My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance)

by Cheryl Bolen

  A cry broke from Freddie's throat, and Edgekirth placed an arm around her to turn her away from the disturbing sight.

  "Come, let us go back in," Edgekirth said gently.

  As if she were a zombie, Freddie allowed Edgekirth to guide her. She was blinded by the tears which stung her eyes, and she shook in disbelief. Her Thomas was kissing Roxanne! It couldn't be. Surely her eyes had deceived her. Thomas loved her. More dearly than any man has ever loved he had told her. He couldn't have been lying. She had believed him and believed in him.

  And now it felt as if she were bleeding inside.

  "You've got to try to get a hold of yourself," Edgekirth said gently. "Don't let him see how he's hurt you."

  She really didn't care. She didn't care about anything. As they walked back into the ballroom, the squire, Tobias Whitcombe, greeted them. He didn't appear to notice any change in Freddie's manner. "I say, Miss Lambeth, I've been searching for you. The orchestra is beginning a waltz, and it would please me excessively if you'd be my partner.

  Freddie nodded slowly, and allowed the man to lead her away from Edgekirth. She felt as if she were walking through Purgatory as they meandered their way through the crowds and at last reached the dance floor. The two were at eye level with one another as he set his arm about her and took one hand to begin the waltz. Several times her step faltered for her mind was too numb for her to count the steps. She did not even apologize.

  She watched the door to the vestibule for Thomas and Roxanne. Roxanne came first, her face flushed. A moment later, Stacks strode in, as tall and lithe and powerful and handsome as ever. Only, she thought bitterly, he was no longer her Thomas.

  Somehow she got through the dance without crying in public. Perhaps she was too numb to cry. The squire, commenting on how pale Miss Lambeth was, meekly ordered her to sit down while he fetched ratafia.

  As she was sitting there, Roxanne moved to her side and sat next to her. "Oh, Fredericka, I simply must tell someone my wonderful news, though it is not an announcement we plan to make just yet!"

  Freddie stared at her cousin, no emotion on her face.

  "Lord Stacks has done me the goodness to ask me to be his wife! Isn't it just wonderful?"

  Before Freddie could attempt to gather her wits, Tobias Whitcombe extended her the glass and asked Roxanne if she would like some.

  Freddie took the glass, took a quick sip, then announced to no one in particular, "If you will forgive me, I must seek my chamber. I'm not feeling at all well." She rose swiftly and left.

  "I thought something was wrong with her," Tobias Whitcombe said to Roxanne and Edgekirth, who had now joined them. "She wasn't at all herself when we were dancing. And her coloring was off, too."

  Chapter 26

  Violent rain pelted her tiny arched windows, and the wind swooped fiercely beyond the abbey walls. Despite the fire in her hearth, a chill permeated Freddie's chamber. She pulled the covers more tightly around her, disturbing Marmalade, who slept beside her. She had lain there all night and all day unable to sleep, barely able to think, she was so completely numbed over Roxanne's agonizing revelation.

  Maggie noiselessly entered the dreary room. The meager light from the cloudy skies allowed Freddie to see that her abigail brought a tray of food. Freddie had never taken meals in her room as Mrs. Taylor had told her proper ladies did.

  "Lord Stacks is worried over you, Miss Lambeth," Maggie said. "He insisted I bring you a tray."

  Freddie propped herself up on one elbow. "I'm not hungry."

  "The other Miss Lambeth told him you got sick at the ball and came to your chamber early. Are you still feeling poorly?" Maggie asked with concern.

  Freddie nodded. It wasn't really that she was sick. Unless she was sick of life. It was just that she could never again sit at his table. She didn't even know how she could ever look at him again. She went limp just thinking about his pensive face, his all-knowing black eyes, his sinewy dark body she would never feel against hers.

  "Poor dear," Maggie said soothingly. "Couldn't you at least drink some nice hot tea?"

  Freddie shook her head solemnly.

  "His lordship's going to be mighty unhappy," Maggie said, gathering up the tray. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

  "I just want to lie here," Freddie answered lamely.

