When She Was Wicked (37 page)

“A wise decision, if you value your life.”

Rose stared at the floor in front of her chair, her whole body trembling.

Charles knelt in front of her and softly said, “I’m sorry, Lady Rose. Good-bye.”

She began to shake more violently, looking so pale and fragile Owen wondered if she’d ever forgive him. Or ever fully recover from the blow.

As the stable master left, the only sound in the room was his heavy, rough boots treading across the floor. He’d been a hell of a stable master, and Owen had liked him. It was a shame that—

“Don’t. Go.” Rose’s words were halting, but clear as day.

Everyone froze. Owen wondered if he was imagining things. He dropped to his knees and clasped her shoulders. “You spoke. I heard you.”

She gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that her knuckles were stone white.

“Wait, Charles.” Owen folded Rose into his arms. “Everything is going to be all right.”

Rose spoke.

Tears streamed down Anabelle’s face, not just for Rose, but for Olivia and Owen, too—they’d all waited so long for this day. Although Rose had said only two simple words, she’d broken through a barrier. Maybe her next words would come easier. Anabelle hoped.

She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Owen looked even more handsome than she remembered him. When he’d been angry, his green eyes looked as deep and turbulent as the ocean. His dark brows knit together so tightly,
she itched to trace them with a fingertip and smooth away his worries. But now, in his wonder over Rose, his face transformed into that of a benevolent Greek god—patient, kind, and powerful.

Anabelle longed to throw her arms around him and share in his quiet awe of the night’s events. Although she couldn’t, at least she’d been able to witness something close to a miracle.

Once Rose had composed herself, Owen suggested they relocate to the drawing room, where everyone could sit and he could get some answers.

Anabelle finally had a chance to appreciate the magnificence of Huntford Manor. From the outside, the house resembled a medieval castle, but with larger windows and fewer turrets. Inside, however, the rooms were lavishly appointed and tastefully decorated. The drawing room was a combination of rich browns and deep reds, at once decadent and refined—like an exquisite tart.

She and Olivia entered the room and sat on a brocade sofa, Rose and Charles sat on the one opposite theirs, and Owen took an armchair between them—much like a judge holding court.

Anabelle felt like an intruder in the family’s affairs. “I should leave so you may speak privately.”

“No,” Owen barked—but not unkindly. Rose’s breakthrough had taken the bite out of his anger. “I want to know where Olivia has been all day. I want to know about Rose and Charles. But mostly I want an end to all the secrets.”

The thread inside Anabelle, the one keeping all her sorrow and anger tied up, snapped. How
dare
Owen accuse Rose and Olivia of keeping secrets? He was the
one who was too ashamed to tell his sisters about their relationship. Just moments before, he’d scolded Rose and Charles for seeing each other.

And yet,
he’d
been the one conducting an affair with a servant.

He was in no position to judge. Neither was she.

Although it was neither the proper time nor place, Anabelle spoke. “Is it your belief that we should reveal
all
our secrets, Your Grace?”

Owen yanked at his cravat. “The secrets that involve my
sisters
, Miss Honeycote.”

“Miss Honeycote, is it? When you saw me a few moments ago, you called me Anabelle, did you not?”

The concerned look he shot her made hysterical laughter bubble in her throat. Was he blind to his hypocrisy? “Forgive me. I was shocked to see you. My sisters call you Anabelle, and I’ve begun to think of you that way, too.”

“I see. So your sisters should tell all their secrets, but you should be allowed to keep yours?”

“We are all entitled to a few secrets.”

“Yes, but where, precisely, does one draw the line?”

He stared at her intently. “If a secret adversely affects a member of this family, it should be shared.”

“Very well.” She stood and cleared her throat.

“Miss Honeycote,” said Owen. “What are you doing?”

“I wish to share a secret.”

“Anabelle, stop.” Owen hung on the edge of his chair, and Charles looked like he wanted nothing so much as to slink out of the room.

She looked at Olivia and Rose before continuing. “Your brother and I have been hiding something from both of you. My behavior has been… most improper. You
see, back before I knew you, I threatened to publish gossip about you in
The Tattler
.”

