Too Wicked to Love

by Debra Mullins

  Sir Harry gave Annabelle a tender smile. “That is because you are a free spirit, Miss Bailey.”

  Annabelle blushed and lowered her gaze.

  “I would hate to wake the man if he was chasing bandits all night,” Virgil said.

  “But we cannot rehearse without him,” Helen said.

  “Send a servant to see if he is awake,” the admiral suggested. “Perhaps we can postpone rehearsing until later this evening.”

  “I hate the idea of putting off the rehearsal again,” Dolly said. “I just have my heart set on performing the play at the picnic! And we only have two days left.”

  “The admiral is right. Perhaps it would be a good idea to send a servant to look in on him,” Virgil said.

  “Look in on whom?” John asked, entering the gallery.

  “There you are, John!” Annabelle cried, clapping her hands together.

  “Look in on you, John Ready,” Virgil said. “We were worried about you. Did you catch that bandit who tried to steal my Annabelle?”

  “Unfortunately, no. No one I spoke to could identify someone who even resembled the fellow Miss Bailey described.”

  “Now what do we do?” Dolly asked. “Keep Annabelle locked in her room?”

  Annabelle folded her arms. “I refuse to be a prisoner.”

  “It’s for your own good, sweet pea,” Virgil said.

  “I won’t do it. Think of something else.”

  “John,” Virgil said, “I would appreciate it if you would come to my study after we’re finished here so we can talk about the best way to handle security and the traveling arrangements for the Statons’ dinner party this evening.”

  “Of course.”

  “Excellent!” Sir Harry said. He clapped his hands rapidly three times. “Attention, everyone! We are going to start with the scene where Bella tells her parents of her love for Frederick. So Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, over here. Miss Bailey, right here, please. Excellent. Ready? Everyone have their pages? And . . . begin!”

  As the Baileys began to read through their scene, Genny edged closer to John. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  John turned toward her, surprise on his face. “Why would I not be?”

  “You were gone so long last night. I was worried.”

  His gaze lingered on her for a long moment. She took a deep breath, deliberately thrusting forth her bosom so it strained against the bodice of her morning dress. He glanced down, hesitated, then jerked his gaze away, clenching his jaw.

  She smothered a smile. Trimmed with green ribbon, the white cambric morning dress was one of her favorites. Her father had often told her it looked stunning on her in contrast with her dark hair and green eyes, but most gentlemen admired the way the material clung to her female form.

  Apparently, so did John.

  She leaned closer as if to hear the performers better, tilting slightly, clutching her pages of the script. Her elbow brushed his, and she pulled away with a little “oh” as if it had happened accidentally.

  He whipped his head around again. The look in his eyes made it hard to breathe.

  “Have a care, Miss Wallington-Willis,” he murmured. He swept his gaze over her, once more pausing on her bosom before turning away.

  How could he remain so calm? She practically shook with the heat that was rising between them. If someone were to speak to her right now, she did not think she would be able to answer coherently. Her limbs tingled, especially where she had touched him. Didn’t he feel the same? Or were men different?

  She frowned. She had not considered that men might be different from women in these matters. Perhaps they had more control over themselves.

  “Miss Wallington-Willis.”

  She startled as Sir Harry called her name. “Yes, Sir Harry?”

  “I would like you and Mr. Ready to read the scene where Malevita is watching Frederick secretly and confessing her love aloud to the audience.”

  “Of course.” She flipped through her pages, looking for the scene.

  “Mr. Ready, there are no words for you in this scene. Malevita has come upon you asleep in the forest.”

  “I see.”

  “So if you would consider lying down on this blanket I took the liberty of setting out?”

  John stared at the blanket for a moment as if it were the enemy, but then he nodded and lay down right there on the gallery floor.

  “Miss Wallington-Willis, whenever you are ready,” Sir Harry said.

  Genny moistened her suddenly dry lips and stepped forward.

  “Perhaps Malevita should enter from the right,” Sir Harry suggested.

