Any Wicked Thing Page 15

  Disgusted with her lecherous thoughts, she rose from the bed and stripped off her wrinkled clothes. Even as she sponged off her body, Sebastian’s scent lingered despite the rain and rose soap. She would have to sit across from him twice more today, a victim to his considerable charm. She should—and did—know better, but in the space of just a few days, she had lost her mind again. Sebastian was not quite the feckless wastrel she’d always thought. His travels had been extensive, his adventures—if she could believe the tale of his imprisonment—many. He might make the most of a rainy afternoon bragging of his conquests, although she suspected he’d be doing other things with his mouth than talking.

  She fetched a clean shift, front-lacing stays and stockings from her chest, thinking ruefully it would simplify laundering if she just went down to tea in the nude. All the staff must know by now that mischief was afoot. Mrs. Holloway had been fairly sparking with curiosity. Tomorrow Frederica would place Sebastian firmly into some dim corner and carry on with her usual routine, grab some respite from his incessant sway over her morals.

  She did have some. And it was hard to do the right thing. It had taken more courage than she expected to refuse him when he proposed ten years ago. There had been fury and confusion on all sides of the tower room, but she could have said yes. She could have doomed them both to a miserable marriage to save her reputation. By now, as Sebastian’s duchess, she would have had several babies to add to the Roxbury Bible, if she hadn’t died in childbed like her mother. She might have somehow mended his relationship with his father. He would not have disappeared for a decade of sin, proving to himself that he was not like his father at all.

  But what was more moral—to force a man into marriage to preserve a fiction, or lie to spare him unhappiness? She had taken her path and had to live with it.

  At least her hush money would help him—she still thought of it thus, even though, along with Sebastian’s proposal, she had refused his father’s bribery. She didn’t need any money not to speak of that night. The look on Sebastian’s face would always haunt her. Her father’s, too. If she hadn’t sought Sebastian out, hadn’t blown out the candle, the duke and her father would have noticed Sebastian in his doze and found some other trysting spot. Her father might even still be alive. But she had accepted the duke’s offer of employment, the royalties, and his investment advice, so she could be useful to Sebastian now, for she would be poor as a church mouse. When she bought the castle from him, at least he’d not be thrown in prison again.

  She took some trouble with her hair and buttoned herself into a white batiste dress trimmed with jonquil ribbons. She had not worn it in years—trailing about the dusty, drafty castle in thin white fabric was foolish in the extreme. Wrapping herself in a handsome green paisley shawl, she was as close to being a picture of spring as she ever had been. She did not question herself why it was important to be attractive for Sebastian. She already knew the answer.

  Sebastian was standing at the casement window, staring through the raindrops, holding a glass of amber liquid. He, too, had changed his clothes. At first glance, he looked the perfect, harmless gentleman, but his slow, crooked grin reminded Frederica there was nothing innocuous about him.

  He nodded toward the massive stone fireplace. “It was chilly enough for me to start a fire for us. I say, is it ever warm in Yorkshire?”

  “It was warm enough this afternoon for you to remove your clothes outdoors.” Frederica slipped into a chair and poured herself some tea. She added extra sugar, as if that would make her feel any sweeter about her situation.

  “So it was.” He swirled his own drink, then set it on the window ledge. “It’s warm enough in here, too.”

  Frederica rolled her eyes. “Is there ever a moment when you are not thinking about sex?”

  “You say I bring out the worst in you, but you seem to bring out the best in me, Freddie. Come here.”

  “I thought you were hungry. Mrs. Holloway has made enough to feed an army.” Frederica reached for a biscuit to delay the inevitable. She had difficulty swallowing with Sebastian’s gaze lingering on her mouth. Beneath the batiste, her nipples beaded as if the room were in its usual frigid state. Dear God, she was every bit as bad as he was.

  “Now, Freddie.”

  His tone brooked no denial. For the thousandth time, she wondered if ownership of Goddard Castle was worth it. Setting the biscuit on her saucer, she wrapped her shawl tight and walked to the window. The world beyond the fallen wall was a blur of gray. She traced a rivulet of rain with a fingertip, waiting for Sebastian to touch her.

