Too Wicked to Love (7 page)

For an instant he looked startled and opened his mouth as if to correct her. Then he apparently changed his mind. “As I said, I am no prince, Miss Wallington-Willis.”

“As I am aware,” Genny said, her words carrying more than one meaning.

He knew she referred to his behavior in his room last night. She could tell by the quick flash of guilt across his face. “While not a prince, I do consider myself a gentleman.”

“If walking the boards is such a problem for the lad, just let Archer do it,” the admiral said. “Ready can stand in for him during rehearsals while the staging is being formulated. It’s not Drury Lane, you know.”

“But we want the play to be extraordinary,” Helen said. “We are performing it in honor of Cilla and Samuel.”

“Best we can do,” the admiral mumbled.

“Please forgive my husband,” the admiral’s wife said. “He tends to be out of his depth if there is no battle plan to follow.”

“We have a plan now, Helen, or were you not listening?” the admiral asked with a hint of impatience.

“I was.” Helen fixed John with The Stare.

Genny squirmed in her seat. As a child she had been the recipient of The Stare more than once. The Stare made a person feel as if she were still in the schoolroom and had been caught coming into the house with her Sunday clothes all muddy.

John blinked, but to Genny’s admiration, that was his only reaction to The Stare. “Mrs. Wallington-Willis, please note that I
am
participating. Just not in the final production.”

“True,” she agreed.

“A concession,” Genny said.

“If you choose to see it that way.” John shrugged.

“I will take that concession and thank you heartily for your time,” Sir Harry said.

“Then let us consider the matter closed.” John finished the last of his breakfast, then stood. “If you all will excuse me, I need to check on Melody’s poultice before rehearsals begin.”

“Of course,” Virgil said, waving his hand in dismissal.

“How is the poor thing?” Dolly asked. “Sam was quite worried she might end up lame.”

“She will be right as rain soon enough,” John replied as he headed for the door.

“You certainly know your horses,” Virgil said. “Sam swears that poultice is magic.”

“I will let you know how she is doing,” John said, then left the dining room.

Genny watched him go, wondering about the real reason he did not want to be seen on the stage.

She did not have a chance to discuss the matter with John until a bit later, only twenty minutes before the rehearsal was to begin. She caught up with him as he was returning from the stables. He stopped short when he saw her, but she continued along the path to meet with him.

“The truth, John Ready,” she challenged as she drew closer.

“I have told you the truth, Miss Wallington-Willis, but you still make up your own.”

“You frightened me.” She stopped right in front of him and looked around to be certain they were alone since anyone could approach from either direction at any moment.

“I apologize again for my behavior,” he said.

“I understand. I deserve it for imposing upon you like I did. You know, when I . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “ . . . when I went to your room.” She cleared her throat and continued. “I realize that men are not in control of their baser impulses under certain circumstances.”

“You do, do you?”

His tone made her fall back a step. “Do not be angry with me, Mr. Ready. I had good reasons for what I did.”

“You accused me of stealing.”

“You kissed me.”

“I apologized.”

“So do I,” she said. “Apologize, I mean. I should not have jumped to conclusions.”

“What sort of conclusions, Genny?” He folded his arms and waited.

“That you were a fortune hunter. That you would steal from the Baileys.”

“I was wondering when I would hear those words. And just to set the matter straight,” he said, pointing a finger at her, “I am not after Annabelle or her fortune. I have money of my own.”

“You do?”

“I do. And kissing you last night . . .”

Her face flooded with heat at the words. “We do not have to talk about that.”

“But we do. You all but accused me—again—of pursuing Annabelle for her money.” He stepped closer. “I told you, I do not want Annabelle. She does not set my blood on fire.”

“And I—”

“You do.”

“Oh!” Her face burned. “My goodness.”

“That kiss was . . . well, it was ill-advised. I was not thinking, only feeling. And I wanted you.” His voice lowered to a near growl. “God help me, but I still want you.”

“Why?” she whispered. “Why me and not some other girl?”

