Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy)

by Madeline Hunter

  She smiled at the memory of him on that blanket, wanting to negotiate but knowing he should not. No. Not yet at least. He knew, as she did, that this affair would be brief.

  She sat down on a bench at the far end of the garden, against a stone wall that held the sun’s warmth. She closed her eyes and remembered the morning. He had almost been found in her chamber again. The night had been wild and erotic, almost savage, and he had fallen asleep while he held her. She could not bear to wake him or to leave the cocoon of care that wrapped her. She had feared even breathing might ruin how perfect it was.

  She could tell the sun had lowered behind the house. The air carried a new chill. She opened her eyes, and began to rise.

  Up on the terrace, she saw Ives. He still wore his riding coat and boots. He watched her, and his stance alone said he contemplated what he saw. Aware she noticed him, he descended from the terrace and strode toward her.

  “The hunt was a success?” she asked when he sat beside her.

  “Lance thinks so. His aim will feed half the tenants tonight. They will be glad for it. The harvest was poor this year.”

  “That was good of him. I thought it only sport for him.”

  “He does it as Aylesbury. He was not educated to the position, but he is growing accustomed to its responsibilities.” He looked over at how she hugged herself for warmth. He unbuttoned his coat, shrugged it off, and tucked it around her shoulders.

  “We will go in soon. Not yet, however.”

  He closed his eyes much as she had, only no sun remained to bask in. She did not need to see his expression to know he thought deeply about something. She just sensed that now. Even in the dark, while they lay together, she knew when his mind worked on something.

  “Lance said you received a letter today,” he said.

  “The duke talks too much about matters not of his concern. This is the negative side of families, I think. Everyone minds everyone else’s business.”

  Ives opened his eyes and looked at her.

  “It was from Mr. Notley,” she admitted. “He is sure he has information about my father’s inheritance.”

  “That is good news.”

  “I hope so. If there is an income—just knowing there is—it changes everything.” She pulled the coat a little closer. “Well, not everything, but it will make life easier.”

  “Then it is very good news.” He took her hand. “Did he write about anything else?”

  She wanted to lie. For a day or two more, she wanted to silence all the voices in London. “He writes that a trial date has been set. Were you not informed?”

  “A letter came for me too. I did not open mine yet.”

  “You are smarter than I am about delaying the calls of duty.”

  “More experienced, that is all.”

  “When did you think to open it?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”

  He appeared a little sad. That touched her. “I am sure I have lost my letter, Ives.”

  “How careless of you.”

  “Wasn’t it? It is nowhere to be seen in my chamber. I doubt I will find it again for a day or so.”

  He stood and offered his hand. “Two days, then. We will not speak of it until then. Let us go back to the house.”

  * * *

  Everyone knew. Padua could tell. Just what they all knew, she was not sure. The conversation at dinner sounded too merry and fast, however. The jokes made everyone laugh too much. Eva acted normal, but the gentlemen forced a gaiety.

  Not for Ives’s benefit, she realized. For hers. They all knew that the love affair to which they had given safe harbor would end soon. Ives in particular knew it, and he joined his brothers in surrounding her with lighthearted banter and wit. She joined in, so the nostalgia already creeping into her heart would not ruin what time she had left.

  She could not control it that night, however. It colored every reaction. Ives made the pleasure long and slow, and sent her crashing over the edge three times before they joined in a poignant union that left her close to tears. He handled her as if he knew her mood, and shared it, and perhaps foresaw the longing to come.

  “We will go riding tomorrow,” he said when she walked toward the bed in the middle of the night. She had slipped away to the dressing room while he slept, but now he waited, propped on his elbow, for her return. “Eva found something you can wear, didn’t she?”

  “She did, but I will look foolish anyway, because I do not know how to ride.”

  “It is easy. You will like it. Think of it as another new experience.”

  “You do not think I have had enough of those?” She leaned against the bedpost and admired how he looked amidst the sheets with the warm illumination from the lamp etching his torso and arms. Just the sight of him stirred her. It always had, but those stirrings knew their own mind now, and held memories and a purpose, and she could not control them well.

  “Not nearly enough.” He shook his head like a man overwhelmed by duty. “There is so much to teach you—”

  He caught himself, but her mind finished his little joke. And so little time.

  He cocked his head and studied her standing there. Wicked lights entered his eyes. He threw back the sheet and walked over to her, giving her a good measuring from crown to feet.

  “What?” she asked, looking down, wondering what was wrong.

  “I am just calculating.”

  “That is an odd answer.”

  He stepped closer. So close he trapped her against the bedpost. He frowned. “No, I don’t think so. We were wrong.”

  “We were?”

  “Not you and me we.”

  “Wrong about what?” The feel of him all along her body had her arousal jumping again.

  “Whether, with your height, I could take you standing without having to lift you. It was a point of curiosity.”

  “Curiosity for we? Not you and me we, but another we?”

  His expression fell, then he flashed a disarming smile. “The royal we. Me.”

