Any Wicked Thing (15 page)

“You—you are dismissed for the day. In fact, I don't want to set eyes on you again for the duration of it. So, stay out of my way, Sebastian.”

“As you wish, my lady. Are you quite sure I cannot scrub your back?”

“Quite. Good day, Sebastian.”

“Yes, it is rather, isn't it?”

She slammed the door and ran downstairs to her room, locking herself in on the chance that Sebastian would disobey her. He seemed the disobeying sort. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror she yelped and turned away. Cinderella come to life, all because of her oh-so-clever plot to occupy Sebastian in dangerous and demeaning tasks. Turning him into her drudge had not subdued his appeal one iota. Best if she had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with him on her days. What had seemed like an unusually generous gesture on Sebastian's part had been revealed to be anything but. She was putty in his hands, no matter what day it was. There was something about him—

Damn it, there was something about her, too. She'd grown to prickly independence here at Goddard Castle. She could withstand Sebastian's charm, and anything else he pulled out of his vile trunk. She opened up her diary and put her resolve in writing. It might help her to recite it every day, like the Ten Commandments when one had forgotten that number six was forbidden. Murder was too good for Sebastian anyway. And apt to be messy.

Frederica straightened herself up as best she could, then went downstairs to use the bathing chamber off the kitchen. Mrs. Holloway was already grumbling, heating water for the duke instead of making luncheon, Alice and Young Kenny trucking the water up in pails. Thank goodness Sebastian was unaware of the bathing chamber, else she'd be tripping over him here in her sanctuary. She sank down in a padded chair near the fire.

“'Tis his second bath of the day, Miss Frederica. Does the man think we've got nothing better to do than see to his abnormal needs? What kind of a man washes his whole self twice a day?”

“One who was beaten in combat and turned into a maid of all work,” Frederica confided. “I had him cleaning up cobwebs this morning after we fenced in the long gallery.”

“You never!”

“I confess I did. We have an odd little bet going concerning the disposition of the castle. Expect him to be down here the day after tomorrow peeling vegetables for you.”

Mrs. Holloway gasped. “Oh, miss, I couldn't have that! He's the duke!”

Frederica shrugged. “He's just a man.” A rather perfect specimen of mankind, but she wouldn't tell Mrs. Holloway that.

“You must have been right into the filthy corners with him. You're a sight, Miss Frederica.”

Filthy corners indeed. “I know. I came down for a bath, too. Once
he's
seen to, of course.”

“You sit right there and I'll fetch you a cup of tea.”

“That would be lovely.” Frederica sat back and watched the to-and-fro of the servants, for once feeling no inclination to help them attend the duke. Her tea was hot and sweet just as she liked it, and eventually accompanied by a simple sandwich. The duke's lunch was far grander, but he would be eating it alone, far from the comfort of Mrs. Holloway's kitchen.

Once she was finished, Frederica shut herself in the little storage room that had been converted into a bathing chamber. It had seemed a practical solution to slopping buckets of water up the twisting stone stairs. The servants made use of it themselves, and a slate schedule hung on the door. No one was chalked in until next Wednesday, so Frederica relaxed back into what had been a long wooden trough. She'd had Eric, the head groom, drill a hole in the bottom so that the water would flow out into a pipe that drained into the yard, thus making the bathing experience easier on all concerned. But she would not tell Sebastian of this room and ruin the privacy for the rest of them. The servants might share the tub with her, but she knew they'd never plunk their arses down where the duke had plunked his. It would not be proper. The standards at Goddard Castle were not high, but there were at least some.

She smoothed her body with a fresh cake of rose-scented soap. Soon it would be time to make more, to gather fruit and berries from the carefully tended, walled lady's garden, to snip and dry herbs. The worn brick paths in the largish garden proved that this part of castle life had gone on for centuries. The castle buildings themselves might be in shambles, but the garden was a jewel, producing even in the foulest weather. The high brick walls trapped the sun and protected the plants from wind. It was as if a measure of Yorkshire magic had seeped into the soil.

Sebastian could be turned loose in the more prosaic kitchen garden where he couldn't do any harm. It would do him good to dig in the dirt, pull up weeds and pinch off garden pests between his elegant fingers. She was just picturing him on his knees, his bare torso shiny with sweat, when the door behind her opened.

“Ah! Here you are.”

It was too late to scream or reach for the towel or lather up or pull her hair down from its knot to cover her breasts. Sebastian made himself at home on the little bench, sitting atop her towel with finality. Frederica tried to keep her poise, covering herself and wishing she had at least one more arm. “What are you doing here, Your Grace?”

“I'm giving myself a tour of the castle, as no one was available to show me around. You keep everyone busy as bees here, Freddie. Orienting myself, as it were. See?” He held up a little leather diary. “I'm making a map, taking notes. Trying to discern what rooms need my attention. Anticipating your every need.”

His voice was smooth as caramel. He was not talking about cleaning, the wretch.

“As
you
can see, I'm bathing, Your Grace. It does not suit me at all to have company as I do so. I expressly forbade you to seek me out earlier. Did you forget?”

“I was hardly expecting to discover this charming little room, or you in it in so charming a fashion.” He gazed around, taking stock of the neatly stacked cakes of soap, the oils and unguents on the shelves. A mixture of floral and herbal scents hung in the steamy air. His citrus cream would be right at home with the remedies Frederica had concocted for the household with Mrs. Holloway and Alice. “You're a kind of apothecary, aren't you? Scholarship, athleticism and now science. What a wonder you are, Freddie. It doesn't surprise me that a schemer like you can conquer any task you put your mind to.”