“Your fire. Your determination to do what is right. Your stunning beauty. Dear God, woman, I want you more than breath right now. But I am not staying in England. I cannot give you what you deserve.”

“Why not stay?” she coaxed.

“Because I cannot. I had reasons for leaving, and those reasons have not changed.”

“Reasons that do not allow you to play the lead in a theatrical production?”

“Yes.”

“You are a man of secrets, John.”

“Aren’t we all?”

She thought of the skeleton in her own closet. “I suppose you are right.”

“I cannot offer you a future, Genny.”

“So you said.”

“I plan to start a new life in America, far away from here.”

“Why not someplace closer? Scotland or Wales?”

“I need to leave my past behind. In America, I can blend in. Marry. Have children. Here . . . well, there are people looking for me still.”

“What do they want?”

“Never mind that.” He gave her a smile that softened the severity of his tone. “If you are in agreement, I believe you and I should stay away from each other. There can be no happy conclusion to this.”

“How do you propose to do that?” Genny asked. “We are thrown together in this play. I am supposed to pretend to be in love with you!”

“I did not say it would be easy.” He sighed and let his gaze roam over her with one, devouring sweep. “I wish things were different, Genny, but they are not. I have no future to offer you. I had no right to touch you like I did last night.”

“Even if I wanted you to?” she asked in a small voice.

He clenched his jaw. “You saw what you unleashed yesterday with one smile, woman. Do not play with fire.”

She wanted to continue flirting, but she could see the lines of strain about his mouth. “Very well. If you think this is for the best.”

“I do.” He glanced behind him as a worker trudged along the path toward them. He took Genny’s arm and guided her in the opposite direction. “Have a care with your wiles, Genevieve. My control is not as strong as I thought, and you are yet innocent. I do not want to do something we might both regret.”

Guilt pierced her. Would he feel the same way if he knew the truth? “I appreciate your candor.”

“Then we understand each other.” He walked her to the garden entrance and bowed low. “I regret that we cannot explore this thing between us.”

“So do I.” Genny lingered by the garden gate, curiosity pricking at her like the claws of a cat.

“Go inside, Genny,” he said, when she did not enter. “Forget yesterday and move on to tomorrow.”

She studied his face, relishing the unabashed need she saw in his eyes. Dear God, it was true. Finally, a man wanted her for herself alone, not for a social agenda or political connections. The urge to step into his arms and wallow in that simmering desire—desire meant only for her—was nearly irresistible. But they both knew they could not be.

But it would not stop her from dreaming about what it would have been like.

“Are you coming with me?” she asked. “Your presence is required at the rehearsal as well.”

He grimaced. “I know.”

“Then we should go together.”

“I do not think that is a wise idea. Better you go without me. I will be there directly.”

“If you are certain . . .”

“I am. I need to change my clothes. I have been out with the horses, and I smell like the stable. I would not want to offend anyone.”

“Some people find the scent of horses quite pleasant.”

He stilled, his fingers curling into fists, one digit at a time. “Please go inside, Genny.”

The rough catch in his voice as he said her name told her all she needed to know. She was making this harder for him. With a nod, she stepped through the door into the garden, leaving him standing outside the wall.

Alone.

J
ohn took the opportunity to change his clothing and gather himself at the same time. He had not had any intention of correcting Genny’s assumptions about him; it was easier for both of them if she considered him a fortune hunter. But the relief he had seen in her eyes when he confessed that he had his own money had made his confession worth the risk.

Overton had put that lack of confidence in her eyes, he was sure of it. Damn that useless idiot! Clearly Genny did not believe a man could want her for herself and not for her position in society.

If things were different, he might have proven that to her.

Enough. He needed to put aside any notions of what might have happened between him and Genny if things were different. Things were the way they were, and he was taking the best course of action for everyone involved.

He was shrugging into his clean coat when someone pounded on the door.

“Mr. Ready! You must come. Someone tried to kidnap Miss Annabelle!”

