Too Wicked to Love (6 page)

He set the kitten on the bed. The furry creature pounced on the tie tossed on the coverlet as John came toward her. His dark eyes gleamed in a way that made her think he saw more than she would have liked. “Is it?”

“That hardly seems productive. Flirting is used to entice a gentleman closer, not keep him away. Clearly, you have been in America for too long.”

“I do not think so.” He leaned against the door, his gaze steady on hers. “It is easier to be the one who strikes first, don’t you think? Then you never get hurt.”

“You are making no sense at all.” She turned away from the door, flustered.

“Your bow is still untied. I could—”

“No.” The word came out more forcefully than she’d intended, and she whirled to face him, reaching behind her, fumbling for the dangling scrap of silk. “I can do it.”

“All right.” He crossed his arms, leaning one shoulder against the door. That unwavering gaze seemed to see everything she wanted to keep hidden, and his ever-present calm grated against her frazzled nerves like a hand brushing a cat’s fur in the wrong direction. “Let me know if you need my help,” he said. “With anything.”

“Will you stop saying that? I have already told you I do not need your help!”

“I did not mean to upset you.”

“I am not upset.” To her horror, her voice thickened as emotion swamped her. “You are a very rude man, John. Why can you not let things be?” She let go of the stubborn sash—which refused to tie—and covered her face with her hands.

“Here now.” He came to her, tugging her hands away from her face. “Surely it is not all that bad.”

“You . . . you keep pushing. And saying things. And . . . and staring.” Jerking her hands from his, she glared at him. “Why are you always staring at me?”

“Because you are beautiful.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Do not seek to flatter your way out of this discussion, John Ready.”

“It is not flattery when it is the truth. Look at me.” He took her by the upper arms and gave her a little shake so that she opened her eyes again. “If you let what he did change who you are, then he has won.”

“This is not a battle.”

“It sounds like one to me. Now.” He turned her around and calmly began restoring her bow. “Forget Overton. He was a fool if all he could see was your social connections.”

“How did you know that?” she whispered. Heavens, was she wearing a sign for all to see?

“I inferred as much when you accused me of courting Annabelle to further my social agenda.”

“Of course. I had forgotten.” The silk around her waist tugged and pulled as he finished up the bow.

“Now.” With his hands on her upper arms, he guided her around to face him again. “You are all set to rights, and you are free to leave.”

“Oh, yes.” She glanced at the door, feeling as if she had never seen it before.

“Genny.” He paused until she turned her head to look at him. “I do not want Annabelle,” he said.

The ripples in her belly surged like a bubbling geyser, but she would not allow herself to revel in it. That avid look in his eyes could not be for her. “Of course you do. All men want Annabelle.”

“Not all men. Not I.”

“If you say so,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“I do not want Annabelle,” he said again, this time with an intensity that startled her.

She propped her hands on her hips. “And why not? She is beautiful, kind, rich—”

“Are you a matchmaker now?”

“No!” She flinched away, startled. “I am just pointing out that I find it hard to believe that you are not attracted to a beautiful American heiress.”

“Every man fancies different qualities in a woman. I am simply not interested in Annabelle.”

“She is a lovely girl.”

“She is.”

“Quite sweet for the most part.”

“Most definitely.”

“Her family is simply delightful.”

“Salt of the earth,” he agreed.

“And, of course, there is the money.”

“If that is the type of thing a man is looking for, then yes.”

“What do you mean, the type of thing a man is looking for?” She gave a brittle laugh. “What man would turn his back on a full purse?”

“Wealth is not everything,” he said, “though it certainly makes life easier.”

“Men select women the way they select their horses—according to breeding ability and value.”

“You, Miss Wallington-Willis, are quite the cynic.”

“Oh, I am Miss Wallington-Willis again, am I?” He was looking too closely at her, seeing too much. She bit her lower lip. “You were calling me Genny a few moments ago.”

“Was I? An oversight.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, held.

The breath stilled in her lungs. Heat rushed from deep inside her like hot honey flooding her body. She licked her lips, watched his pupils dilate at the movement. She knew she was playing with fire. “I meant to say, men are less romantic than women.”

“Perhaps you have known the wrong men.”

“Is there a right one?” Had she leaned closer to him, or had he leaned closer to her?

“Of course. The key is in knowing him when you see him.”

“Perhaps he could carry a calling card,” she said, “to make it easier to recognize him.”

“You will be able to tell in the way he looks at you,” John murmured.

“And how would that be? As if I were the most beautiful woman in the world?”

“Not always. Sometimes he will look at you as if you are a tasty morsel he longs to devour.”

“Mr. Ready!” Heat swept her face as his intimate tone sent delicious shivers rippling through her.

