His Wicked Wish (2 page)

Lady Milford's face paled. She lifted her hand to her mouth. For a moment there was only the distant rumble of thunder and the hissing of the fire on the hearth. “My dear Nathan,” she said faintly. “Did you not receive my second letter? I mailed it a week later, after your father had made a miraculous recovery. The doctors were truly amazed…”

His blood ran cold. He could feel his heart thudding in heavy strokes against his rib cage. Despite the brandy he'd just finished, his mouth felt dry as dust. “That's impossible. Only a moment ago, you said the family was in mourning this past year.”

“Yes, because I thought you
knew
…” Lady Milford rose from the chair, seated herself beside him on the chaise, and placed her hand on his sleeve. Her violet eyes conveyed a deep compassion. “Soon after I sent that first letter, David contracted the smallpox, too, as did Emily. Your sister survived but … I'm afraid David did not. I'm so very sorry.”

A roaring filled his ears. The air Nate drew into his lungs cut like knives. His brother was dead. David, who had slipped Nate food whenever he'd been put to bed without his supper. David, who had covered for Nate when he'd failed to complete his school assignments. David, who had been buried over twelve months ago.

A nightmarish unreality suffocated Nate. The mail service was often unreliable, especially to the Far East where few Europeans traveled. He must have departed Shanghai before the arrival of the second letter. The sympathy on Lady Milford's face confirmed that awful truth.

The Earl of Gilmore was
alive.

Springing to his feet, Nate hurled the tumbler at the fire. The glass shattered with an earsplitting crash. Shards skittered across the marble hearth. “I should have known the wretch was too hateful to die!”

Before Lady Milford could do more than rise from the chaise, Hargrove appeared in the doorway. “Is aught amiss, my lady?”

Nate spun toward him. “What the devil! You were eavesdropping out in the corridor!”

“Quite the contrary.” The butler glowered before turning to his employer. “Your visitor is waiting downstairs in the library, my lady. Shall I send a footman to clean up here?”

“Later,” she said. “Kindly close the door on your way out.”

The servant's pale blue eyes flicked to Nate. Hargrove made a slight bow and retreated. The door shut with a small bang that conveyed his displeasure.

Though caught up in a storm cloud of wrath, Nate felt the jab of proper manners. He toed a few splinters of glass away from his godmother. “Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “I'll repay you for the damage.”

Lady Milford dismissed his offer with a wave of her hand. “I never understood why Gilmore treated you so shabbily. But it's clear your feelings toward him have
not
changed.”

“Nor shall they! I would never have returned to England had I known his presence still poisoned the air.”

Her lips pursed, she glided to his side. She tilted her head back to look him in the eyes. “Nathan, whatever happened in the past, it is time to arrive at some sort of peace with your father. After all, you are now Gilmore's heir. You hold the title of Viscount Rowley.”

Another quake ripped through him. David had always borne that courtesy title. It had been an intrinsic part of his elder brother's persona. It could never belong to the unfit second son.

At her penetrating look, he turned on his heel and prowled the confines of the feminine room. “No! I can't just step into my brother's shoes. I'm not like him.”

“Of course you're not like him. You are your own man, and a fine one at that. And however distasteful it might be, you've a duty to your family.”

He made a sharp, slicing sweep of his hand. “I reject that duty. And I certainly don't intend to stay in town and dance to Gilmore's tune. He can go to the devil for all I care!”

“And what of your sister? Your grandmother? Your two nieces? Will you reject them, as well?”

He pivoted sharply toward her. “Nieces?”

“I wrote to you of David's marriage after you left England. His young daughters are now fatherless. But that isn't my point.” She stepped in front of him to stop his pacing. “Nathan, running away again won't solve anything. You're no longer a boy to flee at a whiff of trouble.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” he snapped.

She placed her hands on her slim hips. “I'm merely saying it's time for you to put the past behind you. For the sake of your family, you
can
learn to be civil to your father. You can rejoin society as the heir to a venerable title. Perhaps in time you'll even find a young lady to wed.”

