Any Wicked Thing (2 page)

Sebastian wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve and gazed out. He counted two twisted trees and three oozy black patches in the brutal sweep of land beyond the fallen curtain wall from this vantage point alone. Thank heavens his father had filled in the moat, or he'd be tempted to drown himself. He did not know how he was going to survive this visit with his father without resorting to drink, drugs or murder. Fortunately, he'd come prepared.

He sighed. “Go on. I know you're salivating to tell me about the castle. You're bristling like a terrier after a rat.”

“Hello, rat,” she said, suddenly sunny again. She slid to the floor opposite, propping the blade up against the stone wall, and crossed her ankles. No, she was not a young lady yet.

“I'll skip ahead through the centuries, although the Archibalds played a large role in the Pilgrimage of Grace in 1536.”

Sebastian looked at her blankly. He was no pilgrim.

“You know, the uprising over Henry the Eighth dissolving the monasteries. No? No matter. Anyway, the Archibalds have always been a prominent Catholic family in this part of the world. Some say that's why the last Earl of Archibald sided with the French, but I think he was just in it for the money. He ran the largest spy ring in Britain!”

Sebastian perked up. Money was always of interest to him. There was never enough of it, especially when his father kept spending his on ruined castles.

“What did he do with his blood money? He obviously didn't use it to repair this place.”

“No one knows. But for years, all sorts of traitors walked these halls making their evil plans,” Freddie said with enthusiasm.

“And dodged the falling timbers,” Sebastian replied. “Bloody dangerous work, spying for the Earl of Archibald.”

Freddie laughed. “We've found no bodies. But people do say the castle is haunted.”

“Utter rubbish. What became of the treasonous earl?”

“He was stripped of his title and lands for colluding with the French, and threw himself off the roof, plummeting to his death into the slimy water surrounding the keep to avoid the hangman's noose,” she said with a dramatic flourish.

“Bloodthirsty wench.” While Sebastian had been traveling, his father had paid the Crown what Sebastian considered to be a fortune for the property and renamed it. Who had been madder—old King George, the Earl of Archibald or Phillip Goddard, seventh Duke of Roxbury? It was a near thing, one Sebastian was glad he wouldn't have to judge. He was not particularly impartial.

“So that's the recent history of Goddard Castle. And now your family has a chance to add to it.”

“I won't be here long enough. As soon as this damned house party is over, I'm leaving.” His father was in alt about refurbishing the castle, but as far as Sebastian was concerned, the place was still a death trap.

“Your father is tremendously excited, you know,” Freddie said, interrupting his brooding. “He and my father have been closeted in the library for weeks making plans. There's to be a fancy dress ball tonight. What will you wear, Sebastian?”

“Evening clothes, I expect. Dressing in disguise is for children on All Hallows' Eve.”

Freddie's brows knit. “Spoilsport. I bet you a shilling you will not recognize me.”

“I haven't a shilling to spare, brat. Travel is ruinously expensive, you know.”

Freddie scrambled up and joined him at the window. The view did not seem to trouble her, but she must be used to it after living here for a while. “Was it very wonderful?”

Sebastian noted the wistfulness in her voice. He wasn't about to tell her all the “wonderful” things he'd seen and done—her definition of wonderful would doubtless differ from his.

“It was all right. A pity I had to miss Paris and Parisian ladies, but I made do. You know I thought about enlisting so I could conquer France sooner.”

Freddie nodded. “Uncle Phillip was quite upset when he received that letter.”

“So upset he dictated
his
letter to your father to write for him. I don't believe I'd even recognize His Grace's handwriting.” Poor Wells must have had fits translating his father's rage to paper.

“An heir to a dukedom can't risk getting shot at.”

“Why ever not? It's not as though the Dukes of Roxbury have ever amounted to much. I daresay the Archibalds on the wall over there are more useful, except for the last one.”

“You have obligations. Responsibilities.”

Sebastian snorted. “Like my father? If he turned up in the House of Lords, not a soul would recognize him. He hasn't been to Roxbury Park in ages. The place is going to rack and ruin. I stopped there before I came north.” And discovered his father had bought himself a castle.

“Oh, dear. I didn't know.”

He and Freddie had run wild at Roxbury Park, at least until his mother died. After that, he was mostly farmed out to relatives, or spent holidays at school with masters who were paid extra to watch him. He'd had a lonely childhood, but then, so had Freddie. She had no mother at all to remember, and a father who jumped at the sound of his father's command and left her behind when he carried the duke's valises from one antiquarian auction to the next.

“So don't lecture me. You haven't the first idea of what's what in this world.”

Freddie punched his arm with a fist. “Next you will tell me I'm ‘just' a girl. You are the same insufferable, conceited ass you always were.”

“And you love me for it, brat.” Sebastian stepped backward, expecting another blow, but Freddie was still as a stone, her fists clenched, her face crimson. “Steady. You know I'm only teasing you. Come, let's put our weapons away, swords and tongues both. I believe I have housemaids to corrupt, do I not? Do you have any recommendations amongst the staff?”

This time she aimed higher, but Sebastian pivoted and protected his jaw. “Have pity, Freddie. My face is my fortune. How am I to marry an heiress if you maim me? She'll have to be filthy rich to cover all my debts and the pater's besides.”

“I feel sorry for the poor wretch already. You'll make a miserable husband.”

“I agree, and have no intention of becoming one anytime soon. Good Lord, you don't suppose the old boy's invited prospective brides here for me, do you? Perhaps I will have to wear a disguise after all. I can go as a hunchback. A leper.”

