Too Wicked to Love

by Debra Mullins

“Oh, no!” The baronet laughed. “I am the writer, Mr. Ready. I direct the action.”

  “I play the princess of the fairies,” Annabelle said, spreading jam on a piece of toast.

  John shot her a sidelong glance. “Of course you do.”

  “And you are the prince!” Dolly squealed, clapping her hands. “You and Annabelle are star-crossed lovers.”

  John shook his head and began to cut a slice of ham. “I am no prince, Mrs. Bailey.”

  Sir Harry chuckled. “You are indeed, Mr. Ready. You play Frederick, a prince in hiding with a farmer’s family.”

  “We’re in love,” Annabelle informed him, then bit her toast.

  John frowned and glanced from one to the other. “You are all serious?”

  “Of course we are serious,” the admiral said. “The ladies have made up their minds and will not be swayed. We all walk the boards next week at the picnic. I am your father, by the way.”

  John shot his narrowed gaze from the admiral to the baronet. “Sir Harry, please explain. Now.”

  Sir Harry cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. “As I said, you play Frederick, a prince in hiding.”

  “Right.”

  “And you are in love with the fair Bella, daughter of the queen of the fairies.”

  “That’s me!” Dolly said, waving her hand. “Queen of the fairies!”

  “I’m Bella,” Annabelle said.

  “King of the fairies here,” Virgil said. “But a warrior king. Not one of those foppish fellows.”

  “Bella loves you, and you love Bella, but there is a problem,” Sir Harry went on.

  “Of course there is,” John said, cutting a glance toward Genny.

  She ignored the look and continued to rip her roll into small, bite-sized pieces.

  “Bella’s sister Malevita is also in love with you and wants you to help her take over Fairyland and rule at her side as king,” Sir Harry said in a rush.

  “And Malevita would be—?” John looked around the table. His gaze settled on Genny just as Sir Harry answered his question.

  “Miss Wallington-Willis is playing Malevita.”

  “Indeed?” John regarded her with such intensity that she fought not to squirm. “So, Miss Wallington-Willis, I hear you are in love with me.”

  She noted the insinuation behind the words but did not rise to the bait. “I am certain it is a fairy curse of some sort, Mr. Ready, so please do not be alarmed.”

  “I am hardly alarmed,” John said. “Merely curious. Who assigned the roles?”

  “I did,” Sir Harry said.

  “So if I understand this correctly, both Miss Bailey and Miss Wallington-Willis are in love with me?”

  “Exactly.” Sir Harry beamed like a teacher with a bright pupil. “Malevita is the wicked sister and will stop at nothing to have you.”

  “Indeed?” He slanted Genny a heated look from those dark eyes. “But I love Bella, correct?”

  “Correct,” Sir Harry said.

  “So there is no hope for Malevita then.”

  “I am afraid not,” Sir Harry said.

  “Too bad. It sounds intriguing.” John raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I will not be doing the play.”

  “What!” Annabelle and Dolly exclaimed together.

  “Why not?” Genny asked.

  “I am not cut out for the stage.” He took a bite of his bacon.

  “Nonsense,” Genny’s mother said. “None of us are of a dramatic bent, except perhaps for Dolly.”

  “Why thank you, Helen.” Dolly preened.

  “You must be in the play,” Sir Harry said. “We do not have anyone else suited to play the prince.”

  “I cannot do it.”

  “Why not?” Virgil demanded.

  “Stage fright.”

  “Stage fright!” Genny scoffed. From the way John continued to focus on his plate, she could tell he was lying. Why? What was so terrible about being in a play? “I cannot credit such a thing,” she said.

  “Oh, John, do you truly suffer from stage fright?” Dolly asked.

  “Best way to get past it is to do the thing,” the admiral said. “Play the part. Get past your fear.”

  John shook his head. “I cannot.”

  “But what are we to do?” Sir Harry asked. “We cannot have a play without a prince!”

  “You play the part,” John said.

  “Me? No, that cannot be. I mean, I am directing the actors,” Sir Harry spluttered. “And . . . well . . . my leg. Who ever heard of a prince with a cane?”

  “Wounded in battle,” John replied.

  “Might work,” the admiral said.

  “Nonsense,” Helen scoffed.

  “Or not,” the admiral recanted. “Test your mettle, Ready, and do the thing. Life will be more pleasant around here for certain.”

  “John, please be in the play,” Dolly pleaded. “We can’t do it without you.”

  “The whole thing will be ruined,” Annabelle said with a frown at him. “And I so wanted to play the fairy princess!”

  “John, you will disappoint all of us if you do not play the part,” Genny said, more to see what he would do than any desire to save the performance.

  He flashed her a quick glance charged with annoyance, which told her stage fright was not at the root of his objection to the play. No, something else kept him from participating. “Naturally I have no desire to upset everyone—”

  “Good,” Dolly said. “Then you will do it. It is settled.”

  John scowled. “Mrs. Bailey—”

  “Dolly,” she corrected.

  “Oh . . . uh, Dolly then. As I said, I do not want to upset everyone—”

  “Then don’t,” Virgil warned, a hard glint in his eye. “My Dolly wants you to play the prince in the play. So you play the prince. Is that understood?”

