My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance)

by Cheryl Bolen

  "And you, Miss Lambeth, are wonderfully evasive."

  "I think you will be very successful in your profession, Reverend."

  A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. "Do you fancy being a bishop's wife?"

  She was evasive once more--this time with a mischievous glint in her eyes when she said, "You have great persistence."

  By now they had rounded the park and were walking back to the abbey, when Edgekirth walked forward to meet them.

  He was all smiles for Freddie but gave only a curt nod to Luke as he came to walk on Freddie's other side.

  "You might be interested to know, Edgekirth," Luke said, "that I have spoken to Miss Lambeth's guardian."

  Freddie, catching her breath at the curate's boldness and outspoken honesty, gave a quick look at the doctor, who muttered an oath under his breath. "Damn you, Rountree!

  "Please," Luke said, "a lady is present."

  "Miss Lambeth is well acquainted with my foul outbursts," Edgekirth barked.

  Luke spoke with controlled anger. "I would have you apologize."

  "No, really," Freddie protested. "It is true. I am so accustomed to the doctor's ill humor that I think nothing of it."

  "She will have your apology," Luke repeated.

  "Of course, Miss Lambeth, I am sorry for speaking so coarsely in your presence," Edgekirth said.

  "Does that mean you shall not do so again?" Freddie asked with amusement.

  Edgekirth shot a disgruntled gaze at Luke. "Not in the presence of a curate, at least." He held Freddie exclusively in his gaze. "Am I to be privy to your guardian's answer to Mr. Rountree's petition?"

  She looked straight ahead. "My guardian said I am free to choose my own husband."

  "And," Luke added, "Miss Lambeth has given me little encouragement, but I am a patient man."

  "Patience, my dear Mr. Rountree, is waiting until one is five and thirty to select a mate," Edgekirth said. "What can a man of your age know of love?"

  "If you think to disparage me over my lack of years, remember I have many, many more years ahead than a man of five and thirty summers."

  They came back to the drawing room and had tea. It was obvious the doctor intended to stay until Luke took his leave, but Luke was just as stubborn. They sat in the drawing room long after the teapot had been emptied, and the plate of cakes held nothing but crumbs, but still neither of them left.

  Finally, Freddie got to her feet. "Forgive me, gentlemen, but I have matters which require my attention. I thank you for your visits." And she swept from the room.

  Invited or not, she intended to force her company of Lord Stacks.

  Chapter 21

  Freddie's response to Luke Rountree's suit only mildly aroused Stacks' interest. He would have known it had she a marked preference for the young man. Stacks strongly suspected the poor curate would be dismissed as Edgekirth had been. Perhaps the girl was too young to be considering a husband--as she had said--but he thought not. There was something else preventing her from looking favorably on her suitors. He felt it as surely as he sensed a storm rising when nary a cloud darkened the sky. But he did not know what it was.

  Eason brought the post, and Stacks sat behind his desk to read the letter from his solicitor, surprised the packet was so slender. Were there not a bevy of applicants for the position of companion to his ward as there was the last time? He unfolded the velum. There was only one sheet. His gaze skipped over the page, his pulse racing in anger.

  Mr. Lindsley wrote that he was still in the process of collecting applications but that he had some very distressing news to impart to Lord Stacks. "It seems," he had written, "that a Mrs. Taylor, lately of your employ, has bandied your lordship's name about London in the most negligent, appalling manner. With this being the case, it grows increasingly difficult to procure the services of a well qualified lady."

  Stacks issued a curse, then wadded the letter into a ball and flung it across the room. "Damn her black soul to hell!" he shouted. He regretted his generosity in paying her for the entire quarter when she had served only a month.

  Why had Lindsley been so blasted vague about what the woman was saying? It mattered not a whit to Stacks what was being said of him. After all, he had chosen to absent himself from the ton for the past decade. But he was gravely concerned over the possibility of Freddie being slandered. She did not deserve to be tainted merely by her association with him.

