Any Wicked Thing (18 page)

Freddie's mouth hung open. “You were in gaol?”

“My friend Cameron Ryder and I both. I told you there was a mix-up. One Englishman is much the same as another in that part of the world, and I believe we were arrested to pay for Kipp's sins, although we were hardly on his level. I used my courtesy marquessate to no effect whatsoever. My captor did not care that I was heir to a dukedom. Once I extricated myself, I was anxious to see if all my parts were in working order. I'm afraid, Freddie, that I embraced debauchery for a few months after my release with a fervor that would make you blush. I was not checking my poste restante on a daily basis.”

There. That sounded sufficiently vague and devil-may-care. His voice did not betray him in the slightest fraction.

“Ooh. Was it very awful?”

“Don't sound so pleased, Freddie. Yes, it was. Made me almost glad to come back to England and the mountain of debt that awaited me. I count myself lucky I was able to escape.”

“How did you?”

“Cam's very clever. A self-made man who's done quite well in the antiquities business. Not a crook like Kipp, and handsome to boot, although not as handsome as I.” She rolled her eyes at his outrageousness. It was such fun to tease her, and it turned his mind away from the darkness. “Cam has a unique interest in this castle. He is one of the gentlemen I've invited to look it over for purchase.”

Freddie glared at him. It was an expression he was getting used to. “You said you'd tell them not to come.”

He licked the crumbs from his fingers and tucked into the second half of his lunch. “And so I did. Sent someone off to mail the letters yesterday. We shall be quite alone for the remainder of May.”

She didn't look as relieved as she might, probably counting all the nights—and days—ahead that belonged to him. But after all, this arrangement was her idea.

“How did you and this Mr. Ryder get out?”

Sebastian wiped his lips with a linen napkin. “That's a story for another day. I propose—if you're finished crushing that piece of cheese between your fingers—that we go for a walk while the weather's so fine. With any luck, you might be able to push me into a bog and I'll sink into oblivion. I'm not certain who's next in line to the succession, but I doubt they'll be as demanding as I. I want to fuck you under the open sky, Freddie, so we'll need to get away from the prying eyes of the servants. I expect I'll see nose prints on the windows when I go in. Go into the castle like a good girl and fetch a quilt for us. I wouldn't want you to get a thistle up your arse.”

Freddie responded by throwing everything back into a heap in the basket and stomping off under the archway. Sebastian was left with the gentle breeze and the birdsong. It really was a lovely day, certainly a better view than that from his prison cell. And it would be even lovelier with Freddie beneath him. Or above him.

T
he nerve of him! She could barely walk as it was. Would he never relent in his wicked seduction? She wished he were still in an African prison, giant beetles crawling into his every orifice. Certainly up
his
arse.

Phillip Goddard, her late guardian, had never said one word about Sebastian's employment in Egypt, if he ever knew of it. Sebastian was an extremely poor correspondent—even before the estrangement it had been too burdensome for him to write letters. Sometimes years would go by without Uncle Phillip ever receiving anything in his son's handwriting, and then they were the barest bones. He never asked for money, which was a lucky thing, because there wasn't any. Uncle Phillip had outspent himself on his collections, and several investments had failed rather spectacularly. But he wouldn't hear of dipping into Freddie's trust.

She had inherited bits and pieces from her family. They had not been rich or elevated high in society, but were respectable enough. Unlike his own luck with money, Uncle Phillip had managed to invest hers with better results. And he turned over every penny of royalties to her from the books. His guilt money. She knew he regretted all those things he said that night about her. And what he'd done, telling Sebastian she'd been paid off not to make a fuss.

It might have softened the old duke's opinion to know that Sebastian was off on a dig, although probably not. Henry Kipp was not the sort of man whom proper scholars respected. He was a thief and worse. In any event, Uncle Phillip had no interest in any historical time period save the Middle Ages.

Frederica set the remains of their picnic down on the kitchen worktable, avoiding Mrs. Holloway's eyes. “Thank you for the lunch. It was delicious.”

“I don't reckon his lordship liked the wine, though.”

Freddie bit a lip. It had been very bad of her to put the most sour of the old duke's bottles in the basket. “One should not be drinking so early in the day,” she said, falsely virtuous. This at least was one form of corruption she could resist. She knew all too well what happened to her when she drank. She became brazen enough to seduce handsome young marquesses in tumbledown towers. “His Grace wishes to take a walk and examine the property. We shall be gone for some time.”

“Very well, Miss Frederica. You two enjoy yourselves.”

Freddie pulled an old moth-eaten cloak off a hook. “Just in case the wind comes up. You know how undependable the weather can be.”

“Mm-hmm. And don't forget to pick up your bonnet. You don't want to give those freckles any more encouragement.”

Lord, Sebastian had been right. The whole household was probably watching them as they ate. They'd seen Sebastian toss her hat aside and give her those wicked, smoldering looks. At least he hadn't kissed her, even though much of the time he seemed focused on her mouth.

“Will you be dining with the duke tonight, my dear? I'm roasting a joint.”

Oh, yes. Sebastian would probably insist on her presence, all the better to stare down the long table at her, undressing her with his eyes.

“That sounds delicious, Mrs. Holloway. I look forward to it. Tell Warren to set two places tonight, but tomorrow, the duke will definitely be dining alone.”

Happy to exert her authority in this one small thing, she returned to the serpent in the lady's garden. She bent to pick up her hat, knowing that Sebastian was inspecting her muslin-covered bottom.