  Genny could see John’s frustration in his glittering eyes and clenching fingers. “I cannot perform in the play.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Ready,” Sir Harry said, leaning forward, “but is it just performing in the actual play that is the problem? Would you be willing to rehearse with us anyway, and if need be, I can step into the role of the prince at the time of the performance?”

  “Why do you not step in now?” John suggested.

  “Because I need to direct the action. Once we have all the movements and lines mapped out, I could step in as the prince for the performance . . . if it is strictly necessary.”

  John tapped his fingers on the table as he considered the suggestion. “So I do the rehearsals, but you play the prince in the actual show.”

  “Yes,” Sir Harry said.

  John glanced at the ladies, who all regarded him with their best pleading faces. All except for Genny, who could not suppress the skepticism twisting her lips. Their gazes met for one, hot moment, then he looked back at Sir Harry. “Done.”

  Sir Harry beamed. “Excellent! This will work splendidly. Do you not agree, Mrs. Bailey?”

  “I suppose it will,” Dolly conceded, clearly unhappy with the decision.

  “I am sorry,” John said, “but if you want me in the play, these are my terms.”

  “Hmph,” Virgil said with a scowl. “Can’t figure why a fellow would be scared of the stage.”

  “I am shy,” John said.

  Genny nearly choked on her tea. “Shy?”

  “Shy?” Virgil echoed. “I’ve known you for nearly five years, my boy, and I don’t recall you ever being shy.”

  “Only on the stage,” John clarified. “I am a truly horrible actor.”

  “As am I,” Genny contributed. “After all, I am playing the villainess, and everyone knows I am not of that nature.”

  “Oh, yes, agreed,” Genny’s mom said.

  “Don’t know anything about that,” the admiral muttered.

  “So you are saying that because you are playing a character that is so dissimilar from yourself, your performance might suffer?” John asked her.

  “I suppose I am. After
all, I am no more a jealous, evil fairy than you are a prince in disguise.”

  For an instant he looked startled and opened his mouth as if to correct her. Then he apparently changed his mind. “As I said, I am no prince, Miss Wallington-Willis.”

  “As I am aware,” Genny said, her words carrying more than one meaning.

  He knew she referred to his behavior in his room last night. She could tell by the quick flash of guilt across his face. “While not a prince, I do consider myself a gentleman.”

  “If walking the boards is such a problem for the lad, just let Archer do it,” the admiral said. “Ready can stand in for him during rehearsals while the staging is being formulated. It’s not Drury Lane, you know.”

  “But we want the play to be extraordinary,” Helen said. “We are performing it in honor of Cilla and Samuel.”

  “Best we can do,” the admiral mumbled.

  “Please forgive my husband,” the admiral’s wife said. “He tends to be out of his depth if there is no battle plan to follow.”

  “We have a plan now, Helen, or were you not listening?” the admiral asked with a hint of impatience.

  “I was.” Helen fixed John with The Stare.

  Genny squirmed in her seat. As a child she had been the recipient of The Stare more than once. The Stare made a person feel as if she were still in the schoolroom and had been caught coming into the house with her Sunday clothes all muddy.

  John blinked, but to Genny’s admiration, that was his only reaction to The Stare. “Mrs. Wallington-Willis, please note that I am participating. Just not in the final production.”

  “True,” she agreed.

  “A concession,” Genny said.

  “If you choose to see it that way.” John shrugged.

  “I will take that concession and thank you heartily for your time,” Sir Harry said.

  “Then let us consider the matter closed.” John finished the last of his breakfast, then stood. “If you all will excuse me, I need to check on Melody’s poultice before rehearsals begin.”

  “Of course,” Virgil said, waving his hand in dismissal.

  “How is the poor thing?” Dolly asked. “Sam was quite worried she might end up lame.”

  “She will be right as rain soon enough,” John replied as he headed for the door.

  “You certainly know your horses,” Virgil said. “Sam swears that poultice is magic.”

  “I will let you know how she is doing,” John said, then left the dining room.

  Genny watched him go, wondering about the real reason he did not want to be seen on the stage.

  She did not have a chance to discuss the matter with John until a bit later, only twenty minutes before the rehearsal was to begin. She caught up with him as he was returning from the stables. He stopped short when he saw her, but she continued along the path to meet with him.

  “The truth, John Ready,” she challenged as she drew closer.

  “I have told you the truth, Miss Wallington-Willis, but you still make up your own.”

  “You frightened me.” She stopped right in front of him and looked around to be certain they were alone since anyone could approach from either direction at any moment.

  “I apologize again for my behavior,” he said.

  “I understand. I deserve it for imposing upon you like I did. You know, when I . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “ . . . when I went to your room.” She cleared her throat and continued. “I realize that men are not in control of their baser impulses under certain circumstances.”

  “You do, do you?”

  His tone made her fall back a step. “Do not be angry with me, Mr. Ready. I had good reasons for what I did.”

  “You accused me of stealing.”

  “You kissed me.”

  “I apologized.”

  “So do I,” she said. “Apologize, I mean. I should not have jumped to conclusions.”

