Wicked Seduction

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Wicked Seduction Page 13

by Jade Lee


  “I am positive that I wish to be at home tonight,” she said. “In darkness with a cold cloth over my eyes. Blessedly, silently, alone.”

  “Well, fine,” said Rose with a sniff. “No need to become a shrew. I didn’t realize we were so noisy.”

  Maddy sighed. She hadn’t the patience to deal with Rose’s temper right then. She was more concerned with her uncle’s thoughts. But his expression was infinitely bland and wholly devoid of warmth. He took hold of his daughter’s arm and began steering her out the door.

  “Come along, Rose. You’ll shine brighter without her sour presence. Besides,” he added as he patted his daughter’s arm, “she has plenty of servant’s work to keep her occupied.”

  Maddy watched them go, pain cutting through her heart. Up until now, her uncle had never made her feel small. She had taken up the reins of the household because someone needed to. She had taken on the task of steadying Rose’s flights of fancy because she was older than the girl and could look out for her. And whereas Rose never tired of telling people that Maddy lived on their charity, Uncle Frank had never suggested that she was anything but welcome. He fed her, housed her, and allowed her to have a Season in order to catch a husband. Never before had he even suggested she was a servant, even obliquely.

  Obviously, that was over. She had rejected his advances, and his pride was wounded. Every woman knew how delicate a man’s pride was, and an earl was even more prickly. Yet the pain still cut deep. He and Rose were her only family. And now she saw exactly how little he loved her. With a muffled sob, she dashed for her room.

  She didn’t cry. She’d thought she had shed all her tears years ago when her father died, but lately she’d been excessively weepy. She wrapped herself around a pillow and buried her face in the linen. One day, she told herself over and over, some man would find her attractive. Some man would marry her. Someone would love her again.

  “Angel. Angel, don’t cry.”

  Maddy jerked awake as a hand touched her shoulder. The candle still burned, so she had a good view of a man crouched beside her bed.

  “Hush, angel. It’s me.”

  Kit. In her bedroom. She blinked and rubbed a hand across her face, startled to find her skin wet.

  “What are you doing here?” she croaked.

  “I came to see you.”

  She pushed up from her bed, blinking again to make sure she was not dreaming the bizarre sight of Kit Frazier kneeling beside her bed. She peered over the edge to see more clearly. It was definitely Kit in his shirtsleeves and bare feet.

  Bare feet? She had to be dreaming. She scooted backward, frowning when her dress pulled at her shoulders. Had she fallen asleep in her clothing? Of course she had. She’d run upstairs and collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to undress. And then she’d fallen asleep. It was all perfectly logical. Reassured, she adjusted her body then leaned back into the corner. Her bed was pushed against two walls, so she could easily rest there while she got her bearings. He watched her move, his eyes serious, his face dark and forbidding in the flickering light.

  “This isn’t real,” she told herself. “It’s a dream.” She spoke the words out loud, hoping they would wake her, but they didn’t. The apparition that was Kit shook his head.

  “I am real, angel. I heard you crying.”

  “I don’t cry.”

  “You were.”

  She shook her head, knowing she was lying but needing to keep up the illusion of strength for her own sake. “I haven’t in years.”

  “I saw it often on the boat, people who cried when they slept.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a very happy boat,” she said. Then she frowned. Of course it wasn’t a very happy boat. It was a slave ship. “I beg your pardon. That was a stupid thing to say.”

  “No need to apologize. It was certainly not a very happy boat.” He shrugged, rising up from his crouch to settle on the bed beside her. This close she could see that his shirt was undone at the neck, allowing her a peek of tan skin beneath.

  “Did Jeremy cry? In his sleep?” She was acting very bold, she realized, asking questions she should not. But as it was a dream, she wasn’t particularly worried. Except, of course, she knew she was lying to herself. This wasn’t a dream at all.

  Mr. Frazier flinched at the question, but he answered it readily enough. “Jeremy died on the Fortune’s Kiss. I told him to hide. I didn’t know that the pirates intended to sink it.”

  She blinked, the last vestiges of sleep ripped from her. “They sank the ship? With Jeremy on board?”

  He nodded. “I was captured the moment I went topside. I’d never seen death like that before. Men gutted, dead but still bleeding. I had no weapon and no real fighting skill. Just as well because any type of resistance meant death. Instant and merciless. Venboer—he was the pirate captain—didn’t have the men to subdue difficult slaves. Anyone who fought back was killed.”

  “My God . . .” she whispered.

  “I didn’t say anything about Jeremy. It’s ridiculous, looking back at it now, but I kept thinking that a boy his age shouldn’t see death like that. So I held my tongue.”

  “Of course you did,” she said. Her hand twitched. She wanted to touch him in some way, comfort the haunting pain in his eyes. But to do that would be to go too far. She would have to admit that this was real, and that he really was in her bedroom. And he was barefoot. For some reason, that fact struck her as the most bizarre. That a man was in her presence barefoot.

  “I kept silent. I was herded off the boat and onto the pirate ship. I didn’t know what was happening, didn’t understand anything. Not until they fired their guns.”

  “Why would they sink a perfectly good ship?” she asked.