  But he didn’t. He was a good three feet away from her, relaxed and perfectly still. Her shoulders tensed in expectation, but the only movement came from the flames in the fireplace and the pinging of rain on the wavery glass.

  “Why can’t we sit down, Sebastian?”

  “We will in a moment.” His eyes swept over the length of her, as if he were committing her to memory. She squirmed a little, impatient to get back to her tea. “You look tired.”

  “I am tired, you devil! I haven’t had a moment’s rest since you’ve come here. And there is so much to do that I’m not doing. My housekeeping is falling to rack and ruin.”

  “Leave the dust be. I’ll not charge you extra for it. Think of it as an added amenity to the property.” The corner of his lip quirked.

  “Are you ever serious?”

  “Not if I can help it. I’ve been giving some thought to how we will spend the rest of my day.”

  “I suppose you’ll want me swinging from a chandelier next. I must beg off. Most of the ceilings won’t support my weight.”

  His discerning eye raked down her form, making her wonder why she’d bothered to put on a pretty dress. “You do have a point. And Warren would notice once the plaster came down. He gave me quite a lecture after you went upstairs.”

  “Good,” she replied tartly. “It’s about time someone stood up to you.”

  “I suppose what I’m saying is a warning to you. Old Warren is suspicious of me. The servants are awfully nosy, aren’t they?”

  “They care for me, Sebastian. We’re our own little family up here. Have been, even before your father died. The hardships the household faced once he was gone have brought us even closer together.”

  He took a step closer and cupped her cheek. His hand was warm, and she felt her skin flush to match it. “You are lucky, then. I’ve spent my whole life with no one to give a fig for me.”

  “Rubbish. You’re too old to keep rebelling against your father. You may not have had much in common, but he did care about what happened to you.”

  Sebastian’s hand dropped. “Sorry, Freddie. I saw no signs of that. I was sent to school at age eight, even before my mother died. Farmed out amongst distant relations almost every holiday. But you are right about dwelling in the past. So here is what I plan for the next hour.”

  With a speed that reeled her senses, he unlooped the tasseled, braided cording from the dusty curtain and bound her hands in front of her. She glared up at him. “And just how am I to drink my tea?”

  He bent so that his lips brushed hers when he spoke. “I will feed you.”

  She snorted, picturing the tea dribbling down her chin. “You are the most ridiculous man.”

  “Perhaps.” He led her back to the sofa instead of her chair, nestling her into the corner. He fetched her teacup, sat down beside her and held it to her lips, angling it perfectly. She took a nervous swallow. To her relief, nothing dripped. Sebastian turned the cup and placed his mouth where hers had been. There was something oddly appealing about that. He took a sip and made a face.

  “Too much sugar.”

  “Drink your whiskey, then,” she snapped. She had a dreadful sweet tooth. It would be her undoing.

  “An excellent idea.” He went to the window for his glass, tipping some of the golden liquid into the tea. “A vast improvement, to be sure.”

  Oh heavens. She had absolutely no head for spirits, anot
her significant undoing. He knew it, too. She had told him just today. Frederica shook her head.

  “Just a taste, Freddie. It will warm you.”

  He must have noticed the gooseflesh, not from cold but from his warm breath at her throat. She screwed up her face as though tasting medicine and took a tiny sip. He wrapped an arm around her and brought her closer to his body.

  “What would you like to eat now? A jam tart? Some seedcake?”

  “N-nothing, thank you.” She was not going to sit here like some baby bird waiting for a bit of chewed-up worm.

  He reached for a butter and cress sandwich and held it in front of her. “You planted this yourself, didn’t you? I saw fresh greens in the raised beds this afternoon.” He took a bite. “Delicious. The very taste of spring. Are you sure you don’t want any?”

  She shook her head, stubborn to the end. She sat rigid while he helped himself to the tier of sweets. He ate as he did everything else—with elegance and abandon. Before she knew it, she was licking her lips in envy.

  “Ah, I see I’m tempting you.” He picked up a frosted square of cake. “Chocolate buttercream. My favorite.” His tongue darted out and swirled the frosting. “Here. Taste this.”

