door to do as she bade. He was locking out more than their servants and her inquisitive brother. Worry, fear, stress, the idea that they were not safe in their own home, for just a brief moment, they would forget all of that.

  Chapter 20

  When he turned back to her, the look on his face made Kit’s breath catch. Fierce, protective, possessive and yet oddly tender—no one had ever looked at her that way. She wanted desperately for it to mean something. She had not married for love, but just because the marriage came first, it surely did not mean that love could not follow. Perhaps in time, she would have what she’d dreamed of as a girl.

  As he moved toward her, his long legs eating up the distance quickly, she reached out for him, eager for his touch. But he didn’t immediately step into the circle of her arms as she’d anticipated. Instead he stopped a hair’s breadth from her reach.

  “Take the pins from your hair,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, roughened with what she’d come to recognize as desire.

  She’d never get it put right again, but she was beyond caring. Reaching up, she slipped the pins from the chignon one at a time, until her hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. He stepped forward then, his hands delving into the strands, and tugging her head bac
k. It might have made her feel powerless, or even afraid, had she not felt the slight tremor of his fingers. Whatever was occurring between them, he was just as affected by it.

  Then he kissed her. He leaned down over her until she was forced to lie back on the settee, he devoured her mouth. His teeth scraped at her lips, and when they parted, his tongue eased between them. She understood that carnal play now, understood the acts that it mimicked, and she welcomed it. His hands moved down to the laces of her gown, untying each on at the bib front of her ancient gown, until it gaped open and he could slide it from her shoulders. The room might have been cold, but the heat she felt burning her up inside from his wicked kiss and roving hands kept her more than warm enough.

  Not satisfied to merely be a passive recipient, Kit reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, freeing each one until he could slide her hands beneath and tug his shirt free from his breeches. Allowing her own fingers to explore him, to trace every dip and indentation between the firm muscles of his stomach and higher, to the powerful muscles of his chest, she reveled in the satiny feel of his skin and the sharp contrast of the crisp hair on his chest.

  He broke the kiss long enough to divest himself of his shirt and waistcoat entirely, dropping the garments into a pile on the floor. Her gown and petticoat soon followed. Wearing only her stays and a chemise, tugged at him until he was on the settee with her, his body a welcome weight on top of hers.

  As he kissed her neck, her breasts, she felt that familiar languid heat stealing through her. Her hands traced the hard planes of his back, the firm rounded muscles of his shoulders. And he moved lower still, dragging the hem of her chemise up, he pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of her belly. The rasp of his whiskers there made her shiver. Then he slid off the settee altogether to kneel on the floor next to it as he licked and nipped at her inner thighs, moving higher with each pass.

  Suddenly and inexplicably nervous, Kit tried to clamp her thighs together, but he was having none of it. With his hands hooked behind her knees, he raised one of her legs and placed it over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Surely you cannot mean—.”

  “I surely can and I will,” he answered, his lips curved into a wicked smile.

  She wanted to protest, to tell him that what he was proposing was indecent. But before she could even formulate the words to utter such a thing, his mouth had descended on her. His tongue stroked over her damp, heated flesh and the pleasure of that single touch robbed her of thought and speech. A strangled cry escaped her as he repeated that caress, more firmly and insistently. Her head fell back, her eyes closed and she simply gave herself up to the exquisite sensations he stirred within her.

  Malcolm savored the taste of her, the softness of her body beneath him and the sweet nectar of her on his tongue. More than that, he gloried in the pleasure she so clearly felt. There were many aspects of lovemaking and many carnal pleasures he had yet to introduce his innocent bride to. This would be the first of many.

  With every stroke of his tongue, he felt her body tighten, her thighs trembling against him and her belly quivering with tension building inside her. When her back arched, her hips lifting off the settee entirely, he closed his lips around that small bundle of nerves and sucked deeply. The soft, keening cry that escaped her and the familiar shudders that rippled through her body as she climaxed spurred his own need.

  Unable to wait, Malcolm freed the buttons of his breeches, and coming down onto the settee, he lifted her on top of him. Her legs parted and she sat astride his lap, his shaft pressed against her mound.

  She required no instruction, but rose up onto her knees and took him in her hand, guiding him into her. As she sank down, the wet heat of her enveloping him, he clenched his jaw tightly and tried to hold onto what little control he still possessed. Then she moved, her hips circling against his, and all was lost.

  His hands closed over the generous curves of her behind, lifting her, and bringing her down again as he thrust upward into her. She cried out, her back arching to thrust her breasts forward. It was a temptation he could not and would not resist. Taking one berry colored tip into his mouth, he thrust into her again.

