The Trouble With Being Wicked (43 page)

Elizabeth watched her with wide, scared eyes. Her hands were clasped in her lap and her spine didn’t touch the settee. “I asked him to help me. Celeste, please don’t be cross with me.”

“Cross? I’m stunned.” She was. Heartbroken. But not angry. The rules of their craft were simple. He’d cast Celeste aside, therefore she had no claim on him. Elizabeth had seen an opportunity to better her situation, a way to trade her favors for his assistance. Celeste couldn’t fault her for that.

She didn’t have to like
it. She was quite sure she hated it, in fact.

Her fingers picked apart a sandwich she couldn’t recall choosing. Crumbles dropped onto her plate, one after the other. “Finn is proud of his son. Just a week ago, when I tried to look in on you, he wouldn’t stop boasting of the boy’s cleverness in finding his thumb. He isn’t simply going to hand Oliver over because someone asked him to. What do you mean for Lord Trestin to do?” She didn’t intend to sound discouraging, for she wasn’t. It was simply obvious what Ash received from Elizabeth and more dubious what she could hope to receive in return. How could he possibly fix this terrible situation?

Elizabeth worried her lower lip. “Trestin honestly wished to lift my spirits and I just… I have to try. I can’t bear not to.”

Trestin wished.
Goodness, him doting on Elizabeth hurt far worse than she could have imagined. “But what is he to do?”

Elizabeth remained quiet so long, Celeste finally prodded her. She had to, for her dread was making her ill. “Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth toyed with the lace edge of her skirt. “He’s the only man I know who would care what becomes of a harlot. He’s better than either of us deserve.” Her eyes begged Celeste to understand even as her words struck nails, one by one, into Celeste’s chest. “I say this because I fear what you will think of me when I tell you he intends to cast doubt on Oliver’s parentage.”

Celeste’s lips parted in shock. A great weight slammed into the fresh nail bed, implanting each rusty point deep into her chest. She gasped for breath.

Elizabeth shrugged. “All it needs is a whisper of uncertainty and I know Nicholas will thrust Oliver aside. There is nothing more to it than that.”

Celeste finally found enough air to exclaim, “He’s going to claim your
bastard
?”

Elizabeth’s uncertainty vanished. Her eyes blazed. “He’s going to bring my son
back
. What else would you have me do?”

Celeste couldn’t answer. What else
could
be done? She honestly didn’t know. This wild scheme was no more selfish than any of Elizabeth’s other actions to date, yet Celeste still couldn’t believe she’d had the gall to ask that of Ash. Nor could she believe he’d agreed. “When?” she asked, the word squeezing out in a strangled cry. Then, a heartbeat later, “
Why?
”

“Because he’s a good man! I want this so badly, Celeste. You
must
let him go to Nicholas.”

Celeste’s stuttered laugh betrayed how fully she wished she mattered enough to Ash that her entreaty could stop him from doing what he wanted to do. Not because she wanted to control him, but because they were virtual strangers now. He’d give no weight to her appeal.

All of her hurt and frustration broke free. “I cannot believe you lured him into this! What of Finn? Oliver is legitimately his. You would take a child from his father? Would you
actually
stoop so low?” She shook her head with a sad laugh. “Then to bring Trestin into it…”

Elizabeth’s countenance darkened. “I need my son.”

“And when you have him? What then? Will you take him back to London?” A new, horrifying idea dawned. “Will
Trestin
raise him?”

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Of course not! I only asked him to bring back Oliver so that
we
might go on as we started, you and I.”

Celeste wanted to shout, “Do you never think of anyone else?” for Elizabeth hadn’t stopped to consider whether Celeste
wanted
to live within a stone’s throw of a man she still loved, or watch helplessly as her best friend warmed his bed. But instead of railing, she withered into her chair, feeling defeated by the unfairness of it all. Elizabeth’s poor decisions proved how badly Oliver needed the steadying hand Celeste could provide. But she’d grown tired in the last few months. Helping others was wearying, and each person she’d come to care for had left a mark on her soul.

But she couldn’t leave Oliver to fend for himself. Which meant they couldn’t stay here, where Elizabeth and Ash were lovers. Celeste traced the knuckles of her left hand with her fingers, as though trying to comfort herself. A vain attempt to pretend she wasn’t alone, a pillar of strength others seemed to need and not need at the same time. Finally, she spoke. “If he is successful in restoring Oliver to you, then we must sell the cottage and move somewhere else.”

Elizabeth’s resolve turned to bafflement. “Why? I thought you loved this place.”

Celeste’s voice broke as she said, “Because I cannot bear to watch you and Trestin!”

Elizabeth’s perplexed frown marred her pretty aristocratic features. “Watch us?” Then her eyes went wide. “Oh, no, we don’t have an attachment, if that’s what you mean. I find him quite likable, but he isn’t my type at all.” Her cheeks turned a deep red. “And, even if I did find him the handsomest, nicest man on Earth, I wouldn’t look for an arrangement with the man my best friend is in love with.
That
I shouldn’t even have to say.”

Her gaze fell to her lap. “Perhaps I
will
reconsider Lord Trestin’s involvement. Surely there’s another way, one we simply haven’t thought of yet.” She looked to the window while her fingers worried the cuff of her long sleeve. Her sigh was heartfelt. “I can see how low I’ve fallen in your eyes. I’d hate for all of London to think me that despicable, too, especially when I’ve never touched him.”

Celeste’s sudden relief left her lightheaded.
Oh, please say it was true.
“You’ve never…?”