  He didn’t push the cake toward her, but toward his own mouth. There at the tip of his tongue was a blob of brown. Chewed-up worms indeed.

  “I certainly shall not.”

  “Chocolate kisses, Freddie. You have not lived unless you’ve shared one.”

  His voice itself was chocolate—rich, deep, smooth. She could not help but shiver again.

  He sat back, devouring the cube of cake after it was clear to him she was not going to participate in his idea of fun. “All right. We’ll play a different sort of game.” He unwound his neckcloth. He had changed from their picnic clothes and looked nearly reputable, but now his shirt fell open to reveal the smattering of dark hair on his chest.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “My scarves aren’t handy, but the cravat will do in a pinch.” She stifled an oath as he wound the warm linen around her head. She smelled starch, cologne and Sebastian.

  He noticed her involuntary sniff. “We shall see how accurate your sense of smell is. Taste, too. I presume there’s nothing on the tea tray that you find indigestible?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t think so. Mrs. Holloway usually knows what I like.” And had gone mad fixing all her favorites, hoping to impress His Grace, the Duke of Roxbury, with her considerable culinary skill. Frederica would have to tell the woman to cut back, or they’d run out of household money before this endless month with Sebastian was over.

  He made sure the stock was tied securely, his long fingers tracing her cheekbones. “Capital! Now, relax.”

  “Easy for you to order me about. You’re not tied and blindfolded,” she grumbled.

  “I could be, if you wish for it tomorrow.” Although she couldn’t see him, she knew he was smirking. “Now, you must promise not to bite my fingers as I feed you. Agreed?”

  “I told you I’m not hungry! Honestly, you are the most—the most—the most vexing man!” Sebastian merely chuckled. Tomorrow she would find a dictionary to expand her choice of criticisms. “Vexing” didn’t begin to cover her feelings.

  “So they tell me. Here’s your first test.”

  His fingers brushed her upper lip as he held something under her nose. The sharp tang of lemon made her mouth water.

  “Lemon curd tart.”

  “Excellent. Do you want some?”

  It was her very favorite, but she would not permit him to feed her. “No, thank you.”

  She heard him chomp into it, could nearly see the shortbread crust crumbling between his lips. “A pity. It really is remarkably good. I thought you liked these.”

  He remembered. If she was not mistaken, he was licking his fingers now, savoring every bit. He was a man of excess appetites in all spheres, and she envied him his artless enjoyment.

  “At the rate you are going here, you are going to outweigh Prinny,” she said sourly.

  “If you’re concerned about my waistline, you could help me. I’m only eating all this out of duty. I wouldn’t want Mrs. Holloway to think her efforts are not appreciated.”

  “Balderdash. You just want to torment me with your lip smacking and chewing, which are absolutely revolting.”

  “Show me how a proper lady eats, then.” She felt the sofa shift as he gathered up another morsel.

  “Ugh! Fish paste. Put it down this instant!” Mrs. Holloway must be experimenting on the duke with a new recipe. And if he were to eat that, she would not enjoy his kisses at all. And Frederica presumed he would kiss her eventually, after he’d taunted her enough.

  “As it happens, I don’t care for fish paste, either. Please tell Mrs. Holloway to save such treats for the staff. Now, this one’s easy, and much more fragrant.”

  Frederica took a sniff. “Apricot jam between two almond biscuits.” She sounded wistful even to herself.

  “Mm, yes.” The sound of crunching was practically deafening. She gave a little sigh. “You smelled of apricots the first night I fucked you. Apricots and roses. You’re in luck, Freddie. There’s one more left.”

  He remembered that, too. She felt the biscuit slip between her lips. Frederica knew just what it looked like—two thin round crisps, apricot jam sandwiched between them. She’d put up the jam herself last summer. Eating the biscuit was like swallowing a burst of sunshine. His finger touched the corner of her mouth. “You have a crumb. Right there.”

  Her tongue swept out, but his beat her to it. He tasted of apricot, almond, chocolate and lemons, with a trace of whiskey for bite. He kissed her as if he were going to eat her next. She melted into the back of the sofa, all thoughts of escape pushed firmly from her mind.