  “Venboer didn’t have the men. He could barely control the slaves. He certainly couldn’t spare the men to sail the other ship.”

  “So he sank it? With Jeremy hiding on board?”

  He nodded. “That is the way of things.”

  “What a waste.” And then she realized how ridiculous that statement was. He had been taken by pirates. A boy had died. The captain and a good deal of his crew had died. The loss of one ship was hardly the biggest crime. She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. “I beg your pardon. I am being especially stupid right now.”

  She watched his lips quirk in a flash of a smile. “It seems so long ago. I haven’t thought about Jeremy in years.” His expression sobered. “I don’t know why I chose to relive that time last night. I must have seemed like a madman.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps a little, but it’s only to be expected.” She let her head drop back against the walls. “And I suppose you relived that memory because it was the beginning. I expect you have thought about that day a million times, wondering what you could have done differently. I know I would.”

  He tilted his head in confusion. “The ship was attacked by pirates. At the time, I was in the galley complaining about the terrible food. There was nothing I could have done to change anything.”

  She nodded. “I know. And there is nothing I could do to change my father’s illness either. Or that I eventually came to live here. And yet, I still think and wonder.”

  He shook his head. “I gave up wondering many years ago. Only a fool wastes energy on yesterday. Today has enough challenges.”

  She bit her lip. He was right, of course. But there were still moments she ached to relive even one day of her old life, one day when her father was still vital and strong.

  “Tell me why you were crying,” he said softly.

  “Tell me why you are in my bedroom barefoot.”

  His eyebrows raised in surprise. “It is too difficult to climb a wall in shoes.” He gestured out her window. She saw now that the glass was lifted. He must have scaled the wall and climbed in.

  “But there is nothing there but wall and a few spots of ivy!”

  He nodded. “Exactly. That is why I had to take off my shoes. My coat and cravat are down there as well.”

&nbs
p; Of course, she thought with a laugh. Why ever would she think something different? “But why would you risk your neck in such a way?”

  He gave her an arch look. “I lived for seven years on a ship. I climbed ropes during storms, cut sails in the dark, even scrambled between ships at war on the ocean. Even with my injury, your wall is not a risk.”

  No. Put like that, it wouldn’t be. “But why?” she pressed. That was the question he had avoided. “Why would you climb in my window?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a kind of shrug. “I had to see you.”

  She mulled over his words, sifting through them to find the truth. “I was supposed to go out this evening. The Season is beginning. I will not be at home for many nights to come.”

  He dipped his chin in a nod.

  “So you intended to sit here and wait for me? Until I came home hours from now?”

  Again, a quick dip of his head. She let hers fall backward against the wall in shock.

  “What if anyone saw you? My reputation would be destroyed!”

  “No one would see me.”

  “But of course they would!”

  “No one would see me,” he repeated. He spoke with such confidence that she was tempted to believe him. Which was ridiculous, because she could not entertain a man in her bedroom without someone noticing! And yet, he was here, sitting on her bed, talking with her as if it were the most natural thing.

  “Mr. Frazier—” she began.

  “Kit. Please call me Kit.”

  “I most certainly will not!” she said firmly, even though she had been calling him Kit in her thoughts for a while now.

  “Please,” he said, and she heard a note of desperation in his voice. “It helps me remember where I am. Who I am. On Venboer’s ship, my name was Slave.”

  “Just ‘Slave’? Weren’t there a lot of you?”

  He nodded. “It was a game Venboer played, a way to show us that we were all one and the same to him.”

  She bit her lip, beginning to understand a little of what he suffered. After years as a pirate slave, coming back to London must feel like a dream to him.

  “But you are safe now,” she pressed. “You are in London. You are free.”

  His gaze slid from hers to the guttering candle. “We were not allowed fire on the ship. No candles. No light. Too dangerous, especially when many slaves would rather die than continue on.” He reached out to touch the flame. She watched it flicker over his fingers and wondered that he did not burn. Then he pulled away and looked at her. “Candles help me remember. Clothing helps me remember.” He leaned forward. “You help me remember.”

  She felt her lips curve in a rueful smile. “I do not believe I helped you last night.”

  “Never say that!” he said sharply. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I would have returned at all.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and she saw how haggard he appeared. “It has been four years since I bought my freedom, and yet still, some nights I am afraid to go to sleep. I am afraid that I will wake in the morning—”

  “And this will be the dream.”

  He nodded, and she saw such vulnerability in his eyes.

  “Kit . . .” she whispered, her heart breaking at the sight. And then her stub of a candle finally gave out. The flame flickered one last time and extinguished. She gasped in surprise, but that was nothing compared to his reaction. One moment he was sitting there in candlelight, confessing his fears. The next moment, there was darkness and he leaped on top of her bed. It took her a moment to realize he’d spun around too. He was crouching with his back to her, his body blocking hers as he looked out over the room. Was he protecting her? She touched his back and felt the muscles tighten beneath her fingertips.

  “Kit. Kit! There is nothing there. Just the candle going out.”

  He didn’t respond at first. His body remained tight, his every muscle prepared to strike. Then she heard him take a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I know,” he finally rasped. “I know that in my mind, and yet . . .”

