Any Wicked Thing Page 19

  Chapter 25

  I will end it today.

  —FROM THE DIARY OF SEBASTIAN GODDARD, DUKE OF ROXBURY

  Frederica had spent a restless night, her sex still aching from Sebastian’s selfish retribution. She awoke to gray skies and Alice’s anxious face.

  “His Grace said to bring you your breakfast in bed, Miss Frederica.”

  Frederica sat up. “Oh, did he? How kind of him.” More than likely it was not kindness but guilt that accompanied her poached eggs this morning. She dipped a toast point in her bowl, watching the bread absorb the dark golden yolk.

  “He also told me to tell you to meet him in the library in thirty minutes. Or else. Those were his exact words, miss. He seems awful grumpy today.”

  Suddenly she lost her appetite. If he planned to beat her again out of anger, she had no intention of setting foot downstairs.

  To be fair, he had not exactly beaten her. The satin paddle had been thickly padded and his strokes somewhat tame. And then there were all those confusing kisses afterward. But he had taken her roughly without a word of apology, and left her alone to extricate herself from his knots. She’d been very tempted once she had two free hands to toss his belongings all over the room, but someone had to show some restraint over one’s temper.

  Frederica had rarely seen Sebastian truly angry, not even when they were children. He generally handled any setbacks with resignation and some wit. Even his feeling toward his father had been more often exasperation than animosity. But that night ten years ago, Sebastian had been very angry indeed.

  Yesterday she had incited him again. One would think he had a body buried in his trunk the way he’d reacted. Let him keep and protect his secrets. Whatever he did, whoever he was, was no concern of hers.

  Frederica forced herself to eat half her eggs and toast and drink her tea. She took the time to sponge-bathe and perfume her body, braid and pin up her hair. She found a dress as colorless as the day, which suited her mood perfectly. Confident that she presented a clean yet indifferent appearance, she entered the library with five minutes to spare before she discovered what “or else” entailed. Sebastian was standing at one of the narrow leaded windows, what little light there was setting a gleam to his jet hair. He radiated a restless energy she could feel from the threshold of the room.

  “Good morning, Sebastian,” she said briskly, as if nothing untoward had happened between them yesterday. Or the day before.

  “We’re going for a walk. Get the cloak from the kitchen.”

  She knew the cloak was not for protection from the weather, but to cover the heather so he could lie with her. “But—surely it’s going to rain again.”

  He raised a black brow. “Your point?”

  She could see he did not plan to make today easy. Two could play that game. “I believe Mrs. Holloway instructed Alice to wash it.”

  “Then find another. Take a blanket off your bed. I don’t care.”

  “You needn’t be so rude just because it is your day. If anyone has the right to be rude, it is I.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “You—you hit me.”

  Sebastian gave a derisive chuckle. “Believe me, if I had wanted to hurt you, you would not be standing here arguing with me. But I have some honor. I’ve never in my life hurt a woman—unless requested to.”

  Frederica’s anger bubbled up. “I don’t want to hear another word about your other women and all the horrible things you’ve done to them.”

  “I’ve just said I haven’t done anything horrible to them.”

  “You could be lying.”

  “I never lie.” His lips thinned. “Or invade someone’s privacy. Or pretend to be someone I’m not.”

  Ah. So they were still fighting his ten-year-old grievance. She had hoped they’d made some progress away from that. Not that she wanted him now the way she did then. Then she had been a hopeful, heedless child. Today her feelings were somewhat more complicated. Damn him.

  “We all wear masks, Your Grace. Some of them are just more transparent than others.”

  “And what mask am I wearing, Freddie?”

  She cocked her head to really look at him. There was something harder about him today. More ducal, but she wasn’t going to say that. “I don’t know you anymore. Something happened to you when you left.”

  “Something happens to everyone unless they’re locked away in a tower.”

  “I suppose you mean me. While you were off having your adventures, my life was more mundane; that much is true. I wasn’t contemplating tying up lovers. I never even knew—” She blushed, unable to repeat some of the things she’d done with Sebastian.

