My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance)

by Cheryl Bolen

  With that fantasy dream in mind, she searched through fashion magazines until she found a picture of a dress that was exactly what she wanted. She took it to Mrs. Baron on the day she and Mrs. Taylor rode into York. She and Mrs. Baron selected a pristine white satin covered with Alencon lace against the protestations of Mrs. Taylor, whose color choice was fuchsia.

  "No, that will not quite do for a maiden," Mrs. Baron kindly rebuked Mrs. Taylor. "She must wear white to her first ball."

  "Well, it isn't as if this were London," Mrs. Taylor had snippily replied before settling on the fuchsia for herself.

  After returning to the abbey and on subsequent afternoons, Mrs. Taylor would play the pianoforte while Freddie and Lord Stacks danced. The only physical contact between the dancing partners occurred the few times their hands would touch for the briefest of seconds. Freddie realized the touch meant nothing to him, but to her it was magical. Ethereal.

  She looked forward to learning the waltz.

  ***

  He could put it off no longer, Stacks decided. He would have to demonstrate the waltz to Freddie. He threw a hesitant glance at Mrs. Taylor, whose girth took up a goodly portion of the pianoforte bench. "Play the number on top," he commanded.

  Her fingers struck the keys and the up tempo tune filled the library with light, gay music.

  Stacks came to stand in front of Freddie. "Unlike the dances you have learned previously, Miss Lambeth," he said stiffly, "the waltz is performed between a man and a woman who rather hold on to one another. Let me show you the steps first." He moved his feet. "One, two, three. One, two, three."

  Without being asked to do so, Freddie followed his movement.

  He nodded approval. "Very good, Miss Lambeth." His black eyes locked with hers. He stood facing her, less than a foot away. "Would you give me the pleasure of standing up with me?" He told Mrs. Taylor to begin the number again.

  Freddie smiled and offered him a dainty hand. He felt his resolve melting with the glow of her smile. His pulse quickened as he placed an arm around her, his hand clasping hers warmly. To cover his feelings of awkwardness, he continued to count. "One, two, three." He could not allow himself to think of her. Of how very good she felt in his arms. Of the soft, gentle feel of her hand.

  To his utter humiliation, he felt himself growing hard beneath his breeches and prayed that Freddie would not notice. Ordinarily, most maidens would be unaware of men's bodily actions, but he doubted Freddie's ignorance. After all, she had been at birthing beds and men's sick rooms all of her life. Doubtless, she knew much about the human body.

  How could he extricate himself from this situation without her realizing his motive for so doing?

  He held her at arm's length. "Well, Miss Lambeth," he said formally, "I think you get the idea. That's enough for today. I need to get with Simpson about the invitations."

  He quickly turned on his heel and hastened to his chair behind the massive walnut desk before she could glimpse his crotch.

  And he congratulated himself on not giving in to his body.

  If only he'd had such resolve with Elizabeth. She might very well still be alive.

  Chapter 14

  Maggie was fastening a plumed band in Freddie's hair when a knock sounded at the door. Against all logic, Freddie hoped it might be Lord Stacks wanting to see her in private before the guests arrived. She threw a quick glance into the looking glass, her chest heaving with trepidation. It amazed her enormously what a fat purse could do to transform an extremely plain girl into a tolerable looking belle. And Mrs. Baron must be an absolute genius, for the gown she fashioned after Freddie's cut-out magazine picture would undoubtedly dazzle the Princess of Wales herself! The neckline dipped quite low, gathering just below the bosom, and the effect was to make Freddie's breasts appear much larger than they were. Even her bare shoulders looked graceful, sloping into the tiniest puffed sleeves that covered a scant portion of her upper arms.

  The lace over the gossamer satin was very sheer and unadorned until it sculpted into an elaborate garland effect at the hemline and the border of the train. Long, white opera-length gloves provided the last elegant touch. She hoped Lord Stacks would be as pleased with her appearance as she was.

  "Who is it?" Freddie asked, her heart drumming wildly.

  The knob turned. "It's just me," Mrs. Taylor said, sweeping into the room in her fuchsia gown. "I dare not sit for fear of wrinkling."

