Any Wicked Thing (39 page)

Frederica could not imagine the life of a courtesan. Keeping one man satisfied was apparently more than she was capable of. She had not a shred of moral dignity left, so eager had she been to allow Sebastian such liberties, and still he had rejected her.

Which was a blessing, was it not? Although she would have preferred to give him his congé. At least she would have control over her own money and a house to live in.

The banging had stopped and the castle was at last quiet. Frederica crawled back into her rumpled bed, still unable to find any peace. But when her hand slid down to her bare mons and she imagined Sebastian's mouth there in place of her fingers, she swirled and circled until she climaxed. It was nearly as good as the real thing—perhaps it was even better, for she wouldn't have to depend upon someone so undependable as Sebastian Goddard.

If he wasn't home by dawn, she supposed they'd have to send out a search party. No doubt he and his friend were drunk in some haystack. With that bitter thought, she rolled over and willed herself to sleep.

I
t was still black as pitch, but the shutter had resumed its diabolical drumming. Frederica gave up on sleep and wrapped herself up in her robe in the dark. She opened her own window and stuck out a hand. The rain had stopped, and not a breath of air caressed her palm. It was not the wind that was driving the noise, which meant—

She lit a candle and hurried down the stairs. Pausing at the landing, she listened, then turned right. The noise was coming from the long gallery. She stopped in the armory before venturing any farther to take her usual foil off the wall. Missing were two of its companions.

Why had no one noticed? The men must have fenced yesterday afternoon. But where were they now?

“Sebastian!” she yelled.

The thumping became more urgent. She ran through the long gallery, feeling a bit foolish with a sword in her hand. “Sebastian!”

There was more rapping and scuffling at the end of the gallery. Right behind the portrait of the late Earl of Archibald. Frederica skidded to a stop and held her candle high. Everything looked just as it should, save for a piece of gilt frame missing from the bottom. Looking down on the floor, she saw a smattering of gold dust and tiny chunks of frame. The painting had fallen, and someone had hung it back up.

The tapping was fast and furious now, and she was nearly sure she heard muffled voices. She set the sword and candle down and tried to lift the painting from the wall. She was neither tall enough nor strong enough to do so. “Are you behind this wall, Sebastian? If you are, tap three times,” she shouted.

There were three deliberate thumps, and then a whole series of excited tattoos.

“Wait here! Well, of course you're going to wait here; what am I saying? You're trapped, aren't you? I'll get young Kenny to help me. I can't get the old earl down on my own. I've always hated him. My apologies, Mr. Ryder. You're in there, too, I take it?”

Three more raps. And words, but too muted for her to make any sense of what they were.

Frederica flew to the servants' quarters, a long block on the ground level near the kitchens. She knew just where to find young Kenny—she'd nursed him through various illnesses over the years. When she knocked on his door, he opened it within seconds. She was astonished to find him dressed, a hat on his head and a small satchel on the floor.

“Where on earth are you going?”

“I've g-got to go. The earl is back.”

Warren had mentioned how upset young Kenny was last night. It was beginning to make more sense to her now.

“No, no. He's not. He's dead, Kenny. And I need your help.”

“I saw him yesterday. I shut the door, but he'll get out.”

“You were in the long gallery?”

The man nodded.

Frederica realized at once what Kenny had seen. “I think you misunderstood. There's a door behind the painting, isn't there? The duke and his friend Mr. Ryder must have found it, and they are now shut inside the wall. You have to help me get them out.”

Kenny shook his head stubbornly. “The earl came down off the wall and went to find his treasure.”

“Oh, Kenny.” Frederica placed a hand on his sleeve. “The bad man is dead. Truly. I won't let anyone hurt you. You trust me, don't you?”

Young Kenny looked down at his belongings. “I want to go.”

“And so you shall, later, if you must. But please, please help me first.”

He picked up the canvas bag. “All right. Where are we going?”

Frederica thought it best to get Kenny to the long gallery first without going into detail. “Just follow me. You'll be all right. I have my sword there at the ready.”

She pushed him forward through the dark castle, her candle casting ghoulish shadows on the walls. Young Kenny's skittishness was catching. Why did she want to spend the rest of her life in this dismal place?

He balked a bit when they got to the arch of the gallery and he heard the continuous knocking on the wall. “Hold your horses!” she shouted. She turned to Kenny. “It's only Sebastian and his friend. Help me get the painting down, and then you can go.”

He was rooted to the spot, worrying his lip, his anxiety acute. “
Please
. They've been in there all night.” She slipped her arm in his as if they were going to take a stroll.

Young Kenny took a deep breath and stepped with her to the end of the gallery. They stopped before the portrait of the last Earl of Archibald. The man's blue-green eyes stared at them, disdainful and distant. Kenny touched the frame, shuddering. Then he set his bag on the floor, took the painting down from its hook in the wood paneling and gingerly angled it into the corner. “There. Safe and sound. I didn't break the frame before, either. I didn't mean no harm, I swear, Miss Frederica. S-saw the wall open and the picture on the floor yesterday. Thought when it fell—it might've been his spirit, see, trying to get free. Come right to life again, the villain.”

Good heavens. Young Kenny had known all along something was wrong in the picture gallery, but he hadn't the wit to associate Sebastian's disappearance with the fallen painting. She patted his arm. “Of course you didn't mean any harm. Thank goodness the frame was chipped, else I would not have thought to look behind it.” She turned her attention to the intricate wall. “Sebastian, I cannot see any sort of opening. Is there a trick to get in somehow?”

