Her Wicked Proposal: The League of Rogues, Book 3 (15 page)

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m a rogue, my heart, you’d best get used to it.”

Anne allowed Cedric to usher her outside and into the waiting coach. She bid farewell to the manor and to the only home she’d ever known. Ahead of her lay unknown horizons.

* * * * *

Damn that fool Englishman. I’ll handle this in the manner I wish.

Samir Al Zahrani had followed the Sheridan coach at a distance down the well-traveled road to Brighton. But as the couple’s coach had taken the lesser-populated country roads toward the estate, Samir had been forced to drop back out of sight, lest Sheridan’s driver realize they were being trailed. Using the road’s natural underbrush as cover, he was able to guide his horse through the forest at the edge of the trail and avoid being observed.

When at last the carriage turned onto the drive that led to the massive country house of Rushton Steading, Samir flicked his reins against his beast’s neck, steering him farther into the forest.

The Englishman, Sir Hugo Waverly… Yes, Samir had done his own research and discovered who the man was, or at least rumored to be. He had advised him to wait for the perfect moment and then snatch Sheridan and his bride from the house and take them to the port.

But Samir had no intention of following Waverly’s instructions. If he took Sheridan and his wife ahead of schedule, he could have his ship leave port early. His men were back in town, waiting for instructions. It would have been too conspicuous to bring them along while he was still learning his enemy’s lands and discerning how protected Sheridan was from attack.

Glancing up at the skies, Samir frowned. Thick storm clouds were building on the horizon, and a cold wind was starting to gather strength.

English weather.
He sneered. Icy, wet and suffocating. It would be a relief to get what he came for and depart for home.

I shall suffer this weather tonight, but not for much longer.
He dismounted from his horse and started walking it through the woods, slowing as he approached the distant house. He’d likely have to bide his time, but he would do what was necessary to retrieve his horses from the Sheridan stables and, more importantly, exact his revenge.

Chapter Twelve

Anne had developed a painful habit of handwringing by the time she and Cedric arrived at the Sheridan estate on the outskirts of Brighton. Rushton Steading, the vast ancestral home of the Sheridan family, was intimidating. The estate was mainly wooded areas where dark copses of trees hunkered down at the road’s edge like silent sentinels. Anne drew in a shocked breath as their traveling coach rounded the nearest outcropping of forest and her new world opened up before her. The house itself was a grand mansion made of white stone, a bright beacon amidst the heavy emerald backdrop.

“Do you like it?” Cedric’s voice was soft against her neck as he breathed in her scent.

Anne couldn’t help but admire the multi-windowed edifice. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. I can see why you’ve favored hunting and riding, Cedric—this land is built for such activities.”

“My father and I spent many hours in those woods with rifles and hounds.” Cedric’s voice was rough as emotion rippled through his words.

Anne frowned at her own callousness. To bring up his past had to be painful, both to be reminded of his lost loved ones and lost sight.

“What’s the matter, Anne? You’ve grown tense,” Cedric observed.

Only then did Anne realize he’d moved up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. He was constantly offering her comfort, and all she had ever offered him was cool indifference. Anne took a deep breath before she spoke.

“I am sorry for pushing you away,” she confessed.

Cedric’s hands, which had been stroking her waist, stilled at her words.

“You need never apologize to me about protecting yourself.” Cedric dipped his head to nuzzle her neck.

“Are you angry that we did not share a bed last night?” Anne asked, gazing at his full lips.

“Don’t be silly, my heart. Besides, I did share your bed, even if we only slept and nothing more.”

“You
were
there! I thought perhaps I’d dreamt that you’d stayed.”

“You shall expect me tonight then.” Cedric’s hands slid along her ribs, tightening possessively. Anne shook with anticipation, her breath quickening. Tonight she would give herself to him, let him unleash her inner desires. She’d waited so long for this, for someone to trust. She only prayed that he wouldn’t be furious when he discovered she wasn’t untouched. More than ever she regretted that one night with Crispin. Not that she’d been given a choice.

The coach pulled up to the steps of the mansion, and a footman rushed out to meet them.

“Welcome, my lord, my lady.” The young footman offered a hand to Anne and she stepped down.

Anne was careful to give Cedric time and room to get out on his own, but she and the footman stood ready to catch him.

“Is that you, Hartley?” Cedric asked as he emerged from the coach.

“It is, my lord,” Hartley replied with a slight Irish lilt, grinning as his master clapped him on the shoulder.

“How is the household?” Cedric slid Anne’s arm through his and started up the steps, his cane tapping the stones.

“Mr. Bodwin is happy to have you home, of course. Mrs. Pickwick, however, has been tearing through the house in a panic, concerned that Lady Sheridan won’t be pleased with the state of the house.”

“Me?” Anne gasped.

