Wicked and Wonderful

Wicked and Wonderful

Valerie King

WICKED AND WONDERFUL

By Valerie King

Kensington Publishing Corp. edition 2005

Copyright © 2005, 2012 by Valerie King

All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Formatting and cover by Bella Media Management.

First Edition eBook

eISBN: 978-1-937515-64-5

Dedication

Carol Webb at Bella Media Management Rocks!

DEAR READER

WICKED AND WONDERFUL was my final sweet Regency novel for Kensington Publishing Corp. and came to market in September of 2005. Because the advent of e-readers has changed the publishing landscape today, I have wanted to release my backlist for a long time.

The process was not a simple one for me because my books were published from 1990 thru 2005. Writing styles have changed along with the demands of a readership.

I knew I didn’t want to simply toss the books onto the sea of backlist releases without addressing the need to make improvements, though usually minor ones, to each book as a whole.

To that end, WICKED AND WONDERFUL is a gently edited version of the original release, with an eye to a modern market.

I’m thrilled to bring Judith and Kelthorne’s story to a whole new audience.

My Regency Romance work was a dynamic part of my life for twenty years during which time I worked in partnership with Kensington Publishing Corp., and brought nearly fifty novels and novellas to the marketplace.

In 2005, Romantic Times honored me with a career achievement award in Regency Romance.

But that same year, Kensington ended its long history as a publisher of the genre and my journey took a new turn. At that time, as many of you know, I made a huge shift to writing sensual paranormal romances as Caris Roane and you can learn more about this work at www.carisroane.com. For a sweet Regency reader, these books may not be of interest to you, which I understand perfectly.

So, here is the new, mildly revised version of WICKED AND WONDERFUL.

I hope you enjoy this journey with me.

I also hope to introduce original sweet Regency work very soon!

To stay informed on all my Valerie King work, please visit my website at:

http://www.valerieking-romance.com

Be sure to sign up for my newsletter for all the latest new release information!

Cheers!

Valerie King

Chapter One

Somerset, England 1818

“Foolish, foolish dare!”

Judith Lovington raced through the orchard, stolen apples caught in her thick wool scarf. At the far end of the orchard, a man on horseback rode parallel to her position.

She had erred wretchedly and knew quite well that if she could see him, even though only leaf-shaped bits of moonlight were scattered on the ground, then he could most certainly see her. What rotten luck that this man had chosen to ride his horse at so late an hour, and at that in an orchard.

She watched his head rise. She stood very still hoping that perhaps the dark, boy’s clothing she was wearing, borrowed from the troupe’s vast store of costumes, would make her but a shadow in the orchard. Her heart pounded as she waited. Suddenly, he spurred his horse in her direction. He had seen her.

She groaned, pushed her hat down hard about her ears, turned around abruptly and began to run. All the while, stolen apples dropped to the ground in dull thuds from the shawl clutched to her chest. How could she have allowed herself to be persuaded to enter the Earl of Kelthorne’s orchard in the first place.

She stumbled more than once but managed to right herself and keep running.

From behind, the man yelled after her, none too politely. “Stay a moment, young halfling. A word with you, and then my riding crop, for I promise you I mean to beat you within an inch of your life. At the very least twill mean the stocks for you and I will only now be made content by throwing half a dozen cabbages at your head.”

The man, whose diction bespoke the gentleman, was clearly outraged by her crime. Stealing was a terrible crime and often punished by the severest methods. She should never have allowed Charles Hemyock to provoke her to the deed. From his first joining the troupe nearly a year past, he had barely had a civil word for her. He was arrogant and cruel, and she did not like him above half. But when he had called her a worthless female with little wit and no bottom at all, just like all the other females of the dramatic troupe, she felt obligated to vindicate not just herself, but her sex as well.

So he had dared her to collect a dozen apples from Kelthorne’s orchard and she had accepted his challenge. Although she now thought he may have been right about her lack of wit, certainly her lack of sense, for here she was, being chased by a man intent on doing her serious injury and in some danger of being brought before a magistrate. Visions of dangling from Tyburn Tree pressed her to move faster still.

She glanced back again. He would be on her in a trice for she could hardly outrun his horse. Still, she ran, slipping through the orchard sideways, moving from row to row of thickly-leafed trees in hopes of forcing him from his horse. She might then have a chance to escape, for the nearby hill was thick with growth and she knew how to hide. She had at the very least some practice in that skill.

As she neared the edge of the orchard, she glanced again and saw that she had made some progress. He was having difficulty, just as she had hoped, navigating his horse after her. She felt a sudden rush of exhilaration believing she now had a chance to escape when she heard a terrible sound, the deep bark of a large dog, not too far distant.

If the hound caught her, she would be in the basket, indeed.

Glancing once more over her shoulder, she saw moonlight glint off the dusky coat of a bounding dog heading in her direction. Her heart sank as fear engulfed her chest. She ran faster still. She dropped the rest of the apples as well as her shawl. She raced for the woods. She did not know how she might escape now, but she meant to make every effort.

She held to the last vestige of hope until she heard the wheezing of the dog behind her and suddenly found herself shoved forward then landing, fortunately, on a patch of grassy turf at the very edge of the orchard.

“Rufus!” the man shouted from a distance. “Desist!”

