Too Wicked to Love (5 page)

Dear God, had that odious man been right?

Since there was no escaping the production, she would have to accept the role they had assigned her. She was nothing like the character of Malevita, but perhaps if she performed poorly enough—for clearly she was incapable of playing anyone truly evil—they would all realize their mistake in casting her as the villain.

“I tire so easily these days that we can’t start tonight,” Dolly declared. “We should begin tomorrow afternoon. If we can all learn our lines, maybe we can perform the play at the picnic next week to celebrate Samuel and Cilla returning from their honeymoon. Won’t that be a wonderful surprise?”

“Perform? In front of an audience?” Annabelle clapped her hands to her cheeks with a little squeal.

“Of course! It will be marvelous,” Dolly said.

“A splendid idea, Dolly,” Genny’s mother said. “Sir Harry, thank you so much for writing the play.”

“My pleasure,” Sir Harry said. He fixed Genny with a look that gave her the strange impression his bright hazel eyes saw everything, whether she wanted him to or not. “Thank you for agreeing to play the villainess, Miss Wallington-Willis. I am sure you will not find the part difficult.”

She forced a smile. “I am certain you are right.”

At this hour of the evening, the stables were nearly deserted. John lingered at the stall where the mare, Melody, was stabled. He stroked his hand along her neck as Sam Webb, the head groom, checked the poultice on her leg again.

“How is it looking?’ John asked.

“Smells like something died.” The older man rose from his crouch, patting the mare’s flank. “But in my experience, those are usually the best ones. What the devil is in that stuff?”

John shook his head, grinning as the mare nudged his shoulder with her nose, no doubt looking for the chunks of carrot he had been known to carry with him. “Old family recipe. If I tell anyone about it, I will be disowned.”

Sam rubbed his chin, peering at John in the dim light. “Any chance your pa could adopt me?”

John laughed. “Sorry, no.”

“That’s a shame.” The short, stocky groom stretched, then exited the stall, latching it behind him. “It’s getting late. I’m going to the kitchen to see if I can flatter the cook into feeding me.”

“That should not be too hard, seeing as she is your wife.”

Sam chuckled. “You’d be surprised. You coming?”

“No, thank you. I am not hungry.” Melody nudged him again, and he dug a chunk of carrot out of his coat pocket. “Here you go, Greedy.”

Sam laughed as the horse lapped the carrot from John’s hand. “Females. Always want what’s in your pockets.”

John grinned. “I will be certain to tell Mrs. Webb you said that.”

“Only if you promise to say my eulogy after she kills me.” Sam gave the mare one last rub on her neck. “You’ll douse the lamps?”

“I will.”

“Fair enough. Good night, John.”

“Good night, Sam.”

Sam’s footsteps echoed through the empty stables, followed by the creak of the door as he left the building. John lingered with Melody a few moments longer, then stepped away and began to go through the building, extinguishing the lamps. The music of the stables followed him: the swish of tails, the shuffle of large bodies, the occasional equine whuff. And the smells: sweet hay, the musk of horses, leather. By the time he had put out the last lamp, emotion clogged his throat.

Bittersweet memories flooded into his mind, flashes of a life that no longer existed. He gripped the door of a stall for a moment, trying to forget the feel of fine horseflesh beneath him, the power of the animal surging forward as the landscape swept past him in a blur, the stinging wind whipping at his face . . . There was a time when he’d had his own stables of pedigreed horseflesh and a small estate where he’d trained some of them. He’d had dreams of breeding champions.

But everything had changed after Elizabeth.

The recollections haunted him, as alive now as the events that had created them. And as painful. After Elizabeth’s death, he had left England, intending never to return. Yet now he was back, and he could not help but remember with longing a different time, a different life.

A life he wished he could get back.

But there was no sense in wishing for what could not be. His old life was gone, and so was the man he used to be. He was already risking a lot by staying in England this long. It was only pure luck that someone had not recognized him before now. Or perhaps the passage of years had changed his appearance enough that no one would see his former self in the guise of the humble coachman, John Ready.

No one except Genny Wallington-Willis, that is.

What had she called him?
A man who apes the manners and style of his betters . . . so he could improve his own social standing
. Ah, if she only knew. He would have to keep a sharp eye on that perceptive young lady. Smart, beautiful—she was exactly the kind of woman he liked, even with her prickly exterior. But if she got it into her head to ask questions, she could ruin everything.

Most people did not look past the picture he presented to the world. Here, in England, he was a humble coachman. At home in America, he was simply one more crewman, one more pair of hands on board ship.

Once they returned to America, with his half of Samuel’s treasure in his pockets, he would finally make a home of his own even though that home would not be the one he had always dreamed about in his youth. No, that life would be far from England and the past that sought to trap him. But it would be his. And that would have to be enough.

