Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy)

by Madeline Hunter

  CHAPTER 15

  “The women must have been sewing all day.” Padua looked down at her ensemble while Eva stood back to assess it. The red overdress had been lengthened with a broad panel of lace. The cream dress beneath it sported rows of lace, too, showing below. Bits of lace had been cut and attached to the low neckline.

  “It should do for dinner,” Eva said.

  Padua thought it would do for a ball. It was the most beautiful dress she had ever worn.

  She lifted the looking glass off her dressing table and stared at herself. At Eva’s instructions, her maid had dressed her hair differently. The curls did not appear disheveled the way they normally did, but instead piled artistically on her crown. Her eyes looked very big, but she suspected that was because she could not quite believe what she saw.

  Eva came over. Her hands rose. “You will wear these.” She attached an earbob to Padua’s right ear, then moved to do the same to the left.

  Padua felt the bobs. Small red jewels, their weight swung merrily when she moved her head. “You are spoiling me, Eva.”

  “I think you deserve a bit of spoiling. There are not many women who could even hope to bring Lord Ywain Hemingford to his knees. I confess I am enjoying the show.”

  “He is hardly on his knees.”

  “He has forgotten himself. Gareth is fascinated.”

  “Probably because I am the least likely woman to cause his brother to behave out of the ordinary.”

  “You do not give yourself enough credit. I know how that is. I was the least likely woman to attract Gareth. It took me months to realize that was the reason I did. He had grown jaded. In light of that, apparently I was actually interesting.”

  Padua did not think it had been so simple. Gareth doted on Eva. His love for her showed in his eyes. He did not merely find her interesting.

  “I must go and see to my own dress,” Eva said. “You look stunning, Padua. I cannot wait to see Ives’s reaction.”

  After Eva left, Padua walked about to get used to the dress. She did not want to be stiff like a puppet. The raw silk of the underdress made elegant little swishes when she moved, but it fell like water around her legs.

  She laughed at herself, and forced herself to sit at the writing desk in her bedchamber. She opened one of the letters that had arrived. Jennie wrote demanding to know where she had gone after sending the ambiguous note that she would leave Langley House and London for a few days. She added that Mrs. Ludlow had hired a replacement to teach mathematics. Jennie suspected the woman lacked the ability to complete even mid-level arithmetic ciphers.

  Padua took no pleasure in reading that. It saddened her to know that if there were a student in the school who possessed the interest and ability to learn more, the opportunity would never be afforded her.

  She lifted the other letter. This one came from Mr. Notley. Her reaction on reading it after breakfast had been confusing. It should have brought her joy. While it did, that emotion had been tempered with another. Even now as she read the few lines jotted by his clerk, a wistfulness claimed her.

  He expected to have news soon about her father’s inheritance, he wrote. He would contact her through Langley House, as she had instructed. As for her father, he still refused to see Mr. Notley, so the lawyer’s hands remained tied.

  He mentioned nothing about arranging that food be brought to the prison. Having taken on the charge, Mr. Notley did not find any need to reassure her he executed it. She did not doubt he did.

  Time to go below soon. She sat, waiting. She faced the bed. Would Ives come here tonight? Probably so. They both knew their time was limited, even if they did not speak of it. A magical place, far away. A different world. Not her world. Not even his anymore.

  * * *

  “Who decided I wanted a proper dinner party?” Lance indicated his opinion of the decision with the way he pulled on his cravat’s wrapping fabric. He kept sticking a finger between it and his neck, as if the binding interfered with his breathing.

  “Eva,” Gareth said.

  “I do not know why servants immediately defer to a woman once one enters the house. I was not even consulted.”

  “She commanded they not bother you with such minor things.”

  “That is because she knew I would countermand her orders.”

  Ives did not join in the bickering. He watched from the chair in which he lounged in the drawing room. Most of his mind dwelled on Padua, and their time on the hill during the afternoon.