  Genny nodded and moved to the right of the makeshift stage area. John lay “sleeping” on the floor of the imaginary wood, and as “Malevita” came upon him there, Genny could not resist the chance to let her eyes roam over him in a way she had not been able to do overtly at any other time.

  “O handsome warrior. O noble prince. My blood burns for thee,” she recited. “Look upon him, all you sun and moon and stars, and know he is my love. My mate. My future king.”

  “Excellent,” Sir Harry murmured.

  “O love that lives as a flame inside me,” she continued, walking around him, her skirts brushing his legs, his arms. She pretended not to notice when the edge of her skirt swept over his face, but his eyes popped open, and he gave her one, searing look that made her toes curl in her shoes. “Thou art my only reason for living. My heart beats for thee.” She laid her hand on her bosom and tapped three times to signify her heartbeat. Then she dropped her hand, letting her fingers slide swiftly over the curve of her breast as she did so, a movement so smooth that the other players did not catch the wicked flirtation.

  Only John saw.

  She slid her gaze over his tense body, his fisted fingers, his clenched jaw—and smiled.

  “Excellent!” Sir Harry said, applauding.

  The others applauded. too, and Genny gave a curtsy, her cheeks warm with pleasure.

  John got to his feet, turned away from her, and said, “What is next, Sir Harry?”

  “The scene where you and Bella meet by the stream, and you tell her of your undying devotion.”

  John nodded. “Very good.” He glanced at Genny. “Please step aside, Miss Wallington-Willis.”

  His dismissive tone rankled, but she was not fooled. She had taken control of the situation, aroused him, and he did not like it.

  Her plan was working perfectly.

  What had gotten into that clever minx? He knew when a woman was deliberately flirting with him, and Genny had come after him with her full arsenal loaded and ready. The searing glances, the “accidental” touches, even the clothing she wore . . . All of it sent one unmistakable message.

  Take me.

  His body heard that message loud and clear and wanted to respond in the most decisive of ways. Hunger hummed throughout his body, held in check only by his will—a will that was rapidly giving way to the bombardment of subtle invitations sent in his direction. By the time they finished the rehearsal—where Genny appeared with him in scene after scene as Malevita, declaring her love for Frederick in the most passionate of verses—she had him so stirred up that the slightest glance from her might push him over the edge.

  But he would not let her get to him. He had seen these tricks before; Elizabeth had been a master at the art of seduction. He would not be ruled by his own lusts, no matter how difficult it was to resist.

  And it was bloody difficult. Genny was nothing like Elizabeth, and that made her all the more enticing.

  “Good work today,” Sir Harry said, as they finished the last scene. “This production will be ready for the picnic in no time at all.”

  “Thank you so much for writing the play, Sir Harry, and for acting as our stage manager,” Dolly said.

  “My pleasure, I assure you. Mr. Ready, you did quite well at your role. Are you certain you do not want to be in the final performance?” Sir Harry adjusted his spectacles and looked at him with expecta
tion.

  “I do not,” John said.

  “Very well.” Sir Harry looked a bit disappointed, but John was not about to take the chance of someone recognizing him. “Then I will see you all tomorrow at the same time to go through the play once again. Admiral, I trust you will remember your lines this time?”

  Genny’s father bristled. Silver-haired and bearded, the admiral was built like a bull but was also considered one of the greatest logistical minds of their time. “It was one line, Sir Harry. On my honor, I will not forget it tomorrow.”

  “See that you do not,” Sir Harry said, and looked down at his notes.

  The admiral’s eyes widened at the chiding tone. Then his lips curled into a sneer that, had Sir Harry been the ship of one of England’s enemies, would have seen the scholarly baronet scuttled to kindling.

  Helen must have sensed the danger, for she patted her husband’s arm. “We should get changed for dinner now,” she said, then murmured something in her husband’s ear. The admiral seemed to calm at that, but he still sent a baleful look at the baronet as his wife turned him away. “Genny, dear, are you coming?”

  “Yes, Mama.” Genny lowered her gaze in ladylike modesty and followed her parents at a slower pace. The snowy cambric of her skirts moved with the sway of her hips in a manner John found both hypnotic and erotic.

