Too Wicked to Love

by Debra Mullins

  “Jealous!” Her eyes widened, then narrowed, sparks flickering behind thick lashes. If speech were a weapon, the words that came next would have skewered him like a scimitar. “Do you consider yourself such a good catch that I would be jealous of your relationship with Annabelle?” she hissed. “Perhaps you are nothing more than a man who apes the manners and style of his betters in hopes of charming a woman of the upper class so that he can improve his own social standing!”

  He studied the purse of her lips, the stiffness of her spine, the passion in her eyes. Only one thing, in his experience, got a woman agitated like that.

  “I assume Mr. Overton is to blame for this outburst?” he asked. “Is he the man who tried to charm you to improve his social standing?”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. Panic flickered across her face before she controlled her expression. “We are not discussing me.”

  “Yes, we are. You are assigning yourself as Annabelle’s chaperone to guard her from my nefarious ways. While I have no objection to the idea itself, it is the spirit in which you suggested it that irritates me. From where I stand, Genny Wallington-Willis, I think that fellow’s carelessness with your heart has made you into the prickly, stiff-rumped young lady I see before me.”

  She gasped, her mouth falling open in obvious shock. “How dare you!”

  “Someone has to dare, Genny girl, or else you’re going to find yourself an old maid living in your father’s house, dandling Cilla’s children on your knee and wishing you had had the courage to take a risk when you were still young enough to take it.”

  “You overstep yourself, John Ready! How dare you speak to me in so common a manner! And . . . and I did not give you leave to address me by my Christian name. You will show me some respect.”

  “Respect?” He blatantly sized her up with a swift glance from face to toes and back again. “You’re a pretty woman, Genny, but that attitude of yours is not going to win you a husband anytime soon. You truly are going to end up a lonely spinster if you do not learn how to control that anger of yours. Now if you will excuse me, I have to catch up with Annabelle.”

  He strode past her into the woods, leaving her floundering and alone in the empty clearing.

  Chapter 3

  Fury burned in John’s gut as he strode after Annabelle. He supposed he should be grateful that Genny cared enough about the girl to come charging to her rescue. There was something admirable in that. But he could not help the way his temper simmered at being accused—again—of being dishonorable. In all the years he had lived in America, no one had ever questioned his motives. Only when he returned to England did such things happen. It was like a curse.

  And his carnal reaction to Genny did not help matters.

  He caught up to Annabelle where the woods let out into the meadow. “Hold a moment, young lady.”

  She whirled around at that, clenching her fists at her sides. “Don’t speak to me like I’m a child, John.”

  “Then perhaps you should not sulk like one.”

  “Sulk!”

  “What else would you call marching off in a cloud of drama just now?”

  She stiffened, then sighed and relaxed her shoulders. “I suppose you’re right. I apologize.”

  A crashing of brush behind them reminded him of their uninvited chaperone. “I expect you will have to apologize to Miss Wallington-Willis, too. I do think she honestly had your best interests at heart when she came after us.”

  “She thought we were having some sort of romantic interlude.” Annabelle laughed. “Truth is, I bet you can’t wait for the day you’re free of me.”

  Genny broke through the trees at that moment, her expression tight with displeasure. John sighed. He regretted his harsh words now though he knew much of her attitude had to do with her past with Bradley Overton. “Will you walk with us, Miss Wallington-Willis?”

  “No, thank you,” she said, her tone icy. “I will make my way on my own.”

  “I cannot allow that,” John said. “It would not be right.”

  “You might as well just do as he says,” Annabelle said. “He won’t be talked out of his duty.”

  “He has no duty to me.” Genny marched forward, leaving the two of them standing there.

  It took only two long strides for John to catch up with her. “On the contrary, Miss Wallington-Willis, I cannot in good conscience allow you to go off by yourself. You must allow me to see to your safety.”

  She stopped and turned to face him, hands on her hips. “And were you seeing to my safety just now when you said those terrible things to me? When you left me alone in the woods?”

