Any Wicked Thing (41 page)

“Thank you, Freddie.”

Her hand was firm and dry, her face expressionless. Her composure was his undoing. Somehow he could not bring himself to lift the latch on the door. “Would it be too much to ask for a good-bye kiss? I swear I won't let it go beyond that.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What if
I
do? What if I want to throw you down on that ratty sofa and ride you to oblivion? Make you realize, you stupid man, that I love you and have since I was too young to know better?”

Sebastian felt his jaw go slack.

“Stop gaping at me like a booby! Do you really think you can slink out of here as if nothing ever happened between us? Fob me off with castles and book royalties?”

“It's just the one castle. I haven't any others.”

Freddie ignored his lame attempt at a joke. “I suppose you think you're being noble, removing yourself. Pretending that you're doing me a favor. That you're too damaged. Not good enough for me. Do I have it right?”

He felt the beginnings of a smile. “You're pretty close.”

“Mr. Ryder told me you would do this.”

“What?”

“Oh, he didn't disclose the details of your incarceration, but he told me you loved me too much to fight for me.”

That was it, precisely. “I do.”

“When did you plan on telling me?”

He shrugged. “Never. There didn't seem to be a point. You were so furious with me, you know. It seemed best to leave you that way.”

“Coward!”

“Yes, rather. I've just told you in great detail I'll do anything to save my skin. And you, you stupid woman,” he said, throwing her words back at her, “are ignoring all the warnings.”

“But I
am
a woman now, Sebastian, not some eighteen-year-old with stars in her eyes.”

“No, what you've got now is grit—it's a wonder you can see at all. What if—what if I can't make you happy, Freddie? What if we have children and I fail them as a father?”

“Are you
proposing
? If you are, that is the worst proposal in all of history, and I am considered an expert historian.”

Good God. He
had
proposed, after a backhanded fashion. He had only uttered his fears aloud, thoughts that had bruised him for days.

He wanted Freddie, wanted her enough to marry her, money or no money. Sebastian wanted to fence with her, and fuck her senseless, and build some sort of a future. But how, when his needs were so at odds with what a proper husband's should be?

“I don't think marriage will work, Freddie.”

She scowled at him. “I never said I'd marry you!”

“No, but if you did, and we married, I'm not sure I'd be any good at it.”

“I should make a horrible wife myself.”

“Not at all. You already do all sorts of housewifely things. Keep this castle in order, for example, with very little help. Make your lotions and potions. Look after the local people. You're a veritable saint.”

She began to unravel another tapestry with an inky finger. “But I shut myself up for days in the library to write. It will take me years to complete the history series, even if I have no distractions. A husband, particularly if he was you, would be a distraction. And children would—would be a major distraction.”

“Yes. Unpredictably demanding, too, the little buggers. Wanting to be fed and then puking. And what they do in their nappies.” He shuddered. “I wouldn't want to change them. But I suppose with all my newfound wealth, I could hire a fleet of nurses. You could just look in on them at night when they were sleeping.”

“That's no way to raise children! And if they were yours, they'd probably never sleep anyway, but just dream up more ways to torment me.”

“And if they were yours, they would never hold their tongues but drive me mad with their demands. ‘Read me this, Papa. Teach me this, Papa, so I might be as smart as Mama.' I'd be useless. They'd run circles around me.”

“We could hire a good governess.”

“But if they were like me, they'd chase after her with fencing foils and drive her away.”

Freddie smiled. “Poor Miss Davies. I remember her. You were so very wicked, Sebastian.”

“I was, wasn't I? I'm not much better now.”

“Oh, I don't know. You have your charms.”

“Do I, Freddie? Are my charms enough? Could you marry me, even knowing everything?”

Her golden lashes dropped to her cheeks. “I should say no.”

He brought her hand to his heart. “Please, please don't. Don't say no.”

“Must I obey you? Is this my day or your day? I forget.”

“Damn the day! Tell me yes, Freddie.”

He watched her mouth form the one simple word and swept her in his arms before she had a chance to change her mind.

I
t was said throughout England that the Duke of Roxbury was a reformed man, and his stout little bluestocking duchess the inexplicable reason for his transformation. Many ladies and gentlemen of quality were deeply disappointed that the God of Sin had abandoned them for the prosaic life of farmer and father. But Sebastian had not quite lost all his wickedness—he was simply more judicious in applying it.

Sebastian tugged the small teardrop sapphire between his teeth.

“The children—”

“Are asleep.” His tongue tangled in the filigree ring holding the jewel that pierced his wife's breast. Her adornments were just one of the uses to which he'd put the Archibald treasure. They gave him far greater pleasure than the new seed drills and iron ploughs, although they, too, had their place at Roxbury Park. “Phillippa has bullied Joe all day. She reminds of someone. You, perhaps?” He evaded her swat. “Anyway, they went down immediately after their story. They're both exhausted.”

“But the baby—”

“Is with his nurse. Hush, and let me love you.”

“As if I could stop you.”

“You could try, but you wouldn't get very far.” To prove his point he slipped the silk around her wrists and ankles, cinching her tight. Tonight was his turn, his way. Who knew what Freddie would devise for his pleasure tomorrow? She was very inventive—three children in five years were living proof.

He settled himself between her legs and feasted, earning every breathless cry, wondering why he was so fortunate in his choice of wife. Surely he didn't deserve her, but he wasn't sending her back to Goddard Castle, not that he could. Freddie had sold that grim pile to Cam, and it was Archibald Castle once more. All its mildewy and moldy books and artifacts were littered about Freddie's study here, where it really was difficult to maneuver. He'd tripped over the battered silver reliquary holding some saint's baby teeth more times than he could count as he attempted to tempt her from her studies.

His children, poor little devils, were having their heads filled with medieval ballads and poems instead of lullabies and nursery rhymes. Likely they would grow up begging to go to the Holy Land on crusade. And if they ever did, he'd accompany them to show them the more diverse and less holy amenities the East had to offer. This fatherhood business was no picnic, but he was surprised how well it suited him.

Satisfied that his wife was ready, he set upon a crusade of his own—to keep her heart, to bind her to him beyond silk. To show her she had cut the knots of his own bondage and set him free to love.

He didn't want to fuck Freddie.

He wanted to make love to her.

In fencing terms, she had made an
enveloppement
—she swept his blade through a full circle and attacked his heart. He was back once again in her arms, right where he belonged.