“I was John a few moments ago,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Oh, stop!” She gave a quick push to his chest as a laugh burbled forth. But rather than pulling her hand right back, she let her fingers linger against him for a brief moment. His heartbeat thundered against her palm through his cotton shirt.

“Genny.”

The low half growl had her jerking her gaze back to his, and what she saw there both thrilled and unsettled her. She made to drop her hand, but he clapped his over it, holding it firmly against him.

“John . . .” She swallowed hard. “You are looking at me as if I am a tasty morsel.”

“Let’s find out,” he said, and brought his mouth to hers.

Panic flared, then disintegrated into mind-numbing pleasure. Oh, this was a man who knew what he was doing! For just a moment, she allowed herself to surrender, for her lips to part, her body to lean into his. He smelled of leather and horses . . . and soap. In a swift move, he turned both of them, backing her up against the door with his weight as he deepened the kiss, tasting every inch of her mouth in skillful devastation.

She didn’t know how her hands got tangled in his hair. Suddenly they were just there, just like her breasts were crushed against his muscled chest, and her mouth had opened to the thrust of his tongue. Her body sang with sensation, flaring to life as if she had finally awakened to the world for the first time.

He gripped her head between his hands, holding her still as he sought and took what he wanted, what they both needed. Then he tore his mouth from hers and stared into her eyes, sucking in air as if he had been drowning.

For just a moment, she could see the man behind the mystery in those dark eyes—aching loneliness and deep pain . . . and such hot, sexual hunger that she was surprised he had not stripped her naked and taken her like a savage.

Part of her thrilled to the image.

But the other part of her retreated as quickly as possible behind the shield of intellect and sarcasm.

He pushed away from her and slowly backed up, his hands fisting at his sides. “I apologize. I should not have mishandled you that way.”

She could hear the sincerity in his voice, see the self-loathing in his expression. She knew he meant it. Knew, too, that his passion had not been feigned. He wanted her, in the simple, basic, primal way that males wanted females. And she gloried in it.

But there were too many unanswered questions. Too many huge, frightening feelings. Instincts clamoring inside her that she had never felt before. Was this really her, this burning, ravenous creature who wanted to throw morality aside and give herself over to him? She had explored passion once before and been burned for her choice, and the fact that the intensity of that experience paled in comparison to what she felt now. . .

“I am not nearly as wealthy as Annabelle,” she said.

She registered the shock in his eyes before she turned, opened the door, and left.

He did not follow.

F
ather Cornelius Holm rose early every morning; he believed in greeting the new day the moment the good Lord raised the sun. Today he made for Evermayne. Perhaps inquiring here was a waste of time; after all, it was the most obvious place to begin, and the solicitors would certainly have looked there already. But then again sometimes people confessed things to a holy man that they did not reveal to others.

John had not gotten much sleep.

Erotic dreams plagued him, utterly realistic ones where Genny came to him in the night, sometimes naked, sometimes clad in diaphanous nightclothes that revealed more than they concealed. She would slowly strip off the flimsy garments, then climb on top of him to ride him like a wild stallion. Or she would climb into his bed naked and beg him to make love to her.

In his mind, he took her a hundred times, a hundred different ways.

By the time the sun rose, he was hard, hot, and irritable. He took care of the immediate physical problem with a few strokes of his hand, but his efforts only took the edge off. Genny had broken through his careful defenses—practices and disciplines that had served him well for years—and brought the roaring beast of his libido back to vigorous, aching life.

He splashed water on his face from the basin on the bureau, the coolness easing the heat of sexual arousal. He dried off with a towel, then ran a hand over his beard and reached for his trimming scissors. As he raised the implement to his face, he met his own gaze in the mirror, then slowly lowered the trimmers.

He had overstepped by kissing her. Not only had he been raised that a man did not touch a lady of her class unless he had a marriage proposal on his lips, but truly, what could he offer her? The life he had been born to had been ripped away from him, and for the past seven years he had been running, accumulating little more than the clothes on his back and his weekly wage. There had been no time for a home or a wife or children. And it had been too dangerous. What if someone had recognized him?

But now . . . Samuel had discovered treasure on the island where Raventhorpe had left him marooned, and he had offered John a share for mounting the rescue. At first John hadn’t wanted the money. But frankly, he was tired of running. He had been in England for some weeks now, and no one had recognized him. He had come within yards of Raventhorpe—hell, he had shot the earl in the arse!—and even that blackguard had not so much as flicked an eye in his direction

It was time to start a life, but not here, and not with this girl. She was linked to his old life by virtue of being a member of upper society. She was born into that world, would eventually marry in that world and would someday die in that world.

A world where he no longer held a place.

He could not pursue her, no matter how forceful the attraction. She was not meant for him, a man who lived on the fringes of society, a man who fled from his past and lived under a false name. No, she deserved balls and presentations at court and the respect of her peers. He would not take that from her.