  “I apologize for walking away from you, but I had to catch up to Annabelle.”

  “John!” Annabelle scolded as she reached them. “Goodness, what did you say that got her so riled?”

  “It does not bear repeating,” Genny said.

  Annabelle sent John a disapproving look. “John, tell me.”

  “It was a private conversation.”

  “Private? As if I know the meaning of the word with someone always following me about! I can’t wait until Samuel and Cilla return, and you are free of your guard duty. And neither can you, I bet.”

  “My duty ends when your family leaves for America. Or when you marry.”

  “Ugh! Don’t even mention that word.” She wrinkled her nose and gave a shudder. “There’s nothing like a forced elopement to discourage a girl from marrying.”

  “Agreed,” Genny said. “But your marriageable years will not last forever. Do not cast them away because of one bad experience.”

  John raised a brow. An interesting statement from one who apparently was doing that very thing. “All men are not like Raventhorpe,” he said to Annabelle. “You will marry, probably sooner than you think.”

  “Leave it to a man to say that. I might get married, yes. But not for a good long time.”

  He barked a laugh before he could smother it.

  Anger darkened her face. “I’m serious. Before I hitch my wagon to a man’s mules, I’m going to find out what I’m made of first.”

  “A wise idea,” Genny said. “A woman should always know her own mind, especially before marrying.”

  John shook his head. “You say that now, Miss Bailey, but I expect that you will change your tune when you meet the right man.”

  “And what makes you so knowledgeable on the subject?” Annabelle demanded.

  “Instinct. And years of experience.”

  “Years of experience,” Genny repeated. “At what, being a coachman?”

  He shot her a wary glance. “Of living.”

  “I find it hard to understand how a man of your station can understand the subtleties of society courtship,” Genny said with a dismissive shrug. But the look she gave him contained dangerous speculation.

  “Oh, he wasn’t always a coachman,” Annabelle said.

  Genny narrowed her eyes. “Indeed? Who were you before, then?”

  His defenses slammed into place. “It does not signify.”

  “So secretive,” Genny mused.

  “Doesn’t matter who he was before, it’s who he is now that matters,” Annabelle said.

  “And who might that be?” Genny asked.

  “Samuel’s friend,” Annabelle replied. “And my protector, though truth be told, Samuel didn’t have to send him here to look after me.”

  “He cares about you,” John said, his tense muscles relaxing.

  “Only because we used to be engaged.” Annabelle looked at Genny. “Not that I begrudge Samuel for marrying your sister. He was honest about his feelings for her. I was the one who broke the engagement, but it was the best thing all around. I think after all these years of us knowing each other, he sees me more as a little sister than anything, so it was best I didn’t marry him. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Thank you,” Genny said, then looked at John. “So my brother-in-law is the one paying you to watch over his ex-fiancée?”

  John stiffene
d. “It is a favor, not a paid position. When he and Cilla return, all of us, including the Baileys, are going back to America.” He turned his attention to Annabelle. “Now, let us return to the house so you are not late for dinner.”

  “Fine.” Huffing out a breath, Annabelle turned and trudged toward the manor.

  “After you, Miss Wallington-Willis.” John waved a hand for Genny to precede him.

  “I see you have not forgotten everything about civilized behavior in the wilds of America.” She lifted her chin and swept past him with the regality of a queen.

  He bit back the remark he would like to have made, and instead he let out a slow breath and fell into step behind her, enjoying the view of her pretty back end and bouncing curls. Just a couple of weeks more, and Samuel and Cilla would return from their honeymoon. Then they could all return to America and leave the temptations of England behind.

  An hour later, Genny smoothed her hands over the silk skirt of her favorite evening dress as she regarded her reflection. She frowned, tugging down the edge of the bodice to show a hint more bosom. Then she pinched her cheeks for color and smiled.

