The Trouble With Being Wicked (22 page)

Slowly, he settled his left hand on the hull to her right. Her heart was in her throat, but it wasn’t their near miss that caused it to knock. Gently, he raised his hand. She closed her eyes as his warm fingers slid across her lashes. His thumb paused briefly at the soft indentation where he’d dabbed her tear away.

A hot rush of longing washed over her. His fingers continued their exploration, tracing her hairline just under her bonnet. They came to the whorl of her ear and stopped just beneath the velvet of her lobe. But he didn’t kiss her, even when his eyes closed and his lips parted.

Then, without warning, the air went cool. He sat back and glowered at her.

The emotions he’d freed in her over the last few weeks crawled back into their tiny box. She barely knew him. He reviled her. They had nothing more to say to one another, for she wanted to be loved. She wanted to be
worthy.

She could never be worthy in his eyes. She was like a wineglass that had been slammed against the cobblestones. Useless, now that she was cracked into a thousand pieces. A bastard, a whore, and a liar. She wasn’t proud of any of it. But at least she’d proved time and time again that she could pick up the pieces and take care of herself. For there’d never been anyone in her life to do it for her.

And there were people she must be strong for now. Elizabeth, and the baby. She would survive this. She must. For their sakes.

* * *

Whenever a knock sounded at the door, Celeste jumped. She could hardly leave her cottage for fear of encountering him on the road or in town. No matter how firmly she told herself he’d never seek her out to apologize, for he had spoken from his heart, she couldn’t convince herself that he was truly gone. But he never came.

At times she wondered if she should take Elizabeth and the baby away, to another cottage in another hamlet, but neither was in any condition to travel. And so she existed one week in a state of half-waiting before finally, Tom announced a visitor.

Captain Nicholas Finn strode into their parlor as though he’d purchased the place himself. “Beth! Where is my little lad?”

Celeste clutched the vase she’d been about to set on the mantel. The pride evident in his voice pierced her tattered heart, for her lonely childhood had been buried, not forgotten.

Slowly, Elizabeth tugged her attention from the miracle in her arms to the man standing before her. In the last week, she’d undergone a remarkable transformation. Her gray eyes glowed with new hope. Her face appeared relaxed. Every morning, she awoke looking less the jaded courtesan and more like a mother. Celeste had breathed a sigh of relief that her new situation agreed with her.

The instant Elizabeth saw her former protector, however, her whole body arched toward him. Her lips parted in a demure smile. “Nicholas, how kind of you to come all the way here just to see me.”

By the possessive way his gaze trained on his son, it was clear his journey hadn’t been undertaken in search of his erstwhile paramour. Celeste warred with her instinct to order him out of her house. What were his intentions?

He hovered over the baby, causing Celeste to bristle jealously. Few men took interest in their by-blows. She remembered too well the feeling of knowing she was nothing but the fallout of her parents’ struggle for power, a bid by her mother to keep a lover who no longer desired her. Maggie had never had room in her heart for her. Celeste recalled the day she’d learned Maggie had died, and the hour the annuities settled on her had suddenly stopped. There’d been no plan for Celeste. She’d been left young and frightened. But Celeste hadn’t been innocent of the ways a woman might support herself. Her mother had seen to that.

This entire endeavor to settle in Brixcombe had been an attempt to keep Elizabeth and her child from the same fate. Ultimately, however, Celeste could do nothing if Captain Finn took an interest in his son. As the father, he had every right to the child.

He scooped Oliver up and tucked him into the crook of his arm. “Well, good day, Jonathan. You’re a stocky one, aren’t you now? Just like your papa was.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.

Celeste’s heart ached for her friend. No matter how often she’d tried to warn Elizabeth that a babe wouldn’t reignite the captain’s interest in her, she’d refused to listen. Celeste hated being right in this matter.

“His name is Oliver,” Elizabeth corrected with a sultry smile. “The name of all firstborn sons in my family.”

The captain turned toward the window. His index finger stroked Oliver’s pale, velvet cheek. “He’ll be christened Jonathan Thomas, after my grandfather. Seeing as how my wife appears unable to bear an heir, there’s no reason to preserve the honor.”

Celeste’s shoulders drew back. Her fingers tightened around the vase. How could Elizabeth be so blind? He wanted only Oliver.

Then again, Celeste was just as impractical when it came to Lord Trestin. He would never love her, either. What was it about the heart? Why did it refuse to listen when it believed it had found the one?

“We’ll depart early tomorrow,” the captain announced without looking up. “Are you able to travel?”

Celeste caught Elizabeth’s eye.
No!
She shouldn’t go with him, but more importantly, she endangered herself by traveling too soon.

“Tomorrow would be a bit early yet,” Elizabeth demurred. Her empty arms rocked without her seeming to realize she did so. As if cuddling her son were already ingrained in her. “I’m still a bit delicate.”

Captain Finn made an incredulous noise without looking up from the babe. “The last thing you are, Beth, is delicate.”

Don’t go. Please.
But Celeste had said all she could, and could only watch helplessly.

“Monday, then,” he said. “That will allow your maid time enough to gather your things. I’ll send a note to my man forthwith. You’ll require larger apartments, and a more substantial income.”

Please, don’t let him do this to you
, Celeste pleaded silently. But she knew she’d lost. For all that Elizabeth’s eyes dimmed at his clipped instructions, she continued to watch him parade about the parlor with hopeful longing. He was too absorbed in his son to notice.