  "How lovely you look," Freddie said. And she really meant it. This was the first time the woman dressed appropriate to her age, no doubt a tribute to Mrs. Baron's excellent ministrations. Mrs. Taylor's eyes narrowed as she watched Maggie spiral wisps of Freddie's errant hair into curls. "I daresay the ugliest duckling could become quite the swan with a skilled abigail and the finest mantuamaker in all of Yorkshire."

  Freddie supposed she had just been the recipient of a compliment. "Maggie is talented, is she not?"

  Mrs. Taylor nodded. "It would not do to rely on her too much, you know."

  "I am well aware that my station will not permit such a luxury indefinitely, if that is what you allude to."

  "Dear me," Mrs. Taylor said in her best martyr's voice. "I have had to do my own hair always."

  "You do it very well," Freddie said.

  The older woman's face brightened. "I did take extra pains tonight since his lordship has asked you and I to stand with him as he greets the guests."

  All Freddie could think of was that Lord Stacks had said he would lead her out for the first dance. "Shall we go?"

  The two women left the room and walked along the cloister without wraps.

  "You are most fortunate, indeed, to have Lord Stacks as your guardian," Mrs. Taylor said.

  "I am well aware of the fact, ma'am."

  "I daresay you are the charity case to assuage his conscience."

  Freddie felt her heart pounding. She knew now to what the odious woman alluded. Had everyone but her known? Still, Freddie refused to nibble at the bait. "Perhaps you are right." Freddie willed herself not to probe. To act as if she knew all there was to know about her guardian. To show that she had no problem whatsoever living under his roof, despite the horrendous things that were said of him.

  "Does it not bother you that he strangled his wife with her own sash?"

  Freddie's heart drummed madly. By now they had reached the door into the main part of the abbey. Freddie came to an abrupt halt and turned to glare at Mrs. Taylor, whose face was a malevolent mask. Freddie tried to control her own rage and to suppress the anger in her shaking voice. "If I believed such baseless gossip I would hardly still be here, ma'am."

  Though she trembled to her very toes, Freddie glided through the library and the tapestry room before meeting her guardian in the great room and forcing a smile.

  ***

  Dressed impeccably in a black velvet top coat, white brocade waistcoat and gray breeches, Stacks made last-minute inspections of the great room-turned-ballroom. He glanced at the five huge chandeliers that hung from the blocked wood of the great hall's ceiling twenty-five feet overhead. Hundreds of candles blazed, casting a yellow glow over the room. A satisfied smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

  All that was needed now were the guests. His chest tightened when he thought of them. Not a single regret had been received, yet Stacks feared no one would come. After all, who would want to associate with a murderer?

  He tried to tell himself that if no one came, it would be all right. He had managed without society for ten years. And, to be honest, he preferred his garden to balls and routs. He did not really enjoy the paying of false compliments, the dancing with fat matrons, the tediousness of sitting in others' drawing rooms. He'd been perfectly happy without people.

  No, that was not entirely true. Though he did not miss the balls and soirees and routs, he had hungered for companionship. He had been terribly lonely. But not since Freddie had come. She had filled that void. She was his intellectual equal. She was skilled at games. She enjoyed working
on their book. She seemed perfectly happy to sit with him for hours without uttering a single word.

  While he was thinking of her, he heard her gentle voice complimenting one of the footmen, and he turned to look at her. It was Freddie, yet it wasn't. She looked too elegant. Too mature. Too worldly. She looked. . .she looked very lovely. He could not remove his eyes from her as she moved toward him. He'd never thought her a beauty, not like Elizabeth. Yet tonight she was a beauty in her own right.

  She sailed up to him and coyly presented her hand. Bowing, he brushed his lips across her dainty fingers. "I find I am quite robbed of words to describe your loveliness, Miss Lambeth."

  She smiled and came to stand beside him as Eason announced the first guests.

  For the next half hour, he greeted smiling guests and introduced them to his ward and her companion. There was the squire and the vicar and his wife, along with Catherine. Dr. Edgekirth, dressed rather formally, arrived, as did John Rountree with two carriages bearing his siblings and their widowed mother.

