Just Wicked Enough (10 page)

Lord, she could stand there all night cursing him to perdition and she’d accomplish nothing. What she should do was march into his room and stare
at him
…

Only she feared if she looked at him as he did her, he’d not tremble as she had. He’d merely draw back the blankets and invite her in.

She had an unsettling feeling she’d eagerly accept the invitation.

She spun on her bare heel and hurried soundlessly down the stairs, one hand gliding over the banister while the other held the lamp aloft to guide her steps. The house was eerily quiet, which made the rampaging storm seem that much more sinister.

And cold, the house was so cold. As though it had never known warmth. As though it had never known love. She couldn’t imagine delightful laughter echoing along the hallways. She imagined this house always as quiet, as ominous as it was now.

She staggered to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, considered returning to the sanctuary of her room, but she was so tired of retreating, and she’d been retreating ever since Wesley had been torn from her life.

Deep within her heart, she knew her parents had done what they’d thought was best for her. They loved her. She’d never questioned that. But how was it that they failed to understand her needs when it came to men? All she wanted was to be adored—for herself. Perhaps it made her shallow, selfish but she knew young men had always looked at her calculatingly…all except Wesley, who’d not even realized she was wealthy until he’d proposed.

Wesley had wanted her, not her money. The same certainly couldn’t be said of Falconridge.

And for good measure, she cursed him again before continuing on to the study. He’d shown her the room earlier and waved it off as though it were of no consequence. Little wonder the man found himself in financial straits. He obviously spent far too much time in bedchambers and not enough time scouring over his ledgers.

She didn’t like the prick of jealousy she felt over the thought of him in bedchambers. It was actually more than a prick. It was more like a stab, a stab accompanied by anger. Dear Lord, if these emotions swelled
within her,
what might her husband feel with the knowledge that his wife had entertained a man…

If only he’d come to see her before their wedding day…if only she’d not hidden away…if only her parents had never interfered…

She opened the door to the study and the musty scent of abandonment puffed out into the hallway. Evidence lingered everywhere testifying to the fact Falconridge cared so little about this residence. So why were they here? To put things to rights, obviously.

But what sort of man would allow it to come to this at all? And he’d certainly not done without in London.

This room, she decided, would be aptly named The Nothing Room. It was large but sparsely decorated. The desk, the chair behind it, two chairs angled before it. An enormous table in front of the window. Beside it was a copper bucket housing scrolls of parchment. She crossed the room to the desk and set the lamp near the corner, where it only served to illuminate the dusty surface. Behind the desk were shelves where ledgers served as anchors for spider webs. Fortunately, those horrid creatures appeared to have abandoned the room as well.

Kate reached for a ledger, stirring a ball of motes. She sneezed, rubbed her itching nose, and put the ledger back. She should get a cloth and wipe away the evidence of abandonment. She released a deep sigh. She needed an army of servants to get everything squared away.

One step at a time. She’d get a rag, wipe down the desk, then the ledgers, and then she’d set to work. She’d not be discouraged. Instead she would embrace the challenge. Surely, it would keep her from thinking of her husband.

She lifted the lamp and turned toward the door. The light struck the nearby table and its gleaming surface.

Gleaming? Was there actually a portion of this room that didn’t appear neglected?

She walked over to the table. It seemed ordinary enough. Except for the can that had once contained beans and now housed an assortment of pencils and various rulers. What was this table used for? Did Falconridge write here? No, more likely, he drew.

Was her husband an artist?

She was surprised by the flicker of excitement at the prospect. That talent might explain his moodiness. Weren’t creative sorts generally more melancholy than most?

Was he desperate for her money so he could establish an art gallery? What fun that would be! She loved the arts.

She shifted her attention to the rolled parchments sitting in the copper bucket. She reached for one and immediately drew back her hand. These were possibly his drawings, and he’d not elected to share them with her.

She should wait for an invitation. Tomorrow, she might innocently mention how much she’d enjoyed touring the National Art Gallery. And from there, he
might
offer to show her his drawings. Or not. Most likely not.

To hell with waiting for an invitation. Patience had never been her strong suit.

She lifted out a scroll, pulled the string forming the bow that held it secure, and slowly unrolled it across the table. It wasn’t art. Not really. But it
was
a drawing. An outline. Of a building. A cottage. Extremely detailed with numbers carefully written that seemed to indicate measurements. She could hardly fathom the amount of time and patience it had taken to draw something this exact, this precise.

It was almost as though he had plans to build—

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

Kate spun around. Her husband stood there, as dark as the tempest rampaging beyond the walls. His wet hair curled, no semblance of civility to it at all, which seemed appropriate since he hardly appeared civilized.

