Any Wicked Thing (32 page)

F
reddie woke from her stupor at first light. Her mouth was dry as dust, and a determined band of tiny elves were clog-dancing on her temples. It would be impossible to rise and go to church this morning as she had planned, although the Lord only knew, she needed intercession through prayer in the very worst way. She lay still on her bed, her hands clasped in front of her as though she were a marble effigy. She got directly to the point, promising that at least for today she would not have carnal relations with Sebastian, and for all her tomorrows, she would never, ever drink anything alcoholic again.

Her untouched supper tray did not tempt her. There had been a bowl of broth, now scummy, a roll, a wedge of cheese and a flask of water. The water still had appeal, and she drank it down quickly. Making herself presentable took some effort. Bending over to pick up hairpins that her clumsy fingers dropped was agony. It took her two tries to button her bodice properly, and all the rice powder she possessed to mask the green cast to her face.

Once she was dressed, she refrained from inhaling and carried the tray downstairs to the kitchen. Sebastian and his friend were taking their breakfast at the long table, a most unwelcome assault to her senses. The sight of two beautiful men and the smell of bacon, kippers and eggs caused havoc with her stomach, and she set the tray down hastily as they both rose from their seats.

“Good morning, Freddie.”

Sebastian looked as fresh as if he'd just stepped from a fashion plate depicting a country gentleman at his leisure, his friend the same. Injustice, when they had probably drunk brandy late into the night.

“You are up early,” she croaked.

“Yes, we have plans. Sit with us. I was just about to send Alice up with my never-fail potion to relieve you of your headache.”

Frederica didn't bother denying that she had one. On cue, the kitchen maid stepped out of the pantry holding a small tray with a glass of cloudy liquid and a large cup of coffee. Frederica's stomach continued its rebellion, but she joined the men at the table, taking a deep sniff of the comforting rosewater at her wrist.

Alice dropped a curtsy, an affectation she usually dispensed with when dealing with Frederica. They had worked too often side by side to stand on ceremony. She must be trying to impress the duke and Mr. Ryder, poor child. “Here, miss. His Grace says this'll work wonders.”

The entire household must know of her drunken disgrace. Ever since Sebastian's arrival, she had lost all her propriety—fornicating, drinking. Next she would be kissing strangers and dancing naked on the moors.

She eyed the glass warily, stirring the gray concoction with a spoon. “Thank you, Alice. I do beg your pardon, Mr. Ryder, for my unforgivable behavior yesterday. I am unused to spirits—cannot, in fact, tolerate them at all. I should have learned my lesson by now. I must have made a dreadful first impression.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Wells. We all have our faults, don't we, Sebastian?”

“Speak for yourself. I'm rather perfect.” He gave her a slow wink.

Frederica nearly spat her mouthful of Sebastian's drink out at his conceit. She was afraid to ask what was in it, but the taste was not too awful. She took another sip, avoiding looking at Sebastian's egg-smeared plate or his smug face.

“Freddie, after breakfast, we'd like you to join us in the library. There is something we can use your help with.”

Sebastian knew as well as she did that today was
her
day. She needn't do a single thing he asked of her. “It's Sunday. I thought I'd go to church.”

“What a novel idea! Are you up to it?”

No, she wasn't, but she did not want to spend the morning anywhere near Sebastian and Cameron Ryder. Church was the very last place she expected to find either of them.

“We'll all go,” Mr. Ryder offered with a sunny smile. “It will do us good.”

The thought of being shut up between the two of them in the Archibald pew was not a happy one. The elves picked up their pace and pounded harder on her head. “Perhaps I spoke too soon. I am feeling rather unwell still.”

“Drink up, Freddie. The sooner you finish, the sooner you'll feel better. I guarantee it.”

Perversely, Frederica took a swallow of coffee instead. She usually drank tea in the morning, but strong coffee was what she needed. The men watched her, concern on their faces. They had both finished eating, refusing Mrs. Holloway's attempts to replenish their plates. “You two run along. I'll join you once I've had a muffin.”