  “Are you certain you won’t come with us, Sir Harry?” Dolly asked, as Virgil came over and took the handles of her wheeled chair. “They invited you, too.”

  “I have already conveyed my regrets to the Statons,” Sir Harry said. “Unfortunately, I had a prior engagement that cannot be rescheduled.”

  “What kind of engagement?” Annabelle asked.

  “Annabelle!” Dolly exclaimed. “That’s none of your business!”

  “I was just asking,” Annabelle said with a slump to her shoulders.

  “Do not scold her, Mrs. Bailey,” Sir Harry said with a smile. “Her natural ebullience is part of what makes your daughter so charming.”

  “You’re way too kind,” Dolly said.

  “Takes me less time to get ready for these things,” Virgil said to the men with a grin. “I’ll meet you in my study in an hour, John.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Good, that’s all settled,” Dolly said, as Virgil started to wheel her away. “Come along, Annabelle. Time to get dressed for the dinner party.”

  “At least I’m getting out of this house,” Annabelle said, her lower lip poking out in sulky rebellion as she fell into step behind her parents.

  “And if you don’t stop acting like an infant, you may never get out again,” Dolly scolded. “Land sakes, child!”

  Their voices muted as they left the gallery, but Sir Harry remained where he was, looking at the door where they had departed. When he turned back to John, there was a softness in his eyes that disappeared almost immediately.

  Sir Harry and Annabelle? John noted the information and set it aside for later.

  “I wanted to thank you for watching over Annabelle while I was gone last night,” John said.

  “No thanks are necessary. I like to do my part.” Sir Harry gathered together the pages of his script and collected the blanket from the floor. “So you found nothing?”

  He’d found more than he bargained for, but not about Annabelle’s attacker. “That is correct.”

  “My old friend Raventhorpe is a crafty one. He was fond of finding simpletons to carry out his orders.” Sir Harry flashed a grin. “Must be why he chose my company so often.”

  John laughed and fell into step as the baronet started for the door. “You, Sir Harry, are much more clever than most, I would wager.”

  Sir Harry gave him a sidelong glance and a smirk. “I never wager.”

  “A good policy.”

  “However,” Sir Harry said, bringing the conversation back on topic, “I would imagine that if Raventhorpe did hire someone to kidnap Annabelle, that person would not be the sharpest sword in the armory. That should make it easier to find him.”

  “Because he will make a mistake?”

  “Exactly!”

  “I do not suppose you know the names of any of Raventhorpe’s former cohorts?” John asked, as they traversed the hallway and reached the stairs.

  “Alas, no. He did not take me into his confidence. In fact, I do believe he thought me something of a featherbrain.” He started up the staircase.

  John stopped short, his hand on the rail. “You? Featherbrained?”

  Sir Harry laughed. “You flatter me, Mr. Ready.”

  John bounded up the stairs and caught up with the baronet. “It seems Raventhorpe is the dull-witted one.”

  “Not at all. Egocentric, perhaps. Believes he is more clever than everyone else. But he is crafty, have no doubt of that.”

  They reached the landing of the second floor, and Sir Harry paused, looking John in the eye. “Watch yourself while you pursue Raventhorpe and anyone who works for him. He does not value other people. Thinks they are expendable. And that makes him dangerous.”

  John’s mouth twisted. “I know.”

  Sir Harry nodded. “Very well, then. I am off to my engagement. Enjoy yourself at the Statons’ tonight. Their cook is quite exceptional.”

  “Thank you, Sir Harry.” John waited a moment as Sir Harry turned and headed down the hallway, then he turned and went in the opposite direction, toward his own room.

  Sir Harry’s lecture on Raventhorpe was almost amusing. John knew the baronet intended to be helpful, but he had no idea how well John knew Raventhorpe—and how well he knew what Raventhorpe was capable of.

  The earl was a conniving, greedy bastard. This was a man who kidnapped innocent women and sold them into slavery overseas to become the sexual playthings of wealthy men, simply to line his own pockets. A man who had tried to kill Samuel Breedlove and left him marooned on a deserted island while Raventhorpe attempted to steal Samuel’s wealthy fiancée, Annabelle. The same man who, nearly eight years ago, had been John’s rival for the hand of Elizabeth Colling, the beautiful, socially ambitious daughter of a wealthy merchant. In the end, John had married Elizabeth.