  What if the vile Julia Taylor was suggesting that he and Freddie. . .Suddenly he remembered his dream from the night before, the dream that resurfaced painful memories he had tried desperately to suppress. Only this time Freddie--not Elizabeth--was in this dream.

  She had lifted her youthful face to him. She did not look like a young girl any longer. Her eyes simmered with a smoldering passion. Her tongue provocatively moistened her lips, and she held her arms up to him. He bent to kiss her, his breath labored, as she opened her mouth to him. In frenzied sucking gestures, he drew in her warm breath and circled inside her soft lips with his tongue. The power of the kiss weakened him.

  They fell back on his bed--it was daytime--and his knee parted her legs. She moaned softly and arched into him. Suddenly, as happens in the fragments of dreams, they were both naked, their moist flesh merging in one primeval rhythm. Her body was beautiful. His eyes trailed lazily over its lithe, ivory leanness, her supple little breasts, the thatch of brown between her legs. He thought he would explode from his hard, engorged need.

  As if it dropped from the heavens, a black silk sash twisted about her neck, wrapped by and guided with his hand.

  She spread her long legs to receive him, and he lowered himself into her slick sheath, plunging into an abyss of paralyzing pleasure, holding her moist body ever tighter. He was aware of her lavender scent, her softness, of the urgency of her movement beneath his muscled torso. Yet he wasn't aware. He was dazed by own powerlessness, his mindless need to blend his body and his soul with this woman/child who shuddered beneath him.

  She cried out with pleasure, raising her hips to meet him. With each plunge, the sash tightened. Plunge, gasp, twist. Plunge, gasp, twist. Plunge, gasp, twist.

  He opened his eyes, and her eyes were no longer Freddie's green but had become clear and blue. And the face was not Freddie's but Elizabeth's.

  Then he woke up. His heart was beating so rapidly his chest heaved. He looked quickly at the bed to assure himself it had only been a dream, that no one was there.

  He had not been able to close his eyes again the rest of the night. Just as frightening as the nightmare recurring was the fear of abusing Freddie. Freddie who had come to him as an innocent filled with trust and blind love. But not the kind of love that occurred between a man and a woman.

  The terrifying truth, he realized as he got to his feet and began to pace the library, was that he did not think of Freddie as a child. He had come to desire her as a man desires a woman. Just thinking about her caused life to spring to his groin.

  He had been right to want to send her back when she first came to Marshbanks Abbey. If only he had done so then. If only she hadn't almost died with fever. Now it was too late.

  She had confided that she had never been happier than she had at Marshbanks Abbey. She had never been shown love until she came here. And now she had eligible suitors and a cat she loved fiercely. And she even gave every indication she thoroughly relished working on his book.

  To send her away would destroy her.

  There was only one thing to do. He must go away.

  ***

  She let herself into his library, stormed across the room and plopped down in the chair facing his desk.

  His back had been to her as he stood looking out the window. "Has no one ever told you how rude it is to enter a room without knocking first on the door?" he asked before spinning around to face her. "Is that another omission I am to lay at the feet of the very unsatisfactory Mrs. Taylor?"

  She burst out laughing. "Oh, do let's blame the maddening woman!"

/>   A smile crossed his face, and he came to sit at his desk and face her, lifting a brow. "Am I to offer you felicitations?"

  She gave him a hostile stare. "No, you most certainly are not! Do not weep over the fact I turned down Mr. Rountree."

  "I fully expect tomorrow to find Tobias Whitcombe on bended knee in front of you."

  Her eyes flashed and she raised her chin defiantly. "Playing with hearts is no laughing matter, I assure you. I have just left two extremely unhappy suitors in the drawing room and have come to chastise you."

  "Me?"

  She nodded. "Was it not your great plan to find me a suitable husband?"

  "And what is wrong with that? Isn't a guardian supposed to see to the happiness of his ward?"

  "Putting aside the fact that your ward had no desire to wed, think of the gentlemen's feelings. First Dr. Edgekirth, and now poor Mr. Rountree are both rather miserable, and I feel wretchedly guilty over it.

