Any Wicked Thing Page 18

  No, Sebastian was sure it had not improved with age. But at least there was no talk of ghosts from these two. “What about you, miss ... madam?”

  “Don’t you be letting him turn your head, Cathy. She’s not interested.”

  Cathy gave him a shy smile and a shrug. “My man’s in the mines at Rotherham. He sends us enough to get by.”

  “Do you suppose—”

  “No, Duke. Not a one of us would leave our comfortable houses to come work for you. Cathy’s the only one in the village young enough to be of any use anyhow, and she has her boys to look after.”

  Sebastian knew when to give up. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs.—”

  “Mariah Godfrey. My daughter, Mrs. Rae.”

  “You have handsome boys, Mrs. Rae,” Sebastian lied. Tom chose that moment to extract a booger from his left nostril.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Cathy said, blushing fiercely.

  “Will we see you in church a week from Sunday? Mr. Clement is due.”

  Sebastian looked over his shoulder at the unwelcoming stone structure. “I take it Miss Frederica attends service?”

  Both women nodded.

  “Then I shall make every effort to accompany her.” And hope God did not smite him as he crossed over the threshold.

  “You tell Miss Frederica old Mr. Capstow loved her bramble jelly. The man’s got a sweet tooth.”

  One of the boys snickered. “He ain’t got a tooth in his head, Gran.”

  “Figure of speech, lad,” Sebastian said, rewarded by another stare. “There’s no school about, is there?”

  “For two children? Nay. I teach them at home,” Cathy Rae said, shy. “Miss Frederica has given me books from the castle. At Christmas she sent for primers all the way from London. My boys can read, Your Grace. They’ll make something of themselves, but I suppose they’ll have to leave here to do it.”

  Looking at the filthy little hellions, that was rather hard to believe at the moment, but Sebastian knew pretty much anything was possible. “How many folks still reside here?”

  “Just the nine of us. Mr. Capstow—he’s your man of all work, young Kenny’s da. His wife was a cook up at the castle, God rest her soul, and he the carpenter until he got crippled falling from the roof. Lucky he didn’t end up like Archibald, eh? Then there’s Fred and Molly Gardiner, but they’re away in the south at the moment at their daughter’s, and Mrs. Pearl. Cathy’s husband is home when he can be.”

  “And I gather most of you were once in employ at Goddard Castle?”

  “Aye, for the wicked earl or your da, poor man. Had his head in those books, didn’t he?”

  “Aye,” replied Sebastian, mimicking her accent. “I was just visiting him.”

  “Too late, aren’t you? But better late than never. Miss Frederica comes down regular-like to tend to those two graves. She’s a good one, she is.”

  Too good for the likes of him. “See you Sunday next, Mrs. Godfrey, Mrs. Rae. Boys.” Their grandmother gave them a stern look and they reluctantly bobbed their shaggy heads.

  Sebastian turned his mount toward home. No, Goddard Castle was definitely not home, this dismal little village not his responsibility or priority. There were ten times the number of people who depended upon him in Dorset to drag Roxbury Park into the nineteenth century. He needed new mechanical equipment for his fields, new seed to plant, cottages to repair and roofs to thatch. The sooner he got away from here, the better.

  Why should he keep Freddie to her promise? It was cruel to continue to corrupt her, keep her away from her work, make her a disciple to his deviltry. Last night should be enough for him.

  But, he thought ruefully, it was not, nor likely to be.

  Chapter 24

  A first. I am a little ashamed of myself. But she deserved it.

  —FROM THE DIARY OF SEBASTIAN GODDARD, DUKE OF ROXBURY

  After an hour, Frederica wiped the nib and laid her pen carefully in its tray. She stood, brushing the wrinkles from her skirts. She was bored—bored by her own words, blocked from her usual facile attention to detail. She’d had to look up the same facts twice and still had trouble integrating them into her paragraph. Sebastian had made it impossible for her to write, even if he was not hovering over her shoulder, whispering sin into her welcoming ear.