John jerked open the door to find one of the new footmen, Andrew, standing in the hall. “What? Tell me quickly.” He shut the door behind him and fastened his coat as he started down the hall with the eager young footman trotting beside him.

“Miss Annabelle and Sir Harry went for a drive before the rehearsal, and some blackguard stopped them on the road and tried to abduct her!”

“Was it Black Bill?” John asked, hurrying down the stairs.

“The highwayman? No, sir. At least Miss Annabelle says it wasn’t. Says she’s met Black Bill before, and this is a different bloke.”

They reached the first floor. “Where are they, Andrew? The drawing room?”

“Mr. Bailey’s study, sir.”

John nodded and shot down the next flight to the ground floor. “Has the magistrate been called?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Bring him to the study as soon as he gets here.” As the footman nodded and hurried off to obey the order, John strode into Virgil Bailey’s study.

Annabelle sat in a chair in front of her father’s desk. Her mother sat beside her in her wheeled chair, holding her daughter’s hand and sniffling into a handkerchief. Genny and her mother hovered around Annabelle and Dolly. Behind the desk, Bailey and the admiral conferred in low voices.

“Mr. Ready.”

John turned to see who was addressing him and found Sir Harry sitting in a chair near the door. His hair looked as if he had raked his hand through it more than once, and his clothing was askew. There was no sign of the baronet’s usual jocularity; in fact, the hazel eyes behind his spectacles held an edge John had never before seen in the humble country gentleman. “Sir Harry, are you all right?”

“The blackguard ambushed us,” Sir Harry replied. Even his voice sounded stronger, more commanding. “Are you aware, Mr. Ready, that Miss Bailey has asked me to teach her to drive?”

“I was not.”

“It seemed a simple enough request, and she is such an independent spirit. It seemed harmless. I saw no reason to refuse her.”

John nodded and made a note to speak to Annabelle. She knew she was not supposed to go anywhere without him. “Miss Bailey can be quite convincing.”

“She can indeed. At any rate, we were in my gig with my mare Brownie. She is a most docile animal, Mr. Ready. I’ve had her for years and felt she was of sufficient temperament for a lady to drive.”

“Understood. What happened?”

“Miss Bailey had the reins, and we were laughing over an amusing anecdote I had just told. Suddenly a masked man leaped out of the bushes and pointed a pistol at us. He demanded that Annab—I mean, Miss Bailey—descend and go with him or else he would start shooting.”

“Do you carry a pistol, Sir Harry?”

“Not normally, but I shall do so going forward, that is certain.” The baronet’s mouth thinned. “I am an excellent shot, Mr. Ready. The villain will not catch me unawares again.”

“I assume then that he escaped?”

Sir Harry nodded. “He did.”

John sighed. “How is it you can live in an area with a notorious highwayman yet drive about the countryside unarmed?”

Sir Harry narrowed his eyes. “I never said I was unarmed, Mr. Ready.” He grabbed his cane, twisted the head, and tugged, revealing a gleaming steel blade hidden in the harmless-looking staff. “I said I did not have a pistol.”

John gave a half smile. “Very ingenious—and lethal. I assume you know how to use this weapon, and he simply did not come close enough to give you the opportunity.”

“You assume correctly, which is another reason why I shall also bring my pistol from now on.” He drove the blade back into its sheath and twisted the head of the cane to lock it into place.

“I doubt Miss Bailey will be taking any more driving lessons for a while,” John said.

“Agreed.”

“But your lack of opportunity to use your weapon now begs the question—how did you get away?”

“Miss Bailey saved us.” Sir Harry smiled with some admiration. “She got out of the carriage like he told her to. Then that fellow tried to grab her and drag her off, but she apparently dug her heels into the ground to make it harder for him. While he was distracted, I charged at him with the gig. He let go of Miss Bailey and aimed the pistol at me. But Miss Bailey grabbed a rock and slammed it onto his gun hand, then kicked him in the back of the knee. He dropped like a stone—excuse the pun—and let go of the pistol. She grabbed the weapon, then jumped into the gig, gave the pistol to me, and took the reins to race back here. Well, as quickly as Brownie can race.” Sir Harry sent an approving glance at Annabelle. “She is a remarkable woman.”