  “Stop complaining like a peevish boy,” Gareth said. “You have grown too comfortable with living alone, Lance. It breeds a disdain for the least formality. The butler said that sometimes you forgo a proper dinner entirely, and call for bread and cheese. If we had dallied on the Continent, we would have found a barbarian when we finally returned.”

  “I am not objecting to decent food. I am complaining about this damned cravat. It gave my valet unseemly pleasure to garrote me with it, and he objected adamantly when I wanted one less formal. He overdid the starch in this collar too. I will probably cut myself on it.”

  Gareth looked to Ives for help. Ives shrugged.

  “If you must know,” Gareth said. He hesitated.

  “I must know,” Lance prompted.

  “Eva wanted to have a proper dinner because she wanted Miss Belvoir to experience one in a duke’s home. The woman is your guest. The least you can do is wear a starched collar, lest she think you believe her not worth the trouble. You forget what your station means to others, and how visiting here carries certain expectations on the part of others.”

  Lance had nothing to say to that.

  Ives roused himself. “That was very thoughtful of Eva. If a woman is a guest of a duke, she would like to live as she believes dukes do.”

  “Eva is nothing if not insightful,” Lance said, defeated.

  Gareth strolled over and sat near Ives. “The ladies should join us soon.”

  “I expect so,” Ives said.

  “You appear quite peaceful, Ives. Contented. It is good to see you without the scowl you so often wear when in Lance’s company.”

  “That is because here at Merrywood, he cannot do the things that make me scowl.”

  “Ah. I thought perhaps it was more than that.”

  “Such as what?”

  Gareth looked innocent. “The weather. The quiet. The country often brings relaxation. Contentment.”

  “He does appear contented, doesn’t he?” Lance interjected. “You should come down more often, Ives. The country air seems to agree with you these days.”

  “You only want me here so you will have someone to get into trouble with,” Ives said.

  “As if I would be so lucky as to have you agree to that.”

  Gareth’s attention had turned to the door. He cocked his head. “Ah, here they come.”

  The slightest footsteps. The barest rustle. The two ladies appeared in the doorway.

  Ives’s mouth went dry.

  Padua had been transformed. She was always lovely, but—

  He stood along with his brothers. Gareth sidled close. “Miss Belvoir looks exceptionally beautiful tonight, doesn’t she?”

  Ives tore his gaze off Padua and turned it on Gareth, whose own gaze remained fixed on Ives’s face. “Yes.”

  “The red really complements her color, I think,” Gareth mused. “Don’t you agree?”

  He nodded.

  Gareth leaned in closer. “You probably should try to close your mouth now. I don’t want Eva to enjoy herself too much at your expense.”

  Ives finally noticed Eva. She smiled at him. Smugly. Then she spoke. “Let us all go into the dining room. We need not stand on ceremony for that. After all, we are family and intimate friends.” She looked right at Padua when she said the last part. Then right at Ives, before she led the way out.

  * * *

  “You looked especially lovely tonight.” Ives offered the compliment along with a kiss after the white light of release dissipated. Padu
a had joined in more this time than in the past. Emboldened, she had taken his cock firmly in hand, and experimented with giving pleasure. Her efforts had charmed him to a ridiculous degree.

  “I felt lovely,” she said. “It was kind of Eva to deck me out like that.”

  Not entirely kind. Eva’s motivations reflected her view of the affair. She thought he was taking advantage of Padua. She believed he was being a rake, much as her husband used to be.

  “I think,” Padua murmured as she curved her body against his, “I have never felt so beautiful before in my entire life.”

  Her admission touched him. Of course such things mattered to women, and what they wore affected their views of themselves. That Padua carried herself with confidence even when dressed in ugly gray did not mean she did not feel conspicuous in her lack of stylish dresses.

  “You should have a new wardrobe, so you always feel that way,” he tried.