“Take your time, Freddie. We won't go anywhere.”

And that was the trouble. Twenty-odd more days of Sebastian, three with Mr. Ryder. Frederica wanted her old life back.

They rose from the table. Frederica had to allow as how they both looked exceptionally fit as they made their exit. There was something about properly tailored breeches—

“Jam, too, Miss Frederica?” Mrs. Holloway fussed over her, buttering a freshly toasted muffin.

“I don't think so.” It would be all she could do to choke down the muffin, but she knew she needed something in her stomach. She'd not eaten since yesterday's lunch. “What do you think of the duke's friend?”

“Handsome devil, ain't he? He seems a nice enough gentleman. The two of them were thick as thieves at breakfast, although I couldn't catch everything they said. I think my hearing's going in my old age. But I'll bet my best copper-bottomed saucepan they're up to something.”

“I wonder what it is.” Frederica closed her eyes and swallowed the entire glass of Sebastian's brew.

“You'll find out soon enough, I reckon. Are you sure you don't want an egg or some stewed fruit?”

“Positive.” Frederica set the glass down and slumped over the half-eaten muffin. “Oh, Mrs. Holloway. I made a total fool of myself yesterday. I drank some of Sebastian's whiskey—most of it, I'm afraid.”

Mrs. Holloway waggled a finger. “His Grace did mention it. We had a little dustup over whose antidote we were going to send up with Alice. I was overruled, but should His Grace's drink not work, I'll make you my own specialty. Mr. Holloway, God rest his soul, was often in need of it. Alice, child, come and clear up these plates.” Now that the men had left, Mrs. Holloway relaxed. She sat down to keep Frederica company, serving herself a cup of coffee and an overlooked pastry from the transferware platter at the center of the table.

“You know I never drink more than half a glass of wine with dinner. Alcohol is like a poison to me. I don't know what possessed me.”

Mrs. Holloway looked at her with shrewd brown eyes. “The duke makes you nervous.”

If she only knew how much. “How can that be? I've known him since we were children.”

“Aye, but you've both changed, my dear. He's a fine figure of a man, and you are a grown woman. It's about time you had a bit of romance in your life.”

Frederica coughed out some crumbs. “Romance! Hardly that.”

“I see the way he looks at you. He's spending quite a bit of time in your company, isn't he? Good thing that witch Mrs. Carroll's gone. She'd have something to say about that.”

Frederica couldn't agree more. The woman would probably want to get in on the action.

“I think you exaggerate the situation, Mrs. Holloway. We're just old childhood friends.”

“I'm never wrong about these things. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if I wasn't calling you duchess before long.”

Frederica rose unsteadily from her chair. “Rubbish. Sebastian will never ask me to marry him, and I would certainly never say yes if he did! I'm only being agreeable to him so I can get my hands on the castle.”

But he
had
asked her to marry him. Ten years ago. A lifetime ago. But he hadn't meant it, hadn't really wanted to.

Frederica felt a sharp stabbing in her head. The elves were armed now, abandoning their wooden shoes for swords. She'd like to join them, skewer Sebastian and Cameron Ryder with a rusty rapier so they would leave her alone. She would make her excuses to them in the library, spend the day in her room or roaming about outside if it didn't rain again. Though if she could dislodge them from the library, she might work on the chapter discussing Phillip, Duke of Burgundy's festival in 1453, where the knights swore before a pheasant on the banquet table that they would go on crusade. She swore before her partly eaten muffin she would undertake a crusade of her own to drive the men away if she could. Her writing deadline loomed.

She left Mrs. Holloway to her breakfast and Alice to her dishes, gingerly stepping through the corridors of the castle. With every step, her entire body ached. This was a hard lesson for her to relearn—clearly, she should never imbibe spirits. They wreaked havoc with everything. Once, they had made her feel invincible—sensual, daring, willing to seduce Sebastian no matter the cost.

