Any Wicked Thing Page 11

  “I’m giving myself a tour of the castle, as no one was available to show me around. You keep everyone busy as bees here, Freddie. Orienting myself, as it were. See?” He held up a little leather diary. “I’m making a map, taking notes. Trying to discern what rooms need my attention. Anticipating your every need.”

  His voice was smooth as caramel. He was not talking about cleaning, the wretch.

  “As you can see, I’m bathing, Your Grace. It does not suit me at all to have company as I do so. I expressly forbade you to seek me out earlier. Did you forget?”

  “I was hardly expecting to discover this charming little room, or you in it in so charming a fashion.” He gazed around, taking stock of the neatly stacked cakes of soap, the oils and unguents on the shelves. A mixture of floral and herbal scents hung in the steamy air. His citrus cream would be right at home with the remedies Frederica had concocted for the household with Mrs. Holloway and Alice. “You’re a kind of apothecary, aren’t you? Scholarship, athleticism and now science. What a wonder you are, Freddie. It doesn’t surprise me that a schemer like you can conquer any task you put your mind to.”

  “Sebastian, I am naked,” she ground out.

  He smiled wolfishly at her. “Yes, I do see that, and I thank heaven for it. Makes me wonder what I’ve done to deserve such a treat.” He may not like her, but Frederica could tell he had no complaints about her body from the leer on his face. But again she remembered the horrible Mrs. Carroll’s words. Sebastian fucked anything.

  “I’m certain heaven is not involved in any way. Really, Mrs. Holloway will keel over if she finds you in here.”

  “If she does, I imagine a Renaissance woman like you can cook as well.”

  “There you would be wrong,” Frederica lied. She was not about to let Sebastian order her around the kitchen at three in the morning. She was relatively competent at the stove, but the temptation to poison the duke might overtake her. “Really, you must leave. I still have a dozen hours free of you.”

  “Only ten, my dear. It’s after two and midnight cannot come soon enough. I suppose I’ll have to find something else with which to amuse myself in the meantime.” He rose, never taking his dark green gaze from her body. “I promise to be careful as I continue to explore the castle. I’m not sure adequate precautions have been taken to secure the unsafe areas.”

  Frederica imagined his inert body trapped beneath a fallen pillar. It did not please her as much as she might like. “We’re all rather used to the vagaries of Goddard Castle. Of course, any improvements you choose to make will be appreciated once the castle is mine.”

  “I’m off, then. May I help you get dry before I leave?”

  “No, you may not!”

  He left as quietly as he entered. The water was cold by now, but she waited in it until she was sure Sebastian was far from catching her rise out of the tub. How foolish—he’d seen more of her body than she’d ever seen herself. He’d shaved her, for heaven’s sake, and put his tongue where no one ought without being struck by lightning. What could he possibly do to her next? She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  Chapter 15

  The only way to shut her up is to kiss her. Not unpleasant.

  —FROM THE DIARY OF SEBASTIAN GODDARD, DUKE OF ROXBURY

  Somewhere below, a modern clock struck midnight. Sebastian had been dozing fitfully in a chair, waiting for the official start of his day. He’d dined alone again, which was becoming a dead bore. Warren resembled a rabid hedgehog as he served him in the echoing banquet hall, the butler’s bristly disapproval palpable. Frederica had champions in all the male—and female—staff, not that they were large in number. But after inspecting the castle and its grounds today, he had even greater misgivings. Even though he didn’t like her, the thought of leaving her here to molder into spinsterhood was dismaying, not to mention dangerous. He’d spoken with all five of the male servants this afternoon to bar entry to most of the interior, which meant in some instances one actually had to step outside into the elements before one could pass into another section of the castle. Sebastian had half a mind to tie Freddie up and kidnap her as far away from Goddard Castle as possible. Kidnapping was prosecutable, but the tying up was certainly within his realm.