  She did not reply to that. He cursed inwardly. It was a hell of a situation. He had bought wardrobes for women he barely cared for, but this woman would not permit it. I am not that kind of woman. Damnation.

  She turned on her side and looked at him. “Surely you have had lovers whom you did not keep. I prefer this be like that. Did you buy wardrobes for the ladies in those affairs?”

  It was his turn to withhold a reply.

  “Oh,” she said. “You have never had an affair like that before, have you? Just a lover, not a mistress.”

  He would regret this. He just knew it. “Such entanglements are full of complications.”

  “What kind of complications?”

  “Unspoken ones. Expectations. Obligations. Sensitive topics.”

  “Such as the expectation that you marry, like you mentioned this afternoon?”

  “In some situations, yes.” Or the expectation that there is love.

  “Surely that does not apply when the woman is an adult.”

  “If she is married, no. Widowed, no. Known to be worldly, no—”

  “Worldly like your opera singers, you mean.”

  “Different from them. Just independent minded. More like you, actually.”

  “And yet you want to buy me a wardrobe. If I permit it, will that reassure you that I will not be complicated?”

  If I let you make me a whore, will that make you happier? She did not say it. Perhaps she did not even think it. He could not deny the implications of the conversation, however.

  “You were correct. I have not had lovers, only mistresses. However, I do not want to buy you a new wardrobe so that you can be considered the latter in my mind.” He did not think that was why, at least. That he very much would like her to be his mistress was a thing apart, and had reasons other than this. He would like that because then he would know she was his, only his, for at least a while.

  “I understand,” she said. “Men like it when their women are lovely.”

  The conversation exasperated him. An innocent offer of a gift had become complicated. “That is not the reason either. I find you lovely all the time. I only want you to know that you are, and I am not sure that you do. If it takes pretty dresses to convince you, I want you to have them.”

  She went very still.

  She sniffed. Hell. He reviewed what he had just said, to make sure he had not unintentionally either hurt or angered her.

  “You aren’t crying, are you?”

  “A little.” She sniffed again. “That was a sweet thing to say, Ives. I am sure no one has ever thought me lovely before.”

  “What nonsense. Of course they have, unless they are blind.” He gathered her into his arms. Yes, complicated. She kissed him so tenderly that he decided he did not mind that so much.

  She tucked against him and fell asleep. He decided to stay awhile longer, until he had to leave for discretion’s sake.

  * * *

  Lance raised his musket. A shot broke the morning peace. In the distance a grouse dropped out of the sky. He handed the weapon to a nearby servant, who in turn handed him another one, loaded and ready.

  Ives watched the brush for more birds to take flight.

  Lance returned his own attention to the hunt. “Miss Belvoir received another letter today.”

  Gareth glanced over from where he also waited with musket at the ready.

  “From the lawyer,” Lance added.

  Ives had not asked Padua about the letters. He had not forbidden her to communicate with friends in London, and if the letters came and went by way of Langley House, he doubted anyone would know where she was.

  Mostly he did not ask her about them because if Lance thought some were from a lawyer, he was probably correct. That would be Notley, presumably. The last thing Ives wanted to do was talk about Hadrian Belvoir with Padua. There would be world enough and time for that later, back in town.

  He sometimes speculated on how that conversation would go. Not well, he suspected. Which was why he dallied here at Merrywood, while they pretended events in London occurred on another planet.

  Five days they had remained here. Five days of barely suppressed desire and five nights of erotic pleasure. He would make it a month if he could. A year.

  Several grouse took to flight. He and Gareth shot and brought two down.

  “I also received a letter.” Lance kept his gaze on the distance. “From Prinny.”

  That ended interest in the shooting. As a duke Lance naturally enjoyed royal favor, but that did not mean the prince regent wrote him letters. With the current dark cloud over Lance’s head, the prince had kept his distance even more.

  “The letter was to me, but it was about the two of you.”

  “How so?” Gareth asked.