Genny escaped after dinner as soon as she was able. Claiming a headache, she excused herself from the company, who had returned to the drawing room and were even now eagerly discussing Sir Harry’s play. She trudged up the stairs, grateful to leave the aspiring thespians to their fervent discussions. After all, none of them were playing the villain.

What had possessed Sir Harry? An evil fairy who was jealous of Annabelle? And for that matter, a stiff-rumped spinster who would dandle her sister’s children on her knee? A dull ache tightened in her chest. Was she really so terrible a person? Had her experience with Bradley changed her so drastically?

She had not thought so, but recent events seemed to point to the contrary.

She did not want to be the bitter spinster living on her sister’s generosity, nor the sharp-tongued woman asked to play the role of the wicked fairy because no one could credit her as the heroine. She wanted her old self back, the happy, trusting young woman she had once been. She was only eighteen years old; she did not want to live a life of regret and resentment.

She wanted to marry. She wanted a family. That Cilla, who had been disowned by their father for four years, could be welcomed back into the fold so easily both warmed and stung. That her sister had found such bliss in her second marriage should have pleased her. Instead she wanted to lash out, to demand why she, too, could not have such happiness.

Dear God, perhaps she really was the evil fairy, jealous of her sister. The realization weighed like a stone in her heart.

She neared the top of the flight of stairs. As her head came level with the floor above, a movement caught her eye.

John Ready stood in front of the bedchamber at the far end of the hall. He glanced around, his manner furtive as he clutched his coat closed with one hand, his arm bent close to his chest. She ducked down so he would not see her, then cautiously peered back over the edge of the landing as he let himself into his room and closed the door.

What did he have wrapped in his coat? A lump above his curled arm gave a clear indication that he was hiding something. Dear God, was he stealing from the Baileys?

She had believed his protests of innocence this afternoon. Had taken his word that he had no designs on Annabelle’s fortune. Annabelle herself had appeared to trust him completely. What if both of them had been duped?

She narrowed her eyes, her mouth thinning. The Baileys had shown her nothing but kindness, and she would not stand by while this fortune hunter robbed them blind. Gathering her skirts, she hurried up the stairs and headed straight for the former coachman’s chamber.

G
enny burst into John’s room, taking great satisfaction as he jerked in surprise. Standing on the far side of the bed, he dropped whatever it was he held, then swore softly and glared at her as she remained in the doorway.

“Blast it, woman! Close the door!”

She flinched at his tone. He definitely seemed angry, which said to her that he was probably guilty as well. Ignoring both his demand and her own twinge of disappointment, she took a step into the room, folding her arms across her bosom as she blocked the doorway. “What are you doing, John Ready?”

He strode over to her, yanked her out of the way by her arm, then shut the door. “What part of ‘close the door’ did you not understand, Miss Wallington-Willis?”

She shook off his hold. “Open that door immediately! Have you no sense of propriety?”

“This from the woman who just burst into a man’s bedchamber?”

“We need to leave that door open. What if someone sees?” She turned toward it, and he stepped between her and the portal.

“No, we do not,” he said.

He prevented her escape with the sheer bulk of his tall, muscled form, his dark gaze implacable and communicating what she already knew. He would not move, and he could not
be
moved—not by someone like her, so much smaller and softer than he.

Had the air thickened? Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

“Let me go,” she said.

He raised his brows. “I am not stopping you from leaving.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.” He smiled, a flash of startlingly healthy teeth through his dark beard. “I am stopping you from opening the door.”

“I cannot leave without opening the door, Mr. Ready.”

“I am asking you to wait a few moments. Surely that is not too much to ask?”

“Why?” She backed away a step, watching him with growing wariness. “What do you want from me?”

He shook his head and, taking her arm in a firm yet guiding grip, he steered her farther into the room. “I want you to stay here until I tell you to go. This should not take long.”

“What should not take long? What do you want?” She glanced at the neatly made bed with apprehension as they moved closer to it. Dear God, what had she been thinking, charging into his room like that? Would she now pay the ultimate price for her headstrong impulse? “I can scream very loudly, Mr. Ready. I suggest you unhand me immediately.”

He chuckled. “I am certain you can, Miss Wallington-Willis, but to do so would bring on the very scandal you seek to avoid.” They reached the bed, and he indicated it with his free hand. “Please sit here and do exactly what I tell you.”

Did he think her so cowed by him that he could do
anything
he wanted? Even . . . Her breath caught, a tingle rippling through her. She suddenly became aware of how small the room was. “I will not.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Please, Miss Wallington-Willis.”

“I will not,” she said again.