Her heart pounded so hard she was surprised she could still hear the distant thunder. Her mouth had grown dry, her throat felt as though she might strangle.

He strode across the room, fury in every step, until he stood so close she could see droplets of water on his eyelashes, a dampness to his skin. He didn’t carry the scent of a man who’d been bathing. Rather he smelled like wet leather and horse—

“Answer me, woman, what are you doing?”

Answer him? The arrogant man. Kate Rose no longer answered to anyone. She’d paid a high price for that freedom. She had no plans to take it for granted now.

“Were you out in the rain?” she asked.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but yes. I went riding.”

“What is it with you and riding in the rain?”

“It was either ride Obsidian in the rain or ride
you
in the bathing room—”

The crack of her palm against his cheek echoed through the room.

“How dare you! How dare you be so crude when speaking of me, your wife. I daresay you shall spend a good deal of your life riding your horse as I doubt a time will ever come when I shall harbor enough affection for you to allow you to ride
me
.”

His eyes darkened, his breathing grew more harsh, his jaw tightened. “How is it that I want you at every turn? How is it that a woman with so much fire would choose love over passion?”

“I’m not choosing love over passion. I’m choosing love
before
passion.”

Raking his hands through his hair, he dropped his head back. “I swear before God, you shall be the death of me.”

Of all the words he could have said at that moment, those were the very last she’d expected. She despised that he could prick her anger and her curiosity in equal measures. “Why?” she heard herself asking when she’d have rather held her tongue.

Shaking his head, he lowered his gaze to her. “You wouldn’t understand.”

As though he’d lost whatever fight had been in him, he reached past her and began rolling up the parchment she’d spread over the table. “These are personal. They don’t concern you. I would ask that you leave them be.”

“Do they represent buildings you’d like to have built?”

“Some do. Some are simply a…fool’s fancy.”

“I’m surprised you had the funds to hire an architect. Or will I find myself paying for his services in the morning when I settle accounts?”

“You’ll not find yourself paying for these pitiful efforts.” Keeping his back to her, he dropped the scroll into the bucket. “I believe we’re done here.”

“I don’t think they’re pitiful. From what I saw they were very well done. I wouldn’t mind looking at all of them.”

He swung his head around, studying her as though he doubted her sincerity.

“Perhaps another time, madam. In case you’ve not noticed, it is well into the middle of the night. Any sensible person would be abed.”

She angled her chin, surprised by the sting caused by his refusal to share them now. “I’m not known for being sensible. Case in point, I married you.”

With that, she spun on her heel and marched from the room. She couldn’t say why the sound of his low chuckle following in her wake pleased her.

She only knew that it did. That in some way, it signaled a small victory.

M
ichael was not particularly skilled at reading women’s moods, but he had no doubt that his wife was still royally miffed at him. Not that he blamed her. It was not his habit to be deliberately crude with the fairer sex, and yet his frustrations had gotten the better of him last night. He’d been wet, cold, and the fact that she’d been in his private sanctuary, looking at his unschooled efforts, had not set well with him.

And so he’d lashed out, unforgivably so. Even then, she’d stood her ground, tossing his words back at him as though she were accustomed to spouting crudities when he doubted she had a clear understanding of exactly what he’d had in mind when he spoke of riding her.

Unfortunately that morning, she’d not joined him for breakfast. Rather she’d had a tray delivered to her bedchamber. He’d actually missed her company, suffered through a moment of loneliness before reminding himself that being alone was a natural state for him and something with which he was well familiar. She’d sent her maid down to inform him she would be looking over the accounts this morning. He’d sent a footman up to announce the arrival of Michael’s steward, Mr. Swithin.

He wondered how long they’d play this game of cat and mouse, each effectively ignoring the other.

He’d been standing beside the desk talking with Swithin when his wife had waltzed into the room wearing a pale pink dress with cherry-colored silk stripes running its length. Velvety loops of ribbon decorated the sleeves and the sides of the under-skirt, visible where the upper skirt was gathered up. Strangely, in spite of the various decorations, the entire attire had a very no-nonsense quality to it. Perhaps it was because below her chin, the only skin visible was that of her hands.

Yet, still he found her enticing. She’d given Michael a very succinct greeting before settling behind the desk and getting down to business with Swithin.

As much as Michael loathed his wife prying into the details of his estate, he couldn’t deny he was fascinated watching her. His steward sat in a large leather chair across from her, answering her insightful questions about the management of the house, the grounds, the stables, monies spent and the dwindling income from farming.

Kate looked at Michael and said, “Surely, you saw the need to replace what you were no longer gaining.”

“We did. Unfortunately, we made some unwise investments.”

“The problem with investing is that one must always be able to withstand the loss if the risk doesn’t pay off.”

“So I learned.”