“Sebastian, I am naked,” she ground out.

He smiled wolfishly at her. “Yes, I do see that, and I thank heaven for it. Makes me wonder what I've done to deserve such a treat.” He may not like her, but Frederica could tell he had no complaints about her body from the leer on his face. But again she remembered the horrible Mrs. Carroll's words. Sebastian fucked anything.

“I'm certain heaven is not involved in any way. Really, Mrs. Holloway will keel over if she finds you in here.”

“If she does, I imagine a Renaissance woman like you can cook as well.”

“There you would be wrong,” Frederica lied. She was not about to let Sebastian order her around the kitchen at three in the morning. She was relatively competent at the stove, but the temptation to poison the duke might overtake her. “Really, you must leave. I still have a dozen hours free of you.”

“Only ten, my dear. It's after two and midnight cannot come soon enough. I suppose I'll have to find something else with which to amuse myself in the meantime.” He rose, never taking his dark green gaze from her body. “I promise to be careful as I continue to explore the castle. I'm not sure adequate precautions have been taken to secure the unsafe areas.”

Frederica imagined his inert body trapped beneath a fallen pillar. It did not please her as much as she might like. “We're all rather used to the vagaries of Goddard Castle. Of course, any improvements you choose to make will be appreciated once the castle is mine.”

“I'm off, then. May I help you get dry before I leave?”

“No, you may not!”

He left as quietly as he entered. The water was cold by now, but she waited in it until she was sure Sebastian was far from catching her rise out of the tub. How foolish—he'd seen more of her body than she'd ever seen herself. He'd
shaved
her, for heaven's sake, and put his tongue where no one ought without being struck by lightning. What could he possibly do to her next? She didn't have to wait long to find out.

S
omewhere below, a modern clock struck midnight. Sebastian had been dozing fitfully in a chair, waiting for the official start of his day. He'd dined alone again, which was becoming a dead bore. Warren resembled a rabid hedgehog as he served him in the echoing banquet hall, the butler's bristly disapproval palpable. Frederica had champions in all the male—and female—staff, not that they were large in number. But after inspecting the castle and its grounds today, he had even greater misgivings. Even though he didn't like her, the thought of leaving her here to molder into spinsterhood was dismaying, not to mention dangerous. He'd spoken with all five of the male servants this afternoon to bar entry to most of the interior, which meant in some instances one actually had to step outside into the elements before one could pass into another section of the castle. Sebastian had half a mind to tie Freddie up and kidnap her as far away from Goddard Castle as possible. Kidnapping was prosecutable, but the tying up was certainly within his realm.

After lighting a branch of candles and tossing another log on the fire, he straightened the fresh sheets on the bed. The restraints were at the ready, because after caving in so easily today, Freddie might feel the need to prove she was not cooperative. Her independent streak was long and wide, and Sebastian had no wish to find himself scored by fingernails or beaten to a bloody pulp. Freddie seemed capable of just about anything. Her competence was frightening.

Wearing a silk banyan this time, he trod carefully on the worn stairs to her room below. She was sitting at a little desk, her spectacles slipping down her nose as she read a thick tome by candlelight. Her beautiful hair was in pigtails, and her voluminous white night rail had not transformed into a saucy negligee. Despite her every effort—and his, too, he thought ruefully—she still had appeal to his jaded palate, and he said so.

She snapped the book shut, and a cloud of dust erupted. “Rubbish.”

“Seriously, Freddie. You could turn up at the Hellfire Club just as you are and they'd be mad for you.” He began to unravel a braid as she sat stiff in her chair. His fingers worked through the silk, and he thought he saw a lessening of tension in her shoulders.

“I suppose you would know.”

“I would, rather. I've made it my business to know such things.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why have you done all the things you've done?”

Sebastian shrugged. It was not an issue he'd spent much debate on, especially since Egypt. What man of his acquaintance did not envy him and the life he led?

“Why not? Life is short, Freddie, and pleasure a fleeting thing. I'm not one to wear a hair shirt and deny myself anything. What's the point? We all have our little indulgences to get us through life. You have your books, don't you?” He gently removed her spectacles and folded them on top of her book.

“You can hardly equate my interest in history with your unnatural desires.”

He began on the other braid. “Ah, Freddie. Who's to say what is natural? Man is imperfect. Surely your studies confirm that. Our fathers were living proof. We've all got the seven deadly sins to deal with.” His fingers slipped into her silk. “Tell me, which is your favorite?”

She sputtered. “My favorite? What do you mean?”

“
Superbia, avarita, luxuria, invidia, gula, ira, acedia
,” he replied, stroking her unbound hair.

“You know Latin.”

“I keep telling you, Freddie, I am not as stupid as you think.” He stepped back to judge the cascade of hair down her back. “I'll just go fetch your hairbrush.”

He was back from the dressing table in seconds. “Now, then, since you will not dine with me, I have no opinion on your gluttony.
Gula.
However, seeing you deliciously naked, I think you may have the slightest sweet tooth. Am I right?”

She wrestled the hairbrush from his hand. “Are you saying I'm fat, you odious man?”

“No, no, just delightfully rounded. Just as you should be. Rather perfect.You are showing your wrath right now, but I don't believe that's your worst sin. And we know it's not sloth—you run this place like a little general. If I had to guess, I'd say it's a toss-up between
superbia
and
luxuria
.”