  She eyed him skeptically. His attention returned to the problem on his mind.

  “There is only one way to find out. Are you comfortable there, against that post? The wall might be better, in the event the experiment fails. Yes, I think so.” He took her hand and led her over to the wall.

  It did not take long for her to be ready. She always experienced the pleasure more intensely when she remained upright. Raw physical sensations puddled low, incited by his penetrating kisses and wicked hands. He slid inside her, high and deep. She thought he would lift her to her toes before he stopped. The fullness made her gasp.

  She felt him differently. He pressed new places, inside and out. Exciting ones. He moved once, twice, then paused. “It is cheating, but—” He lifted her left leg by the knee and held it hooked over his hip. He moved again. “Better. Perfect.”

  She would have agreed, if she could speak, but she could not stop gasping with amazement. He grunted each time he pressed up into her, each sound an affirmation of pleasure. It was the noisiest joining they had ever shared.

  He did lift her at the end, so her legs circled him and his final thrusts slammed her against the wall. Carrying her like that, he staggered to the bed, where they collapsed.

  CHAPTER 16

  Ives left the house through the terrace doors. He wanted to talk to the grooms about the horse Eva would ride. On exiting, he saw Lance standing near the steps, surveying his domain.

  “Do you never sleep?” Lance asked without turning around.

  Ives stopped walking. “Often and well. Thank you for your concern.”

  “I suppose it is good someone does. I certainly did not last night.” He turned a pursed smile on Ives. “Someone kept slamming around one of the chambers above me, groaning from whatever exertions occupied him.”

  “How peculiar. Perhaps you were dreaming.”

  “It sounded like you.”

  “My chambers are not above yours.”

  “Miss Be
lvoir’s are, in part. Her bedchamber is above part of my dressing room.”

  “I doubt she groans like a man, no matter what her exertions.”

  “You might, however.”

  “How could it be me? My chambers are across the way. If you are implying that I was in her chambers, that is not possible. There is an edict abroad in the land. Remember?”

  Lance raised an eyebrow. Ives smiled.

  “I will be riding out after dinner tonight,” Lance said. “Do not ask where I am going. Do not presume to lecture me on appropriate behavior. This infernal abstinence is bad enough, but to have to endure it while I listen to you pummel your lover into oblivion is asking too much.”

  The pummeling had been fine enough that Ives experienced a spot of chagrin. “I do not think I will be noticing what anyone does tonight, Lance. If you sleep so lightly these days, a long ride might do you good.”

  Ives continued on to the stables and had the chestnut mare brought out. All of the horses were spirited, but the head groom assured him that this one was not skittish or impulsive. “She’ll take an easy hand, sir. A lady should like her.”

  “Bring them around in half an hour. Saddle the mare yourself, so I am sure there are no mishaps.”

  Upon returning to the house, Ives went up to his chambers. He strode to the writing desk, opened a drawer, and removed a letter.

  He looked down on it. It bore the seal of the high chancellor. He lifted a knife and sliced through it.

  Only one word of the missive surprised him. As expected, he was being appointed prosecutor for the Crown in the case of Hadrian Belvoir. The Crown did not ask or request such things. That would imply one could decline one’s king, or would want to.

  The rest of it did not read quite as he had thought it would. The charges, it explained, were counterfeiting and sedition. He wondered if any evidence of that had been dug up, or if he was expected to argue with nothing more than innuendo and supposition in his pocket.

  He dropped the letter back in the drawer and slammed it shut.

  * * *

  “I still think I am going to fall off.” Padua pouted with worry as her horse bore her over the field, slowly. Very slowly.

  “You are doing fine. Try not to sit so stiffly. Good posture is important, but adapting to the horse’s gait will feel natural, and give you more confidence.”

  She did not appear convinced. With effort she relaxed ever so slightly.

  “If you hate it, we can go back,” Ives said, taking pity on her.

  “No, no. I do not hate it as such. You want to give me this experience, so I should be accommodating. I am only a little afraid, but it gets better with each step.”

  “I am forever grateful for how accommodating you are, even when you are a little afraid. Have I ever told you that?”

  She glanced over, understood his reference, and blushed. “It is not as if I suffered.”

  She did not suffer, because she allowed herself to be passionate. He remembered the list he had written about the ideal mistress.

  Loyal

  Good-humored

  Intelligent

  Uninhibited

  Passionate

  Accommodating

  Padua was all of those things, and surpassed most women in some of them. She would never agree to be his mistress, but the list applied to any lover, no matter what her status. Unfortunately, the most important quality, the one on which there could be no compromise, loyalty, promised to be the biggest problem. Not because she lacked loyalty, but because she excelled there too.

  He paced along, keeping an eye on her and the horse, noticing how she slowly became accustomed to it. By the time they crossed the field, she looked to be almost enjoying herself. He picked up the pace just a little, and she did not mind.

  She took interest in the farms, and waved when they passed a family working outside their cottage. The man and woman stopped and stared.