  After lighting a branch of candles and tossing another log on the fire, he straightened the fresh sheets on the bed. The restraints were at the ready, because after caving in so easily today, Freddie might feel the need to prove she was not cooperative. Her independent streak was long and wide, and Sebastian had no wish to find himself scored by fingernails or beaten to a bloody pulp. Freddie seemed capable of just about anything. Her competence was frightening.

  Wearing a silk banyan this time, he trod carefully on the worn stairs to her room below. She was sitting at a little desk, her spectacles slipping down her nose as she read a thick tome by candlelight. Her beautiful hair was in pigtails, and her voluminous white night rail had not transformed into a saucy negligee. Despite her every effort—and his, too, he thought ruefully—she still had appeal to his jaded palate, and he said so.

  She snapped the book shut, and a cloud of dust erupted. “Rubbish.”

  “Seriously, Freddie. You could turn up at the Hellfire Club just as you are and they’d be mad for you.” He began to unravel a braid as she sat stiff in her chair. His fingers worked through the silk, and he thought he saw a lessening of tension in her shoulders.

  “I suppose you would know.”

  “I would, rather. I’ve made it my business to know such things.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why have you done all the things you’ve done?”

  Sebastian shrugged. It was not an issue he’d spent much debate on, especially since Egypt. What man of his acquaintance did not envy him and the life he led?

  “Why not? Life is short, Freddie, and pleasure a fleeting thing. I’m not one to wear a hair shirt and deny myself anything. What’s the point? We all have our little indulgences to get us through life. You have your books, don’t you?” He gently removed her spectacles and folded them on top of her book.

  “You can hardly equate my interest in history with your unnatural desires.”

  He began on the other braid. “Ah, Freddie. Who’s to say what is natural? Man is imperfect. Surely your studies confirm that. Our fathers were living proof. We’ve all got the seven deadly sins to deal with.” His fingers slipped into her silk. “Tell me, which is your favorite?”

  She sputtered. “My favorite? What do you mean?”

  “Superbia, avarita, luxuria, invidia, gula, ira, acedia,” he replied, stroking her unbound hair.

  “You know Latin.”

  “I keep telling you, Freddie, I am not as stupid as you think.” He stepped back to judge the cascade of hair down her back. “I’ll just go fetch your hairbrush.”

  He was back from the dressing table in seconds. “Now, then, since you will not dine with me, I have no opinion on your gluttony. Gula. However, seeing you deliciously naked, I think you may have the slightest sweet tooth. Am I right?”

  She wrestled the hairbrush from his hand. “Are you saying I’m fat, you odious man?”

  “No, no, just delightfully rounded. Just as you should be. Rather perfect.You are showing your wrath right now, but I don’t believe that’s your worst sin. And we know it’s not sloth—you run this place like a little general. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a toss-up between superbia and luxuria.”

  Oh, her ira was on full display now. She threw the hairbrush against the stone wall. “You think me prideful and lustful? How dare you? I’ll admit to the pride—I’ve plenty to be proud about—but as to the lust, I have never in my life—” She broke off, as if realizing her lie.

  Oh, yes, she had been lusty. Ten years ago when she tricked him into taking her virginity. Last night, when she writhed and moaned and came around his cock with abandon. This morning, when she was too overcome to protest tupping a chimney sweep. This afternoon,
when her nipples were diamond-hard in her bath, her hand beneath the water betraying her.

  “Don’t be ashamed of desire, Freddie. You’re not dead yet. In fact, you’re very much alive, with a thirst for the carnal knowledge you can’t find in all your books that I’m more than happy to teach you.”

  “Ugh. It is you who is prideful, as though you’re the only man in Yorkshire with a cock!”

  He chuckled. “I should hope I’m the only man present who interests you. It wouldn’t say much for your taste if you would prefer the grooms or the coachman or young Kenny. And you’d kill old Warren with just one of your kisses.”

  “You are ridiculous,” she said crossly.

  Her face was flushed, her chest heaving from their argument. Her blood was coursing as hot as his, and it would take all his effort not to fuck her right here, right now. But the stage was set in his room, and there they would play.