“Oh, no! No, no.” Elizabeth turned her head. Her eyes warmed ever so subtly. “We’re just friends. But if I should meet a man who sets my belly fluttering while treating me as respectfully as Lord Trestin does…” She sighed. “I shall marry him without delay.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ash hadn’t ridden away from the old Amherst property in such a dudgeon since that first day he’d come upon Celeste and Elizabeth in the darkened cottage.

Appreciating the brisk wind stinging his face and the strain of his thighs against his horse’s flanks, he rode hell-for-leather for Worston Heights. There he wasted no time trading his greatcoat and linen for the dingy attire he preferred to wear when channeling his frustration into his garden.

Swan met him at the shed. No words passed between them as they methodically collected their usual assortment of trowels, buckets, shovels and leather cuffs and piled them into the wheelbarrow.

Then Ash led the way while his gardener maneuvered the wheelbarrow behind him, first toward the conservatory and then to the edge of the property. He stopped to inspect a hedgerow dividing Worston from the moorland and, finding it in need of gapping, gave a curt nod to Swan.

Then he dug through his inventory of trowels and fished out a pointy one with a sturdy handle. Perfect for jabbing holes into dirt packed like brick. After positioning a leather mat across the damp grass, he knelt and began the rigorous process of removing brambles and overgrowth from the hedgerow. He employed two groundskeepers to do exactly this sort of thing. Yet drenched in sweat and battling thorns was how he felt most comfortable, and then…there was no one left to see him toil.

He worked at a good pace, leaving little mounds of debris in his wake. He made note of sections that were too gappy and began to make plans for a hedge laying soon. So absorbed in his task was he that he almost didn’t feel the wet nose pressed to his backside. Once he did, however, it became impossible to ignore.

Slowly, he looked over his shoulder.
Damn.

Stained gloves covered his grimy hands. He smelled like a cross between a cow pasture and a prizefighter. Not how he wished to be seen by his wayward sister, after all the times he’d remonstrated with her to mind her appearance.

“Lucas, please,” Delilah said, snapping her fingers at the mongrel at his feet. “Trestin is far too busy to play.”

Ash gripped the dagger-like trowel across his thighs as he rose. “Delilah.”

She met his gaze with a serenity that gave him pause. “Good afternoon, Trestin. I hope we’re not intruding?”

“Good God, no. I’m just collecting my wits, is all.” He took a tentative step toward her as though she would disappear if he moved too suddenly. “Are you well?”

She cocked her head and regarded him oddly. “Of course I am. The journey takes but a day, or,” she tinged pink, “a day and a half, if one is inclined to stop for the night.”

She’d come back.
He took three more steps toward her. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head vigorously. “Certainly not.”

“Are you cast out?” he asked. Then, without waiting for her to reply, he tumbled out the vow he’d wanted to make all this time but hadn’t been able to write. “I’ll help you divorce him, if that is what you wish. You’ll always have a home with me. I want nothing but for you to be happy.”

Her face paled. She jerked her head away. “Trestin, no! Listen to yourself. Haven’t I matured in your eyes even a little? You think I’ve chosen so poorly that my husband has already seen fit to oust me?”

Ash felt the familiar, awful sensation of being superfluous…and wrong. “Then why are you here, if not for my help?”

“Because I’m happy!” She worried her hands together and took a step toward him. “I wanted you to see it, so that you might rest easy and we might… I don’t know! Come to be friends.”

He could do nothing but stare at her. She’d always been a hair taller than Lucy, prettier and more elegant, but now she appeared…like a woman. Not the porcelain doll he’d always viewed her as, but the wife of a blacksmith. Still turned out prettily, but not perfectly. Wiser-looking. He was surprised to admit it.

“Trestin, I came because I love you and I can’t be entirely happy if you’re miserable. Is it all right that I imposed?” Her brows drew together and her body turned toward him, as if she would approach if he but invited her to.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sputtered, still at a loss how to feel. She didn’t need him. She wanted to be friends. Where did that leave him?

Fear that she would turn and leave before he had a chance to understand her request and make things right loomed foremost. “Don’t mistake my surprise for anything but a man’s need to play catch-up when something unexpected occurs,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m truly glad you’ve come. Please tell me you don’t intend to run right off?”

She smiled back. Again he was struck by her poise. Her butter-yellow gown was one he’d purchased, but it was lighter now. Minute differences like the simplicity of her hair, the single sprig of silk flowers on her bonnet, a faintly worn look to her favorite gloves, all bespoke her new social status. But the brightness in her eyes couldn’t be bought. Not with a title or a dozen guineas. She was in love.

He recognized it now.

“Oh, good!” she replied. “Because I
so
wish for you to meet Gavin. He told me you wouldn’t turn us out and I’m happy to see he was right!”

A rumbling began in Ash’s throat, but at the look of alarm she shot him, he quelled it. His lot today must be unwanted visitors. First Celeste—he didn’t want to think about her—and now Gavin Conley.

He nodded his grudging assent and didn’t try to hide his smile when his sister launched herself into his arms without regard for his griminess. As long as she was happy…he supposed he could meet the man who’d stolen her away.

* * *

Ash had a few hours to accustom himself to the fact that he would dine with his sister’s husband that night. He intensely disliked thinking of Mr. Conley as such, but he was much too late to do anything about it.

As he entered the drawing room where he and his family had spent so many evenings waiting for the call to dinner, he took a moment to adjust to the sight of his guests. Firstly, because he’d come to expect to dine alone. But more immediately, his pause in the doorway was driven by the sight of Delilah seated beside an unfamiliar man. Not her sister Lucy, as had always been the case. They weren’t Ash’s two mischief-makers with shining brown eyes and a ready excuse.