  “You know now.”

  She nodded. She did, God help her, only she didn’t expect His intervention on this subject.

  “Go, Freddie. I haven’t got all day.”

  She stayed stubbornly rooted to the spot. “But you do. All of it, according to our deal.”

  “I want to talk to you about that. But not here. Run along and get something so we can sit down outdoors.”

  “You mean lie down.”

  “That, too. As you pointed out, it is my day.”

  There was no trace of playfulness in his voice. Sebastian had reverted to the man who had come to Goddard Castle a few days ago, distant and chilly. His demeanor would make it easier for her to untangle herself from their affair.

  She climbed back up the stairs in search of an old quilt and a proper cloak for the damp of the day. Out of spite, she tied on her battered straw hat, whose brim had not improved since Sebastian tossed it in the lady’s garden. She left off her gloves. Wearing cotton ones so often working with old papers and artifacts, she preferred to actually touch things, feel things, when she had a chance.

  She wondered if Sebastian would take her hand in his as they crossed the moors. His hands were long and elegant, yet not so smooth they were dainty. He must have done rough work in his time abroad, and seemed prepared to work at Roxbury Park in order to set the estate to rights. This bargain of theirs was holding him up. Perhaps he could be persuaded to simply sell her the castle and leave to get on with his life. Surely he must be tired of her by now.

  He was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase. “It won’t work.”

  “What?”

  “The hat. The dress. I’ll have you anyway, as is my right.”

  “Why do you even want to?” she blurted. “It’s obvious you’re still angry.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’ve lost my mind.”

  “There is no ‘perhaps’ about it,” Frederica said, loud enough for him to hear.

  The effect of her words was not what she expected. Sebastian laughed, the echo in the great hall amplifying the low rumble. “It must bore you to be so consistently right, Freddie. I have not been myself ever since I came to this accursed place. Well, it won’t be too much longer and I’ll be off.”

  “I shall look forward to that day.”

  “I as well.” He extended an elbow. “Shall we?”

  He struggled a bit with the heavy door, and then they were outside in the grassy courtyard. A gust of wind nearly took Frederica’s hat.

  “Are you sure—?”

  “Yes. All your damn servants keep giving me the evil eye. Even the child. What’s her name?”

  “Alice.” They crossed the lawn to the ruined gatehouse and went through the arch. When they came out, Frederica was certain she’d felt a drop of rain on the back of her neck, but said nothing. A bit of spring rain wouldn’t hurt her—she wasn’t some silly gothic heroine who’d dance with death just because the hero lured her out in a storm. Sebastian led her from the road over a tussock of grass. “Where are we going?”

  “I rode out this way yesterday. After I discovered you going through my things like a ragpicker.”

  She was not going to apologize again. “Is it safe? I generally stick to the cart tracks.”

  “Safe enough. I promise
to try to save you if you get sucked into a bog.”

  “How comforting.” Patches of wild daffodils, their bright yellow petals shriveled to translucent beige parchment, sprung up through the rough blades of the field. There was nothing of interest to see but a few stunted trees and a vast assortment of rocks. The mountains were misted over with gray clouds, the sun a pale disk overhead. The bleakness of the landscape was not lost on her, and for the thousandth time she wondered why she was trading the lush, rolling green downs of Dorset for this.

  Frederica could have managed for two years at Roxbury Park under Sebastian’s guardianship. When Sebastian had arrived at Goddard Castle, he certainly had harbored no desire for her. If she hadn’t proposed this mistress business, she doubted he would have thought of it on his own and would have left her at peace in her childhood room. It was her own fault that she had stirred things up between them.

  She hadn’t been to Roxbury Park once in more than a decade, although Uncle Phillip had made a very limited number of trips south. But his heart was here in his adopted home. As hers must be. It was pointless to imagine life as it might have been.

  She was out of breath trying to match Sebastian’s long strides. “How much farther?”