Freddie walked across the gallery to pick up her foil. “I can tell them you're disgusting, if that will help keep them at bay.”

“Capital! Mention all my vices. Make some up when you run out.”

She looked at him with scorn, then set off down the hall. “I won't need to dissemble. You've given me plenty to work with.”

“Freddie, Freddie. Such a shrew you are. And I thank you for it.”

They entered the armory, a vast space newly filled with deadly and deteriorating weaponry. Standing on tiptoe, she tried unsuccessfully to return the sword to its bracket.

“Here, brat, I'll do it. I take it you've stopped growing.”

“Only vertically. There seems to be no limit to the horizontal,” she muttered.

“You'll find some man who likes you as you are. As long as you don't talk.” And with that parting shot, he found it prudent to jog away from her and run through the warren of corridors and stairwells to his room. There was not a thing to do up here but wait for the masquerade party to commence tonight. Sebastian had met some of the guests over breakfast—not a soul was younger than fifty. A few more were arriving today, but no doubt they would be equally ancient. The duke had the clever idea of housing most of them in the dungeons. Sebastian really couldn't distinguish the dungeons' condition from the bedchambers'—everything was primitive. Sebastian's own room was as spare as a monk's cell, although he had noted his father's to be filled with all the trappings of comfort. A massive gilt bed. Tapestries hanging on the walls. Carpets. And chairs whose upholstery was not fraying. Quite a difference from the rest of the dwelling.

But Sebastian would never spend a minute in the duke's room. Once the pater popped off, this castle and all its contents would be sold to the highest bidder.

Sebastian rummaged through his traveling trunk and found what he needed to pass the day. He filled his pipe with hashish, saving the opium for later, once the festivities began. His grand tour had been, as he told Freddie, very educational. He'd picked up a few bad habits and was glad of it. A mellowing of his senses came in handy when he had to encounter his father for any length of time.

Not that he often had. The duke was much too busy with other things. He was very good at ordering Sebastian about from a distance, but, when confronted with him in person, tended to retreat into his library or abscond on a trip. He'd given Sebastian a quick tour of the castle yesterday, more to spout off knowledge than welcome his only son home after two years.

No matter. Sebastian would make his own fun. There might be a wayward wife to seduce, or Freddie to torment. The evenings ahead were likely to be a dead bore, but he could endure it for a few days.

He took a deep draft of his pipe, felt the lassitude creep into his limbs. Yes, he could endure it. Especially knowing that in two days' time, he'd never see Goddard Castle again if he could help it.

T
he castle was ablaze with candles. Sebastian wondered how much of his patrimony was tied up in tallow. People had taken his father's intentions to heart, and were arrayed in a variety of absurd costumes. The duke's authentic mail vest and spurs clinked every time he moved about the banquet hall, which had had been set up as in days of yore, its usual dining table dismantled and a dais built at one end of the room. Plain wooden benches and tables were set in rows; plain wooden trenchers served as plates; plain wooden goblets held mead and ale. His father had commissioned local carpenters to make all this useless stuff, at what cost Sebastian could only imagine and cringe.

“What do you think? Isn't it marvelous?” Freddie was at his elbow at one of the lower tables, wearing an unfortunate pink velvet dress that looked very much like a discarded curtain. With one hand, she balanced a pointed hat on her head, its veil falling over half her face. The other half was obscured by a pink silk mask, but Sebastian would know her anywhere.

“I think it's ridiculous.” He grabbed a whiskey from a passing footman. At least he was not forced to drink the medieval swill. “What's your pleasure, Freddie?”

She squinted through her veil at the tray. Impatiently, Sebastian snatched the hat from her head, so that she was now merely covered by what looked like a linen bandage wrapped around her hair and chin. The waiting footman averted his eyes in pity.

“Sebastian!”

“Freddie, you haven't moved from this spot in hours. You haven't even been able to cut your meat one-handed. The hat is a disaster. Admit it.”

“You have no idea how long it took me to make it,” she said crossly. “A woman was not permitted to wear her hair uncovered. It was considered a sin.”

“It's a sin in this day and age to adhere to such silly rules. Take the rest of that stuff off.”

Muttering, Freddie unwrapped the linen to reveal a rumpled coronet of braids.

“There! Much better. Now. Champagne or ratafia?”

Freddie rubbed her hands in nervousness. “I don't know. I've never had either.”

“What! Impossible. You really have led a sheltered life. Hm.” He tapped his chin. “Champagne is apt to go straight to your head on an empty stomach. I'd advise the ratafia.” He took two glasses and set them in front of her.

Freddie took a suspicious sniff. “Apricots.”

“Yes, fruit. Good for you. How can one abstain? Drink up. I can't believe you're still sober. I know I'm not.”

“As does everyone else. You've been quite rude tonight.”

“Oh, don't go all governessy on me, brat. Bad enough the old man is giving me the eye. What's next on the agenda now that we've eaten the wild boar?”

“It was only Farmer Easton's pig. Two of them, actually.”

“You never touched your bream and eel pasty.”

Freddie shuddered. “I have more enthusiasm for the wardrobe of the Middle Ages than the menu. The frumenty wasn't bad. You can't go wrong with honey and raisins.”

“Porridge by any other name. And impossible to eat with a knife. Just like my father to forgo the bloody forks for us peasants.” Sebastian set his elbows on the table. “I'm afraid I've had enough, Freddie. Of the food and the company. Oh, not you,” he said quickly, seeing her hurt expression. “You've been an amusing dinner companion, for all you didn't eat your dinner. But I'm for bed. Care to join me?”