  What else could be in his trunk? She had opened it once to hide the evidence of their first lustful night, but did not have the time to peruse it at her leisure. But Sebastian was gone now, so there was plenty of opportunity for her to satisfy her curiosity. She wanted a closer look at his toys, his lengths of braided silk, his books. One could tell a great deal about a person from their taste in literature. Of course, she knew most of the pertinent facts about the Duke of Roxbury—he was an unrepentant satyr who had somehow managed to penetrate her defenses.

  Penetrate. She chortled. The most apt word of her day. She felt completely open to Sebastian as a lover, when she knew she should snap her lips and legs shut and send him on his way. What would he do if she refused him? Their bargain was not truly binding—she had been deliberately vague when she wrote out the sales agreement for the castle. No, the only binding things were to be found in Sebastian’s trunk, and she was anxious to see what else he might have in store for her.

  She slipped upstairs to his room, finding it relatively tidy. Sebastian had opened the windows to the sunshine, so the air that greeted her was fresh. While he may not be keeping his sheets as well tucked as she had shown him, there was little dust to be seen and his clothing was not littering the floor. His battered travel trunk sat at the foot of the bed, its brass hinges dull. He’d had this same case as a boy when he went away to school, but Frederica was not expecting to find Latin and Greek texts within.

  It was not locked. The items inside were also tidy. His collection of short whips was tied with a black lace ribbon. Upon further inspection, Frederica saw it was a woman’s garter. What kind of woman permitted herself to be whipped? Beaten? Sebastian had used one of them to tease her body, but had not struck her. She would never permit such a thing, even if it was his day.

  Unscrewing an enamel jar, she inhaled the refreshing citrus cream that was Sebastian’s secret ingredient for awakening her body. If she knew what was in it, she could duplicate the aroma and make it herself. Then she’d have something to remember him by when he left. If she could bear to.

  Frederica opened a polished wooden box to find an assortment of marble and ivory toys, their design making perfectly plain what they were meant to resemble. She had never seen another man’s organ except Sebastian’s, but judging from the contents of this box, they came in all shapes and sizes. None of them looked as large—or as luscious—as his.

  She shook her head. She was well and truly ruined. How many days had it taken? A handful. She rooted around beneath his stockings and small clothes and felt tooled leather beneath her fingertips. The book she withdrew wasn’t thick, some sort of diary, three-quarters full as she riffled through it. The dates written in Sebastian’s sprawling hand started many months ago, probably dating to his time in Egypt. He’d told her very little, but if she wanted to know him better, she imagined this volume would make fascinating reading. She reluctantly returned it to the bottom of the trunk, loath to invade his privacy any more than she was already. Besides, his handwriting was impenetrable. There she was, with another “penetrating” word. She really needed to consult a thesaurus.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” A hand came from behind her and slammed the lid shut, just missing her fingers.

  Oh dear. Caught very much in the act. “I—I—I was looking for something to read.”

  “With all that shit you have in the library? Tell me another! You were spying on me.”

  His voice was arctic, icicles dripping with every breath. She turned to look up at him, very much at a disadvantage on her knees. The delicacy of her position was not lost on her. “Yes. I was wondering what else you had in that trunk to torture me with.”

 
“I would have gladly shown you, Freddie, had you but asked.” He threw open the trunk again and rummaged around, fishing out a small jewel case. He popped it open. “See these?” Nestled in the blue velvet lining were two peculiar silver pins. “They’re for your nipples, Freddie, to pinch them so that when I whip your breasts, the pain will be exquisite.”

  Frederica felt dizzy with disgust. “You—you wouldn’t.”

  “I have, and I would. I admit I hadn’t planned to use them on you, but after this—you deserve some sort of punishment.”

  Her mouth was dry, her tongue thick. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. I was just curious.”

  “A smart girl like you must know curiosity killed the cat. Never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to.”