Judith found herself pressed to the ground. The big dog was standing on her back. At the same time, she covered her face with her arms fearing that she would soon feel the creature’s teeth tearing at her flesh. Her heart pounded in her chest so that the top of her head hurt. She felt dizzy and more frightened than she had in her entire life, even more than on the day she had run away from home some eight years earlier. Had death come to her at last?

The dog sniffed her neck and throat. Judith prepared for the worst, then she suddenly felt the wet lick of his long tongue.

“Oh-h-h,” she said in disgust. “I believe I would rather you had bit me, you abominable creature. Do get off. How heavy you are.”

The beast, having appeared to understand her, leaped aside, forcing the breath from her once more. She turned to face him and only barely avoided another wet assault by turning away from him and pressing her hand against his muzzle. He licked her fingers instead, then began to whine. His friendly nature became more apparent with each whimper so that there was nothing for it. She sat up and began to rub his ears. She could not help but smile as she spoke to him in a soft voice. “I had a dog like you once—the same shaggy fur, of that I am certain. A delightful mongrel.”

The dog whined a little more.

“There’s a good boy, Rufus,” she said. “And what a horrible but very sweet dog you are. However, I do not hesitate to say that your master will most certainly be most displeased with this performance.” She glanced up and watched as the horseman approached. Rufus whined again in response to her speech as though trying to offer a reasonable explanation for his conduct. At the same time, he laid a paw on her arm. “Well, I am in the basket now. See what you have done and I was so close to making my escape.”

Rufus tossed his head and barked.

Judith remained on the ground and felt for the sheathed dagger she wore strapped to her leg beneath her clothing. The voluminous breeches she wore would allow her to reach the dagger quite easily, but she would not do so unless the situation became desperate. She was well able to defend herself if need be, but she would hardly serve the troupe were she to do injury to a gentleman who must have some relationship with Portislow Castle, thereby possibly incurring the wrath of the owner. The troupe was presently indebted to the Earl of Kelthorne who was permitting them to camp in his field near the orchard.

The stranger dismounted and tied his reins to a nearby apple tree. The orchard was quite dark in shadow, but moonlight served to reveal three things: he was tall, his hair was wavy and longer than most, and his face appeared to be a collection of very strong planes indicating a rather determined disposition. His present sentiments were evident in that he walked with a brisk gait, he clenched his fingers into fists, and hunched his shoulders ever so slightly.

“Rufus,” he called stridently. “You are a monstrous disappointment. Come.”

Only when Judith ceased kneading his ears, however, did Rufus slink toward the tall gentleman.

When the dog sat obediently beside him, he looked down at her. “Do I apprehend correctly that you are not a boy after all?”

“As you have said,” she stated, staring up at him.

*** *** ***

Lord Kelthorne looked down in bewilderment at the figure sitting on the ground. How greatly shocked he had been to hear not only the voice of a young woman, but a quite genteel voice as well.

How strange, yet in a way very promising.

A breeze caused moonlight to flicker over a shiny wave of dark curls that hung down the woman’s back. Somewhere in her flight, or perhaps Rufus’s assault, her hat had fallen away.

Despite all his newly formed good intentions toward womankind in general—truly he did mean to reform since he would soon take a wife—a smile slowly overtook his lips. “You have given me a shock, my little
thief.
I thought you were a lad.”

As he watched her gain her feet, a warm, familiar sensation set a quick fire to his veins. Her legs were encased in snug boots over white stockings and the oversized breeches she wore did not quite meet her knees. She was in that sense shockingly underdressed.

From years of experience, he knew precisely how to orchestrate the next several minutes in order to bring the young lady to just the right tilt of romantic inclination. He would kiss her. Yes, at the very least he would kiss her. A lady wearing such a disguise would probably allow him to do more. He looked her up and down. How odd to think that a ride at nearly midnight for the sole purpose of relieving some of his present frustrations would have resulted in such an exquisite opportunity.

She straightened her shoulders. “What do you mean to do with me, sir?”

He stepped close to her and caught her chin with the tips of his fingers. “I have not yet decided.”

The scent of lavender rose in the air. How intriguing. A perfumed thief in boots and breeches, a lady of quality by speech, a daring young miss by dress—better and better.

She batted his hand away but he would have none of that. He caught her chin again and said, “Have you forgotten so soon that I have captured you, my dear? If you do not prove, at the very least,
obliging
, then I shall have no choice but to deliver you to the constable in Portislow.”

She took hold of his hand and very firmly pressed it away from her face. “I beg you will do so at once, then my good sir.” Her eyes glittered in the moonlight

“You would prefer to hang than to permit me to simply look at you?”

He leaned close to her and moonlight struck his eye. He heard her gasp and he smiled quite fully. He had, for many years, understood his charms and he meant to employ them to advantage now.

Rufus, apparently growing bored, cocked his ears and scarcely a breath later took off suddenly to the left, his nose strafing the rich orchard ground.

“I know who you are,” she said suddenly. “Why, you must be Kelthorne. Of all the odious luck.” Even in the darkness of the night he could see the disgust on her face.

“I am,” he returned, amused that she would express such disapprobation. “Though I cannot see how such a circumstance would offend a lady of your stamp.” He suddenly wondered just what she was doing traipsing about the countryside in boy’s clothing and stealing apples from his orchard. She did not look deprived and in need of sustenance. Here was a mystery that intrigued him even more.