“Don’t worry, my heart. The head housekeeper tends to have these episodes of panic, regardless of circumstance. You’ll find my butler, Mr. Bodwin, much more to your liking. He’s a calm soul compared to our esteemed Mrs. Pickwick.”

Anne felt suddenly shy as Cedric ushered her into her new home. The hall was full of servants, all lined up and ready to meet her. Anne could barely keep all of their names straight, but Mr. Bodwin and Mrs. Pickwick stood out as the more elderly and experienced of them.

“My lord, would you prefer to dine in your chambers or in the dining hall?” Mrs. Pickwick asked.

“My chambers, please. See that you provide for two. My wife will be joining me.”

“Of course, my lord.” Mrs. Pickwick seemed greatly relieved at the announcement of their intent to dine upstairs. “Here are some letters arrived from London with the afternoon’s post.” She held out a packet of letters and set them in Cedric’s outstretched hand.

“Come, let me take you upstairs, Anne. I can offer you a tour of the place tomorrow. Tonight we shall eat, rest and settle in.” The grin on Cedric’s face was more one of boyish charm than devilish. Anne laughed in response.

“You weren’t joking when you spoke of appetites.”

“I never joke about the desires of my body.”

Anne took Cedric’s offered arm and let him lead her up the grand staircase to an ornately decorated bedchamber. Blue silks and cream walls gave the room a soft, sensual appeal. The colors and feel of the room surprised Anne. She had expected burgundy reds and dark wood, something that matched the passion she’d tasted in his arms.

“Have a seat, love.” Cedric sat her down in a tall armchair near the fireplace, and it became obvious to Anne how comfortable he was here.

“Oh, I need a minute to freshen up.”

“Ahh, of course.” Cedric gestured. “That way, my heart.”

Anne’s steps retreated, and Cedric smacked the stack of letters in his palm. Far too many for him to want to bother with. After all, tonight was his real wedding night.
Wedding
night. He chuckled.

I’m a lucky devil
.

He and Anne would finally have a chance to explore all of her hidden passions.

“My lord, will you be needing anything?” Thomas Pennyworth, another footman, asked from near the doorway.

“Thomas? Why not read me a few of these while I wait for my wife.”

My wife
. He smiled. What a wonderful word that was now to say.

Thomas took the stack of letters from Cedric, and there was a soft rustling of papers.

“The first is from a Mr. Crispin Andrews.”

The name hit Cedric like a blow. He was about to tell Thomas to burn the letter, but Thomas began speaking.

“My Dearest Anne. It was such a pleasure seeing you again at the theater. Write to me soon, we’ve much to plan now that you’ve settled yourself in such a comfortable position. I believe congratulations may be in order for both of us. Crispin.”

Cedric’s heart froze. The letter hadn’t been meant for him at all. He found it difficult to breathe, because the tone suggested something… Surely it couldn’t have meant…

Dearest Anne?

We’ve much to plan?

What the devil did Andrews mean by that?

“Thomas,” Cedric cut in. “That will be all. Please hand me the letters.”

Thomas walked over and placed the letters in his outstretched hand, then retreated to the doorway.

“I’ll fetch dinner for you, my lord.” The footman’s steps receded, leaving Cedric time to think, to worry.

A few minutes later Thomas returned with dinner.

Already Cedric could smell beef stew, pheasant and bread pudding in the air.

“Thank you, Thomas,” he said before the footman could say a word. “You may leave once you’ve set up the table.” Cedric’s mind was still churning over the letter and what it meant. Anne had sworn to him that she despised Crispin, so why was she receiving such a letter? What could she and Andrews have to
plan
? Should he ask Anne directly? Or would she hide the truth and deny it…if only he knew what
it
was.

Light, feminine steps warned him of Anne’s approach. He shoved the stack of letters Thomas had given him into the cushions of his chair by the fireplace.

Anne glanced at the young footman lingering in the doorway, his eyes on Cedric, who was sitting stiffly in his chair by the fire, an odd look on his face. The footman, Thomas he’d been called, was auburn-haired and around her age. He realized she was looking at him and dropped his head, smiling shyly as he ducked out of the room.

“How are you able to do that? Tell the difference between Hartley and Thomas?” Anne poured two glasses of red wine and placed one in Cedric’s hand.

“How do I do what?”

“Know which person you are addressing when they haven’t spoken. I could understand if you recognized the voices, but Hartley did not even say a word when we got out of the coach. How did you know it wasn’t Thomas?”

“Ahh, well that’s simple. I just started calling them all Hartley. Simplifies things you know.” Cedric chuckled, the tension in his shoulders seeming to relax. Whatever had been worrying him before seemed to have faded somewhat. He was chasing shadows, nothing more.

“You’re joking!” Anne gasped.

“I am.” He laughed, but there was genuine pride in his tone as he leaned back in his chair. Anne followed the movement, admiring the fine legs that stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Cedric was simply beautiful to behold.