  "I know you think I am nothing but a child, but I assure you I very much understand what it is to suffer unrequited love, and I find it highly regrettable that these men are forced to suffer such feelings of devastation merely because the mighty Lord Stacks desired to play matchmaker."

  His face grew somber. "Freddie, I only wanted what was best for you."

  He had called her Freddie!

  "How was I to know that you would not hold the men in favor?" he asked. "And I'm deuced surprised to learn of this unrequited love of yours. I assume it was in the past. Before you came to Marshbanks Abbey."

  She had been unable to remove her eyes from his since he had unknowingly called her Freddie. It seemed such an intimate gesture.

  Her mind whirled over her next move. She had arrived at Marshbanks Abbey with nothing but her implacable pride. Should she throw it away for the man she loved more than life? If he denied her, she would be left with nothing. She might as well die. But, then, surely she would die if she had to live without him.

  "Well," he said, his voice just short of being harsh, "was it in the past?"

  Her eyes were swimming when she answered. "No, Thomas, my love."

  Chapter 22

  He could no more remove his eyes from her--his child/woman--than he could suppress the powerful emotions which raged within him. With loving thoroughness, he searched her innocent face, the warm green eyes moist with unshed tears, the freckles which bridged her straight nose, her full mouth he longed to feel under his. Her cork-colored hair wisped about her fair temple. She sat in her proud and stately manner gazing at him, waiting for his response. He could hallelujah! the heavens for giving him so precious a gift, for righting the sensual desire she had aroused in him.

  He raised himself to unsteady legs, walked to her chair and dropped to his knees. His face level with hers, he took both her hands in his ever so gently and pressed kisses into the hollow of her palms. Great tears filled his eyes a moment later when he reached to stroke her cheek. "I hold you more dear than anything on this earth. I love you more deeply than any man has ever loved. There can never be happiness for me without you by my side. But I love you too dearly to make you mine. To do so would destroy you."

  Now her tears rolled freely upon pale cheeks, but she did not move to wipe them away. "How can I be destroyed by receiving the only thing I desire from life?"

  He got up and took a few steps to a nearby chair, scooted it beside Freddie and took her hand in his. "The sins of my past prevent me from seeking happiness."

  She held him in her steady, somber gaze. "Is it true you did not have sexual relations with Elizabeth?"

  How had she known what he had never told anyone? All those months he denied himself of Elizabeth's beautiful body. "This is not a subject which I can discuss with a young maiden."

  "But I am not a child, Thomas. I am a woman, a woman with passions and feelings. Though I am a virgin, I know of the desires between a man and a woman."

  She was an extraordinarily precocious eighteen-year-old, and he wanted her more than ever. "You have no doubt heard about the many injuries my wife sustained."

  "I have."

  "You know it is said that I inflicted the injuries on her."

  "I don't believe you're capable of it."

  He smiled. It was a bitter smile. "I never knowingly injured Elizabeth."

  "You did not want to hurt her nor did you desire to make love to her."

  "I did make love to her." He closed his eyes as if he were in great pain. "There was a period of time when I was absent from her bed. Several months. I denied myself to protect her."

  She looked away from him for a moment. When she turned back, her voice quivered with emotion. "Even if you were capable of inflicting pain on me, I would endure it for the pleasure of your love."

  How could someone as evil as him ever deserve such devotion? "As I live, I do not deserve your sacred love," he cried out, springing from his chair to move to her.

  She raised herself and flowed into his arms as he closed them about her. He wanted to savor the heavenly torture of her compliant body against his, the feel of her warm breath against his chest. The fingers of one hand drifted through her silken hair. She slowly, seductively lifted her head for a kiss. With an insatiable hunger borne of ten years of denial, borne of a love as pure as country air, he kissed her with incredible tenderness. His tongue slipped between parted lips, and he kissed her with all his heart.

  Though his enlarged need caused him agony, he broke away from her, holding her at arm's length. "I cannot make love to you, my dear cherished one. I love you too dearly."

  Her breathing labored, her eyes misty with despair and passion, she spoke with a quivering voice. "You shall never be free of me, Thomas. I was put on this earth to love you."