“I'm ready. Let's get this over with.”

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing, simply extended his arm. With the utmost reluctance, she took it, and they passed through the garden gate.

The grassy track was uneven, as was her heartbeat. Forced to cling to Sebastian's arm so she wouldn't lose her footing, Frederica climbed up the rise to the highest point on Roxbury land. Odd that Goddard Castle wasn't on it for defensive purposes. It loomed behind them, a picturesque ruin that would soon be hers. The rolling hills and moors framed it, the variegated colors of green and gold and gray deceptively bucolic. There wasn't anything else to be seen for miles save sky and earth and crumbling castle.

She planned to hire masons who could repair what was repairable. The rest she would have torn down. She didn't plan to spend her old age worrying about collapsing walls and crushing debt. She would limit the amount of money she invested. As it was, her expenditures were sure to alter her future. No longer was she absolutely sure she could live comfortably for decades with a hired companion. She and Sebastian had not agreed on a price as yet, but she wouldn't let him steal her blind. Bad enough he'd stolen her senses.

He had taken the black cloak from her and twirled it now and again, like some villain in a bad melodrama. He'd made her unfasten her bonnet ribbons, so the hat bounced on her back with every step she took. Frederica's hair was loosening from its pins, and her cheeks were warm from keeping up with Sebastian's brisk pace. His strides were ever so much longer than hers and she had lost her breath a mile back, which suited her. If she could talk, she'd only be wasting her words on Sebastian. He had a singular purpose in mind and was not about to be deterred.

How fortunate they'd encountered no one, not even a stray sheep, on this excursion. Frederica prayed that their luck would continue. The thought of being found in flagrante delicto under the Yorkshire sky was too mortifying. Sebastian would go back to Budapest or Egypt, but she would be stuck here for the rest of her life with a ruined reputation.

What must it be like to travel the world? She envied Sebastian a little, although she didn't yearn to be imprisoned. She'd known only two homes—Roxbury Park and Goddard Castle. She'd come to the Dorset estate with her father when she was just a baby. When her father and Uncle Phillip traveled, she'd been left safe at the park, the pet of Warren and the other staff. After her father died, Uncle Phillip had traveled alone in his quest for medieval grails and she remained at Goddard Castle, doing research and organizing the duke's notes. She'd had no debut, of course—she was not from a high ton family, and her virginity was definitively disposed of. She'd given it to Sebastian, tossing it away as heedlessly as he'd tossed her bonnet in the lady's garden.

Uncle Phillip never spoke of that night directly, but she knew he was filled with deep regret. His pride had proven his downfall. His
superbia
. He had been a distractedly affectionate second father to her, but she'd had no idea he thought her so very unfit for his precious only son. His words had been ruthless, hurting her father far more than they hurt her. She knew Uncle Phillip had changed his mind over the years, in hopes that Sebastian would come back. But it was too late to soften the blow to Joseph Wells—he'd died of a broken heart.

But she had her money. And now she had a month of such sexual splendor that it terrified her.

Sebastian stopped at last, surveying the vista. The moorland stretched out below, broken here and there by crumbling limestone walls and stunted trees. With a flourish, he spread the cloak on the ground and pulled her down beside him.

“Tolerable view,” he said, looking at her rather than the distant castle. His hand clasped hers, his thumb idly circling in her palm. Even this light touch felt wicked. She tried to ignore it and him, gazing out at the spring green grass and sedges.

“It is pretty. I don't come up here often enough.”

“You've got your nose buried too deep in books.”

She sniffed with it. “I have an obligation to your father's publisher to complete the set. I'm lucky he agreed to let me continue.”

“Why bother? Your name isn't even on them.”

Nor was she mentioned in a dedication or appreciation—that went to her father—but the work was more important than the recognition. And Phillip Goddard had put every penny of his royalties into a trust for her, when he could have used the money himself. Schools used the texts, and libraries throughout Europe—and even America—stocked the series. It had netted quite a bit, and was the source of all her riches. “I do it to honor the memory of Uncle Phillip. And my father, too. They spent their lives gathering information and artifacts.”

Sebastian gave a disgusted snort. “They were mad, the both of them. And I don't mean because they fucked each other.”

She flinched. “You know as well as I do they were in love, Sebastian. You heard them.”

He said nothing. The subject was obviously still too raw for him, so she switched tacks. “You should at least understand their interest in history after you yourself went on archaeological searches.”

“To
sell
things, not buy them, Freddie. That's a big difference.”

“Well, at least you'll get the proceeds when I complete the last volume of
Roxbury's Middle Ages.
The publisher will honor the contract settlement to your father's devisal.”

He stopped teasing her hand, dropping it into her lap. “
I'm
to be paid for your work? That's preposterous! Even a devil such as I has some integrity. I'll not touch a penny of it.” Sebastian's face had darkened in anger. If he wasn't really upset at the prospect of ill-gotten gains, he gave a very good performance, now the hero of the melodrama rather than the villain.

“But I thought you needed money.”

“I do, but I've got some standards. I won't harness a woman to my plow.” He ripped up a tuft of grass, scattering it in the breeze.

“But you'd marry an heiress, wouldn't you? What's the difference?”

His face was truly an alarming color now. “I'm not marrying an heiress! I'm not marrying anyone! Damn it, Freddie, I may be ramshackle, but not even in the same league with my father. He enslaved you in his project and bankrupted the duchy. The man deserves to roast in hell for what he's done to the both of us.”