He gave a gentle push to her shoulder. She nearly fell backwards, then landed in a seated position on the edge of the bed.

He crouched down so they were eye to eye. “You will.”

There came that shiver again, that quicksilver burst like champagne bubbles beneath her skin.

“So you are bigger than I. You have proven that.” She glared and curled her fingers into the coverlet, her mind racing. She could scream, yes, but he was right—it would bring the entire house running. “Let me leave, and I will not report this disreputable behavior to the Baileys.”

“Indeed?” He rose, then stripped off his coat.

She swallowed hard as he tossed the garment beside her on the bed. The muscles of his arms flexed beneath the simple cotton shirt, clinging like a lover’s hands to every swell and ripple. Her stomach fluttered. She should scream for help, reputation be hanged. But for all that she found him unpredictable, strangely she did not fear him. She still believed she could reason herself out of this predicament.

He reached up and unfastened his neckcloth.

“Stop! What are you doing?”

He grinned and jerked off the tie. “Calm yourself, Miss Wallington-Willis. As I said, this will only take a few moments.”

He handed her the tie, then knelt on the floor.

She gaped at the black slip of cloth hanging from her fingers. “I want to leave now, Mr. Ready.”

“We are almost done here.” He got on his hands and knees and peered under the bed.

“I do not like this one bit!” She dropped the tie as if it burned. The instant it hit the floor, it was yanked under the bed by an unseen force. She squealed and lifted her feet, staring at the spot where the tie had been.

“Blast it!” John flattened himself down on his stomach and stretched his arm as far as he could under the bed.

Genny peered down at him, mesmerized by the play of his muscles beneath his shirt. “What happened? Where did it go?”

“Got it.” John’s hand reappeared, one end of the tie clutched in his fingers. Slowly he dragged it out from under the bed, making it wriggle like a snake against the wood floor.

“What is under there?” Genny whispered.

He suddenly gave a hard yank. The tie shot out from under the bed, nearly hitting him in the face, then crumpled into a heap in front of him. A second later a fat, fluffy gray kitten darted out and pounced on the end of the strip of cloth. John scooped up the tiny animal by the scruff, then shifted to a sitting position right there on the floor, holding up the kitten to look into its face. “You have been most troublesome, madam.”

“That is what you smuggled into the house? A kitten?” Slowly, Genny lowered her feet to the floor. As she looked more closely, she could tell the small cat had gotten into a fight recently. “What happened to it?”

“Precious here had a disagreement with the other barn cats. I brought her inside the house to give her a chance to heal.”

“Precious?” Her heart melted.

He shrugged and cradled the kitten in his big palm, stroking beneath her jaw with the finger of his other hand. “What did you think I was doing?”

Remembering how she had boldly stormed into his room, Genny flushed. “I was not certain. It looked like you were trying to sneak something into your room.”

“Oh, I was. The housekeeper, Mrs. Morris, believes that pets might carry vermin and does not allow any in the house. So I had to wrap her in my jacket to avoid discovery.” He raised a brow at her. “Given your poor opinion of me, I wager you thought I was up to something reprehensible.”

“I thought . . . that is . . . you had . . .” She flushed beet red. “I apologize, Mr. Ready. I believed you might be stealing something from the Baileys.”

“Stealing from them?” His expression darkening, he got to his feet, holding the kitten against his chest. “Do you make a habit of maligning a man’s character every time you speak?”

“Of course not! I did apologize.”

“Yet that does not stop you from looking at me as if I would attack you at any moment.”

“I know you will not.”

“Do you?” He eyed her with that hot, dark gaze. “From your reactions to my simple request to wait a few moments before attempting to open the door, I believe that is
exactly
what you were thinking.”

“Do you think yourself so irresistible?” She stood up, uncomfortably aware that her slighter height did not gain her any advantage. But at least she was on her feet and not cowering like a frightened girl.

“I am simply reacting to your own behavior. What am I to think about a young woman who charges into a man’s bedchamber? You know you should not be here. It could be very dangerous for you.”

His voice had deepened, vibrating straight to her belly. She moved away from her precarious position between the bed and the man, hating that he was right. “Come now, John Ready. You and I both know I am perfectly safe in your company.”

“Now that is a switch. Just this afternoon you accused me of trying to romance Annabelle to further my social position. Either I am socially ambitious or I am not. You need to make up your mind, Miss Wallington-Willis.”

“You make a lot of demands for a . . . a . . .”

“A what?”

She licked her suddenly dry lips. “A . . . coachman.”

“You forget, I am no longer a coachman.” He set the kitten down on the bed. “I am a man, and I have some years of experience compared to yours. When I see someone like you, I simply cannot walk away.”

