Penny gave a sigh. “It will have to remain that way for now. We can’t replace it.”
Gavin gave her his most charming smile and the hair on the back of Wes’s neck rose. He understood Penny’s jealousy. He’d kill any man that touched her. “I might be able to help fix it while I’m here.”
Penny gave his cousin a glowing smile. “How wonderful. But let’s eat first, shall we.”
They returned to the room and ate while Wes told Gavin about all that had transpired over the last six months. As Wes finished his story, Gavin stood and crossed to Wes. “Give me a hug, cousin. I’m proud of you.”
Wes stood too, his chest tight with emotion as he slapped Gavin’s back. “Thanks, DeWolfe.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Gavin stepped away. “Now that I’ve seen you and met your beautiful wife, I can share why I’ve come.” Gavin’s squared his shoulders, but his smile was still playing at his lips and Wes’s gaze narrowed, wondering what his cousin was about. “This year, I’ll plant the fields with your assistance. We should be planting as soon as you’re done here. Then we’ll split the profits.”
Wes’s throat closed. “You deserve the profits this year. We’re still under contract.”
“You’re family, Wes. I would have split them with you all along, but I was worried the extra money would only help…” His voice trailed off but Wes understood. More money meant more drinks, more debauchery.
“No need to explain.”
“But that land is yours. I’ve just been keeping the people there and getting paid handsomely for my trouble. It’s good land. We had an off year last year so the soil should be fertile.”
Wes was lost for words. Opening himself up had brought nothing but joy to his life.
“Thank you,” Penny answered for him, standing too.
Epilogue
Christmas, London 1815
* * *
Penny sat on the settee as Caroline draped herself over the one directly across from her.
“The Christmastide tree is lovely,” Caroline sighed.
“Annabelle outdid herself,” Penny answered, rubbing her hand along her stomach. It was a habit she’d developed over the past few months as her stomach grew in size.
Chloe’s mouth pinched. “I know I asked her to do research but the man she’s trying to use as a subject…”
They all fell silent. A marquess with a wicked reputation, he’d recently been called out for attempting to ruin a debutante.
“He’ll be good for the book,” Caroline added finally. “And Annabelle is so smart. Surely she’ll be able to outthink him.”
“We should find out what he’s about,” Chloe said, sitting up.
Penny shook her head. “I can’t go out to the larger social events. The two of you will have to meet him.”
Chloe sat up straighter, her feet tapping on the floor. “Fin and I will hold a soiree. We can hide your stomach. Then each of us can find a way to engage him in conversation.”
“If he comes.” Caroline pressed her fingers to her cheeks. “He’s not known to socialize.”
“I believe Fin knows him. I’ll check,” Chloe answered. “I’ll just have to convince him that we are trying to protect Annabelle, not encourage her.” Her shoulders slumped again. “He’s quite upset about the book.”
Penny winced. Wes had told him about their research and Fin hadn’t been happy. Both men had been keeping careful tabs on Annabelle since her own father couldn’t be bothered. “I’m sorry Chloe. I don’t mean to cause trouble.”
Chloe shook her head. “It’s not your fault but mine.”
The women fell silent again. Caroline rose and crossed over to Penny, lifting her feet and sliding underneath them. “I’m so glad that you and Wes have been successful. I mean in business of course, but more so personally. You’ve found love.”
Penny smiled at the mention of her husband. “Me too. More so than I could have imagined.”
“Will you sell your property after all?” Chloe asked.
“No, we’ll keep it. But I think we’ll build a house on Wes’s land in the next year or two.” She stared at the tree, as bright decorations danced on its branches. “It was never a home.”
Chloe rose too and took her hand. “And the London townhouse that is entailed to the title?”
“Beginning renovation.” Penny smiled brightly. “Next year, we’ll be able to stay in our London home.”
“Drat,” Caroline answered. “We like hosting you.”
“I’ll host you instead.” Penny grinned. “We must make a pact to spend Christmases together.”
“Agreed,” Caroline gushed. “Though I must confess that I am disappointed we’re not moving to the seaside.”
Penny winked. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind when you find a rogue of your very own.”
Caroline sniffed. “Don’t be silly. We all know that rakes and rogues are not for me.”
* * *
Too Wicked to Want
Chronicles of a Bluestocking, Book 2
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Tammy Andresen
Too Wicked to Want
Tammy Andresen
Lady Annabelle Marks stood on the side of the dance floor assessing her prey. By all intents and purposes she was the least likely person here to be likened to a predator.