  But Raventhorpe had killed her.

  Fury flared, red-hot, nearly blinding him. Somehow, he reached his room. Rested his clenching hand against the doorframe as he struggled with the rage that roared to be released. He knew Raventhorpe had killed his wife, but he could not prove it. And the bastard had arranged things so it looked like John was guilty.

  To this day, he had no clear memory of that night. He and Elizabeth had attended Lady Canthrope’s ball. Elizabeth had gone missing. No surprise there, as their marriage had already started to crumble. His wife was frequently to be found gambling or flirting with other men—including her former suitor, Raventhorpe. Hopeful, optimistic fool that he was, John had searched for her all over the house. He was determined to make their marriage work.

  One of the servants said he had seen her in the gardens, but as soon as John went out to look for her, he’d felt a prick on the back of his neck. The world had gone fuzzy. He fell. And he remembered the servant begging for his forgiveness, something about Raventhorpe threatening his daughter, before he lost consciousness.

  When he came to a few hours later, the ball was winding down, Elizabeth was still missing, and his head felt as if he had downed an entire cask of whisky on his own. Unfortunately, his staggering steps and slurring speech were all anyone remembered the next morning, when his wife’s lifeless body was discovered beneath the shrubbery in the back of the garden of Canthrope’s London town house.

  That very day, his uncle, the Duke of Evermayne, had told John that the duchess had just birthed a son, pushing John even further down the list in line to inherit, and that John would be leaving England—forcibly if necessary—to preserve the dignity of the St. Giles name and escape the scandal.

  The one saving grace to the whole sordid mess was that never once had Uncle indicated that he thought John was guilty. So John had fled Engl
and, while Raventhorpe had continued his dirty deeds unchecked.

  But Raventhorpe had not counted on John saving Samuel from that deserted island. Or Samuel coming to England to demand his bride. The earl had tried to have them killed more than once, but they had escaped. Then Annabelle had chosen to jilt the earl. Cornered, Raventhorpe had kidnapped Annabelle and run off with her in a desperate attempt to force her to wed him.

  Samuel and John had foiled the scheme with the help of the local highwayman, Black Bill. And John had taken considerable personal satisfaction in stopping Raventhorpe’s escape by shooting him in the arse. Afterwards, the bastard had slipped off to France to avoid the gossip about his failed elopement, but he had lost Annabelle and her fortune—a point to the side of those he had wronged.

  So yes, John knew Raventhorpe. Knew how slippery the man could be, how clever. Which was also why he dared not step forward and claim his title. Raventhorpe had gone through a lot of trouble to get rid of John.

  And despite his mother’s hopes, he was beginning to think that John St. Giles should stay gone. It might be the best thing for everyone.

  Richard, Lord Raventhorpe, watched from the rail of the ship as the outline of the English shore became sharper through the lingering fog. Though he had only been in France a few weeks, his sources told him that the scandal surrounding his attempt to elope with Annabelle was beginning to die down. There were other tidbits more appetizing, such as the marriage of the admiral’s daughter to that American bastard, Samuel Breedlove.

  And the failed kidnapping of Annabelle Bailey.

  That fool Green had certainly mucked up what should have been a simple job. Grab the girl, hand her over to Raventhorpe’s contacts in Dover, then have her shipped off to his partner in Morocco. The haughty blonde would soon have fetched a tidy price in the slave market. The scheme should have been child’s play.

  Yet somehow Peter Green had failed. Perhaps he should have employed a child!

  Ever since he had met Annabelle Bailey, his luck had changed for the worse. Breedlove had stumbled onto Raventhorpe’s slave-trading interests in the Caribbean, so the earl had had no alternative but to leave him for dead on an abandoned island. Who knew the bastard would not only live but would somehow get rescued just in time to prevent Raventhorpe from marrying the very wealthy Annabelle?