“What do you mean, someone like me?” When he remained silent, she prodded, “Prickly? Stiff-rumped?” Her voice caught on the last word.

He regarded her with a regret that soothed her shredding composure. “I should not have said those things.”

“Why not? They were the truth.” She shrugged and turned away. “I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Wait.” He reached out and caught her arm, his touch warm and fleeting before he dropped his hand away. “Please accept my apologies.”

“Not for telling the truth.” She hesitated, struggling to hide the misery that even now welled inside her.

“It was cruel of me. I was angry.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin that made her heart melt in her chest. “You were only looking out for Annabelle. You had no idea I was teaching her to defend herself.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Once more, she turned to leave. Suddenly something flew into her skirts. She squealed and spun around, trying to see what had snagged her clothing.

John burst out laughing and came toward her. “Stop, stop. I will get her.”

Genny craned her head to see over her shoulder. The little kitten hung by its front paws from the dangling end of the large bow on the back of her skirt. “Oh, no! John, get her before she falls.”

“She will not fall, will you, Precious?” He snagged the kitten by the scruff of her neck and tried to pick her up. Genny’s bow came with her, still hooked by her tiny claws. “Oops. Wait a moment. She’s caught.”

Genny watched his lean fingers as he tried to disentangle the cat. “Do not hurt her.”

“I will be as gentle as possible.”

Watching the care with which he handled the animal, she did not doubt it.

“I think I have . . . ah, blast it.” In trying to pull the kitten loose, he had instead tugged her bow free of its knot. “If I can get her to release the sash, we can tie the bow again, and you can be on your way.” He gingerly began to peel the kitten’s claws from the end of the bow, one at a time.

She turned to face him now that the bow had become completely untied. “Let me hold her, so you can use two hands.” She held out her cupped palms.

He hesitated, then plunked the animal into her hands. “She is very quick,” he said. “Hold her fast.”

“I have her.” Genny grinned up at him. “She is purring.”

“I guess she likes you.” One by one, he freed the cat’s claws from the dark pink satin.

“At least someone does.” The moment the words left her lips, she wished she could call them back.

Without taking his attention from his task, he said, “Shall I ask what you mean by that?”

“Oh, come now, John. Even you commented on your dislike of me.”

“I never said I disliked you.” Having freed one paw, John moved to the other. “I said if you did not forget about the bounder who hurt you, you would turn bitter in your later years.”

“Oh, I see. It must have been
him
you called ‘stiff-rumped.’ ”

“That must have hurt. I apologize.”

“If that does not indicate dislike, then what does?”

“It seems to me,” he said, finally untangling the kitten’s last claw, “that it means I care.”

She could not stop the cynical smile that twisted her lips. “You barely know me. Why would you care about me?”

“Because you are a good person. You came charging after me with a stick today when you thought I was trying to abduct Annabelle. That takes courage.” He took the kitten and stroked its head, his gaze steady on hers.

“What was I supposed to do? Stand there and watch?” She kept her eyes on his fingers as he stroked the cat’s fur. That tantalizing tingle swept into her belly again.

“Other people would have. Other women would have run to find a man to protect them, or screamed, not grabbed a stick and tried to pummel me into releasing her.”

“There was no time. I did not want Annabelle to get hurt.”

“You did what needed doing. So do it again, Genny. Do what needs doing. Forget the blackguard who clearly broke your heart and get back to living your life.”

She opened her mouth to scold him for his familiarity, but instead said, “I thought I had.”

“You are so suspicious of everyone. While it is good not to be a naïve child, you have forgotten how to give people the benefit of the doubt.”

“Maybe it’s easier that way.”

“Shoot first and ask questions later?” He chuckled. “Your father would probably approve—
if
you were commanding a naval ship.”

“Papa does not know what happened with Bradley,” she admitted.

He frowned. “Why the devil not? Excuse my language, but Overton needs a good thrashing, and your father is just the man to do it.”

“I simply never told him.” She shrugged, hoping he could not sense the half-truth. “It is over now.”

“Apparently not, if the cad accosts you in your own house!”

“That has never happened before. The last I heard, he was in India.”

“But he is back. What is to stop him from continuing his pursuit of you?”

“I will be more vigilant.”

“Will that be enough?” John tried to hold her gaze, but she glanced away. “What is it, Genny? You are not telling me all of it.”

“It does not concern you, John.” She lifted her chin and made herself look at him. “We barely know each other.”

“I know more than you think.”

“I doubt it.” She turned and headed for the door. “I had best leave. I do not want a lot of talk.”

“I know that you flirt with men to keep them at a distance,” he said, as she reached for the doorknob.

That truth stopped her, and she braced herself by clenching her fingers around the knob. She glanced back at him. “Nonsense.”