  "You don't understand." He turned from her and walked to the window. With his back to her, he spoke. "I killed Elizabeth."

  He turned to face her, to see horror flare in her searing eyes.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Stacks told Eason to enter.

  "A Sir Harold Lambeth, accompanied by two ladies, awaits your lordship in the great room."

  Stacks and Freddie exchanged startled looks.

  Stacks' eyes turned cold as agate. "Damn Julia Taylor!"

  ***

  With each step Freddie took toward the great room, her heart pounded harder, her fear mounted. Had they come to take her away from Thomas? Could they? Mingled with her fears were the stunning revelations of the past hour. Thomas loved her!

  Thomas had kissed her.

  Thomas could not wed her.

  Thomas had killed Elizabeth.

  Uncle Harold, Aunt Dorothea and cousin Roxanne sat rigidly on one of the great room's sofas as she and Lord Stacks entered the room. Flashing broad smiles, all of them dressed far more formally than they would for travelling. Roxanne looked especially fetching in a lavender summer dress with a low neckline. Freddie, in a fickle pendulum swing, went from feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world to feeling quite ugly in her puritanical brown print muslin which came to her throat.

  Uncle Harold leapt to his feet and bowed at Lord Stacks. "A pleasure to meet you, my lord. My brother spoke so very highly of you for so many years, I feel as if I know you."

  Lord Stacks was all that was courteous. "A pleasure it is indeed to welcome you and your family to Marshbanks Abbey."

  Uncle Harold turned to present his wife and daughter to the baron.

  Aunt Dorothea curtseyed gracefully while babbling on and on about how happy she was to meet the fine gentleman who was so kind to her dear niece.

  Freddie wanted to protest.

  Then Roxanne dipped a curtsey, fluttered her long lashes, and spoke in her velvety voice. "How very pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Lord Stacks."

  None of them had thought to offer greetings to Freddie.

  "Do sit down and make yourselves comfortable," Lord Stacks said, taking a seat in a nearby chair.

  Freddie also sat in a chair near the grouping of upholster
ed furniture.

  "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" their host asked.

  "We have been visiting friends in the Lake District, and I told Dorothea, 'why don't we just swing on over to see Freddie' being so close and all." Now he peered at Freddie. "How splendid you look, my dear. Yorkshire must agree with you very well."

  Freddie smiled. "Very well indeed. And as you can see, Lord Stacks has kindly provided me with very fine clothing."

  Roxanne ran her eyes over Freddie's well constructed dress and dainty slippers. "I had no idea such quality was available here in the North."

  Freddie could not resist a reply. "You would not believe the beautiful ball gowns I possess!"

  Roxanne's lovely blue eyes almost turned green with unspoken envy. "You have balls here?"

  "We do," Stacks said. "If you stay long enough at Marshbanks Abbey we will hold one to honor you. I held one to introduce Miss Lambeth, and she has been a great success. I believe there are three men dancing attendance upon her at the present."

  A sincere smile swept across Uncle Harold's round face. "That is gratifying news indeed."

  "I am so very happy for you, Fredericka," Roxanne said insincerely.

  "You must be fatigued from your journey," Stacks told them. "Allow me to have rooms prepared for you." He turned to Freddie.

  "Yes, you really must stay," she offered without a smile. She watched as Dorothea's gaze swept over the fine paintings and the impressive chandeliers that suspended from the ceilings of richly blocked wood.

  "How very kind of you, Lord Stacks," Dorothea said in her disturbingly nasal voice. "We would dearly love to be shown about the abbey. Do you have public days?"

  "No," he answered. "The abbey's really not that grand. It's rather primitive and too ecclesiastical." He asked Eason to request Mrs. Greenwood prepare rooms in the cloister near Freddie for Miss Lambeth's family, then began to explain how the great room had formerly been a chapel as he showed them about the room. Though Freddie could have used her time more productively working on her drawings, she dared not leave for fear of missing something. Would Uncle Harold mention the gossip of Mrs. Taylor?