  It was not a slow and gentle thing between them. It was fast, harsh, hungry. It was about clawing, aching need with little room for tenderness. He wanted to give her those things, and perhaps, when his need for her was less intense, less consuming, he’d be able to offer it, but for now, he simply wanted to drive himself so deeply into her that he would be a part of her forever.

  She quickened again, those delicate muscles clenching tightly around him. He was lost, thrusting deep one last time, he let his release take him, spilling deeply inside her until they were both breathless.

  She lay limply against his chest, her head on his shoulders, and he shuddered beneath her in the aftermath of a need unlike anything he’d ever experienced. There was an awareness between them that something in their burgeoning relationship had shifted, had morphed into something neither of them had expected.

  To break the tension and to avoid making an ass of himself with protestations of tender feelings he didn’t even understand himself, Malcolm said, “I’m beginning to think should have married that horse faced chit. My poor heart will surely give out if we keep this up.”

  She laughed softly. “When my limbs will support me again, I’ll gladly go fetch her for you.”

  He brought his hand down on her bottom in a playful smack. “Don’t you dare,” he admonished. “I may rally yet.”

  “Surely not,” she replied, her tone scathing and doubtful.

  Malcolm shifted them so that she was once again lying back on the settee. He kissed her neck, tasting the saltiness of her skin. “My ancestors might have practiced their dark magic here… but I’ve a kind of magic that is all my own.”

  Chapter 21

  In the attic of the house, with Nan and Joseph in one corner, Lytton and a terrified Vera in another, Kit looked at her husband and said, “I’ve never seen so much dust in my life. We’ll all be in bed with colds before the day is out.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m made of sterner stuff than that!” The statement was ruined as it was immediately followed by a sneeze.

  “Quite stern, my lord,” she said with a laugh. “What is it were looking for?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest clue. Nan said we would know it when we saw it… that we would feel it. Whatever that means.”

  Kit shuddered. “Whatever it is, it cannot be good.”

  Moving deeper into the collection of dusty trunks and crates, Kit lifted one lid and immediately screamed.

  “What is it?” Malcolm demanded, as he rushed to her side.

  “At one point, I think it was a cat. Now it’s just a particularly ugly skeleton,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  He took the trunk, lifting it easily. “I’ll dispose of that later. Just keep looking.”

  Kit moved on to the next trunk. Inside were delicate underthings and lovely pieces of embroidery. They were also not exceptionally old. They must have belonged to the last Lady Hadley.

  “Malcolm, I think these trunks are hers!”

  “Whose?”

  “The blonde woman! Lady Hadley,” she said. “Well, the other Lady Hadley!” As Kit spoke, she continued to remove items from the trunk, each one feeling more sad and tragic. A young woman, sold as a bride, with no notion of what kind of man she’d been bartered to. Forcing aside her more tender feelings, Kit focused on the task at hand.

  As she neared the bottom of the trunk, she found a writing box. Lifting it out carefully, she opened the lid. It was empty. Completely empty. Not even any blank paper had been left behind. Kit started to set it aside, but something, some inner and inexplicable knowledge made her halt. She turned the box until she could look at the back side of it, and there, near the seam at the bottom, was a small latch nearly concealed by the scrollwork.

  Her heart pounded
as she pressed the lever and the secret drawer at the bottom sprang open. Inside were a dozen letters. Written in a woman’s hand, but never sent to anyone. Because there was no one to send them to, Kit realized. The poor girl had been abandoned by her family and left totally at the mercy of a cold and heartless man. It was a plight she was not unfamiliar with.

  Picking up the first letter, Kit began to read. It was clearly the last one she’d penned as she spoke of fearing for her life.

  My husband’s mother has come to reside with us. I cannot explain it, but they have an unnatural relationship. I hesitate to even put my suspicions into words because they are so vile and so wretched. Yet, I have seen them embrace and it is unlike any mother or son I have ever witnessed. But that is not the worst of their crimes or their sins.

  One of his mistresses has just given him a daughter, a bastard foisted off upon a local man who owed him a great deal of money. The mother, a relative, still comes here and her husband utters not a word of protest. Like me, he fears my husband as well.

  I cannot fathom what sort of madness my father has sold me into. I walk into a room and they are all there, whispering to one another, and at my appearance, they stop. I know it is me that is the subject of their conversations. I cannot help but feel I will not survive much longer in this house. I’ve stopped eating or drinking anything put before me because I suspect it is poisoned.

  The only time I feel safe is when they’ve sequestered themselves in the ballroom which to my knowledge has never entertained guests. I hear them chanting in there and I can’t imagine what sort of evil they conjure. There is a dark presence in this house. I feel it watching me, waiting. And one day, at their bidding, it will be the end of me. I know this to be true.