Nate snorted. How like a woman to play matchmaker. They always thought a bachelor's troubles would be solved by taking a wife. But he knew the discord of marriage from observing his own parents. And he had no desire to claim a place in society, anyway.

He should return to the docks, board his ship, and depart at first tide. Let his godmother disparage him. She would never understand why he loathed the Earl of Gilmore—or why making amends with the man was impossible.

Yet, in the next breath, Nate realized he hungered for revenge. He craved payback for all the slights, the coldness, the criticisms. It wasn't enough to know that Gilmore had lost his precious eldest son. The man deserved to have his snobbish nose rubbed in the dirt.

What better way than to force him to face his new heir?

The clarity of that thought reverberated in Nate. By damn, he'd be a fool to squander this opportunity. Especially when Lady Milford had planted the seeds for the perfect plan of revenge.

Without further ado, he sprang toward the doorway. “If you'll excuse me,” he flung over his shoulder.

Lady Milford hastened after him. “Where are you going?”

“I'm taking your advice. I'm staying in London for a time and entering society. And I'm getting married.”

She caught hold of his sleeve as he flung open the door. “
Married?
To whom?”

“To the most loudmouthed, tawdry, unsuitable vixen I can find. A serving maid perhaps. Or a shopgirl. Maybe even a whore. It matters little so long as she's an embarrassment to Gilmore.”

“That's mad! You can't truly mean to shackle yourself to such a woman for the rest of your life.”

“Oh,
I
won't be the one punished.” He bared his teeth in a feral smile. “You see, after foisting the trollop on Gilmore, I'll leave her in his care whilst I depart England forever. She'll remain here as a permanent reminder of how I bested him.”

His godmother gave him a withering look. “It isn't like you to be so mean-spirited, Nathan. Do you care so little for the plight of that poor girl that you would throw her to the wolves of society?”

“Mean-spirited?” he said on a harsh laugh. “She'll go from living in a hovel to residing in a mansion with the prospect of someday becoming a countess. The chit will thank me!”

Lady Milford stepped into the doorway to block his exit. Resolve firmed her fine features. “If you are intent on this wicked plan, then it seems I cannot stop you. However, I
will
insist upon one stipulation.”

“What's that?”

“You must accept
my
help in choosing your bride.”

 

Chapter 2

While the audience cheered and clapped, Madelyn Swann sank into a deep curtsy. The dramatic action caused the skirt of her costume to billow around her in a sea of rich ivory silk. The pose was carefully scripted. From a young age she'd learned that every action onstage had to be embellished, every word uttered with vivid emotion, every facial expression exaggerated.

Rising again, Maddy smiled brilliantly and threw out her arms as if to embrace all the spectators, from the unwashed masses crammed together on benches in the pit to the wealthy patrons in the upper box seats. Whistles and catcalls came from the men. A number of them tossed flowers onto the stage.

The fan-shaped theater was packed to the rafters. A thousand times in the past she had accepted the adulation of the audience. It always pleased her to know that her acting had entertained them.

But tonight was different. Tonight, she felt a lump in her throat because this had been her final performance at the Neptune Theater.

The other cast members trooped out to join her onstage. They had graciously given her a moment alone as a farewell tribute. Edmund, who had played Romeo to her Juliet, fell to one knee and made a show of kissing her hand as if they truly were star-crossed lovers.

The crowd roared its approval. They liked to imagine a real romance between the leads, though Maddy knew that Edmund, with his refined features and raffish smile, had no interest in women. It was an unspoken secret among the cast and crew that he fancied other men. Maddy cared only that he was a part of her tight-knit theater family—the family she soon would be leaving.

Taking another bow in the brightness of the gas lamps, she hid a twinge of doubt. Had she made the right choice? The stage was all she had ever known. The entire twenty-four years of her life had been spent with an acting troupe, with the smell of greasepaint and long hours of rehearsals. Her first memories were of watching her mother and father practice their lines, of sitting in the shadows while they performed, of traveling in a horse-drawn caravan from town to town. Maddy had been thirteen when her mother had died in an accident, and fifteen when her father had caught a lung ailment. He had never recovered, and Maddy had found a new home in this Covent Garden theater.