  Tiny lines appeared at the edges of her lips and eyes. Alarmed, she leaned closer to the mirror, smoothing the infinitesimal creases that had appeared. She was only eighteen. Surely the marks of old age were not setting in already? She tried for a less sunny grin, and the little wrinkles disappeared. She would have to be careful about how she smiled so no one would realize how life had already begun to ravage her face. Otherwise, she looked every inch the lady she was—and tempting enough to attract a gentleman’s attention, no matter what John Ready said.

  The man was insufferable. Arrogant. Entirely too brash for his station. Though he spoke like an Englishman, clearly he had spent too much time in America and forgotten his proper place in society. How dare he imply that she was too hidebound to attract a husband? He knew nothing about her!

  Well, except what he had seen at the wedding.

  The discomfort of that moment when he had discovered her in Bradley’s arms still lingered. He had seemed to believe her when she had told him she had been an unwilling partner in that embrace, but apparently he had exchanged one bad opinion of her for another. Now he no longer regarded her as a tease, but instead he had marked her as a difficult woman doomed for spinsterhood.

  She met her own gaze in the mirror. At least she had found out the truth about Bradley before she had wed him. How horrible would her life have been had she said the vows, only to realize that her husband’s undying love extended to her father’s position as a Navy admiral and no further? She had escaped a bad situation by a hairsbreadth and was grateful the truth had been revealed in time.

  But though she had walked away from the battlefield victorious, some injuries never seemed to heal.

  And now here was John Ready, scratching at the wounds she thought so well guarded. She needed to find out more about him, to uncover the secrets he hid. Only then would she have the upper hand.

  Setting aside the memories of the past, she made her way downstairs to the drawing room, where everyone awaited the summons to dinner. Near the fireplace, their host, Virgil Bailey, held a low-voiced private conversation with Genny’s father, the admiral. Everyone else clustered around their hostess, Annabelle’s mother, Dolly Bailey, where she held court from her wheeled chair.

  John normally joined them for dinner, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Genny, dear! There you are!” Dolly, blond, buxom, and perpetually cheerful, waved Genny over. “We have the most marvelous afternoon planned for tomorrow.”

  Genny joined the group surrounding Dolly, careful to avoid her blanket-covered leg, which was elevated in an extended position by the adjustable footrest of the chair. Dolly had broken her leg nearly a month ago, but like any lady of a fashionable bent, she sought to keep her infirmity from sight at all times. Seated around her were Annabelle, Genny’s mother Helen, and an eligible bachelor Dolly had invited to balance out the party, Sir Harry Archer.

  Sir Harry was a baronet with a small holding nearby. Genny did not know him particularly well. Brown-haired and hazel-eyed, he wore spectacles and had a jovial personality that never seemed to dim. He did not appear particularly old, in his thirties perhaps, but he walked with a cane due to a leg injured in a hunting accident.

  “It is the most wonderful thing,” Helen said after Genny had greeted everyone and taken a seat on the settee beside her. “Sir Harry has written a play for us to perform. Won’t that be amusing?”

  “He has?” Genny fixed the baronet with what she hoped was a polite smile even as she groaned inside. “How clever, Sir Harry!”

  “Not at all, not at all.” He smiled, pushing up his spectacles. “I have written roles for all of you, even Mrs. Bailey. I shall direct.”

  “Me?” Dolly exclaimed. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t do much with this leg of mine, Sir Harry. But wasn’t that sweet of you?”

  Like the gentleman he was, Sir Harry ignored the American’s scandalous use of the word “leg.” “Now, Mrs. Bailey, I have considered the situation of your mobility and taken that into account. You will be playing the queen of the fairies and only need to sit on your throne. So you see? No problem at all.”

  “The queen of the fairies? Oh how lovely!” Dolly clapped her hands.

  “Naturally your husband will play the king,” Sir Harry continued.

  “Who am I going to play?” Annabelle asked, leaning forward in her chair.

  “You are Bella, daughter of the queen, who has found her true love despite the jealous plotting of her evil sister.”

  “Oh, my! And who is my true love?”