She turned her attention back to Swithin, while Michael focused on her. Last night, he’d almost told her about his sketches, about the buildings he did want to bring to reality. But seeing her in her nightclothes had reminded him of seeing her
out
of them, and he’d only wanted to be rid of her presence, before he decided his need for her outweighed her need for affection.

For most of his life, his parents had been absent. He’d been cared for by a strict nanny and even stricter governess. Going away to school had been a godsend.

He was striving to be patient with Kate, to give her the time she wanted to grow accustomed to him as her husband, because he identified with her desire to be wanted for more than her money. Ironically, he understood too well what it was to be wanted for something other than oneself. He’d never been a son. He’d always been the heir.

He had no memory of being hugged until he’d bedded his first woman. He’d been at Ravensley’s estate when the daughter of the old man’s valet had taken it upon herself to introduce them all to the ways of the flesh. She’d been a lovely, caring lass who hadn’t ridiculed him or told the others that he’d wept in her arms.

He’d had many women since, but it was always business, and as a result, the encounters were usually impersonal. He’d stopped longing for the tender touches. Even his mistress had been as cold as the gems he’d given her. For whatever reason, he seemed to lack the ability to warm a woman’s heart toward him.

Now his wife insisted he make her care for him. Baubles and trinkets weren’t the answer. Even doing things that she wanted didn’t seem to please her. She wanted him to know—without her saying—exactly what she wanted. She asked the impossible.

“My lord?”

He was snatched from his reverie to find his wife looking at him expectantly, as though she wanted something from him. No doubt, whatever it was, it wasn’t what he wanted to give.

“You have eight thousand acres of land here.”

He arched a brow. “I am more than familiar with what I have and what I have not.”

“Your income—”

“I am acutely aware of my income. It is sadly lacking in what is needed to sustain the estates or my London residence—as Mr. Swithin’s books will sadly prove.”

She looked at him, looked at Mr. Swithin. “I want to study these more closely at my leisure.”

“Of course, my lady,” Swithin said.

“In the meantime, I will, naturally, approve the payment of these debts.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

She looked back at Michael. “Mr. Swithin has done an exceptional job of overseeing your estate.”

“Of course he has. I don’t hire the incompetent.”

“Did you wish to recommend an additional payment amount for him?”

She was tossing him a crumb, to give the appearance he still had some say in matters. He didn’t know whether to be furious or grateful. In the end, he decided to toss the crumb back. “You’re the expert in financial matters. I leave the amount to your discretion.”

She seemed surprised, but pleased, and turned her attention back to Swithin. Michael wondered if Albert had felt this useless married to a queen who held power over the whole of England and a good part of the world. Michael had decided last night that he needed to shift tactics. And here he was still feeling as though he were groveling.

Swithin took his leave, more than happy with the turn in his lordship’s fortunes. Michael watched as Kate continued to scour through the ledgers.

“What are you searching for?” he asked.

“It’s just inconceivable to me that the state of your affairs could have gotten so out of hand.”

He walked over to the desk, stood behind her, reached around, and closed the ledger. “You won’t find the answer there.”

“Well, if it’s not in the ledger, I’ll never find the answer, since you won’t tell me.”

She had her hair pinned up, with stray wisps curling along the back of her neck. He trailed his bare finger along the thin line of bare skin just above her collar, felt her shiver with his touch. She wasn’t as immune to his attentions as she pretended.

He leaned nearer. She still smelled of raspberries. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“Do you have any idea how much work needs to be done here?”

“You can make wiser decisions if you see all of the estate. I want to show it to you. You can ride the mare, I’ll ride the gelding. No enclosures, no chance of mud.”

“In England, there is always a chance of mud.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about all you’ve acquired through marriage or are you simply afraid?”

She jerked her head around, which brought her mouth incredibly close to his. “What would I fear?”

“That if you are in my close company long enough you might come to want me as much as I want you.”

“For me, without affection, there can be no
want
.”

Ah, yes, she was still royally miffed. Or maybe he’d simply hurt her feelings by being so callous about something which she obviously highly prized. He was going to take her virginity, and that realization no doubt terrified her. Perhaps if he thought of her as a horse that needed to be gentled…

He crouched beside her. It was as close to begging as he would come. “I owe you an apology for my words in here last night. My choices were to offend you or attempt to seduce you. Quite honestly, I wasn’t in a frame of mind to meekly accept another rejection.”

“Meaning what? You would have forced yourself on me?”

He bowed his head. He couldn’t win with her. “Most women would be pleased beyond measure that their husbands wanted them as I want you.”

“It is only the physical—”

He brought his head up. “What is wrong with that?”

“I need more.”