Would not allow her good name to be tarnished by whispers of murder.

He rubbed his hand over his beard. As much as Genny’s parting comment had stung, he decided he would let it lie. To offer explanations might only make things worse. Let her think him a fortune hunter. His job was to watch over Annabelle and make certain Raventhorpe did not crawl out from under his rock to make any more trouble. He would focus on that, and he would keep his distance from Genny Wallington-Willis.

It was the only way he would survive until he could escape to the safety of America.

Genny went down to breakfast the next morning and found everyone gathered in the dining room with the exception of John.

His absence was a relief. She wasn’t certain how she would have greeted him, how she would have acted as if nothing were different than yesterday. But things
were
different. He had kissed her.

Not just kissed her, she mused as she smiled and nodded to the greetings of the others. Taking a plate, she began to serve herself from the sideboard as she searched for the right word.
Unleashed.
That was it. He had
unleashed
himself on her, letting loose his passion and taking her to a place with one kiss where her former fiancé had never brought her even with the most intimate of touches.

She served herself some eggs and a hot roll, then reached for the bacon, layering the meat on her plate without really paying attention. What would it be like to give herself completely to a man as passionate as John Ready? If his kiss was anything to go by, they might both incinerate by morning.

The mere thought stole the breath from her lungs, and she set down the serving fork with a clatter. What was she thinking? Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Bradley? She needed to control her impulses around John. She could not do anything to encourage him. He would be returning to America soon enough, then her life could get back to normal.

Though her normal life was far from perfect.

She turned away from the sideboard to find him standing behind her, his own plate piled high with food.

“Good morning, Miss Wallington-Willis.” His gaze slid over her with a thoroughness that left her breathless though his smile could not be described as anything except polite. He reached for the bacon.

“Good morning,” she murmured, averting her eyes. She slipped around him and took a seat at the table.

“Genny, dear,” her mother said, “Sir Harry would like us all to assemble at noon in the gallery for our first rehearsal.”

Genny nodded, picked up her roll, and tore it in half.

“Rehearsal for what?” John asked, seating himself next to Annabelle and catty-corner to Genny.

“That’s right, you weren’t here,” Virgil said. “Sir Harry here has written a play for all of us to perform.”

“We all have parts,” Annabelle said. “Mama thinks we should perform it at the picnic next week.”

“I figure the folks around here will really like it,” Dolly said.

“Excellent idea,” John said. “I shall enjoy watching the performance.”

“Watching?” Dolly laughed. “Dear boy, you are
in
the play!”

John set down his silverware and frowned around the table. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are in the play,” Sir Harry echoed. “Everyone is.”

John fingered the knife beside his plate and eyed Sir Harry. “Even you?”

“Oh, no!” The baronet laughed. “I am the writer, Mr. Ready. I direct the action.”

“I play the princess of the fairies,” Annabelle said, spreading jam on a piece of toast.

John shot her a sidelong glance. “Of course you do.”

“And you are the prince!” Dolly squealed, clapping her hands. “You and Annabelle are star-crossed lovers.”

John shook his head and began to cut a slice of ham. “I am no prince, Mrs. Bailey.”

Sir Harry chuckled. “You are indeed, Mr. Ready. You play Frederick, a prince in hiding with a farmer’s family.”

“We’re in love,” Annabelle informed him, then bit her toast.

John frowned and glanced from one to the other. “You are all serious?”

“Of course we are serious,” the admiral said. “The ladies have made up their minds and will not be swayed. We all walk the boards next week at the picnic. I am your father, by the way.”

John shot his narrowed gaze from the admiral to the baronet. “Sir Harry, please explain. Now.”

Sir Harry cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. “As I said, you play Frederick, a prince in hiding.”

“Right.”

“And you are in love with the fair Bella, daughter of the queen of the fairies.”

“That’s me!” Dolly said, waving her hand. “Queen of the fairies!”

“I’m Bella,” Annabelle said.

“King of the fairies here,” Virgil said. “But a warrior king. Not one of those foppish fellows.”

“Bella loves you, and you love Bella, but there is a problem,” Sir Harry went on.

“Of course there is,” John said, cutting a glance toward Genny.

She ignored the look and continued to rip her roll into small, bite-sized pieces.

“Bella’s sister Malevita is also in love with you and wants you to help her take over Fairyland and rule at her side as king,” Sir Harry said in a rush.

“And Malevita would be—?” John looked around the table. His gaze settled on Genny just as Sir Harry answered his question.

“Miss Wallington-Willis is playing Malevita.”

“Indeed?” John regarded her with such intensity that she fought not to squirm. “So, Miss Wallington-Willis, I hear you are in love with me.”

She noted the insinuation behind the words but did not rise to the bait. “I am certain it is a fairy curse of some sort, Mr. Ready, so please do not be alarmed.”