“I am glad you are both unharmed,” John said. “If you will excuse me, I must go speak to Miss Bailey. The magistrate should be here at any moment.”

“Old Gunston? I would not count on much help from that quarter.”

Sir Harry’s words stopped him when he would have walked away. “Why is that?”

“Gunston was a crony of Raventhorpe’s father.” When John said nothing, Sir Harry gave a little laugh. “Come now, Mr. Ready. Surely Raventhorpe was behind this incident. Even in exile, he can make his presence felt.”

John contemplated his next words carefully before speaking them. “Forgive me, Sir Harry, but I was under the impression you and Lord Raventhorpe were friends.”

Sir Harry gave a smile that seemed to hint at more secrets than it revealed. “ ‘Friends’ is too strong a word. We were hunting mates for years, which is where I got this.” He tapped his bad leg. “Raventhorpe always said it was an accident, but I cannot help but wonder if he simply did not like that I was a better huntsman than he was.”

“He shot you? Deliberately?”

Sir Harry shrugged. “The details of that day are murky in my mind.”

“If he shot you, why do you continue to socialize with him? You might very well be his last friend in the upper reaches of society.”

“Upper reaches? How exalted. No, I am simply a country squire. I am happy here with my fields and my horses and my tenant farmers. That does not threaten him. And there you go using that word ‘friend’ again. You know, I embrace the philosophy of the Chinese general Sun-Tzu.” Sir Harry leaned in, a conspiratorial grin curving his lips. “ ’Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ ”

“A wise philosophy.”

“I thought so—especially when it comes to Raventhorpe. You know as well as I do that he will not simply ignore the slight Miss Bailey dealt him when she jilted him. He will want revenge.”

“I know.” John glanced over at Annabelle, then noticed Virgil waving him over. “I had best go speak to Mr. Bailey. But thank you for the information on Gunston. I will keep an eye on him when he gets here.”

“I am going to stay here and rest my leg. I’m afraid I aggravated it with all the excitement.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” John turned to leave.

“If you need help,” Sir Harry said as he started to walk away, “my sword is ready.”

John gave him a nod, then went over to the others.

Dolly caught sight of him first. “Oh, John! At last you are here!” She threw up her hands, her white handkerchief fluttering like a flag of surrender. “Dear Annabelle was set upon by a highwayman!”

“Not Black Bill,” Annabelle said with a stern look at her mother.

“I don’t know how you can tell one from the other,” Dolly said with a huff. “A villain is a villain.”

“It wasn’t Black Bill,” Annabelle said. “I wish he had been there, though. Considering he saved my life once.”

“Yes, yes. When Lord Raventhorpe carried you off to force you to marry him.” Dolly covered her eyes with her hand. “Just the memory of it makes me feel faint.”

“Black Bill was the one who stopped the coach and knocked Richard unconscious that day,” Annabelle said. “Otherwise, Samuel might not have caught up to us in time, and I might have ended up Lady Raventhorpe.” She scowled at her mother. “In fact, if Black Bill had been there today, I have no doubt he would have protected me from this horrible man as well.”

“From what I hear,” John said, “you protected yourself.”

Annabelle smiled, pride lingering in her eyes. “I just did what you told me to do.”

Curious gazes turned toward him. “I have been teaching Miss Bailey to defend herself,” he said. “She is an excellent student.”

“Or you are an excellent teacher,” Dolly said with a sniff. “Oh, I cannot wait for this darned leg of mine to be healed so we can leave this dreadful country! I cannot endure any more attempts to run off with my daughter!”

“Oh, Mama.” Annabelle rolled her eyes.

“The magistrate should be here shortly, so we can report the incident,” John said. “A pity the villain got away.”

“I did what you taught me. I got free and ran,” Annabelle said. “I didn’t even see where he went.”