  “He writes to thank you both for your efforts on behalf of the lords last spring, now that the matter is finished. He asks that you call when he is in London, Gareth. He will receive you.”

  Gareth did not hide his astonishment well.

  “As for you, Ives, he asked that I use my influence on you to ensure you accepted the Belvoir case. He depends on you to prosecute for the Crown, but has been told you might remove yourself.”

  “Damnation.”

  “Sidmouth’s revenge. He tattled, and has cornered you neatly,” Lance said. He turned his attention back to the field, and raised his musket to be at the ready.

  Gareth cast a sidelong look at Ives. “Do not lose your temper. Neither Sidmouth nor the prince are here for its benefit.”

  “Lance is. Maybe I will just thrash him.”

  Lance looked over, surprised. “Me? I am innocent.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of killing the messenger?” Gareth asked.

  “Kill some partridge instead. The tenants will be glad to have them for their dinner pots.”

  Ives managed to control his annoyance. “It is insulting for the prince to write to you about this. He is quick enough to write to me directly when he wants me to track down some woman blackmailing one of his uncles.”

  “He wrote to Aylesbury, not your brother Lance. He would have written to Percy if he were still alive. He is addressing the matter with the duke. The paterfamilias, so to speak.” Lance aimed and shot again.

  “Paterfamilias. Hell,” Ives growled.

  Lance handed him the spent musket and took the one resting in his arm. “Since you are not using it . . . ” He turned and fired once more.

  Gareth set down his weapon against the blind and crossed his arms thoughtfully. “Do you enjoy having the prince’s favor, Ives? Is it important to you? He only wrote to Lance because whatever Sidmouth told him has him doubting your place in his circle.”

  Of course he enjoyed his position with the prince. Prinny was older, and had been a true friend of his father’s. He took an avuncular tone when they talked. As for enjoying that favor—no man would treat it lightly. Even the son of a duke saw his position enhanced if he was known to have the prince regent’s ear.

  Gareth’s gaze carried sympathy for the dilemma.

  “It is a good th
ing I issued my edict,” Lance said, while he waited for the muskets to be reloaded. “It will be easier for you to break with her now, if your better judgment failed you. Miss Belvoir, I mean.”

  “I know whom you mean.”

  “Still a ticklish subject, I see. Talk sense to him, Gareth. He long ago stopped listening to me.”

  He did not need anyone to talk sense to him. He had plenty of that himself. Rational, ruthless sense, and far more talk than the world needed. It was his stock-in-trade.

  The Crown’s friendship, or that of the daughter of a criminal. Only a fool would think there really was a choice.

  * * *

  Padua tucked the letter into her reticule, then put the reticule into her valise. She placed the valise out of sight. She buried the letter as if its invisibility meant she could ignore its message.

  Mr. Notley had discovered her father’s inheritance. He awaited her return to London before he pursued the information further.

  She had to go back.

  Donning the sapphire spencer that Eva had redone for her, she went down to the garden. The brothers had ridden off several hours ago, along with a retinue, to hunt. She and Eva had enjoyed some time alone, but now Eva rested and Padua had time for her own thoughts.

  She paced through the garden, fascinated that time alone had become unusual. She had spent most of the last years alone. Even at Mrs. Ludlow’s school, except for her conversations with Jennie, her own thoughts kept her company. Here, however, she had become part of a group. She never ate her meals alone now. Even when she read in the library, someone else often read there too.

  Frequently that someone was Ives. She had spent more time with him in the last five days than she had probably spent with anyone since her mother died. She had not sought such a singular life, but she had not minded it too much. She even welcomed her isolation in the garden now, like it was an old friend.

  Five days. Five nights. Different. Magical. The intimacy with Ives had transformed her. Moved her. The pleasure was the least of it. His warmth filled voids she did not even realize she had.

  She was glad she had been self-indulgent and irresponsible. She did not regret allowing herself to know a woman’s desire and its fulfillment. She worried, however, that she would not like the consequences.