Wicked Game 02 - Something Wicked

by Olivia Fuller

  She pulled an apple from the bowl, wiped it on her dress, and took one large, crunching bite. “Are you done?”

  Greg stood slack jawed for a moment. “No, I’m not done! Not until we figure this out! We have to—”

  Mary went back to her apple.

  “Mary! I don’t think you understand the seriousness of this!” He pointed his finger at her now, a bit frantically, as he continued. “Mary!”

  “Greg?”

  “Bloody hell, what is your problem? Don’t you care to solve this?” He ran both hands through his hair, mouth gaped, searching for words. “You don’t—you don’t still intend to marry that fool, do you?”

  “Heavens no. I love you. And I accepted your marriage proposal. Don’t you remember that?” Mary crunched her apple again before holding out her hand to examine her fingernails. She frowned and picked at one.

  “Mary!”

  “Greg?”

  “Would you talk to me?”

  She put down the apple and wiped her mouth. “Oh, you’re ready for me to talk now?”

  He just stared at her.

  “What would you like to talk about, Greg?”

  His eyes widened and he threw his hands up above him. “The contract!”

  “What contract?”

  “Your—dear lord, woman. It’s not even done and I’m already having second thoughts about marrying you!”

  Mary smiled. That same devilish smile he had come to know so well. There was a hint of amusement in it, sweetness, but also something so wicked. “Oh shove off. Of course you’re not.”

  He sighed and he sat down beside her as he conceded. “No, you’re right. Of course I’m not.”

  She smiled again and exhaled gently as she placed a hand on his cheek, cupping his face in her palm.

  There it was again, Greg thought with a smile. Such a sweet and simple gesture on the surface, but something so, so wicked down below. He wanted to bite her bottom lip.

  Instead he kissed her. One long, soft, yearning kiss, extended one moment for each moment he’d never kissed her before. His insides melted with hot desire. But it wasn’t just a physical ache. He wanted her. He needed her. Every part of him needed every part of her.

  Every single part.

  Every last part.

  Every sweet part, every caring part, and yes, every wicked part. She had a lot of wicked parts. But a little wicked now and then was a good thing, he decided.

  When at last they broke the connection, he sat contentedly staring into her speckled blue eyes as she tried to hide the crimson on her skin.

  “Greg?”

  “Yes, my love?” he responded dreamily.

  “There is no contract.” She quickly crunched her apple again

  Suddenly Greg was standing. “What?” he roared.

  “There is no contract.” Another crunch.

  “But you said—Why did—How—”He raised his brow.

  No Contact. Well this sure changed things. But more interestingly, “How the bloody hell did you manage that?” he asked.

  Her mouth twisted into a wry half smile. “Of all people Greg, you underestimate me?”

  “I underestimate nothing. But Brad said there was a contract,” Greg shivered at his name, “Besides I understand the way things work in this world and in situations such as this there is most always a contract!”

  “Situations like this? My, my Greg! Do you find yourself in this sort of predicament very often?” She made a circular motion with her arms to encompass their current situation. “If so, I must say that maybe I’m the one who should think twice about us marrying!”

  “You’re not going to get much of a choice in that matter!”

  Her eyes grew wide as dinner plates. “Is that so?”

  He grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger and pulled her face to his. “Oh, you have had control of this relationship for quite long enough. I do believe it’s my turn.”

  “Are you going to force me?” She could feel his breath on her face; warm, sweet, and not at all innocent. For a moment she lost her bearings.

  “Yes.” His fingers gripped her chin more tightly, yet somehow also more gently. “Would you like that?”

  “For you to force me?”

  “Yes. For me to make you do my bidding.” They were so close now that his words caused his lips to brush against hers.

  She shivered. And nodded.

  He twisted his lips as he considered what to do next. Then he moved his hand slowly, from her chin to her jaw, and then around behind her head. He wrapped his fingers in her hair, twisting—gently but also oh-not-so-gently—until she began to moan, and then he pushed her head to the side and planted his mouth in the sweet space where her neck and shoulder met. His tongue darted out between his lips to taste her skin. It was as sweet as it smelled.

  He felt a warm tingle and tightening down below.

  She writhed and moaned.

  And then—

  “Did you honestly believe that anyone has the power to force me to do anything?” She qualified: “Present company excluded. Of course.” And then as if she had said nothing, she pushed her body back against his, more than willing to prove her words true.

  He planted another deep kiss on her nape, but her words had distracted him.

  “Well I—huh…” He held her out to arm’s length, cocked his head to the side, and contemplated. “But you said that you agreed to the marriage. You said—”

  “Yes. I did say I agreed. I never said that I was forced. Though, I should also qualify my statement: when I say there’s no contract I mean that there’s no contract if I decide there’s no contract.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “That Lord Brandon has more foresight than I and is a much better man than either of us ever gave him credit for.” Greg was still looking at her with a puzzled face so she added, “He wrote a provision into the contract that I could change my mind at any time.”

  “Why do that at all? If you weren’t forced that is.”