“What?” Disbelieving, Olivia crossed her arms over her chest.

“Damn it, Anabelle.” Owen rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s true. I’d heard a rumor that Olivia was seeing a servant, and I… I asked your brother for money in exchange for my silence.”

“But that’s…” Olivia’s face contorted in disgust.

“Extortion,” Rose finished for her.

Anabelle felt as big as a thimble. “I have nothing to say in my defense—except I am sorry.”

Olivia fled the room in a blur of blue ribbons. Although Anabelle longed to comfort her, she was the last person Olivia wished to see. She slumped onto the sofa.

Rose stood. “I will go to her,” she said quietly. Instead of walking past Anabelle, however, she stopped and squeezed her hand. “I forgive you.” As she left, she gazed at Charles with obvious affection.

“Lady Rose,” he said, causing her to halt. “If your brother sends some soup up, will you eat?” His eyes pleaded. “For me?”

She looked from the handsome stable master to Owen. “Only if he stays,” she said.

Owen nodded. “Done. But we need to talk in the morning, Charles.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” He looked Owen directly in the eyes. “I look forward to it.”

Rose left with the stable master, and suddenly, Anabelle and Owen were alone.

When he joined her on the sofa, she fought the urge
to lean into him, wrap her arms around him, and kiss away the tight lines around his eyes and mouth. When he reached for her hand, she snatched it away.

He raised his brows, and she scooted to the far end of the sofa.

It would be all too easy to ignore her good sense and the promises she’d made to herself. Her dignity was at stake. As was her heart. In order to stand a chance of keeping her head about her, she had to maintain her distance from him—both literally and figuratively.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“How are your mother and sister?” His conversational tone raised her hackles.

“Please don’t pretend that you care.”

He looked puzzled. “Of course I care, Belle. You left Lord Harsby’s house party so abruptly. I hoped you just needed some time to accept the truth—that we’re meant to be together.”

The
truth
? He hadn’t come to London for her.

He hadn’t told anyone about their relationship.

And he
certainly
hadn’t issued a marriage proposal.

Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head.

“Why did you tell Olivia and Rose about your extortion scheme?”

“You said there should be no secrets. Besides, they deserved to know the truth about me. The awful things I did.”

“You didn’t tell them the whole truth.”

“No, I didn’t tell them that I’d slept with their brother.”

“Our relationship was more than that, Anabelle. It
is
more than that.” He sighed. “What I meant was, you didn’t tell them why you wrote the extortion note.”

“It hardly matters. Olivia would have been the victim if you hadn’t caught me.”

“Horse shit.”

She blinked. It was the second time he’d used the phrase with her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You never would have gone to
The Tattler
.”

He had a point. However, the people she’d threatened didn’t know that.

“Please. I need to return to London.”

Something akin to fear glittered in his eyes. “You can’t travel tonight.”

“First thing in the morning, then.” She avoided his gaze, too aware of the power it wielded over her.

“I’ll have the housekeeper prepare a guest chamber for you and send up dinner and a hot bath. We can discuss your travel arrangements in the morning. I know you don’t want to be here, Anabelle.” He brushed a thumb lightly across her cheek and her stomach flip-flopped. “But I’m very glad you are.”

B
irds chirped outside Anabelle’s window. Her hair, fanned out on the soft pillow beneath her head, smelled of mint and lavender. Inhaling deeply, she recalled her steaming bath the night before. She’d drifted off as the night breeze kissed her cheeks.

After a wonderful night’s sleep, she awoke relaxed and content.

Not at
all
the plan.

She was supposed to be angry and hurt. She
was
, dash it all. And quite determined to leave Huntford Manor.

She groped the bedside table until she found her spectacles and slid them on. Stretching, she padded to the window—horrified to find the sun already high in the sky.

Heavens, she’d slept the entire morning away.

She snatched a peach-colored morning gown from her satchel and quickly dressed. After coaxing her hair—still
damp at the roots from last night’s washing—into a knot at the nape of her neck, she straightened the coverlet on the bed and stuffed the few personal items she’d brought into her bag.

