The Trouble With Being Wicked (3 page)

He was quickly deciding that he knew their kind of female. Very well, he feared.

“My servants will be here tomorrow,” Mrs. Inglewood continued, “and we will be better situated then. But perhaps you might send someone over to open the cottage for us tonight?”

The flirtatious quality of her voice made him suspect again he was being had. He could almost see her lashes batting coquettishly against her cheeks.

He didn’t allow his discomfort to show. “It’s far too late to risk a trip across the moors today. My steward will be over to assess the situation tomorrow, and to see that you are well settled. In the meantime, you will both stay at Worston. I insist.” Not because he delighted at the thought of bringing them under his roof. Indeed, he could think of little less he wanted than to introduce these women to his sisters, who needed no tutelage in the art of independence. Nevertheless, he couldn’t leave Mrs. Inglewood and her companion unattended here, two miles from town and on the outskirts of the moor. He imagined Mrs. Inglewood would be much more comfortable in a real bed, and there was no denying the existence of a vicious draft. He wouldn’t stand before the captain and let it be known he’d left the man’s wife in a freezing, darkened cottage that seemed to be infested with…birds?

Yes, birds. Their tweeting filled the rafters, now that he’d noticed it. He’d better have a look around tomorrow. Things were not adding up.

In the meantime, they must accompany him to Worston; there was no getting around it. It was hardly Mrs. Inglewood’s fault that he was shamefully attracted to her companion, or that he’d been taken in so frequently by his sisters that he’d come to suspect the whole of their sex. He couldn’t allow his misgivings to affect his better judgment.

Miss Smythe’s velvety voice recalled him to present company. “You’re more than generous, my lord, but that won’t be necessary. We’ll stay in Brixcombe. We passed the Hound and Hen as we drove through the village. It’s perfectly adequate for our needs.”

“But Cele—” the other woman started.

Miss Smythe
shushed
her. Ash looked from one woman to the next, his wariness returned in full force. The dutiful companion silencing her employer? He thought not.

Miss Smythe folded her arms again. Though the low light made it difficult to see, he could make out enough to know her gown covered her important bits. There should be no reason for him to catch himself staring at her décolletage in the hopes of glimpsing the round white tops of her breasts, and yet… He was.

“My lord, since you are here, we might as well inquire about the crack in the north wall,” she said very practically, and without any of the silky invitation that had enraptured him, “which has me very concerned. I’m sure it’s the tree outside causing it.”

His eyebrow lifted. Not because she had the effrontery to suggest he’d hawked a less-than-quality property, but because if Mrs. Inglewood was the mistress in this relationship, he’d eat his stocking. Miss Smythe obviously commanded the show.

“My lord?” she prompted him.

“Pardon my ignorance,” he replied, aware he was losing patience for her, and for whatever game she and Mrs. Inglewood played, “but I have never noticed a tree encroaching on the house. Are you certain?”

Her low laugh felt like a caress. “Anyone would see it, if they but looked the place over. It’s visible from the drive.”

He began to wish he’d gone to fetch his steward before embarking on this spontaneous welcome mission. What the devil was she talking about? The cottage was surrounded by trees. He’d never seen a crack in a wall. If one existed, he certainly hadn’t meant to sneak it past a prospective buyer. “The sweet chestnut, the pollard oak, or the sycamore?” he asked, because he truly couldn’t place it.

It was her turn to pause. “The…tree?”

Perhaps he
should
have ridden out to inspect the house prior to listing it for sale. He hadn’t, because he’d imagined it as he’d seen it last: filled with love and laughter. The late vicar had been his tutor when he was a boy, and he’d spent many happy hours here before Mr. Amherst had gone onto his reward.

“There are many trees,” Ash said, feeling out of sorts by this fault being lobbed at him. “Surely you don’t expect
recourse
if you can’t identify the precise tree that is causing your distress.”

“I’d be more than happy to show it to you,” she replied sweetly.

He had a feeling what she wanted to show him were her knuckles. Unlike a lady, she wasn’t well-bred enough to disguise her opinion of him. Mentally, he struck another mark against her—not that he was keeping a tally of her points and faults. He was simply too aware of her not to make a concerted effort to remember why he must remain suspicious of her. “By all means, Miss Smythe,” he said, “lead the way.”

“Miss Smythe,” Mrs. Inglewood said with an edge, “I’m sure it would be just as well if we went to Worston and allowed Lord Trestin to look it over with his steward on the morrow…” Her voice trailed as it became obvious there was no stopping her “companion” now. Before Ash could approach and offer his assistance, Miss Smythe stepped off the table. With more grace than Ash had in his entire body, she dropped to the floor and swayed past him.
 

Truly, he’d never met a woman like her in all his life.

He turned and followed her into the hallway. She
must
have come down from the city. She positively reeked of excitement. High spirits. Mystery. Yes, sin. He steeled himself, focusing his eyes on the back of her poke bonnet instead of the seductive sashay of her hips.

Women like her meant one thing: trouble. What had he done to deserve it?

Chapter Two

Elizabeth followed them outside, much to Celeste’s dismay. Intending to turn and dissuade her friend from exerting herself, Celeste stopped suddenly. Lord Trestin slammed into her back. He caught her shoulders in his hands and steadied her, sending frissons of awareness through her.

As soon as she caught her balance, he released her and took a few too many steps away. She stepped from him, too, somewhat shaken to have reacted to his touch, when she’d been touched more intimately yet felt nothing at all for so long, she’d almost forgotten what desire felt like. A bit shaken, she turned to address Elizabeth and had her first good look at Lord Trestin instead.