  Maggie silently left the room.

  Freddie stayed in her bed, stroking Marmalade's soft fur, listening to the wind whistling outside the abbey, the abbey that had been her shelter from life's storms. Like her moroseness, the rain gathered strength, now fiercely splatting against her small windows. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning flashed it brightness into her gloomy chamber.

  It was hard to know when night fell for the storm had darkened the entire day. When her room grew as black as a grave, she refused to light a tallow but lay there in her cave-dark room until sleep finally overcame her weary body.

  She woke the next morning to the sound of the rain's steady pounding. The day was as gloomy as her life. But she was less numb this day, more able to think.

  Maggie came, bearing a breakfast tray. "His lordship is right concerned about you."

  "I'm still not hungry," Freddie informed her.

  With the tray halfway between herself and Freddie, Maggie froze, looking taken aback. "But, miss, it will help you get your strength back."

  I don't want my strength back, Freddie thought. I don't want to ever leave this room, to ever see any of them again. "I'm still not feeling up to eating, Maggie," Freddie rasped. "But leave the tea. I'll try to drink it."

  After Maggie closed the door, Freddie propped herself up on her bed and took a sip of tea. She began to think clearly for the first time in almost two days.

  Of course she could not go on living at Marshbanks Abbey after Thomas married Roxanne. The thought of them marrying tore at her heart. There was no way she would be able to watch him with another.

  And she could never return to Chilton Manor.

  She fleetingly hoped she could starve herself to death so she wouldn't have to worry about what to do next. There were so few options. She was totally unequipped to make her living. She even considered masquerading as a man to apply for an apothecary's apprentice position, but she knew that would not work.

  There were the two gentlemen who would offer her marriage. She had only to accept one of them. But she had vowed to never marry without love.

  She did hold especially deep affection for Dr. Edgekirth. Perhaps she could grow to love him. She loathed herself for giving vent to so selfish an idea.

  But what was a girl like her to do?

  ***

  "Damn the rain!" Stacks thought. Another day the blasted Lambeth family was forced to remain at the abbey. He couldn't be rid of them too soon. It was getting harder and harder to avoid being alone with the wretched Roxanne. She followed him everywhere. Even when he had left the hot ballroom and had taken a stroll to smoke his cigar, she had followed him. He recoiled when he remembered her standing on her tiptoes and forcing her lips on his. It was nothing like the bliss of Freddie's innocent passion.

  He knew he would have to be careful to prevent Roxanne from forcing him into a compromising position. The girl obviously schemed to become his baroness. To discourage so repugnant a notion, he'd even resorted to keeping his bed chamber locked. It would not have surprised him to find her in his bed. Anything to make her father demand a wedding.

  His only protection was to shadow her father. He had played enough billiards with Sir Harold in the last two days to make up for the room's ten years of disuse.

  While he was dodging every situation which might throw him together with Roxanne, he was fighting with himself not to storm into Freddie's chamber. Damn, but he was worried about her. Two full days and two full nights now and she had neither eaten a single bite nor left her bed. If the Lambeths hadn't been there, he would have rushed to her chamber. But neither he nor Freddie could risk such impropriety under her uncle's scrutiny.


  He'd repeatedly sent Maggie to check on Freddie. And Maggie repeatedly told him she was no better and no worse. Dorothea Lambeth had offered to visit her, but Stacks refused to let her, knowing such a visit might cause his beloved Freddie to get worse.

  On the third day when Maggie reported Freddie could not eat, he grew even more alarmed. She must be gravely ill.

  He'd worried about her throughout the long night, sitting beside the fire in his bed chamber, drinking brandy and resisting the nagging urge to go to her room, to defy convention even knowing Dorothea slept in the very next room to Freddie. His more noble side won. He did not go to Freddie. Nor had he gone to his own bed.

  His eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep as he played billiards with Sir Harold, his fatigue causing him to miss shots he normally made.