“Which is exactly what you should have done.” John looked around at the other ladies. “I would strongly suggest that none of you go off alone anywhere. Always take a male escort with you.” He glanced at the admiral and Virgil. “It might be a good idea to carry a pistol with you whenever you leave the house, gentlemen.”

“Agreed,” the admiral said. Virgil nodded.

A footman knocked on the open door of the study. “Sir? The magistrate has arrived.”

“Send him in,” John said, then caught himself and looked at Virgil. “With your permission, of course, Mr. Bailey.”

“Yes, yes,” Virgil said, waving a hand.

The footman disappeared for a moment, then returned with two gentlemen. “Lord Gunston and Mr. Timmons,” he announced, then stepped aside.

“Timmons?” John repeated, but the men were already entering the room. Could it be . . . ? Bloody hell, it
was.
Eustace Timmons—Tim to his friends—a face from his past that he had never expected to see again.

“I am looking for the master of this household,” Gunston said in his booming baritone. “Which of you is Mr. Bailey?”

“I am Virgil Bailey.” Virgil stepped forward as the men swept past the other occupants of the room.

John turned his back so they would not see his face. What the devil was Tim Timmons doing here?

“I am Lord Gunston, the magistrate. This is my friend Mr. Timmons. We were dining together when your summons arrived.”

“I wish we were meeting under different circumstances,” Virgil said. “Do you know Admiral Wallington-Willis? And this is his wife, Mrs. Wallington-Willis . . .” Virgil continued around the room, introducing everyone to the newcomers. John managed to stay off to the side and out of visual range of the men, arranging it so Virgil skipped him in the introductions. When Virgil got to Sir Harry, it became clear they all knew each other.

“Sir Harry Archer,” Virgil said.

“Ah, Sir Harry. You are a guest here?” Gunston boomed.

“I am,” the baronet replied. “Good afternoon, Lord Gunston. And to you, too, Mr. Timmons.”

Tim gave a nod and murmured a return greeting, but the magistrate just smirked at Sir Harry. “Bad day, eh?”

“Sir Harry was with my daughter when the highwayman attacked them,” Virgil said. “He can offer additional details.”

“You are certain it was not Black Bill who was behind this mischief?” Gunston demanded.

“Yes,” Sir Harry replied.

“I have seen Black Bill,” Annabelle said. “This was not the same man, Lord Gunston.”

“You are overset, Miss Bailey,” the magistrate said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I am certain Archer here will provide us with the
accurate
details of the incident. I have no doubt it was indeed Black Bill who waylaid you. He is known to haunt these lands.”

“Raventhorpe lands,” Tim said sagely.

“Bailey lands now, Mr. Timmons,” Virgil corrected. “I purchased this estate from Lord Raventhorpe some months ago.”

“Of course. You are right, sir.” Tim glanced around, no doubt gauging the level of anxiety in the room. “But perhaps Black Bill does not keep up with the local gossip.”

This generated a laugh, and Tim smiled. Once more his gaze swept the occupants of the room, but this time it crossed over John, then came back. Held.

John could see the puzzlement in his face. No doubt the other man sensed something recognizable but could not place John’s current appearance as familiar. His gut clenched. Would Tim see the stripling lad of seven years ago in the bearded, competent man of today? Or would he look past him with a stranger’s stiff politeness?

“And who is this?” Gunston asked, coming toward him. Tim trailed behind more slowly, a frown on his face.

“Lord Gunston, this is Mr. Ready, a friend of the family,” Virgil said.

“Mr. Ready,” the magistrate repeated. “Odd name, that. Wouldn’t you say, Tim?”

“Yes, odd,” Timmons agreed. He held out a hand in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ready.”

“Pleasure is mine,” John replied, shaking his hand once, then dropping it.

“Were you a witness to the attack?” Gunston demanded.

“I was not,” John replied.

Gunston gave a snort and looked around. “Which of you were in the gig when the highwayman attacked?”

Annabelle spoke up. “Just me and Sir Harry. No one else was there.”