  He held out a hand. “Come. We’re wasting my day talking about sin when we can be doing it.”

  She ignored his outstretched arm and rose from the chair. “What if I’ve changed my mind about the castle, Sebastian? I’m beginning to think this is all too much trouble.”

  “Too late, my lady. You’ve put it in writing.”

  Chapter 16

  I simply can’t write about it.

  —FROM THE DIARY OF FREDERICA WELLS

  She felt his eyes on her as she climbed the stairs to her doom. She’d been in his power not much more than twenty-four hours, although technically the day had belonged to her. She had botched that badly, thinking she could keep him at arm’s length or sword point. She’d made an insincere effort to repel him this morning and could still feel traces of his kisses and cock no matter how hard she tried to scrub them away in the bath.

  He was too handsome. But depraved. She should not like him so well—it went against all her better sense. He was a libertine with a wicked, teasing tongue who took nothing in life seriously. He would always answer “Why?” with “Why not?” Nothing seemed forbidden, and he seemed to have no shame or conscience. Not once did he question her proposal, or remind her that she would be forever ruined over real estate. He had accepted the offer of her body as his due, and had treated her as the most wicked harlot imaginable last night. The shocking kisses to her core, the restraints, the opulent cream, the curious toy—all of it designed to subjugate her into his honeyed trap. She’d been defenseless. Witless. Wanton.

  She paused on the last step to the tower room and turned to him. With one hearty shove, he could fall and crack his empty skull. “Don’t you ever get tired of your form of amusement, Sebastian?”

  “You’ve read too many temperance tracts, Freddie, and listened to too many zealots who espouse abstinence because they cannot get it up. Why should anyone get tired of pleasure in all its variety? I don’t believe we were put on this earth to suffer if we can help it. Don’t lie to me and tell me you found my cock in your cunt distasteful. Given time, you’ll want it everywhere. Your mouth. Your arse.” He reached to cup her bottom, his eyes glittering.

  She slumped against the wall. Why did she waste her breath? His evil habits were ingrained, and were unlikely to change unless he got the pox and his nose fell off. He was not meant to be steady and dependable, or a husband and a father.

  Which was just as well, as she had no need of him or any other man.

  This affair was just a means to an end, to secure her future. She would do what he asked, because it meant nothing to either of them. Perhaps he was right. The pleasures of the flesh were basic. Animals did not pause in their rutting to question sin or proper positions. She’d heard the old ribald joke: “Why does the dog lick its balls? Because it can.” Sex was nothing more than animal instinct, no matter how intellectual she fancied herself to be or how many books she read or wrote. There was probably no better man in all of England than Sebastian Goddard, Duke of Roxbury, to awaken her baser nature. Once he was gone, she would get back to normal and pray for forgiveness of her sins. Apparently, there were a great many of them ahead.

  His room was warm, the only light cast from a tarnished candelabra and the firelight. Dim was good, the better to hide the evidence of her sweet tooth and lack of exercise. She’d had no one to fence with for months. The late duke’s scholarly friends had stopped turning up once it was clear Frederica would not part with any valuable resources, and in any event, most of the friends were old and somewhat infirm, hardly a worthy challenge to her hard-won skills.

  The duke had lived to a great age himself. He had married late in life, finally giving in for the need of an heir. And when he had, her father married, too. Their experiments with the opposite sex did not last long, and when Freddie’s mother died in childbed, it was only natural for Joseph Wells to reunite with his longtime friend. Freddie remembered Sebastian’s mother as a kindly, ladylike woman who loved to create beautiful interiors at Roxbury Park, filled with flowers and fluffy pillows. She would have been miserable in Goddard Castle, and horrified to know her little ward had grown up to fence with gentlemen.

  It had been exhilarating this morning sparring with Sebastian, and tomorrow she would order him to the long gallery again. But tonight—the bed was turned down, the ropes coiled and ready. Her heart hitched and her hand trembled at the ribbon on her yoke.