Celeste’s heart broke for her. When would she see that he was done with her? She’d provided him the son he desired, the closest he believed he would get to an heir, but it wouldn’t make him love her. They hadn’t been on the best of terms when it had been just the two of them. A baby wouldn’t change that. It might even make things worse, as it had done for Celeste’s mother.

For three days, Celeste watched Elizabeth and Finn circle each other. At times he was considerate of her, but more often he was not. He’d come for his son, he couldn’t be plainer about it. Still, as Celeste waved to the departing carriage, she wished with all her heart that Elizabeth would find a happy situation in London. Sadly, she couldn’t see how. The captain was married. How perfect could it be? No matter how much he doted on Oliver, Finn would never be entirely theirs.

A gnawing ache had started in Celeste’s bosom with the pending arrival of Oliver. It had filled when she’d begun to befriend Lord Trestin. Now she felt hollow watching Elizabeth’s carriage trundle down the road. What would having a man completely—having his heart, his life, his children—be like? How glorious would it feel to know he was giving himself to her and her alone?

For the first time, Celeste saw a reason to marry. Just as certainly, she knew she would never have that opportunity. What manner of man married a whore?

Chapter Sixteen

Morning was just greeting London as Celeste draped a napkin over her breakfast plate. She toyed with the edge of her serviette, a habit she’d developed in the last weeks since she’d left Brixcombe. She missed Lucy and Delilah, Elizabeth and the babe. She missed the wild moors that only Trestin could tame. And she missed him. Days had passed, but her heart hadn’t quite caught up. She knew now she’d been naïve to think she could ever belong in Brixcombe. Only London, with all its depravity, welcomed her kind.

Except she did not wish to be her kind anymore.

Gordo, her Italian brute of a butler, stalked into the morning room bearing her newspaper and the folded city map she’d spent the last few days poring over. If she wasn’t entertaining, she could make do in a much simpler environment. One that didn’t scream her trade by its very design.

Her manservant left without a word. She spread the map across the table and opened
The Times,
hopeful just the right terraced house would be listed today. Regrettably, a quick look turned up nothing new.

When he returned an hour or so later, she was staring out of a window. “Nothing?” he asked, the single word par for his quality of conversation to date.

She shook her head. “We must stay here for now, at least.”

He didn’t reply, but she saw the question in his eyes. Why not take another lover in the meantime? She wasn’t dead yet.

Her lips curved at the thought of trying to explain her change of heart to her sullen butler. “It isn’t something I expect you’d understand.”

He grunted. “Miss Lancester’s here.”

Celeste rose from her chair. “What?”

“In the drawing room.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” But she didn’t wait for him to answer what was essentially a rhetorical question. Gordo’s conversational skills left something to be desired. His strong arm, on the other hand, had proved invaluable over the years.

She removed her spectacles and hurried to her drawing room at the front of the house. Stopping just outside the door, she gathered her wits. Why on earth would Lucy be here? How had the girl found her? Was
he
here?
 

What would she do if he were?

Celeste peeked in. Lucy looked virginal in a prim white day dress. She sat on the edge of Celeste’s red fainting couch and looked at her surroundings with interest. Vibrant yellow walls and crimson hangings decorated the room, broken here and there by wrought iron frames and a painting of a Spanish vista.

Lucy appeared curious rather than anxious. A quick once-over confirmed Trestin hadn’t accompanied her. Celeste’s sigh was a mixture of relief and disappointment.

The young lady stood as Celeste entered. “Miss Smythe! I mean, Miss Gray.”

Celeste flinched. Her real name sounded foreign coming from Lucy.

“Miss Lancester,” she returned, gathering her wits. “I am pleasantly surprised to see you, but surely you shouldn’t be here.”
 

He’d been angry before…

“He’ll never know.” She clasped Celeste’s hands. Without warning, she pulled Celeste in for a quick hug. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Surprised by her young friend’s spontaneous affection, Celeste’s arms dangled limply at her sides. She
was
happy to see Lucy again. If only she could withstand the sharp pain of being this close to Trestin.

She stepped out of Miss Lancester’s embrace and drew the young lady onto the sofa. “It’s wonderful to see you, too.” After a pause in which Celeste made a selfish decision to allow Lucy to stay, if only for a few minutes, she asked, “How is your Season faring?”

Lucy pulled a face. “Not
my
Season, you know. Trestin is the one on the Marriage Mart, though he prefers to pretend it’s Delilah and me. Not that Delilah is husband-hunting, either. My dear sister cannot stop pining for Mr. Conley. She’s quite withdrawn.”

“Poor Trestin,” Celeste murmured before she could stop herself.

Lucy laughed. “Poor me! Trestin is a hound with a bone. He has some misguided opinion I would make the perfect cleric’s wife. Where he got that notion, I have no idea. I detest the church. The more left unsaid on that the better, though I vow
you
will not judge me for it.” She leaned forward, squeezing Celeste’s hands. “There are only two things I want in this life and I know you can help me with one. Teach me how to seduce Roman Alexander.”

Celeste couldn’t have been more shocked. “Your brother would kill me!”

“He’ll never know. Why would I tell him?” Lucy’s satisfied smile sent chills up Celeste’s spine. “I have a dream of starting a girls’ school, you know. All very proper. This shall be my last hurrah. I trust you can do this, Miss Gray.”

Celeste stared, dumbfounded. She should never have encouraged Lucy in his direction. Why had she been so callous with the girl’s feelings?