  “What sort of conclusions, Genny?” He folded his arms and waited.

  “That you were a fortune hunter. That you would steal from the Baileys.”

  “I was wondering when I would hear those words. And just to set the matter straight,” he said, pointing a finger at her, “I am not after Annabelle or her fortune. I have money of my own.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. And kissing you last night . . .”

  Her face flooded with heat at the words. “We do not have to talk about that.”

  “But we do. You all but accused me—again—of pursuing Annabelle for her money.” He stepped closer. “I told you, I do not want Annabelle. She does not set my blood on fire.”

  “And I—”

  “You do.”

  “Oh!” Her face burned. “My goodness.”

  “That kiss was . . . well, it was ill-advised. I was not thinking, only feeling. And I wanted you.” His voice lowered to a near growl. “God help me, but I still want you.”

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why me and not some other girl?”

  “Your fire. Your determination to do what is right. Your stunning beauty. Dear God, woman, I want you more than breath right now. But I am not staying in England. I cannot give you what you deserve.”

  “Why not stay?” she coaxed.

  “Because I cannot. I had reasons for leaving, and those reasons have not changed.”

  “Reasons that do not allow you to play the lead in a theatrical production?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a man of secrets, John.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  She thought of the skeleton in her own closet. “I suppose you are right.”

  “I cannot offer you a future, Genny.”

  “So you said.”

  “I plan to start a new life in America, far away from here.”

  “Why not someplace closer? Scotland or Wales?”

  “I need to leave my past behind. In America, I can blend in. Marry. Have children. Here . . . well, there are people looking for me still.”

  “What do they want?”

  “Never mind that.” He gave her a smile that softened the severity of his tone. “If you are in agreement, I believe you and I should stay away from each other. There can be no happy conclusion to this.”

  “How do you propose to do that?” Genny asked. “We are thrown together in this play. I am supposed to pretend to be in love with you!”

  “I did not say it would be easy.” He sighed and let his gaze roam over her with one, devouring sweep. “I wish things were different, Genny, but they are not. I have no future to offer you. I had no right to touch you like I did last night.”

  “Even if I wanted you to?” she asked in a small voice.

  He clenched his jaw. “You saw what you unleashed yesterday with one smile, woman. Do not play with fire.”

  She wanted to continue flirting, but she could see the lines of strain about his mouth. “Very well. If you think this is for the best.”

  “I do.” He glanced behind him as a worker trudged along the path toward them. He took Genny’s arm and guided her in the opposite direction. “Have a care with your wiles, Genevieve. My control is not as strong as I thought, and you are yet innocent. I do not want to do something we might both regret.”

  Guilt pierced her. Would he feel the same way if he knew the truth? “I appreciate your candor.”

  “Then we understand each other.” He walked her to the garden entrance and bowed low. “I regret that we cannot explore this thing between us.”

  “So do I.” Genny lingered by the garden gate, curiosity pricking at her like the claws of a cat.

  “Go inside, Genny,” he said, when she did not enter. “Forget yesterday and move on to tomorrow.”

  She studied his face, relishing the unabashed need she saw in his eyes. Dear God, it was true. Finally, a man wanted her for herself alone, not for a social agenda or political connections. The urge to step into his arms and wallow in that simmering desire—desire meant only for her—was nearly irresistible
. But they both knew they could not be.

  But it would not stop her from dreaming about what it would have been like.

  “Are you coming with me?” she asked. “Your presence is required at the rehearsal as well.”

  He grimaced. “I know.”

  “Then we should go together.”

  “I do not think that is a wise idea. Better you go without me. I will be there directly.”

  “If you are certain . . .”

  “I am. I need to change my clothes. I have been out with the horses, and I smell like the stable. I would not want to offend anyone.”

  “Some people find the scent of horses quite pleasant.”

  He stilled, his fingers curling into fists, one digit at a time. “Please go inside, Genny.”

  The rough catch in his voice as he said her name told her all she needed to know. She was making this harder for him. With a nod, she stepped through the door into the garden, leaving him standing outside the wall.

  Alone.

  Chapter 6

  John took the opportunity to change his clothing and gather himself at the same time. He had not had any intention of correcting Genny’s assumptions about him; it was easier for both of them if she considered him a fortune hunter. But the relief he had seen in her eyes when he confessed that he had his own money had made his confession worth the risk.

  Overton had put that lack of confidence in her eyes, he was sure of it. Damn that useless idiot! Clearly Genny did not believe a man could want her for herself and not for her position in society.

  If things were different, he might have proven that to her.

  Enough. He needed to put aside any notions of what might have happened between him and Genny if things were different. Things were the way they were, and he was taking the best course of action for everyone involved.

  He was shrugging into his clean coat when someone pounded on the door.

  “Mr. Ready! You must come. Someone tried to kidnap Miss Annabelle!”

  John jerked open the door to find one of the new footmen, Andrew, standing in the hall. “What? Tell me quickly.” He shut the door behind him and fastened his coat as he started down the hall with the eager young footman trotting beside him.

  “Miss Annabelle and Sir Harry went for a drive before the rehearsal, and some blackguard stopped them on the road and tried to abduct her!”