  “Let me.” He stood over her, so close she could smell the mint and wine on his breath. His lean face was all shadow and edge, his eyes dark with evident desire. So she must not be so terribly fat after all.

  Although, she reminded herself once again, he fucked everything.

  He pulled the ribbon loose, slipping his hand inside the linen to cup a breast, still staring at her to gauge her response. When she didn’t flinch, he pebbled her nipple between his fingertips, rolling it to a jewel-like peak. She felt the heat of his touch skitter down her belly to her bare mons. Yet he went no further than to massage her breast, gliding and flicking until she wanted so much more. As if he intuited her unspoken need, he bent to her fabric-covered nipple and suckled, his tongue swirling over the thin cloth until the friction was unbearable. She wished he’d rip her nightgown from her and tie her to the bed, giving her no choice but to allow him everything.

  Anything.

  Any wicked thing.

  He caught her as she swayed, his mouth never leaving her body, tugging on her breast so she felt the pull to her womb. She held tight to him, unable to tell him to stop. Unwilling to lie, ashamed of her quick capitulation. He eased her onto the bed, his hands busy relieving her of the nightgown and smoothing down her skin. She closed her eyes to his triumphant expression, lay perfectly still as he wrapped her wrists and ankles in his ropes. Despite the fire, gooseflesh crept down her neck as she waited for what was to come.

  “Ah, Frederica. You are exquisite.” His voice was rough, coming from a distance away from the bed. It pleased her that he’d not called her by that silly childhood nickname. “Open your eyes.”

  She complied, only to see him still in his dark robe, a slender tasseled crop in his hand. Her tongue froze in shock, and then she cried out.

  “Oh, God, no, Sebastian!”

  “I will not harm you. Do you trust me?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll change your mind.” He laid the whip across her lips, then trailed the tassels down her throat. The soft leather tickled more than anything. She watched as he brushed her nipples, circling the tips gently. The sensation was rather like tiny warm fingers playing across her skin. Sebastian’s face was a study in concentration, as though he were memorizing each freckle and indentation. He inserted an end of the whip into her navel and held it still for a few seconds, pressing just hard enough for her to gasp, then continued to sweep down her body. Parting her labia, he stroked her clitoris, the fronds of leather a mere whisper against her swollen flesh.

  “Sebastian!”

  He lifted a wicked black eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “You—I—”

  He stopped the dreadful teasin
g. “Does it hurt?”

  “No. It’s—it’s not enough.” She would kill him tomorrow if he laughed at her tonight.

  “What do you want, Frederica?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He slipped the length of the crop vertically within her folds. The tasseled tip rested over her belly. “Do you like this? Or would you prefer this?” His hand replaced the crop, plucking her bud between his fingers. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. “Or do you want my mouth there again, Frederica? Tell me.”

  She wouldn’t beg. “I don’t care.”

  “Little liar. I’ll tell you what.” He pulled the banyan over his head. Beneath it he was naked and marble-hard. Frederica felt an embarrassing gush of liquid between her open legs. “I’ll kiss your cunt, Frederica. You tasted so sweet last night, I thought about you all day. But you’ll taste me, too. I’m going to come in your mouth, and you’ll come in mine.”

  “What?” His words made her dizzy. He was untying her wrists, and this time whatever knots he’d set didn’t require cutting the bonds. He pulled her up to a sitting position, her legs still splayed wantonly.

  “I’m going to be greedy now. Avarita. Me first. Another day we’ll come in concert.”

  On his knees now, he straddled her body, his cock jutting toward her breasts. “Cup my stones.”

  She reached out gingerly. She saw the vein in his cock pulse as she touched him, its tip pearled with fluid. He fisted her hair and drew her closer.

  “Bend to me and take me in your mouth.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Anything, Frederica. You promised. In writing.”

  She looked up at him, helpless. “I—I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’re a smart girl. Just don’t bite me, or I will use the whip on you.”