  “They appear surprised,” she said.

  “It has been some years since they saw a woman ride the estate. Probably not since my mother gave it up.”

  She instinctively looked down at her blue riding habit. Another of Eva’s miracles, it had been redone from one of his mother’s. The long train of riding habits had allowed a refitting.

  “They do not recognize it,” he said.

  “The woman does, I promise you.” She laughed. “Did your mother have dark hair? If so, word might spread that her ghost was seen.”

  “Her hair was dark, and her eyes, too, and, I suspect, her moods and perhaps her heart. When she passed, I realized how little I knew her.”

  “That is sad.”

  It was, he supposed. She had favored Percy, as most mothers would their firstborn. He and Lance had seen an alliance when perhaps it was just a mother being a mother. “I am not only ignorant about her, but about my parents’ marriage. Gareth is evidence that it was not happy, but I do not know if she drove my father away, or if he fled, or if the fault was his.”

  “Perhaps that is why none of you married. All of those ambiguities would not give you much faith in it.”

  What an odd thing to say. They had not married because . . . He smiled to himself. Because none of them wanted to. Gareth had just married, but then he had the least to lose, and his character had been formed differently. He did not run at the front of the herd. He did not run with the herd at all. It would be like him to decide that, evidence to the contrary aside, marriage would be a good idea if the woman were Eva.

  They approached the high hill from a different direction. They were halfway up before Padua realized where they were. “Thank you for bringing me back here, so I can see it again.”

  He insisted they get down once they reached the top. They stood on the crest. Padua’s eyes glittered while she feasted on the vista.

  “I brought you here for a reason, Padua.”

  “I do not think this dress, with all this skirt, is manageable for that.”

  He laughed and took her hand. “When we were here the last time, I raised a subject that I want to talk about again. I would like us to marry.”

  Nothing changed in her expression. She continued to look out over the farms. Her half smile did not alter. She remained at peace. Perhaps, just perhaps, a few lights went out in her eyes.

  “You want to do the right thing,” she said. “That is decent of you.”

  “On such matters I can be a scoundrel with the best of them. I am not proposing out of obligation. I think we suit each other very well.”

  She looked at him. A million stars sparkled now, because there were tears in her eyes. “We do, don’t we? If this were truly another world—what a scandal you would cause, if you married me. Could you survive it through your birth alone? To marry the daughter of a criminal, a man who might be hanged? I doubt it. I think your brothers doubt it. They know you cannot have me. It is in Gareth’s eyes when he looks at me. The apology for what will come.”

  “I do not care about any of that, damn it.”

  “You will care. To have been in the center, then pushed to the edges—I think it is easier to have lived as I have, on the edges from the start. And when do you think to make this marriage? Before you serve as prosecutor, or after he is gone?”

  He pulled her into his arms. “Never. I have decided I will not do it.”

  She gazed up at him in shock. Her eyes blazed. “But you must.”

  “The hell I must. I will not be responsible for giving you that pain.”

  She twisted and squirmed out of his hold. She stepped back, and faced him, straight and tall. “Yet I will know the pain anyway. Your refusing to prosecute spares me nothing, and may make it worse than it has to be.”

  “It is perverse to suggest that after what we have shared, I go into court against your father, Padua. It is out of the question now. I will remove myself.”

  “If you don’t, who will?” She strode to him and stuck her face up at his. “Some fool who will only think he has won if the accused sw
ings? A man more interested in the coin he earns than in justice? My father may be guilty of playing a minor role in a big crime, but there are those who will make it sound as if he planned it all and grew rich in the process, and worse.”

  His temper spiked. He walked away from her, so he might leash it. “After this week, for me to prosecute would be dishonorable. I could never be effective. I must remove myself. Hell, I knew I had to before we even left London.”

  “You did?” It was more an accusation than a question.

  “Of course. A man cannot do to a woman what I did to you at Langley House, then claim impartiality regarding her kinsmen. Did you really think I would have you like this, then pretend I represented the Crown when your father was tried?”

  Her expression cracked. Shattered. She bit her lower lip. She hugged herself, and stomped her foot in an effort to contain her emotion. “But you must. You must.” She stomped her foot again. Her face twisted in anguish. “I have made such a muddle of it. I am an idiot.”

  His worst misgivings resurrected from where he had buried them. They spread all through him like a bad chill. He almost choked on the disappointment they bred. “Padua, in my house that first night, you were tempted to try to bribe me. It was in your eyes. Is that what you have been trying to do? Convince me to do other than my best in court?”

  She just looked at him, her eyes filming all the more.

  “I could not blame you for it,” he said. “You are nothing if not brilliant. And loyal.”

  She shook her head. “Please do not think that. Please do not. I did not open my door to you because of any of this. If I had known doing so would mean you walked away completely, however—your best is honest and just, and others’ might not be.” She turned away and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes.

  He went up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Her tears convulsed her, then started to ebb. When she had collected herself, she leaned against him and held his arms against her body.