  Mary shrugged. “Brad insisted on a contract… as we now know why.”

  “And he signed such a contract?” Greg could barely hold in the laughs.

  “Well, we knew he was conniving. No one ever said anything about him being intelligent. I doubt he ever even read it…”

  For a moment Greg just stared at her, mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but he had suddenly forgotten how to speak.

  “Greg?” She spoke his name tentatively, unsure exactly what he was thinking or exactly how he would respond. “Gre—”

  “I have never been so happy to have been lied to in my entire life!”

  He scooped her into his arms and she began to laugh.

  “Well, I didn’t lie… exactly.” She was laughing now too. “At least I didn’t mean to. It just never occurred to me until now that the exact arrangements were important.”

  “It doesn’t qualify—it doesn’t matter—none of this—it’s not important how it happened—”

  “Is everything alright, Greg?”

  He suddenly stopped talking and he grew wide eyed again for what felt like the hundredth time. “Do you know what this means? It means we can marry now!”

  He picked her up off the ground and spun her around in a circle. He stroked her hair and breathed it in. He kissed her. He loved her.

  “Well, there will be some barriers. His special license,” she prompted.

  “Nothing. That’s nothing. I’ll take care of it all. Don’t you worry, my girl. Although…”

  Greg twisted his mouth again and exhaled. “There is one thing left to do…”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, what are we going to do about your impending marriage ceremony with Brad?”

  She looked up at him. That devilishly wicked part was back again.

  “We are going to do absolutely nothing.”

  Greg bit his bottom lip and tilted his head as he looked at her. “Oh, you want
to do nothing, do you? Are you sure?”

  “About which part? The wedding or right now?” Mary’s eyes twinkled indicating that she planned to protest the progress of their conversation and use her lips for something else.

  Greg answered her with one kiss and then one more before he took her in his arms and to her room and laid her down beneath him. She welcomed his kisses and his touches. She reveled in the way his body understood her own. And then they went down that path, to the place where they’d both wanted to go for so long, to a place that only they could lead each other.

  They made love then as two old lovers and this time they both said, “I love you.”

  Chapter 15

  Summer 1817

  For London in the summer, the weather was quite agreeable. The sunshine was neither too bright nor too dim, the clouds were a perfect shade of white, and the usually stuffy air was a bit less heavy.

  It was a beautiful day for a wedding.

  Mary decided this almost immediately upon waking.

  She woke early, so early in fact that by the time her lady’s maid, Madge, entered the room, Mary was long since awake, drinking tea she’d brewed on her own as she wistfully peered out the window.

  “Good morning, Miss,” Madge spoke softly and carefully as if she expected some sort of objection from Mary.

  “Yes, it is a good morning.” Mary sipped her tea and let the steam warm her face.

  Madge looked at her suspiciously as she started on the bed linens. “You recall what the day is, don’t you miss?”

  Mary took another sip and then placed her cup carefully on the saucer. “What day is it then, Madge?”

  “Why it’s—”Madge pursed her lips, with a vague look as if she was being tricked. “It’s your wedding day, Miss.”

  “Why yes it is!” Mary made a satisfied little hmph noise. “Did you think I had forgotten?”

  “I was unsure…”

  “And why is that?” She nibbled on a biscuit.

  “Well,” Madge was opening the rest of the windows now, “if I may speak openly…”

  Mary nodded and continued to sip her tea.

  “It’s just that you seem so—so—”

  “So what, Madge?”

  “Well,” Madge threw her hands out beside her and then let them fall with a slap. “So content!”

  “I must agree with Madge…” Priscilla’s voice broke into the conversation as she and Mary’s mother entered the room. Priscilla turned to Lady Brandon. “Don’t you agree, my lady?”

  Lady Brandon pondered her daughter for a moment. “Yes… I see it as well…”

  “Ahh.” Mary took another sip. “Yes. I am quite content.” She coolly looked all three of her companions in their eyes. “Should I not be?”

  Madge began to stutter. “I—it’s just that—just—”

  “Just that what, Madge?” Mary pressed again.

  “Truthfully,” she looked to Mary who nodded her silent approval again, “I never thought I’d see the day you’d be married. And I especially never thought I’d see you so calm and content about marriage. Unless…” She trailed off.

  “Unless?”

  “Well, unless it was to Lord Lincoln.” Madge blushed slightly and curtsied. “Pardon my saying, Miss.”

  Priscilla turned to Madge. “Don’t be sorry at all, Madge. You’ve just spoken exactly what the rest of us are thinking.”

  Lady Brandon and Priscilla flanked Mary at her small table. Lady Brandon placed her hand on her daughter’s arm. “Mary, dear, when Priscilla came to me with her concerns about your true feelings, I must say that she was not alone. I was very shocked when Brandon told me that you accepted Lord Hampton’s proposal. I, like everyone else close to you, always thought that you and Lincoln—” Mary heard a catch in her mother’s voice. “My dear. I want you to be happy and to feel love as I have felt with both your father and with Brandon. You don’t have to do this. If this isn’t what you want…”

  “I know that you’re in love with Greg and not Lord Hampton.” As always Priscilla was blunt and to the point. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I’m telling you, don’t. It’s not too late.”