  He stopped, glancing back at the castle. “Hard to tell.”

  “Do you actually have a spot in mind, or are we on a forced march to nowhere, General Wellington?”

  “Do you think this little walk compares with what our brave troops went through?”

  Her worn half boot slid on the damp grass. “Of course not,” she snapped. “But look at the sky. It doesn’t take a genius to know we’re in for another deluge.”

  “You won’t melt in the rain. You’d have to be made of sugar.”

  She was not feeling very sweet at the moment. What did it matter where he decided to fuck her? Here was as good a spot as any. She threw the quilt on the ground.

  “No. Pick it up.”

  “Come on, Sebastian! Whatever you’re going to do to me, you can do here as well as one hundred yards ahead.”

  “No.” He bent himself to retrieve the blanket and rolled it up under his arm. She watched him walk faster still, his broad shoulders filling out his hacking jacket. He was once again dressed in country attire, but today wore a neckcloth. She was afraid she knew what that meant.

  She could not keep up the killing pace. If he wanted her, he’d have to settle for whenever she arrived at their unknown destination. So she trailed after him. Never once did he look behind him to see if she was following.

  Sebastian disappeared down a hill. Frederica wondered that his horse had managed the uneven terrain without a stumble. But at least the ground seemed dry, no blanket bog in sight. As she crested the rise, she saw a thin glittering stream twisting below. The slightest of waterfalls splashed musically between the howls of the wind. Had this been a nice day, the sight could almost be called romantic.

  Sebastian had spread the blanket near the jumble of rock and lay on his back, his jacket a makeshift pillow under his head. The sky he stared at was leaden and forbidding. Frederica took careful steps down the bank, too nervous to appreciate the unfamiliar scenery. She hovered over him, casting no shadow.

  “There you are.”

  “My legs are not as long as yours.”

  “No, they’re not. But they have their uses.”

  Frederica stifled the urge to kick him with one of her useful legs. Instead, she sat on the quilt, tucking them beneath her. “This is pretty. I’ve never walked this way before.”

  “I’m not surprised. It’s off the beaten path. It would make a nice bathing spot, if one were so inclined.”

  Frederica could see herself sitting on the rocks at the center of the stream, the cold water sluicing over her bottom as it fell to the river-bed. There would be no danger—she thought her legs would touch bottom. But today was too cloudy and cool. She’d get wet for sure, but only when the heavens opened, as they were sure to.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  She startled. She was about to say the very same thing. Coming from him, the words seemed even more cutting.

  “Very well. How do you want me today? Naked? Clothed? Face-down? On top?”

  Something passed across his face, but was too fleeting for her to analyze it.

  “Naked and on top will do very nicely.” He tore off what remained of his clothing, as if a fiend were after him. Her fastenings gave her more trouble, but he was there to help her in the end.

  He was erect already, without a kiss, without a touch. Men were such odd creatures. But she was wet, too—had been almost from the moment she saw him this morning. He gripped her hips and centered her over his cock, inching her down slowly. Frederica felt exposed, his eyes everywhere, taking in each roll of skin, each blemish. Sebastian thrust up, and they developed a rhythm that suited them both. She felt a little wild, her hair blowing across her face in the wind, her full breasts bouncing with every move as she straddled his body. Confident that she knew what to do, his hands left her hips and caressed her breasts and belly, sending darts of desire through her body, increasing her tempo.

  The first needle of rain fell as she shuddered to orgasm, but Sebastian was not finished. He held her fast as the rain pounded them, oblivious. Her pleasure was quickly eclipsed by the violence of the storm, but it brought him ever closer to his crisis. The rumble of distant thunder caused her to jump, and that was all he needed to tear her off him and spurt his seed into his hand.

  He wiped his hand with his cravat. Frederica realized she’d been unbound the entire time and was able to see Sebastian’s face as he moved beneath her, his dark brows a slash of concentration, his moss-colored eyes meeting hers. She hadn’t looked away, touching his flat copper nipples and crisp dark chest hair as he stroked her breasts. There had been no kisses, but connection nonetheless.