  Stacks wanted to size up Luke Rountree. He was not quite as handsome as his brother, being a much smaller man. And his dress was far plainer than his brother's--a fact of which Stacks hardily approved. "I understand you're curate at Landsdowne," Stacks said to him.

  "Yes, my lord."

  "You must come to visit Marshbanks Abbey more."

  Casting a quick glance at Freddie, Luke said, "I should like to very much."

  "I would hope you are better at whist than your brother."

  Luke smiled. "I fear John is the better player."

  "A pity," Stacks said. "What are your interests, Mr. Rountree?"

  "I'm a tolerable sportsman--and I enjoy turning my pen to poetic pursuits."

  Stacks hoped his disappointment did not show as his eyes moved to the person in line behind Mr. Luke Rountree, and he issued a greeting to the young lady dressed in pink.

  Stacks' fears of failure were unfounded. Every single person invited came. The hall buzzed with gay voices and rustled with the silk of ball gowns. Stacks found that he was pleased, after all.

  When the orchestra started playing, he led Freddie out for the first dance, a quadrille. He did not trust himself to waltz with her. Especially the way she looked tonight. She looked no more like a girl than Mrs. Taylor did. As they danced, he found himself staring at her bosom. Had it always been that big? He watched with pride as she stood in the ladies' line, so much taller than the others. And so much prettier.

  Later, he watched as Edgekirth crossed the crowded room at the first strains of the first waltz to solicit Freddie as his partner. Stacks did not at all like watching Edgekirth make a cake of himself over Freddie yet he was unable to remove his eyes from them. He thought the man stood entirely too close to Freddie throughout the intimate dance.

  Stacks liked it better when she danced with John Rountree. Of course, she could never be attracted to the nitwit. Stacks watched with interest as Freddie danced with Luke Rountree. He looked for signs that Freddie was in any way enamored of the young curate, but he saw nothing but bland courtesy on her part.

  He was angered again when Edgekirth claimed Freddie for the supper dance and watched icily throughout the meal as the doctor solicitously hung on Freddie's every word, hovering over her like a blasted nurse.

  Half way through the late-night supper, Mrs. Taylor addressed him. "I notice you're not dancing." He had particularly requested that the woman's seat be removed from his, but the three guests between them did not deter the woman from talking to him.

  "I danced the first dance," he reminded her.

  "It is just that I believed you to be mad over dancing," she said. "You're so very good at it." Drawing the attention of Mrs. Farraday, who sat between them, Mrs. Taylor said, "Lord Stacks personally taught Miss Lambeth how to dance."

  The vicar's wife raised her brows.

  "I must say Miss Farraday looks lovely tonight," Stacks said, rapidly changing the conversation to a topic he knew Mrs. Farraday would welcome.

  She broke into an open, friendly smile. "Why, thank you, my lord."

  "I must persuade her to stand up with me after supper."

  He performed the obligatory dance with Catherine Farraday immediately after supper.

  ***

  A lump in her throat, Freddie watched the long and lean body of her guardian waltz with the lovely Catherine Farraday. He had neither waltzed with nor dined near Freddie. Though she had confidence in her own appearance tonight, Freddie knew she was no match against Catherine's blond beauty. And Catherine was even older than Freddie! Freddie's eyes followed the swirling dancers through eyes blurred with unspilt tears. And she found herself unconsciously counting to the fluid strains of the violins. One, two, three.

  Mrs. Taylor came to stand beside Freddie and was there when Edgekirth returned with two glasses of ratafia, promptly offering one of them to Mrs. Taylor. "Fredericka," she said, taking the glass without protest, "you must demonstrate for Dr. Edgekirth how well you do the waltz. He will never believe that you did not dance a single step three weeks ago. I declare, one would think you were straight from the assembly rooms of Almacks!"

  "Dare I hope you would so honor me again?" Edgekirth asked. "You are, after all, the most sought after lady here tonight."

  It was true. She had danced every dance and been paid more compliments in one evening than she had received in an entire lifetime. Then why did she feel so bereft?