Three quick raps followed her question. Ah, good. He could understand what she said. She smoothed her hands down on the carvings, pressing and twisting the bumps, but nothing happened. “Maybe we need tools. A saw or something.”

“Let me try.” Kenny slapped the flat of his hand up and down the wall until he hit the center of a raised diamond and the wall cracked open.

Sebastian grinned up at them from the floor, his face smudged and clothes filthy and wrinkled, his foil across his lap. Frederica did not know when she'd seen anything more beautiful.

“Good morning,” Sebastian whispered.

“Can't talk,” Mr. Ryder wheezed. “Screamed and banged all night.”

“I didn't realize. I heard sounds—we all did. I'm so very sorry.”

Young Kenny was rolling his cap around in his hands. “ 'Tis my fault, Your Gr-grace. H-he clouted me, you know, the earl, when I was just a lad. My mam was cook here then, and I helped her like I help you, Miss Frederica. Saw something I shouldn't, but I can't remember what. He hit me until I saw stars and moons inside my head. I d-didn't want him after me again, so I p-pulled the wood p-panel shut. And tied up the wire nice and tight again with one of my knots and hung the old earl back up.” He paused for breath. She had never heard him speak so many words at once. “I've listened to the Walkers all my life here. Didn't want to hear them no more, specially the old earl. I'm going to run away, but I got nowhere to go. And now the duke is mad, and I'm sorry.”

“It's all right, Kenny,” Frederica said softly. “The duke doesn't hold a grudge. Do you, Your Grace?”

“All's well that ends well. If you can bear to stay on at Goddard Castle, I'm sure you'll be welcome,” Sebastian croaked. The speech put him at the limit of his vocal ability. He held a hand to his throat.

“Of course you must stay!” Freddie said warmly, clasping young Kenny's hand. “The duke is leaving anyway. I imagine you all would like some breakfast. I'll rouse Mrs. Holloway so you can be on your way.”

It was imperative she get away from Sebastian before she said anything she might regret. Like how she spent much of the night worrying about him. Taking back all the dreadful things she said to him yesterday. Fantasizing he was with her in her room, touching her. Kissing her. Fucking her.

She found Mrs. Holloway already up and lighting the stove. After Frederica explained what had happened, she knew the men would be forgiven for skipping supper. Now all she needed to do was avoid them until they left later. She did hope that their departure would not be delayed by their uncomfortable night.

She was halfway up the staircase when Mr. Ryder called out to her. She pretended not to hear him, not difficult as his voice was cracked and barely audible. But he chased after her, catching her by the arm. She pulled away, annoyed.

“You'd best watch yourself. After your adventure last night, I shouldn't want to watch you to pitch down and crack your skull.”

“Point taken. Is there somewhere we may talk privately?”

“Mr. Ryder, I feel quite done with talking, and you shouldn't strain yourself. Everything that's needed saying has been said. To death. I'm glad you and Sebastian suffered from no permanent ill effects, but I am more than prepared to say good-bye to you both.”

“And good riddance.” He smiled down from his superior height. It was very hard for her to hold him in aversion. He'd been charm personified while they shared their meals the past few days, relating amusing stories about his adventures with Sebastian. She'd been pathetic, hanging on his every word.

“It's nothing personal. I feel no animosity toward you.”

“No, just animosity toward poor Sebastian. Miss Wells, if you would give me a minute of your time—”

She sighed. “Oh, very well. A minute, but no longer. Mrs. Holloway is fixing your breakfast. Perhaps a spoonful of honey will help your throat. Some hot tea, too.”

“What I have to say is of the utmost importance,” he rasped.

“Good gracious. Well, then, come along to my room.”

Her room was extremely tidy, considering she'd cleaned it most of her sleepless night. She took a chair by the window and invited Mr. Ryder to do the same.

“I told Sebastian to declare his feelings for you,” he said, coming right to the point.

Her heart skipped a beat. “What feelings?”

“If he is not in love with you, and you with him, I will volunteer to spend another night in that cursed, bat-infested tunnel.”

Frederica allowed that precious minute to tick away. Had she heard him correctly? His voice was very weak. “Did he tell you that he loves me?” she asked at last, almost afraid of the answer.

“No, not Sebastian. The word is not in his vocabulary, poor fellow.”

The disappointment coated her own throat, making her next words difficult. “Then how can you know?”

“Miss Wells, Sebastian and I were imprisoned together for eight very long months, and were friends before that. One comes to know a man—almost too well—under such circumstances. Sebastian loves you. I am sure of it, by everything he
doesn't
say. He thinks himself unworthy, and will spare you from the lifetime of heartache he's sure he'll bring you. In his own boneheaded way, he's trying to be honorable. To do the right thing.”

“He's much too late for that,” Frederica murmured.

“Yes. Well. He's not shared what has transpired between you two, and it's none of my affair.” He coughed, and Frederica leaped up to pour him a glass of water from the jug on her dresser. “Thank you. I'll give my vocal cords a rest now, but you should know where things stand. If he doesn't come to you, you should go to him.”

Never.
Not again. Frederica needed to put the past behind her once and for all. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Ryder. Have a safe journey home.” She held out her hand, and was surprised when he kissed her on the cheek instead.

“Sebastian may be a fool, but he's your fool, Miss Wells. Give him a chance to explain.”

But Sebastian had already said quite enough.