How humiliating to have overslept when trying to make a dramatic exit, but there was nothing to be done for it. At least she was well-rested for the trip and could soon be on her way.

Using trial and error, she found her way around the enormous third floor and downstairs. The breakfast room had already been cleared, but Anabelle wasn’t looking for food. She merely needed to find Owen and demand one of his army of servants escort her home.

She found him in the drawing room, sitting with Rose and Olivia. From the broad smiles on their faces, one would have thought that the strife of the previous night had never occurred. “Good morning,” she said awkwardly.

Owen made a great show of looking at his pocket watch. “Good afternoon, Anabelle.”

She remained in the doorway, clutching the handle of her bag. His attempt to charm her wouldn’t distract her from her purpose, but Olivia’s and Rose’s disappointment might. How they must loathe her. Although they’d shown her nothing but kindness, she’d threatened and deceived them.

“Olivia and Rose,” she choked out, “I must apologize once again for writing the horrid extortion note. I didn’t deserve your friendship, but it meant the world to me. Olivia, you taught me to embrace every day. And Rose, you taught me true strength comes from inside.”

“What did I teach you?” Owen flashed a rakish grin.

Goodness. Nothing she could mention in front of his sisters. Actually, there was something. “The importance of family.”

He stood and walked toward her. “I think you already knew that.”

“I’m ready to go, Your Grace, but there’s one more thing I’d like to say.”

“Shall I sit down? Have a drink?”

“Suit yourself. I was simply going to say that I think you should respect Rose’s wishes.”

He planted his hands on his hips. “What wishes?”

“Regarding the duel. She doesn’t want you to challenge the earl.”

His jaw twitched. “As I’ve explained to Rose, this is a matter of honor. I’ll meet the earl… but will do my best not to kill him.”

“Will you aim for his shoulder?” Olivia inquired. “You could just graze it a bit.”

Rose made a face.

“I was thinking the knee, actually.”

Anabelle exhaled in frustration. “I think you’re missing the point, Your Grace. Rose is worried that you might get hurt.”

“Are
you
worried about me, Anabelle?”

She bared her teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I’m worried you might be carted off to Bedlam.”

He chuckled. “If my sisters don’t fall in line soon, that’s a distinct possibility. However, allow me to put your mind at ease with regard to Winthrope. Just yesterday, his seconds informed me that he’s confined to his bed due to a nasty illness. I may be ruthless, but even I know it’s not sporting to challenge an invalid in a duel.”

“So you’ll postpone it until he recovers?”

“
If
he recovers. He’s rumored to have… syphilis.”

Anabelle pondered this for a moment, and Rose and Olivia seemed to do the same.

“Well, that certainly seems fitting,” Olivia announced at last. Which was, of course, what each of them thought but hadn’t the audacity to say. Given the duchess’s relationship with the earl, she’d most likely suffer the same fate. A sobering thought.

“I must seem terribly callous,” Olivia continued. “But I’m not entirely heartless.” She strolled to the piano in the center of the room and began randomly pecking on the keys. “I want you to know, Anabelle, that I’ve forgiven you. For almost shredding my reputation, that is.”

Relief flooded Anabelle’s chest, making it hard to breathe, much less speak. “Thank you. It’s… it’s more than I dared to hope.”

Olivia plunked on the keys some more. Discordant notes rang out, surprising coming from a pianist as accomplished as she. “If it’s not too much to ask, though, there’s one little thing I’d like to ask of you in return.”

“Of course. Just name it.” She’d do anything to earn the sisters’ forgiveness.

“No, I cannot. It’s selfish of me to even ask.”

“It’s not. Please, I want to make this up to you and Rose somehow. I
need
to.”

“Well, we were hoping you’d stay until Rose’s ball this Saturday.”

“But… but, that’s six days away.”

“I knew it was too much. It’s just that there’s so much to do, and we would have dearly loved your help. Don’t worry yourself, however. We’ll still forgive you.”