“With women I can often identify them by scent. With men it’s either their voices or their movements. Sean Hartley has a slight limp from a horse kicking him a year ago. I can detect the difference in his movement.”

“And how do you recognize me?” Anne asked, her heart stilling as she waited for his answer.

“Come over and I will tell you.” Cedric cut a mocking leer at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh at his teasing. She did as he asked and allowed him to settle her on his lap. She was still unaccustomed to his touch.

Cedric stroked her lower back in a soft circular pattern, like a father soothing a troubled child. “Do I frighten you, Anne?”

“I’m not afraid.” It was a lie, and they both knew it.

“You sit there so still, barely breathing, like a rabbit in the underbrush. I don’t wish to startle you and send you running.” The earnest look on his face was heartrending.

“Is that how you truly see me?” Anne’s voice shook as he traced an intricate pattern along the line of her collarbone. Heat flooded her body at such a feather-light caress.

“Are you asking if I see you as a frightened rabbit?” There was a sweet amusement in his tone. “Anne, Anne, my lovely but perplexing bride. I see you as so many things, but a frightened rabbit isn’t one of them. You are more like a skittish colt, yet to learn its master’s touch.”

“A skittish colt?” Anne stifled a laugh. His sense of humor had always been so like her own. She found herself relaxing. “I believe I may have married the only man in England who would compare his wife to a horse.”

“That’s not true. Many a man has called his wife a broodmare,” Cedric argued, his sightless eyes warming to a rich cinnamon.

“Is that supposed to win me over, Cedric?” Anne cupped his face when he broke into the most charming smile, one that melted her from the inside out.

“I love it when you say my name.” He purred low and deep like a jungle cat.

“Didn’t any of your past lovers call you Cedric?”

Cedric’s brow furrowed, as though talk of the past wounded him. Anne brushed the back of her hand over his brow, wanting to smooth his worry away. He leaned into her touch, his eyelashes fanning across his cheeks.

“Most of them preferred to call me Sheridan. I suspect they loved to remind themselves of my title. I feel that I spent all those years bedding women for their bodies and they bedded me for my title. A fair trade, I suppose. I hope someday, with you…” He paused to turn and press a kiss into her right palm. “That we shall simply be Anne and Cedric. No titles, no distance between us.”

Anne breathed a fervent prayer that someday he might see her the same, as just Anne. She tucked her head into his shoulder, and he cradled her against his chest.

“I’ve turned melancholy on you, love. I swear I did not mean to.”

“Never apologize for being honest about yourself or your past. I want only the truth between us.” But despite his words, there was a sudden coolness to his face, one she recognized when he was trying to pull away from her emotionally. He’d done it so often when he thought she wouldn’t marry him, or care about him.

“The truth… I agree.”

There was a deadness in his tone that made Anne’s stomach roll with unease.

“Anne, what is the true nature of your relationship with Crispin Andrews?”

“Cedric…” she began. Not now. She didn’t want this conversation. It was too soon. “I haven’t asked you about all of the women you’ve bedded before you married me.”

“We promised each other honesty. Please don’t insult me by lying now. It was clear you and he have a history.”

Anne’s throat constricted, but she knew he was right. She had to tell him. He deserved the truth.

“It was two years ago at Almack’s, that night we first met.”

“You met Crispin there as well, if I recall correctly.”

“I was already acquainted with him, but it was the first time we were together unchaperoned. I was given permission by the matrons to waltz, and he asked me for the honor of escorting me to the floor for my first dance.” Anne drew in a deep breath at the unsettling memory of that night. The hunger she had for one man and being held in the arms of another.

“I saw you dancing with him that night.” Cedric’s tone held midnight rage, an all-consuming emptiness that made Anne pull back.

“I saw
you
as well. You went off with Mrs. Thornton, that beautiful young widow all the men were courting that year.” Her comment was just as accusing as his had been.

“Ahh, yes. Mrs. Thornton. I’m sure you know by now that I bedded her.” His tone was increasingly callous, like he was goading her somehow.

“There was no bed involved. I
saw
you. You had her pinned to the wall in the antechamber to the dancing hall.”

Anne withheld a gasp as his fingers dug deep into her hips, barring escape or retreat.

“Did you now?” His tone was dark, sarcastic, cutting. “You are a fine one to judge such things,
Dearest
Anne
.” Her name was so cold on his tongue, like a gypsy’s curse, rather than a soft lover’s murmur. She half expected to see Cedric’s eyes crystallize into ice as he stared hard at her.

“Tell me, Anne, did you let Crispin have you? Is that your dirty little secret you’ve been keeping from me? The man you supposedly despised dared to send
you
a letter of congratulations. Called you his dearest Anne and said that you and he have much to plan. Tell me, what are you planning,
wife
?” Such cruelty hung in his words that Anne barely recognized him as the man she’d married only the day before.