  He said nothing as she struggled into her wet clothes and dashed up the hill toward home. Let him stay outside like a madman. Let him get struck by lightning. Fried to a crisp. She’d be rid of him then forever, never see his painfully beautiful face again.

  He let her go. He couldn’t move anyhow. Couldn’t find the voice to speak. Sebastian lay like a dead man as the rain skittered across his skin. He should rouse himself and see that she got home safely, but his legs felt like lead weights.

  This was to be their last time. But somehow he’d omitted to mention that their bargain was at an end. That she was free of him, and he of her. That the castle in all its dilapidated glory was hers—and his heart was not.

  But the storm had prevented this exchange, had given him a reprieve of a sort. For he was not quite ready to give her up. He’d miss the warm weight of her breasts in his hands, her slick seduction of his cock, her lush mouth open with release. He’d watched her every minute this morning, thinking to have a memory to file away, but he could not end it. Not yet. In a day or two or three.

  And then he’d ride away without a backward glance. He was almost sure he could.

  Chapter 26

  No host can be hospitable enough to prevent a friend who has descended on him from becoming tiresome after three days. Plautus, I believe, but my classical education is sadly deficient.

  —FROM THE DIARY OF SEBASTIAN GODDARD, DUKE OF ROXBURY

  Warren practically pounced upon him when he came through the door. Unfortunately, he was not bearing towels or a fresh set of clothing.

  “You have a visitor, Your Grace. I took the liberty of putting him in the library, and am readying the ivory chamber for him. I wish you’d mentioned his arrival,” he complained.

  Sebastian was getting accustomed to feeling chastened by his butler. His idle fantasies as he walked home concerning Freddie’s heavenly arse crashed to earth. “Devil take it! I wasn’t expecting anyone, so you can’t blame me. Who is it?” Please God, not one of his numerous creditors who’d finally ferreted out his hiding place.

  “A Mr. Cameron Ryder, Your Grace. He says he was invited for a
fortnight.”

  Sebastian felt an odd thud in the vicinity of his heart. “Shit. I wrote him not to come. It must not have reached him. Damn it.”

  “I shall set another place for dinner. At nine.” It was obvious the butler still disapproved of the late hour for dining, not to mention his language. Sebastian imagined he was wreaking havoc with the kitchen schedule, but it was at his pleasure to set. Everything at Goddard Castle was at his pleasure. He had suffered enough at the hands of others to ever give up what he wanted now. He was the bloody Duke of Roxbury, for Christ’s sweet sake.

  Cam could stay one night, and then Sebastian would send him packing. Freddie would have a fit to think he was trying to sell the castle out from under her, and Sebastian needed no friend to distract him from her. Or have his friend distract her. Cam could be quite the distraction. Cameron Ryder was tall, darkly blond and very handsome, with eyes as blue as the Aegean Sea. Even if the man had more or less saved his life, he was not at all welcome at Goddard Castle at the moment.

  Their friendship had been forged under trying circumstances, made even stranger to discover they shared an odd connection. Cam was the natural son of the late, unlamented Earl of Archibald. Sebastian had once promised to show him Goddard née Archibald Castle if they ever escaped the filthy hovel of their jail cell. When Sebastian discovered he could dispose of the property—had to dispose of the property—Cameron was the first person he contacted, even if it meant stirring up the past. Lord Sanderson was merely a backup—the man had more money than he knew what to do with, and collected castles as one might collect snuff boxes. But for Cam, the castle was a key to his birthright, and his enthusiasm for it, sight unseen, had given Sebastian hope for the way out of debt.

  And now he was here, uninvited.

  Well, not precisely true. But Sebastian had uninvited him, if only Cam had stayed at home to receive the letter.

  Sebastian looked down at the state of his attire. But Cam had seen him worse, naked and starved in his Egyptian prison.