  “That will be played by Mr. Ready.” Sir Harry adjusted his spectacles again and looked around. “Will he be joining us this evening?”

  “Our head groom asked him to look at a horse’s leg,” Dolly said. “Something about a poultice. I don’t think he’ll be dining with us tonight.”

  “Ah, yes. I suppose a man who used to be a coachman would know a bit about horses. Very well.” Sir Harry frowned down at the small list in his hand. “Well, I have him set to play Frederick, a farm lad who is secretly a prince and has fallen in love with the beautiful Bella.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be tickled at the part,” Dolly said.

  “The admiral and Mrs. Wallington-Willis play Prince Frederick’s real parents, the king and queen, who hid him with a farmer’s family to protect him from the fairies.”

  “Sounds like they found him anyway,” Annabelle said.

  “You are correct, Miss Bailey.”

  “Annabelle,” she insisted with a sweet smile.

  Sir Harry fumbled his list, appearing a bit undone by Annabelle’s flirtatious tone. Then he cleared his throat, straightened his spectacles (again), and returned his focus with visible effort to the piece of paper. “The . . . that is, Malevita, the other daughter of the queen of the fairies, has found Frederick and wants him for herself. She is quite envious of Bella and will stop at nothing to prevent him from marrying her.”

  “So that means Genny plays Malevita,” Annabelle said. “Since she’s the only girl left.”

  “Yes, that is also correct.” Sir Harry gave Genny an anxious look. “Does that meet with your approval, Miss Wallington-Willis?”

  Stunned, she could not speak for a moment. A childlike protest rose inside her, but she held it back. She would have to play a jealous, evil wretch to Annabelle’s sweet heroine? And with John Ready as her love interest? “Me?” she finally squeaked.

  “I wrote the role especially for you,” Sir Harry continued. “Malevita hates her sister Bella and is determined to win Fredrick for herself so they can take over Fairyland together.”

  “She sounds awful,” Genny said.

  “There is no play without Malevita. I think you will be most compelling.”

  “Come now, Genny. You know you are perfect for the part,” Annabelle said.

  “What does that mean?” Genny asked. �
�Are you saying I would not make a convincing Bella?”

  Dolly laughed. “That would mean Annabelle would play Malevita, and that would just not work, would it?”

  “I agree,” Genny’s mother said. “Annabelle has the look of a romantic heroine. You are such a strong personality, Genny, that I believe Sir Harry has the right of it. You will make an excellent Malevita.”

  She was certain they didn’t realize the blow they had just dealt her. Was this how everyone saw her? When they said “strong personality,” did they really mean “difficult”? Or, heaven help her, “stiff-rumped”?

  Dear God, had that odious man been right?

  Since there was no escaping the production, she would have to accept the role they had assigned her. She was nothing like the character of Malevita, but perhaps if she performed poorly enough—for clearly she was incapable of playing anyone truly evil—they would all realize their mistake in casting her as the villain.

  “I tire so easily these days that we can’t start tonight,” Dolly declared. “We should begin tomorrow afternoon. If we can all learn our lines, maybe we can perform the play at the picnic next week to celebrate Samuel and Cilla returning from their honeymoon. Won’t that be a wonderful surprise?”

  “Perform? In front of an audience?” Annabelle clapped her hands to her cheeks with a little squeal.

  “Of course! It will be marvelous,” Dolly said.

  “A splendid idea, Dolly,” Genny’s mother said. “Sir Harry, thank you so much for writing the play.”

  “My pleasure,” Sir Harry said. He fixed Genny with a look that gave her the strange impression his bright hazel eyes saw everything, whether she wanted him to or not. “Thank you for agreeing to play the villainess, Miss Wallington-Willis. I am sure you will not find the part difficult.”

  She forced a smile. “I am certain you are right.”

  At this hour of the evening, the stables were nearly deserted. John lingered at the stall where the mare, Melody, was stabled. He stroked his hand along her neck as Sam Webb, the head groom, checked the poultice on her leg again.