Perhaps she'd made a mistake in deciding to give it all up.

No. If truth be told, she had been yearning to spread her wings. The ritual of reciting familiar lines night after night, of capering across the boards in the guise of a character, had begun to wear on her. She had long wanted to make her own life, not play someone else's story. She wanted to be her own person, not obey the dictates of a theater manager. Most of all, she dreamed of using her skills in costuming to open a shop for ladies' apparel—if only she had the funds.

Then a recent, alarming development had forced her to take swift action. She needed that money and she needed a protector—fast.

Her gaze flicked to a box seat on the left where a flaxen-haired gentleman sat alone. Unlike the others, he wasn't clapping and cheering. Rather, he scrutinized her through a pair of gold opera glasses.

As Maddy took another bow, a cold shiver prickled her skin. She had sensed Lord Dunham's presence from the moment she'd stepped onto the stage to deliver her first line. He was often there lately, watching her. She'd always kept a distance from the many upper-class gentlemen who desired her as their mistress. But a month earlier, she had made the mistake of singling out Lord Dunham in order to ask him a few discreet questions about his grandfather, the Duke of Houghton.

The duke was Maddy's grandfather, too, though she had never met the nobleman. Lord Dunham had no idea they were cousins, either. That fact had to remain a secret for now.

Meanwhile, Dunham had misconstrued Maddy's interest in him. He had become infatuated, stalking her at every turn, determined to seduce her. On several occasions, he had even followed her to the rooming house where she lived, only to be deterred by the formidable presence of her maid, Gertie.

The tall red velvet curtains began to close, the ropes cranked by old Rufus hidden in the wings. As the audience vanished from sight for the last time, Maddy released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She itched to be gone from here, away from being the center of attention. Away from Lord Dunham's lustful eyes.

The clapping sounded muffled now, the shouts and chants continuing unabated. His white teeth flashing in a grin, Edmund motioned to Rufus. “Let's take a bow again. Maybe I'll even sing a song!”

Maddy had no heart for another curtain call. “Without me, please. I don't think I could bear another good-bye.”

Edmund gave her a sympathetic hug. “Run along, my beauty. You've earned your rest. But pray don't even think to scuttle out of our party! Gertie has gone to check on the arrangements.” The cast had rented a private parlor in a nearby pub for Maddy's farewell supper.

She leaned up to peck his cheek. “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

With that, Maddy slipped through the horde of supporting players and down a few steps at the rear of the stage, exiting into a narrow corridor. A single oil lamp hung from the wood ceiling, its light low and dim. She took a quick glance around. On several occasions, Lord Dunham had been lurking here, ready to pounce. But tonight the manager had promised to bar all visitors from backstage.

Maddy started toward her dressing room. Old theater posters decorated the smudged gray walls. She had trod along this cramped passage countless times. It was as familiar to her as the pair of shabby shoes that she wore for good luck at every performance. But now the time had come to begin the next stage in her life.

A flurry of butterflies stirred in her stomach. After much deliberation, she had devised a scheme that would both enrich her and provide her protection from Lord Dunham. Several days ago, she had sent out discreet announcements to the wealthiest of her admirers. More than a dozen of them had been invited to submit bids to win her services as their mistress.

Never give yourself to a man without a ring upon your finger.

Her mother's long-ago admonishment echoed in Maddy's head, but she studiously ignored it. Yes, her plan might be unconventional and more than a little wicked. But such a liaison made perfect sense for a woman in her position. Unlike her mother, Maddy was no wellborn lady who could hold out for a proper marriage proposal. The very fact that she was an actress sullied her reputation in the eyes of the world.

Besides, Mama had hardly been a model of proper behavior, for in her youth she had eloped with a traveling actor. In a fury, the Duke of Houghton had cut off all contact with his daughter. Maddy had grown up seeing Mama's sorrow at being shunned by her noble family. She had developed a fierce loathing for Houghton and other noblemen of his ilk.