Tall for a woman and fair, she had a slender build that one might be able to argue was at the very least catlike. But her mark was no garden bird, in fact, he was more like the tigers she’d heard tell about that lumbered on the great continent of Asia. Dark, brooding, massive, not round but large and muscular, he stared about the floor, his gaze sweeping this way and that as though he were daring the assembly to attempt and approach. Just like the tiger, she’d guess he had large teeth and claws.
No one had yet taken the challenge he’d presented. She knew because she’d been watching him for the last forty-five minutes. Not that it was a difficult task. When one was so imposing, he needn’t hide or skulk. He stood, taller than anyone in the room with arms crossed, his arm muscles bulging through his finely cut evening jacket.
Two matrons passed by her where she remained partially hidden behind a well-placed fern. “You would think that Lord Harding would have the decency to look ashamed.” One sniffed as she past.
“That is the benefit of being a marquess. He can go around ruining perfectly lovely girls and no one will call him to task,” the other replied.
Their conversation continued but Annabelle couldn’t hear anything else without abandoning her post. Not that she needed to learn any more gossip. Lord Harding, her tiger, well not her tiger, had a reputation that preceded him. And she’d learned everything she possibly could before coming here tonight. If you were going to attack, it was best to know your victim first.
She nearly laughed out loud at that. She was here on a fact finding mission only and she allowed herself to become carried away.
When Lady Cecilia Chase had been caught in the garden with an unknown man, she’d loudly declared that Lord Harding had been the rake who’d stolen a kiss. Annabelle didn’t personally know the woman but her babbling indicated that she was not the most mentally gifted debutante to attempt to force a match with a lord. She might, however, be the least successful.
Lord Harding had denied all charges and had refused to wed the lady in question. Her family had yet to press, probably because Harding was as powerful as he was intimidating. He now stood before the ton, daring someone to confront him and he stared down anyone who caught his eye.
Annabelle’s interest was more or less academic. She and her friends had each been ruined in various ways by careless or inattentive men and had decided that it would be in society’s best interest to compile a guide that demystified the elusive rake. Technically the guide had been Chloe’s idea but as her friend was currently married to an earl, the task was up to Annabelle.
The word elusive made her smile. There was nothing difficult to track about this rake. Though, in her financia
lly impoverished state the invitation had been difficult to come by. Her friends, Lord and Lady Dryden had been cajoled into accepting theirs and securing one for her.
If she were going to do research, she first had to discover if he was in fact the man who ruined Lady Cecilia or not. She didn’t need to research him if he wasn’t actually a rake.
How, she went about doing that, however, had been the more difficult task. So far she’d stood behind a plant concocting metaphors. Lady Dryden sat nearby with her husband and she turned back to wave at Annabelle.
“Are you going to stay behind there all night?” Chloe called.
Annabelle wrinkled her nose. “For as long as it takes. Now hush, you’re distracting me.”
One of Chloe’s eyebrows cocked up. “From staring behind a plant. How could I?”
“Don’t start.” Annabelle gave her friend a stern look, at least she hoped it was stern. “This book was your idea to begin with.”
Chloe nibbled at her lip. “I know that it was but honestly…” Her gaze travelled across the room. “Not him.”
“Why not?” Annabelle straightened. “He’s perfect material for our book if what the lady says is true.”
Chloe leaned back and whispered. “He’s frightening.”
Annabelle’s mouth turned down. There was that. Not just because of his hulking size but also because he bore a long jagged scar down the side of his face that ran from his left eye all the way down to the corner of his mouth. “Looking imposing does not actually make him scary.”
“Yes, it does,” Chloe answered. “I don’t care what you say scientifically. Emotionally, it’s distressing.” Chloe gave her one more long look before she turned back to her husband.
Annabelle sighed. Emotionally his size and visage were rather imposing. She gazed back to where he’d been, intent upon continuing her studies, only to discover he’d gone. “Drat,” she muttered scanning the room to find him. Which shouldn’t have been difficult. His size alone made him easy to spot. But as she searched, she didn’t see him anywhere. Drat, drat, drat. Where had he gone?
“Looking for someone?” A deep voice rumbled behind her.
Cold fear made her spine stiffen as she let out a gasp and then slowly turned toward that deep, dark voice. She needn’t ask who was behind her. Only a man as large as Lord Harding could have a voice that low. Making the circle, she swallowed the lump clogging her throat. “I’m sure I do not know what you are referring to, my lord.”
He gave her a long hard stare. The sort that made her chin want to tuck into her chest. “You’ve been staring at me from behind this plant for the better part of an hour.” His voice didn’t change cadence, didn’t rise or fall and his face remained impassive and unreadable. Frightening. Chloe had been correct on that count.
