The Trouble With Being Wicked (45 page)

Not long ago, he wouldn’t have been able to. But he’d grown tired of distance. Perhaps it was time to accept each other as they were, secrets and all. Perhaps their family would never be perfect. Perhaps it didn’t have to be.

It seemed he had to accept that, or risk losing his sisters again. “I do.”

Relief lit her face. “Oh, Trestin.” Her hand touched his briefly. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head once, slowly. But he wasn’t ready to let the matter rest just yet. He’d had weeks of long, quiet days to consider his mother’s perfidy. It colored everything he knew about himself, for it painted his father in a much different light. It didn’t excuse his father’s behavior, but at least it made sense of it. Instead of being a debauched, insatiable animal, he’d been wounded, bent on hurting his wife as keenly as she’d hurt him. And, perhaps, trying to forget.

But Ash had yet to understand why his mother, who’d loved his father enough to kill him in a fit of passion before reloading and turning the pistol on herself, had broken her vows to begin with. “Why did she do it?” he asked his sister again. “There seems to be no sense in it.”

Delilah tilted her head to look at him. He couldn’t mistake the compassion in her eyes. “Maybe there isn’t. We err, all of us.”

“But if something like that can just happen…” He didn’t want to admit to his feeling of helplessness out loud. He hadn’t foreseen his sisters’ acts of independence, nor had he anticipated that Celeste would deceive him so fully. He especially hadn’t expected Montborne to defile Lucy after she
seduced
him. Either he was blind to human nature or there was no logic to it. Could he ever be comfortable if the world continued to shift under him?

His sister smiled. “Surely being surprised is what makes life interesting.”

Such deep insight. “I never
expected
to have this type of conversation with you.” He quirked his lips to show her he was enjoying it. Just a little.

Her smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “I think you miss her, Trestin. I hope you admit it soon. I never noticed how secluded this house is until today. How do you get on with so much emptiness?”

The emptiness, as she called it, wasn’t just in the house. It seemed to live right in his soul. But that would mean that he did miss Celeste, and he couldn’t. Because if he had to fetch her back, then he’d have to admit how very wrong he’d been about her in the first place.
 

And he still found it difficult to believe she’d turned all his worst fears into reality, yet…she hadn’t hurt his family at all.

“That is a devilish scowl, Trestin,” Delilah said teasingly. “I can only imagine the kind of argument you are having with yourself.”

He shifted on his feet, feeling restless of a sudden. “I’m glad you find it amusing.”

“I do. You’re always so collected, yet when you think of her…” She blinked slowly, clearly enjoying her chance to provoke him.

He certainly wasn’t. “Don’t say it.”

“Ah, but you know, now you cannot stop me.” She paused. “See her, before it’s too late. You won’t find another woman who knows you better. Nor one who can accept us—all of us—as we are.” His sister’s face softened. “She helped us see ourselves.”

He was beginning to think she was right. “But how do I dare ask her forgiveness? I’ve wronged her so thoroughly.”

Delilah’s smile was kind. “Then tell her so.”

Chapter Thirty

Ash didn’t intend to walk to her door and invite her to race him in a phaeton. Some things just sounded right when one said them aloud, by accident.

She stared at him as though he’d completely lost his mind. Those rosy lips he’d thought of for too many hours parted in surprise, and to be perfectly honest, he understood her confusion. Lost his mind? He had. What little remained of his sense had concluded that there was only one way to show her that—after painful deliberation he by no means minimized—he’d decided to hell with staid. Proper could rot. He had more interesting things to do with his time, because for God’s sake—

He missed her.

“A—a race?” She continued to regard him with a dumbfounded look. He smiled fully, just enjoying seeing her again. Her knot of auburn tresses uncurled becomingly at her shoulders, as though she hadn’t taken the time to put it up right. Had she rushed to receive him? He liked to think it. He’d worried that she would refuse to see him because that’s what he deserved. Instead she stood here, a little thin but still lush, the woman who’d captured not just his fantasies, but his waking hours, too. How had she done it? He still didn’t know.