  The waltz ended, and a quadrille began. Freddie could consent to a quadrille with the doctor. It wasn't like the waltz. How uncomfortable she had been waltzing with the obviously lovelorn doctor, imagining how glorious it would have been to float around the dance floor in Lord Stack's capable arms.

  She could not expel the vision of her guardian waltzing, his arm slipping quite naturally around Catherine Farraday's slender waist.

  Freddie faced Edgekirth with chin lifted. "I should be happy to stand up with you once more."

  ***

  It was so very hot, Stacks thought. He had to get out of the room. He pushed through the noisy crowds and past the liveried footmen, through the open doors of the vestibule and settled on the front steps, where he lit a cigar. Better the smoke to shoot from his mouth than his ears. For he was utterly furious. If Freddie herself had not signaled out the blasted doctor, Stacks would bloody well want to call him out. The very gall of the man! Dancing three times with Freddie in one night!

  He might as well tell the entire county they were betrothed!

  Of all the men for her to lose her heart to, Edgekirth was the least acceptable. John Rountree would have been easier to palate. But, then, Rountree had not the brains to attract Freddie. Unlike Edgekirth. Damn him.

  Stacks drew in the pungent tobacco smoke, then expelled it, cursing under his breath. He would be forced to accept what was as plain as the nose on his face. Freddie and Edgekirth were in love. Still. . .Edgekirth should have come to him before flaunting the relationship before all one hundred guests. Stacks would have to speak to him now.

  Or should he speak to Freddie first?

  Chapter 15

  In her state of exhaustion, sleep should have swallowed Freddie like a dark cave. After all, she had never before stayed up all night. Just before dawn she had come to her chamber and undressed herself, having told Maggie not to wait up. Then Freddie and Marmalade slipped beneath the covers of her bed. But unlike Marmalade, who quietly slept beside her, Freddie had not been able to sleep.

  It wasn't the hazy early morning sun slanting in her windows that kept her awake. Nor was it the exhilaration of her first dance. Truth be told, she had found herself questioning why all the young ladies of her acquaintance delighted over such events. Perhaps they enjoyed the gaiety and society of fresh faces more than she.

  There was only one person whose companionship Freddie craved. And Lord Stacks obviously did not feel the same about her. Only one dance with her all night! On the bright side, he had danced half of his dances with her, f
or he danced but twice during the course of the ball.

  Still, she simmered with resentment that he claimed Catherine Farraday and not her for the waltz. She would positively hate the pretty blond if it weren't for the fact the girl--who seemed of a very sweet nature--gave every indication of being excessively uncomfortable while dancing with the lord of the abbey. The blonde's body was unnaturally rigid and her face lacked animation as she moved stiffly around the dance floor in Lord Stacks' embrace. Not at all like the young lady was when she stood up with Dr. Edgekirth. Then her eyes had danced, her step seemed light, her smile gay.

  Freddie wondered why her guardian had not danced more. She had thought during their dancing sessions of the past three weeks that he must enjoy dancing. Perhaps it was that as host he sought to personally talk with every guest. He had seemed rather intent on making his way around the lively ballroom, pausing to pose solicitous inquiries of each attendee. What did she know of the protocol of being a host? Lord Stacks was no doubt doing what was expected of him.

  Though he had smiled and was all that was gracious, she sensed her guardian would have preferred to have been elsewhere. He obviously had taken great pains to hold a successful ball for the sole purpose of presenting her to society. Her heart melted at the thought. He was so very good to her.

  She could never tell him that she had not found the ball the most heavenly night of her life. His disappointment would crush her. She would have to tell him the evening had been most delightful.

  She was expected to sleep until early afternoon. But her mind whirled with visions from the evening past. She remembered how unpleasant it was to be held by Dr. Edgekirth during the waltz. A pity she could not return his ardor. She understood his agony only too keenly, for she dealt with the same unanswered hunger every minute she was with Lord Stacks.

  After more than an hour of lying in bed, turning over the same thoughts again and again, she decided to get up. She would merely go to bed early tonight to compensate for the loss of sleep. She threw on a plain muslin day dress and did not bother with her hair. She did not care what she looked like. Only servants would see her. Lord Stacks was sure to be sleeping, as was Mrs. Taylor.