  Each time he kissed her was a variation on perfection. No two kisses seemed the same; like snowflakes, they had their own permutations and eccentricities. This afternoon, he was definitely a warlord out to storm her castle. She was helpless to resist, and not just because her arms were bound and she was blinded by white linen. Every parry of his tongue required retreat and surrender, hardly a hardship when defeat ended in sensual splendor. She felt him free a breast from her bodice, his thumb flicking her nipple to a hard point. He gave a satisfied growl into her mouth, then bent to suckle.

  She knew only sound and touch now—the pop of the logs in the fireplace, the spatter of the rain on the window, the wet, sucking sounds of his mouth tugging on her breast, the blood rushing in her ears beneath the blindfold. Her legs parted under the batiste skirts, waiting for his hand to give her pleasure.

  He slowly broke away, his breathing labored. “I am getting ahead of myself. We have not finished with your sensory test.”

  Damn him and the food. There could not be much left on the tray by now except for the nasty fish paste sandwich. He held something else before her. She puzzled over it, trying to remember the small squares and circles and triangles Mrs. Holloway had so painstakingly offered up. He had eaten all the cress sandwiches and most of the sweets before he blindfolded her. She was suddenly ravenous, both for food and for Sebastian. She had a wicked vision of dabbing clotted cream on—

  “It’s a nut bread and butter sandwich.”

  “Spot-on.” He held it to her mouth and she bit into it delicately. There was a black walnut tree on the way to what passed for a village hereabouts. Once home to the castle serfs, most sensible Yorkshiremen had picked up and moved on from the cluster of buildings more than a century ago. All that remained were a few humble cottages, a vacant pub and a tiny church that was open for worship every third Sunday. An unlucky young clergyman rode the circuit once a month, was in fact due next week. Frederica would loyally troop into the village, as she had even more sins to pray over now that Sebastian was here.

  Despite her misgivings, young Kenny had climbed that walnut tree and shaken the branches last fall, and it had rained nuts for Frederica to gather and Mrs. Holloway and Alic
e to shell. Luckily, he hadn’t fallen again, for she did wonder what another accident would do to the poor man. So much of her time this past year had been spent in homely pursuits—gardening, preserving, making do with nature’s bounty when her funds dried up. She was uncertain if she could trust Sebastian to straighten out her finances. More than likely once he was paid for Goddard Castle, he’d disappear again and she’d be back to shaking trees and praying to get over his skilled, sinful touch. But she sat still now, not resisting, longing for the oblivion he guided her to.

  He touched her, his fingertip circling her wet nipple as she sat dazed against the back of the sofa, her bodice somewhere down around her waist, her hands tied, her face half-masked by his neckcloth, the nut bread forming a lump in her throat. She was completely at his mercy, the gush of liquid between her legs a shameful acknowledgment that she did not find his mastery of her objectionable in the least. He plucked the fabric of her yellow-sprigged skirt up and a shiver ran through her despite the warmth of the fire. It was probably far too late for prayer, and every third Sunday would be inadequate anyhow.

  Chapter 21

  I must not lose sight of my objective.

  —FROM THE DIARY OF SEBASTIAN GODDARD, DUKE OF ROXBURY

  He could scent her arousal over and above the applewood burning and the lingering aroma of the Mrs. Holloway’s delicacies. And while he knew she had washed upon retiring upstairs, he could still smell himself, his imprint upon her body from their afternoon. His head spun from the drenching sensual hold she had over him.

  It was he who was supposed to be in control, yet her very helplessness was driving him mad, wrapping him in knots tighter than those at her wrists. Of course, her tongue was still as sharp as ever, but she was unusually subdued, splayed open to him on the tattered sofa, her nipples raspberry-dark and hard, the smooth skin of her mons glistening with dew. She was silent as he dipped a finger in and brought it to his lips, the taste far sweeter than anything the tea tray had provided. Slipping from the sofa, he knelt before her and slanted her hips, then feasted. She shattered on the first lick, so ready was she for him.