  “No. It’s not too late, is it?” Mary said with a smile. She placed her hand over each woman’s hand and squeezed. “I’m doing exactly what I want to do…”

  “But…” Madge dropped the bed sheet and her eyes grew wide as saucers.

  Mary’s mother continued to look confused and concerned as a light ignited in Priscilla’s eyes.

  “Mary…” Priscilla prompted.

  Mary just smiled into her tea cup.

  ***

  The wedding was scheduled for eleven o’clock sharp in the drawing room of Mary’s family home. Though only a small group of cherished friends and family were to be in attendance, every detail of the ceremony and the meal afterwards had been accounted for. It was already half past ten but the staff still buzzed about with long lists of wedding preparations, frantically working to complete each task.

  Meanwhile Mary was content to wait in her room alone.

  She had never liked the color white. More correctly, she despised it. Or perhaps it despised her—yes, she thought that more the case—for whenever she happened to be wearing it, in any shade, something terribly unfortunate happened to the garment in question. As it was, this day had enough potential for terribly unfortunate things to happen without her also having to worry about the state of her dress…

  As such, when it had come time to find an appropriate gown for the day, this type of expensive, pristinely colored, one-use dress did not even cross her mind. Instead she followed the custom of the times. She chose a more practical, multi-use dress in the color she liked most.

  Mary looked at herself in the mirror and ran her hands from the bottom of the empire waist down over her stomach. Then she rubbed the soft, deep, blue silk between her fingers. It felt like heaven to her touch, which got her thinking about other things that made her skin come alive. Things that didn’t involve the feel of smooth silk or even the wearing of dresses… But there was no time to think of such things now. She let the fabric, and the fire it carried, fall from her fingers.

  The color of the dress was of a likeness with her eyes—or rather the shade she imagined her eyes to be. Right now they appeared more of a musky grey than a blue so perhaps the dress didn’t match quite as well as it could have. But it was beautiful. And it did make her happy. So perhaps matching the color of her dress with the exact color of her eyes was not really necessary.

  Yes. This dress would do very nicely.

  On and off.

  Mary heard the chime echo through the room as the large grandfather clock signaled a quarter ‘til the hour.

  Mary took a deep breath and prepared herself.

  Did she dare to do something so incredibly wicked?

  Of course she did.

  Today would be her most satisfying and wicked game yet.

  ***

  Greg was never late for anything, not even when he meant to be.

  It was a bad habit (for being fashionably late did often times have its advantages) he picked up in the first years after inheriting his title, when his mother, God love her, managed her grief by managing her son. As a young boy he had considered her management vexing, at best, and he’d counted the days until he reached legal age. But there were times—only brief moments, of course, he told himself—when he really would have welcomed his mother’s management.

  “Now, for bloody example,” he mumbled.

  Because despite his best efforts, today Greg was running late.

  And literally running.

  And it was not good.

  There hadn’t been much time to get all the necessary affairs in order; a mere day and a half. The tasks were not impossible, but they would be expensive. Greg underestimated just how expensive.

  His first order of business was to procure dispensation for Mary, so that when he purchased the special license he could rightfull
y swear there was no impediment to their union. But his “friend” in the church had sensed the urgency of his request and thus, requested more money to grant the exemption. It was more money than Greg had on his person. Much more.

  So he was making his way back home to collect the proper sum when he realized—bloody hell—that he would have to obtain the special license first because now he would not have time to go back after it.

  Obtaining the dispensation first had been more a formality to Greg because, after all, by the time they actually used the license Mary would be free and clear. The Archbishop did not see it this way. Maybe if he hadn’t remembered issuing a license for Mary and Brad only a few days before. Or maybe if he hadn’t remembered Brad telling him when the wedding was to be held. Or maybe, just maybe, if he hadn’t remembered that today was that day and so for Greg to want a special license now must be an urgent matter, indeed.

  An expensive urgent matter.

  Bloody hell.

  Luckily Greg had enough money on his person to pay the Archbishop, and luckily the Archbishop offered to grant the dispensation as part of this payment. But now Greg was running very late and his pockets were very empty. Which would not have been a problem at all… if only the wheels of his curricle had stayed where they bloody well belonged.

  He didn’t noticed the creaking at first, or the slight wobble, but then the curricle began to pull to the right and he heard a loud snap and he was flying. Good God in heaven he was flying. And then, just like that, he wasn’t.

  A giant mud puddle broke his fall.

  He struggled to his feet, slipping and sliding in the muck, falling once with a great plop before finally gaining control of his balance. It was too late though.

  His horses were gone, he was covered in filth, and his pockets were empty.

  He had no choice. He would have to run.

  And as he did, he laughed. Breaking up a wedding while covered in mud was sure to be quite the spectacle.

  But even that wouldn’t be the most shocking event of the day.

  ***

  That settled it. Mary would have to kill him.

  Greg was late, so she would have to kill him. Brad that was, not Greg.