Today, she was far from feeling powerful. And it was her day to wield control. The only thing she wanted to control was the covers as she crawled back in bed. Alone.

The men had pulled chairs up to the wide desk, leaving the old duke's chair—her chair now—available. They rose again when she entered the room. Really, this show of gentlemanly courtesy was rather ridiculous. She waved them down and sat, folding her hands tight in her lap to keep them from shaking.

“Perhaps this isn't the most convenient time for this,” Mr. Ryder said to Sebastian.

“I won't give you more than a week. It began yesterday.”

A week? Frederica remembered that three days was set to be the limit of Mr. Ryder's visit. “What is all this about?”

“I'll get right to the point. Cam here is in possession of the late Earl of Archibald's diary. Not a diary precisely, more like a notebook.”

“A copy,” Mr. Ryder interjected.

“Whatever. He believes there actually is some sort of treasure here and I've promised to split it with him if we find it.”

Frederica smiled at the two nitwits before her. “Really, Sebastian, the king's men inspected the castle more than thoroughly before your father moved in. The rumor of the treasure is like the rumor of the Archibald Walkers. A fairy story.”

Mr. Ryder spoke up. “I'm not so sure. My father received payments from the French which have never been accounted for, even though he lived a lavish lifestyle in Town.”

“Certainly not here,” Sebastian murmured.

Frederica's head pounded. “Your father? I don't understand.”

“I'm a bastard, Miss Wells. At least by birth, if not in disposition. I'm ashamed to say the Earl of Archibald was my father. I never knew him, so making sense of his ramblings has not been easy.”

For the first time, Frederica really
looked
at Mr. Ryder. Oh, she'd admired him yesterday, for what woman would not? But now she saw the Archibald eyes in his earnest face, straight out of the portraits she'd always found so unnerving in the long gallery.

“Some of the notebook seems to be a history of Archibald Castle, Freddie. With the original layout, garden plans and the like. Notations about ancestors. It may just be family pride, but Cam thinks those pages might be important. We spent hours over it last night.”

“Who copied the diary?”

“Someone in the War Office whose pockets I lined rather extravagantly. He assured me it is a complete transcription, right down to squiggles on the page. I told him I was curious about the father I never knew. I don't believe he knew my intent, or Archibald Castle would be crawling with soldiers again, and we might both be awaiting execution.”

“This all sounds very unlikely. I've lived in Goddard Castle almost a dozen years, and never once have I taken this rumor seriously. Sebastian, you know if your father had believed there was anything to this story, he would have tried to find the money himself.”

“And spent it on more junk. I know. But it may not be gold, although we know that's how Archibald was paid. Germinal francs. You told me that yourself.”

Yes, she had teased Sebastian about it, along with the ghosts. But it couldn't possibly be true.

“If you don't find this alleged treasure in a week, what happens?”

“Cam goes home and I sell the castle to you, as we agreed.”

“And what happens if I have the garderobes cleaned and the workmen come across the money covered in excrement twenty years from now?”

Sebastian's horror was genuine. “Good Lord, it can't be hidden in the shitter, can it? That would be most inconvenient. Cam, I'll assign that task to you.”

“I think from everything I've heard, my father was far too aware of his consequence to go digging about in human muck. No, he would have found a cache that suited his purposes better. Something perhaps even in plain sight. I believe he let the castle go to rack and ruin to discourage anyone from nosing about. Played up the rumors about the ghosts. Kept folks away while he was in Town meeting with his minions.”

Frederica considered. “It's been nigh onto impossible to employ local people. Uncle Phillip brought his people from Dorset and hired additional staff from London. Of course, conditions became intolerable and most of them left long ago.”

“I think we're hooking her, Cam,” Sebastian said with a grin.

“I'd have to see this notebook.”

Mr. Ryder pulled a slender leather volume from his inside jacket pocket and slid it toward her. “I've been assured the real thing is very like this. My forger copied it as he found it.”

“Forger?”

Mr. Ryder shrugged. “That's what the fellow did during the war. He can duplicate any hand.”