“And I’m trying to give it to you.” He reined in his temper. “Kate, from the moment you married me, you’ve seen nothing but the tragedy of my life. The mounting debt, the residences in disrepair. Let me show you one corner of my world that I believe makes everything else worth it.”

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You’re actually going to willingly share something with me?”

“I am.”

“And it requires an outing?”

“It does.”

She pressed her lips together.

“I promise no crude comments,” he offered.

She peered at him. “We always seem to be at odds.”

“Not always. Yesterday, for example, we had several very pleasant moments.”

Sighing, she nodded. “I’ll accompany you on an outing.”

“Do try to sound a bit more enthusiastic, unless it’s your intent to ruin my good humor.”

“This is you in a good humor? It very much resembles you in a bad humor.”

“Your eyes are changing shade. They were a sort of green, but now they’re going to blue.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My eyes don’t change color, except with my clothing. They sometimes reflect the color of the cloth.”

“Perhaps.” But he thought he might be managing to improve her disposition. He wished he’d developed a skill for effectively teasing a lady. But if need be, to make her laugh, he supposed he could always seek out mud.

“I assume you have a riding habit,” he said.

She laughed lightly, her breath skimming over his cheek. “More than one.”

“Then I shall see that the horses are readied while you see to yourself.” His body tightened as the tip of her tongue touched her upper lip. He thought her breathing might be growing as labored as his. He watched her throat work as she swallowed.

“I need room so I can stand,” she said, her low voice carrying a sensual rasp.

His lower body reacted with a fierceness that made it nearly impossible to stand back up, but he somehow managed to do so, moving behind the chair and pulling it out so his reaction to her wasn’t visible.

She rose gracefully from the chair and took two steps before turning back to him. “Thank you for the apology, and more, for trusting my discretion regarding the additional amount.”

“No need to thank me for what in a short time you’ve effectively earned. Your father alerted me to your financial acumen. I’m quite impressed to see it at work.”

She blushed. “I should go change before I thank you again.”

He watched her leave the room with a definite spring in her step he’d not seen before. It seemed he’d somehow managed to please her. Imagine that.

“What sort of investments did you make?” Kate asked.

They’d ridden sedately over the land for less than half an hour before he’d led her over a rise and into what she could only describe as a shallow valley where wildflowers bloomed in abundance in the clearing before it gave way to the woods. At a small pond, she’d spotted a deer drinking before it dashed off between the towering trees. Birds twittered in the boughs and a gentle breeze wafted through the leaves. Here was a touch of heaven.

Her husband had surprised her by spreading a blanket on the ground and carefully unrolling another blanket to reveal offerings for a picnic—cheese, bread, wine, and raspberries. She wondered if the fruit had been selected on purpose. Surely not. It was no doubt coincidence that their choices included her favorite berry. She watched him now as he uncorked the red wine.

“I believe the first investment was named Lucky Lad. Failed to live up to his nomenclature.” He poured the wine into two crystal goblets. She was amazed they hadn’t cracked on the journey.

“What was wrong with him?” she asked.

“Couldn’t race worth a fig.”

“You bought a racing horse?”

“No, I bet on one.” He handed her a goblet.

“Your investment was to bet on a race?” she asked incredulously.

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “It seemed an expeditious and easy way to change my fortune. Which it did. Just not in the direction I’d hoped.” He clinked his glass against hers. “Here’s to wiser investments in the future.”

She peered over the rim of her glass. “I think any investment would be wiser than that.” She drank a sip, trying not to notice the way his fawn-colored breeches pulled across his thighs. He was sitting with one knee raised, his wrist resting on it lightly, his hand slowly swirling his glass of wine.

“You said the horse was your first investment. What was the second?”

“Shooting Star, who managed to fade to the back of the race the same way a star fades at dawn.”

“How many times did it take you to learn your lesson?”

“Not sure I’ve learned yet. Perhaps next year we’ll go to Ascot.”

“I’m not betting on a horse.”

“But we can afford to lose now. Wasn’t that your requirement?”

She shook her head, trying to appear uninterested, but she was intrigued by the thought of going to the races with him. “If we go, I shall select the horse.”

“Have you a knack for it?”

“We won’t know until I try.”

“You’ve never bet on a horse?”

“I’ve never gambled at all.”

“It’s a way to make an abundance of money quickly.”

“It’s also a way to lose it. I don’t trust schemes that promise quick riches. There is always some hidden trap.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he mumbled before taking a sip of his wine.

Gazing at him was certainly no hardship. The breeze had begun to toy with his hair just as it toyed with the trees. She had an urge to run her fingers through his dark strands, but touching him would no doubt give him leave to touch her, and after last night, she suspected he’d like to do more than play with her hair. Best to keep the conversation off personal matters.

“Surely with as much land as you have, you could sell some of it,” she said.