  Roberts, wearing a great coat and hat, entered the billiards room and cleared his throat. "A word with you, my lord, if I may."

  Stacks' brows drew together when he looked up and saw his valet dressed for braving the violent weather. He excused himself to Sir Harold, stepped outside the room and closed the door. "And just where do you think you are going in this weather?" Stacks asked.

  "To Dr. Edgekirth, of course. I know you want him to look in on Miss Freddie."

  "And how do you know that?"

  "Because your bed was not slept in," Roberts replied.

  Stacks laid a hand on Roberts' shoulder. "You're a good man."

  ***

  Freddie's stomach gnawed from hunger. Perhaps she would eat something the next time Maggie brought her a tray. But she'd never again step foot in the dining room, his dining room.

  There was no more lightning or thunder, and the rain's fury had lessened. But a dank smell and a chill still hung over her darkened chamber.

  She heard a knock on her door and looked up to see Maggie enter. Only this time she was accompanied by Edgekirth.

  Freddie shot up, lifting the covers to cover her thin shift. She eyed Edgekirth. "What are you doing here?"

  "Your guardian is worried about you. It seems you have neither eaten nor left your bed for three days now." He turned to Maggie. "I'll call if I have further need of you."

  The abigail left the room.

  Edgekirth came to sit on the side of Freddie's bed, his brow furrowed, his gaze somber. "I know you're not sick. Except of the heart."

  She swallowed hard, then began to cry. He drew her into his muscular arms and patted her. "I know. I know," he soothed.

  The more he soothed, the harder she cried. Great tears flowed, wetting his coat, and her sobs kept coming.

  He held her for a very long time. Neither of them uttered a word. Finally, she stopped crying, dried her face on his proffered handkerchief and looked at him with mournful eyes. "What am I to do, Malcolm? He's going to marry Roxanne." This time it did not matter that she had called him by his first name. Nothing really mattered any more.

  "You're going to marry me."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

  "I know you don't love me, Freddie," he said softly, stroking her cheek with a feather-like finger. "But I love enough for both of us. You don't find my personality repulsive, do you?"

  "Of course not."

  "Then I'm ugly," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his warm eyes.

  She smiled finally. "You know better than that."

  "Well, let's see. I'm not bad looking. We have much in common. You do not shriek from my company. I love you to distraction. That's not a bad start for a marriage."

  "It wouldn't be fair to you, Malcolm. You know I'm in love with someone else."

  He took her hand in his. "Time, my dear, precious Freddie, is life's great healer. I know it's hard for you to believe it now, but the sun will shine again. Stacks will marry, and eventually you will be able to think of him without pain." He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. "And given time, you will come to love me. We'll have children, too, though I won't press you at first. I won't ask you to share my bed until you come of your own free will. And you will."

  Her eyes filled with tears again. "Oh, Malcolm."

  Once again he drew her to him. "Then you'll say yes?"

  She nodded into his wet chest.

  "When?" he asked, smoothing her tousled hair with his strong but gentle hand.

  "Soon, please."

  ***

  Edgekirth walked into the billiards room, his face solemn.

  Stacks looked up at him and dropped his cue stick. "How is she?"

  "May I speak to you privately?" Edgekirth asked, his voice somber.

  His face ashen, Stacks led the doctor from the room toward his library. The walk along the wide hallway, down the stone steps, through the great room and tapestry room seemed like the longest walk Stacks had ever taken. Each strike of his Hessians against the cold stone floors sounded another death knoll. Freddie was dying. Freddie was dying. And if she died, the core of his own life ended.

  He closed the library door, crossed the room and sat at his desk. Edgekirth took a chair facing from him.

  A trembling Stacks could wait no longer. "What's wrong with Freddie?" he asked, unconscious that he had done what he had never before done. He had called her Freddie to someone else.

  Edgekirth cleared his throat. "She's going to be all right."

  A veil of death lifted from Stacks' face, and he smiled.

  "I speak to you as her guardian," Edgekirth said. "Freddie is love sick. It is my pleasure to tell you she has done me the honor of accepting my offer of marriage."