“I beg your pardon.” She straightened her spine to prove she wasn’t afraid, but the gesture didn’t work. He still towered over her. She was tall for a woman but she had to tilt her neck to look up at him. Exposing her neck in such a way made her feel vulnerable. Not like the hunter at all. She was far more like the prey.
“You heard me,” he rumbled back. “You’ve been watching me with a singular purpose that leaves little doubt you are up to something. Are you a relation of that ninny head, Lady Cecilia? Explain yourself.”
Oh dear. She’d have to explain something rather quickly. But what?
Lucas Harding assessed the little chit before him, glad to have a single point of focus for his irritation. He wasn’t a man to chase skirts. Never had been. His duty to his land and his title were about the only things he cared about and yet, even he had to admit she was lovely.
The thought only made him frown harder. Why was he picking this moment of all times to notice the attractiveness of a female? Ladies and their scheming ways had gotten him into this situation to begin with and now he was faced with another duplicitous woman who definitely had some trick up her pleated sleeve.
“I have never met nor do I care to know Lady Cecilia,” she sniffed and straightened up her shoulders, raising up her chin. It highlighted the delicate column of her neck, exposed by the gentle upsweep of her silky blonde hair.
He narrowed his gaze, hoping to intimidate her into speaking the truth. She neither changed her statement nor looked away. Instead, she raised a brow. Just one, cocking her head slightly to the side. “Have you decided if I am telling the truth or not?”
For a moment, his eyes widened. Realizing that she’d caught him off guard, with his own trick of being blunt, he narrowed his gaze again, trying to regain the upper hand. “No, I haven’t.”
“Well then,” she sniffed again. “We seem to be at an impasse.”
“So it would seem.” He crossed his arms again, his final attempt at intimidating the truth out of her. As a gentleman, he could do no more. “If I return to my side of the room are you doing to keep staring?”
“Most likely, yes,” she answered a small grin playing about her lips.
Damn her. She was a vexing woman to be certain. “May I ask why?”
“No, you may not.” She took a step closer. “But you may ask me to dance.”
This time his mouth dropped open. She was also mad. “Dance?” He did not dance. And certainly not with lovely blondes who looked him right in the eye, with irises the color or grass on a summer day. Why the bloody hell had he just thought that?
She moved closer again and he caught her scent, like summer meadows and rain. “You know that thing people are doing where they move about the floor together.”
“I don’t dance,” he rumbled, looking down at her with his fiercest expression. He’d seen it in the mirror once, it pulled at his scar and looked hideous. While he didn’t normally make a spectacle of himself, at least not intentionally, this moment caused for drastic measures.
“Neither do I,” she answered with a slow shrug.
Why wasn’t she intimidated? Women generally were. Except for Lady Cecelia but then again, they’d never actually met. The lying little chit had made everything up. And the woman in front of him was up to something as well. “Then why did you ask?” He straightened out his shoulders, puffing up his chest.
She leaned in, her graceful body making his tighten in a most unwelcome way. “Because people are beginning to stare and your reputation is damaged enough.”
He snorted, which nearly made him jump in surprise. He was a marquess. He didn’t snort and certainly not to cover a laugh. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t consort with me, since my reputation seems to proceed me.”
She gave another slow shrug. “Not to worry. My reputation is also most damaged.”
He blinked stepping closer. He didn’t like that thought. Sure, she was brazen for a woman. Standing up to him when most cowered. But he prided himself on making excellent snap judgements on people’s character and this did not seem the sort of women who’d fall victim to a man’s charms. She was funny, intelligent, and, if not sincere, she wasn’t insincere. She’d simply refused to answer his questions. There was a difference. “Ruined?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Her fingers curled into her skirts as her mouth tightened.
He stepped closer, catching a whiff of her scent again. Despite himself, he drew in a breath, filling his nose with intoxicating aroma. Reminded him of summer in the country. It was a natural scent, unlike the perfumes so many women wore. “Explain.”
Her head cocked again. “Dance.”
He let out a long sigh through his nose as his lips tightened. “Fine. But mark my words. You’re likely to regret this.”
* * *
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About the Author
Tammy Andresen lives with her husband and three children just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. She
grew up on the Seacoast of Maine, where she spent countless days dreaming up stories in blueberry fields and among the scrub pines that line the coast. Her mother loved to spin a yarn and Tammy filled many hours listening to her mother retell the classics. It was inevitable that at the age of eighteen, she headed off to Simmons College, where she studied English literature and education. She never left Massachusetts but some of her heart still resides in Maine and her family visits often.
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Find out more about Tammy:
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Read Tammy Andresen’s other books:
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Seeds of Love: Prequel to the Lily in Bloom series
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Lily in Bloom
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Midnight Magic
Too Wicked to Woo: Chronicles of a Bluestocking Page 12