  “That makes no sense at all. One would never find out anything.” She struggled to her feet, Sebastian refusing to extend a hand to help her. “I admit I was wrong. But really, I wanted to know what kinds of books you read.”

  Sebastian said nothing, just pointed to his bedside table. There, stacked up neatly, were four volumes. Worse and worse.

  “I’ll just leave now.”

  “No. I said you must be punished, and I meant it.”

  She lifted her chin in false bravado. “What are you going to do? Spank me?”

  “An excellent idea. And it is your day, so I shall do as requested.”

  “That was a question, Sebastian, not an order! You will not lay a hand on me!” She felt her panic mount, but glared at him with what she hoped was a completely quelling expression.

  “All right.” He reached into the trunk again and came up with a quilted black satin paddle she had somehow missed in her exploration of his trunk. “This should fulfill your terms.”

  “I have no terms! This is ridiculous!” His hand shot out and caught her at the elbow. “Let me go!”

  “I find I am unable to perform all of your instructions today. They are somewhat contradictory. I did my best, you know. Respected your earlier wishes. Left you in bed when I thought you were unwell, and what was my reward? I came back to find you snooping. For shame.”

  “I—I thought you’d be gone longer.” She tried to tug herself away, but he held fast.

  “Sorry to disappoint. You were right; there wasn’t much to see in the village. And I had a hankering for you, Freddie, fool that I am.” He brought her up against him. She felt the hard, angry length of his cock at her belly. “I’m going to spank you, and then I’m going to fuck you.”

  There was no point reminding him again that it was her day. She could practically taste his fury. But really, his reaction far exceeded her transgression.

  She was prevented from telling him so as he tied a length of silk around her mouth and bound her hands in front of her. Before she knew it, she was over his knee, her skirts hiked. He tore her linen drawers down and smacked her with the paddle.

  Her father never spanked her, even when she deserved it, not that she often did. She’d been an obedient child, anxious to please him and the duke he worked for. She’d shadowed them in the library, sharpened their pen nibs, organized the stacks of papers that were strewn everywhere. She’d made herself indispensible. But now she was humiliated, unappreciated. She beat her bound fists into Sebastian’s calf, but that did not slow the inexorable whump on her bottom.

  She lost count of the strokes. She supposed they could be harder. The satin was hot against her, the friction bearable. She screamed into her gag, not so much from pain as from anger.

  And then it was over. She heard him toss the paddle aside as it skittered on the rug. The blood rushed to her head, but he wouldn’t let her up. His hands were heavy on her back and at the tops of her thighs, pressing her in place onto his lap. Frederica twitched as his lips came down on her, kissing her skin so lightly it was like being tickled by butterfly wings. He blew warm breaths on her warmer cheeks. She lay still as the hand that had cupped her arse slipped between her legs. A mortifying gush of moisture met it.

  She heard the sharp intake of his breath, felt him explore her secret places with fingers so gentle she could not help but sigh herself. At least he could not hear her tacit approval of his actions, upside down and bound as she was.

  At last, he pulled her up and bent her over the edge of the bed, her arms stretched above her head, her face on the coverlet and her arse embarrassingly on display. In seconds he was buried deep inside her, doing precisely what he said he would do. This was fucking, pure and simple. No pretty words, just near-violent thrusts as he gripped her waist, rocking, rousing her to a fever pitch. As if he knew the precise moment she was about to splinter apart, he withdrew and spattered her bottom with his seed, punishing her further. It was the first time he had not seen to her need, and she groaned in frustration.

  He pulled her dress down roughly, not bothering to wipe her clean. He’d never before displayed this cruel side in all their previous games, and she hated him for it. But perhaps she ought to thank him for showing her his true colors. It would be easier to see the back of him at the end of the month.