  He didn’t have to finish his sentence for her to know what he was thinking. His rational mind knew the truth, but he could not shake the fear from his body. It was an instinctive reaction, honed over years at sea.

  “I’m going to scoot to the side,” she said gently. “There’s another candle in my dresser drawer.”

  She made sure not to move until he nodded. Then she trailed her hand along his back and to his thigh so that she would not startle him as she moved. It was a moment more before she could spark the flint and get a light. But once it was done, she released a breath in relief. She turned back to him, seeing his body relax as the light burned through the room. She saw too that his cheeks were red with embarrassment.

  “I thought this would be easier,” he said quietly. “I thought I could come back to London and still be a man.” He closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the wall. “I came to apologize, angel, and to thank you. I’m sorry if I frighten you.”

  “You don’t frighten me,” she said with absolute truth. “And change is hard. Even good changes. It takes a while for the mind to catch up.”

  He looked at her, and she saw gratitude in his eyes. Then he slowly shifted until he sat down on her bed, his back to the wall.

  “Would you like me to light another candle?” she offered.

  “One is enough.” Then he glanced down at the dirty footprints he had left on her bedsheets. “I owe you new linens.”

  She laughed, surprised at how light the sound was. “I have slept on far dirtier things, I assure you.” Then as he watched, she pulled off the sheet and turned it over such that the clean side would be against her skin. “See. Now no one will notice, least of all me.”

  He stared at her and slowly shook his head. “You are a marvel, angel.” Then his expression darkened. “Tell me why you were crying.”

  She let her eyes drop away from his. “I don’t cry,” she repeated firmly.

  “Is it your uncle? Did he hurt you?” He abruptly leaned forward, his eyes flashing in the candlelight. It was only mildly frightening to see him so, but it was his words that chilled her. “I will kill him for you, if you like. With him dead, Rose will inherit. She is almost of age, is she not? You can convince her to keep you on as companion, and then the two of you could live here without him. You won’t have to think about him ever again.”

  She stared at him, her mind barely keeping up with his words. He couldn’t possibly be offering to murder her uncle for her. “You’re not serious, are you?” she whispered. “You can’t be.”

  She saw him clench and unclench his teeth. But in the end, his spine rolled back against the wall. “No,” he said. “No, I’m not serious. But it is wonderful to imagine, isn’t it? I used to lie awake and dream of ways to kill Venboer.”

  “No!” she gasped, though a tiny part of her did wonder what it would be like to live alone with Rose without Uncle Frank’s constant questioning about the household expenses. To be able to buy a dress without thinking how she would justify it to him. And without wondering what he was thinking every time he watched her from his library chair. He just sat and watched her as she went about her tasks. The idea of living without him was intoxicating. And yet equally appalling.

  “No,” she repeated firmly. “I don’t want him dead. I just want . . .”

  “What?” he prompted when she fell silent. “What do you want, angel?”

  A husband. A home. A life such as she would probably never have. “I don’t know,” she finally said aloud. “I just wish that things were different, that’s all.”

  “Like back when your father was alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.” He exhaled a sigh. “Wishing is for fools. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, her tone very much more dull. Then she looked into his eyes and saw an answering longing in them, a wish so deep and so powerful that she could read it in the very striations of his eyes. “Then I suppose I am a fool.�
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  His lips quirked. “So am I.”

  He took her hand, tugging her gently closer to him. She allowed him to, though she didn’t move next to him as he obviously wanted. Instead, she let him hold her hand and relished the feel of his large palm, the rough texture of his calluses, and the simple joy of being touched in so gentle a way.

  “Alex’s family is back in London. I took him to them today.”

  She jerked her gaze up to his face. He had spoken so deadpan, so blandly, that she knew the words were important. Men never allowed their emotions free rein, and he was more closed than most.

  “Was it terrible?” she whispered, thinking how awful it would be for Alex if things had gone badly. He was just a boy, really. Too young to be—

  “It was exactly as a reunion should be,” he said. “Tears, hugs, teasing, more tears, and a celebration the likes that I have never seen. Angel, they love him so much and they were beyond thrilled to have him home.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, understanding coming slowly. “I’m so glad for him.”

  “Yes.”

  “But it’s terribly hard, isn’t it? To see such happiness and know that it isn’t there for you.”

  “I am happy for Alex,” he said clearly. Then his gaze grew abstract, his lips softening into a gentle smile. “His mother couldn’t stop crying. She’s probably still sobbing.”

  Maddy smiled, her eyes misting in memory. “Tell me about it,” she asked. “Every moment. Every tear. Please.”

  He looked at her then, and she saw from his eyes that he understood. She needed to share in Alex’s joy as much as he needed to tell it. And then together, they could live for a while in happiness, even if it wasn’t their own.

  He spoke slowly, taking his time. He had a gift for storytelling, and though he kept his voice low, his story filled the room. Through him, she got to know each member of Alex’s family, and before long, she was curled up into Kit’s side so that she could feel the vibration of his words. And when he was done, the room still echoed with the memory of laughter and good food. She sighed in delight, holding every second to her heart.

 

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