There was no mistaking her desire now. He was deliciously well-formed. Especially for a lord, the majority of whom, in her experience, tended to be either soft or reedlike. Not Lord Trestin. Broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist. If the hard curve of his thigh was any indication, he was solid muscle beneath his tight-fitting breeches. In other circumstances, she would have enjoyed having such a man tangle himself in her skirts.

To be perfectly truthful, she did not much mind in these circumstances, either.

He turned to Elizabeth and regarded her with chivalrous patience. “You look peaked. Wouldn’t you prefer to rest inside the carriage while Miss Smythe and I attend to the house? I should blame myself if you took ill.”

He sounded so genuinely concerned—and they were so little accustomed to that—that a heartbeat thumped before either woman could form a response.

“Please,” he said, sending shivers of want through Celeste’s belly. “Miss Smythe will be perfectly safe with me.”

Unwanted
shivers, that was.

The initial surprise in Elizabeth’s widened gray eyes turned to just enough worry to be overdone. “I couldn’t possibly leave my companion in a
compromising
position. It wouldn’t be at all the thing.”

Her implication that he had less-than-noble intentions drew Lord Trestin up in admirable affront. Except Elizabeth and Celeste were not who they claimed to be, which made the situation comical. He was in far more danger from Celeste than she was from him, for he was a gentleman. She was no lady.

“I assure you, Miss Smythe is in no danger from
me,” he said again. Flags of color at the mere
suggestion
he had untoward thoughts brightened his tanned cheeks.

Elizabeth turned to hide her smile. Celeste covered hers with a strangled cough. A rake he was not. But that wasn’t why she suddenly felt a need to put another few feet between them. It had been years since a man’s interest had evoked an authentic response in her. When his gaze fell on her as it did just then, she felt his stare down to her toes. Gooseflesh pebbled across her shoulders and down her arms, as if he’d physically touched her. A rush of longing familiar yet distant, like a forgotten memory, sped her pulse. But he glanced away without a care, not the least bit interested in what he saw.

Dismissed?
She could hardly believe her eyes. Did he not see the wantonness in her? Or wish to linger overlong on her form?

Not that she wished him to, of course. Rather, not that she
should
wish him to.

And yet, in other circumstances, he would be precisely the kind of man she would want in her bed. An aura thick with privilege exuded from him. From the velvety sheen of his coat to the leathery smell of his freshly polished Hessians to the perfectly tailored cut of his breeches, he looked every inch the part of a lord.

Here in Brixcombe, a man like him was a nuisance. A distraction from her purpose: to leave all of that—the sex, the money, the long, lonely hours wondering if she would be visited that night—behind.

“I can see you do suspect me of taking advantage of the situation,” he said in his smooth, cultured tones, sounding horrified by the thought. “Certainly, I’d never have suggested something so fast had I thought my offer through.”

“Not fast, exactly,” Elizabeth said, her composure recovered. “We’ve the baby to consider. Surely you realize that it wouldn’t do to have impropriety lingering.”

He nodded slowly, as though she’d struck a chord he understood. “Indeed. We must protect our families.”

“It’s settled, then,” Elizabeth said. “Let’s find this tree that has Miss Smythe so incensed. I’m perfectly well able to walk a few feet, I assure you both.” She rubbed her hand over the bump of her belly.

Lord Trestin visibly tried not to follow her motion with his eyes, but at the last second, his gaze darted. He inhaled sharply. Did he envy the fictional Captain Inglewood his beautiful, pregnant wife? Long for a lovely young family of his own? A toddler to dawdle on his knee?

Celeste bit her lip as an aching tenderness spread through her. Oh, goodness. Her greatest weakness was touching men.

She smiled at her pun. Truly, she
must
stop thinking like a courtesan. She must learn to be plain Miss Smythe, companion to an officer’s expectant wife whose husband was away at sea. She must not see a prospective lover whenever she looked at a handsome man.

But as she observed Elizabeth and Lord Trestin, she realized she had become the intruder. Lord Trestin evidently knew the bonds that held a family together. What did she know? That mothers were selfish, fathers indifferent, and siblings a treasure other people were lucky enough to possess.

Whenever she became overwrought, the fastest way she become un-wrought was to attend to the facts. She spun and marched around the side of the cottage. This was not the time to become melancholy over what might have been.

A jagged fissure in the cottage’s limestone wall made her leafy adversary easy to pick out of the foliage, a topic she was far more interested in exploring. She placed a hand on the tree’s knotted trunk and addressed Lord Trestin, who’d escorted Elizabeth behind. “This is the tree that must come down.”

She made the mistake of looking into his face. Her heart performed a somersault in her chest. Now that they’d traded the dark parlor for sunlit shrubbery, she could see the color of his eyes. Not brown, exactly, but golden. With just the barest indication of warmth, they could turn molten—but she did not have to worry herself there. He appeared perfectly calm and unmoved when he said, “I forbid it.”

She was momentarily struck dumb. He couldn’t forbid it. The property was hers. Nevertheless, she couldn’t discredit the proprietary way he’d spoken. He hadn’t accepted the transaction was complete, as if he didn’t want to give up the cottage just yet.

Surely he hadn’t meant to sound so abrupt. “It’s the only way to secure the foundation,” she said. “ I’m sure the captain would feel this is a show of good faith on your part, but if you prefer not to have one of your groundskeepers exert himself, I’ll hire a laborer from the village.”