  Frederica pushed herself off the bed and stood on wobbly legs. Her drawers were down around her ankles, and she could do nothing until he untied her. She flashed him her darkest look, but he paid no attention, taking a key from his pocket and locking the trunk with a snap. One would think she had been trying to rob him—but he had nothing she wanted, she reminded herself. Certainly she no longer had any interest in his sexual aides. A man who needed such things was beneath contempt.

  And she was worse, succumbing to his blandishments. Well, no more. Never again. She couldn’t wait to tell him so, but first he needed to remove the muzzle from her mouth. But to her horror, he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving her at a dreadful disadvantage. She couldn’t seek anyone’s help—no one could see her like this, could know what Sebastian Goddard had done to her. What she had done to herself. Her muffled shriek was useless.

  Kicking off the undergarment at her feet, she clawed at the silk wrapped around her mouth until it fell below her chin. Instead of screaming after him, she muttered a string of creative invectives that appeased her anger but would not alarm the servants. She needed to free her wrists from their braided confinement. Sebastian’s razor lay on his shaving stand, but whether she could use it without slicing herself to ribbons in the process was anyone’s guess. So she set about chewing the knot at her pounding pulse with her teeth, like some frenzied animal. That was all she was, her civility and humanity stripped from her by a madman.

  Who turned her to liquid even as he paddled her bottom. There was something wrong with her now. She’d better find a way to get herself under control, shut the lid on her Pandora’s box of chaotic feelings just as Sebastian had locked his travel trunk.

  But Frederica was afraid it was already too late.

  Had she read either of the diaries? Probably not, else she would have wasted no time telling him so. A prideful girl like Freddie wouldn’t much care to be listed amongst his other sexual affairs, although he’d been less descriptive about theirs out of some misplaced honorable impulse.

  But his Egyptian journal—

  He imagined the revulsion that would mar her beautiful face, but there had been only embarrassment at being caught going through his things. If she had known its content, she would have run screaming from his room.

  He had spanked her, as she deserved for nosing about, but perhaps he’d let his anger—his fear—get the best of him. His dominance over her had not given him the usual thrill, nor had his climax been the release he craved. He was as tense as a man awaiting the hangman.

  He should have ridden around the countryside as he’d intended. Atlas had expected it, but Sebastian had been unable to get the vision of Freddie in bed out of his mind. A lick of blackberry jam at the corner of her mouth. Her white night rail for once unbuttoned, revealing the swell of her plump, freckled breasts. Her golden brown hair escaping from its plait. He’d wanted to devour her inste
ad of her toast this morning.

  Sebastian was losing his structured control, the rigid walls he’d constructed around himself turning to gossamer. He was falling for Freddie—he’d almost forgotten it was she who betrayed him all those years ago. Of course she would want to pry into his past, search for clues to see how she could best manipulate him again. She’d gotten him back into her bed, hadn’t she, with this ridiculous castle scheme. It had not been his idea to sleep with her.

  He would put a stop to it. There was no reason he could not release the trust to her in its entirety right now. In fact, it was the only sensible thing to do so he could wash his hands of her. According to the diabolical guardianship the pater devised, he didn’t have to wait until she turned thirty or married—he was free at any time to give her the money. His money, but there was no point crying over spilled milk. He’d see enough of it back when she paid him for Goddard Castle, and he would never have to deal with her again.

  Sebastian smiled grimly. Yes, it was an excellent plan, one he would put in train as soon as he could. A few days, perhaps, just enough time to get Frederica Wells completely out of his system. To finish what they started, although really, he had little left to teach her. But tomorrow was his day, perhaps the last. He’d make use of her every single minute of it.

  He returned to the stable, confusing the two grooms and probably Atlas as well. Sebastian had hours to kill before he ate his solitary supper. His saddlebag still contained the lunch Mrs. Holloway had given him, which Sebastian suspected the grooms had looked forward to eating themselves. He would go on a blasted picnic on the blasted moors, although May was improving the landscape with greening sphagnum moss, cotton grass and bilberry plants. With any luck, he wouldn’t tumble into a peat bog and would live to fuck Freddie one last time.