“I am hardly alarmed,” John said. “Merely curious. Who assigned the roles?”

“I did,” Sir Harry said.

“So if I understand this correctly, both Miss Bailey and Miss Wallington-Willis are in love with me?”

“Exactly.” Sir Harry beamed like a teacher with a bright pupil. “Malevita is the wicked sister and will stop at nothing to have you.”

“Indeed?” He slanted Genny a heated look from those dark eyes. “But I love Bella, correct?”

“Correct,” Sir Harry said.

“So there is no hope for Malevita then.”

“I am afraid not,” Sir Harry said.

“Too bad. It sounds intriguing.” John raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I will not be doing the play.”

“What!” Annabelle and Dolly exclaimed together.

“Why not?” Genny asked.

“I am not cut out for the stage.” He took a bite of his bacon.

“Nonsense,” Genny’s mother said. “None of us are of a dramatic bent, except perhaps for Dolly.”

“Why thank you, Helen.” Dolly preened.

“You must be in the play,” Sir Harry said. “We do not have anyone else suited to play the prince.”

“I cannot do it.”

“Why not?” Virgil demanded.

“Stage fright.”

“Stage fright!” Genny scoffed. From the way John continued to focus on his plate, she could tell he was lying. Why? What was so terrible about being in a play? “I cannot credit such a thing,” she said.

“Oh, John, do you truly suffer from stage fright?” Dolly asked.

“Best way to get past it is to do the thing,” the admiral said. “Play the part. Get past your fear.”

John shook his head. “I cannot.”

“But what are we to do?” Sir Harry asked. “We cannot have a play without a prince!”

“You play the part,” John said.

“Me? No, that cannot be. I mean, I am directing the actors,” Sir Harry spluttered. “And . . . well . . . my leg. Who ever heard of a prince with a cane?”

“Wounded in battle,” John replied.

“Might work,” the admiral said.

“Nonsense,” Helen scoffed.

“Or not,” the admiral recanted. “Test your mettle, Ready, and do the thing. Life will be more pleasant around here for certain.”

“John, please be in the play,” Dolly pleaded. “We can’t do it without you.”

“The whole thing will be ruined,” Annabelle said with a frown at him. “And I so wanted to play the fairy princess!”

“John, you will disappoint all of us if you do not play the part,” Genny said, more to see what he would do than any desire to save the performance.

He flashed her a quick glance charged with annoyance, which told her stage fright was not at the root of his objection to the play. No, something else kept him from participating. “Naturally I have no desire to upset everyone—”

“Good,” Dolly said. “Then you will do it. It is settled.”

John scowled. “Mrs. Bailey—”

“Dolly,” she corrected.

“Oh . . . uh, Dolly then. As I said, I do not want to upset everyone—”

“Then don’t,” Virgil warned, a hard glint in his eye. “My Dolly wants you to play the prince in the play. So you play the prince. Is that understood?”

Genny could see John’s frustration in his glittering eyes and clenching fingers. “I cannot perform in the play.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Ready,” Sir Harry said, leaning forward, “but is it just performing in the actual play that is the problem? Would you be willing to rehearse with us anyway, and if need be, I can step into the role of the prince at the time of the performance?”

“Why do you not step in now?” John suggested.

“Because I need to direct the action. Once we have all the movements and lines mapped out, I could step in as the prince for the performance . . .
if
it is strictly necessary.”

John tapped his fingers on the table as he considered the suggestion. “So I do the rehearsals, but you play the prince in the actual show.”

“Yes,” Sir Harry said.

John glanced at the ladies, who all regarded him with their best pleading faces. All except for Genny, who could not suppress the skepticism twisting her lips. Their gazes met for one, hot moment, then he looked back at Sir Harry. “Done.”

Sir Harry beamed. “Excellent! This will work splendidly. Do you not agree, Mrs. Bailey?”

“I suppose it will,” Dolly conceded, clearly unhappy with the decision.

“I am sorry,” John said, “but if you want me in the play, these are my terms.”

“Hmph,” Virgil said with a scowl. “Can’t figure why a fellow would be scared of the stage.”

“I am shy,” John said.

Genny nearly choked on her tea. “Shy?”

“Shy?” Virgil echoed. “I’ve known you for nearly five years, my boy, and I don’t recall you ever being shy.”

“Only on the stage,” John clarified. “I am a truly horrible actor.”

“As am I,” Genny contributed. “After all, I am playing the villainess, and everyone knows I am not of that nature.”

“Oh, yes, agreed,” Genny’s mom said.

“Don’t know anything about that,” the admiral muttered.

“So you are saying that because you are playing a character that is so dissimilar from yourself, your performance might suffer?” John asked her.

“I suppose I am. After all, I am no more a jealous, evil fairy than you are a prince in disguise.”