  It was as if the very chair Stacks sat in collapsed. The room reeled around him. He couldn't be hearing this! Freddie loved him. She had said she wanted to spend her life with him. Not with the damned doctor. "I don't believe you," Stacks hissed.

  "You can ask her yourself."

  Stacks reached for the brandy and poured himself a drink. He did not offer any to Edgekirth. "And I suppose you want my permission." He spat out the words.

  Edgekirth nodded. "I know you told Luke Rountree Freddie was free to marry whomever she wanted. Does that still hold?"

  He wanted to sling his drink into Edgekirth's face. "You know she's under age?"

  "Of course."

  Stacks took another drink, then slammed his glass down, shattering its fine crystal stem. Not moving to clear it up, he watched as the pool of rich, dark liquid grew larger on his desk. He would not meet Edgekirth's gaze. "If Freddie really wants to marry you, you have my permission."

  Chapter 27

  Despite that Sir Harold awaited in the billiard room, a stunned Stacks remained in his library and filled another glass with brandy. He no longer cared what Sir Harold thought of him. Stacks was released from his duties as Freddie's guardian once she married Edgekirth.

  If he were a woman, he would have cried bitterly. This day was blacker than the day he killed Elizabeth. Just as he had begun to live again, his lifeline was snatched away.

  He finished the brandy and rose from his chair, walking to the great marble fireplace. He slung his glass into the golden flames and watched it shatter into a hundred pieces of jagged crystal. Like his heart.

  His sense of propriety dimmed by the brandy, he stalked to Freddie's chamber and flung open the door. He didn't see her at first because the room was so dark. He took a few steps and saw that she moved in her bed. She sat up and looked at him through red-rimmed eyes as Marmalade climbed on her lap from beneath her covers.

  "Is it true that you plan to marry Edgekirth?" She had not covered herself, and he saw her nipples beneath the thin linen of her shift. She looked at him with hollow eyes. She didn't seem at all like his Freddie.

  Finally, she nodded.

  He thought for a moment she would burst into tears, but she didn't as their eyes remained locked, so much unsaid.

  "That's all I needed to know," he said viciously, turning his back on her and slamming the door behind him.

  He slammed his library door behind him as he strode to his de
sk, poured another glass of brandy and drank.

  Edgekirth had told the truth. Damn him. Freddie would marry him though she had told Stacks she could never, ever marry the doctor, that she could never love anyone but Stacks. So much for her being different from other women. She was as lying and scheming as the lot of them.

  But why had she changed? And why so quickly? Was it because what she really had wanted was marriage? Even when she'd told him all she could ever want was to stay by his side until the end of her days?

  God in heaven, how it hurt to recall those intimate talks he had shared with her.

  It hurt even more to know they would never again have them.

  ***

  She had been so stunned to see Thomas in her chamber, she'd been unable to think, unable to speak. When she had looked up and seen him standing so near her bed, he had looked like a tall, angry dark knight. She had never seen him in a rage before, and she'd been frightened. Frightened and bitter over his traitorous heart.

  Now that he was gone, she could think clearly. He'd been angry, no doubt disappointed, thinking that she had lied when she had told him she could never marry Edgekirth. Why hadn't she flung her own anger at him? Why hadn't she accused him of lying about never marrying again, about loving only her? Even if Roxanne had said they were not going to tell anyone just yet about their engagement, he owed it to Freddie to tell her.

  Well, she thought, seething with anger, she had seen him. It had not been as difficult as she had thought. Perhaps she could see him between now and her wedding without swooning or crying or some other utterly embarrassing display.

  Her wedding! The thought brought anguish. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She was going to become the wife of a man she didn't love. A fine, decent man who deserved a loving wife. She felt like a thief, stealing a love she could never return.

  And she was leaving behind the only happiness she had ever known—though she could never again be happy there again. She had always known their world--hers and Thomas's--had been too perfect. It couldn't last. She was not entitled to happiness. Happiness was for other people. People who had been loved since the cradle.