“I formally invite you to race me from here to Plymouth,” he said, doing his best to offer her a rakish grin. If asked, he would have said he came across as foolish and too eager, but the feathering hitch of her breath made him think he just might have pulled it off.

“My lord—” Her eyes darted to his face and away.

“Don’t.” He stepped toward her. “Do I look that green to you? Like I can’t tell when a woman is trying to push me away?”

She paused. Her head tilted, and the makings of a gleam came into her eye. “No.”

“I’m not green, Celeste. Not anymore. I have you to thank for that.”

She peered at him, seeming unsure what to make of his statement. “You’re…welcome?”

His laughed. “Yes! You taught me how to
live
.” He took a step closer, and felt encouraged when her twinkle dimmed and her eyes became guarded, as if she feared he might kiss her at any moment. “I climbed my first tree in twenty years because of you. I danced. I got mad. Not just mad—livid. I wanted to crush and yell and storm about, but do you know what? I never felt so
alive
. You did that, Celeste. And so much more. Race me. I need to prove you helped me change.”

Those green irises he adored glistened. Hope gripped him when a smile trembled on her lips. He’d touched her with his raw honesty, but was it enough? What if she said no?

She had every right, every reason to reject his dare. He had more than enough reason, himself, to have stayed away. He’d ignored reason. He loved her.

Her tremulous smile widened. He didn’t pretend to think it meant they’d overcome all their differences, or the many ways they’d hurt each other. But he hoped it meant just enough had changed for her to say…

“Yes.”

* * *

Never in her life would she have expected Ash to materialize on her doorstep and invite her to race him. In a phaeton, no less. Nor that she would consent. What was it about a man drawing a deep breath and making the most romantic declaration she’d heard in her life that made her to want to melt into a puddle at his feet? As if he hadn’t broken her heart and left her a walking corpse for months on end, and could mend things simply by pretending they’d never happened.

Yet they
hadn’t
quarreled. He’d stopped calling as if she didn’t matter, as if she didn’t exist. His negligence hurt more than any words he might have lobbed at her in anger. Now, as suddenly as he’d disappeared, he’d decided to return…and she was supposed to smile prettily at him and be grateful?

Three hours later, she sucked in a breath. It was time to finish her toilette and have Elizabeth’s phaeton brought around. In the hours since they’d set the time and place for their assignation, Celeste had been full of doubt.
Had he really come?
Had she really acquiesced so easily?
It seemed like a dream, one in which she had no control over herself.
Had he truly said such pretty words?
She could barely recall the specifics. She had only the imprint of her reactions: shock, anger, confusion, hope.

She wasn’t dreaming now. She was going to drive out to meet him. She was too giddy to think much about the race itself. What had he meant, asking her to do something so unpredictable as race through town in the first place?

I need to prove you helped me change.

Why? To prove a point to himself? Or did he mean to show
her
?

Hildegard yanked the laces on her carriage dress, forcing every bit of air out of her lungs. “You know you must kick dust into his face, don’t you?” She yanked another inch out of Celeste’s waist. “He expects you to win, and good. You’ve never disappointed a man before and I don’t suggest you start today.”

Celeste smiled, though her maid couldn’t see it. “I’m sure there has been one or two who wondered what all the fuss was about.”

Hildegard snorted. “Not this one. He wants you back, mark my words.”

Celeste was afraid to hope it was true.

The starting line was the church. When she drew up in Elizabeth’s phaeton with Elizabeth beside her, a large crowd surrounding Ash’s curricle daunted her.

Elizabeth squeezed her shoulder. “It’s a pity you brought your carriage from London rather than your phaeton, but mine will do. You’re lighter than he is and my phaeton is newer. Of all of us, you’ve always been the most skilled at driving. This couldn’t be a more perfect way to show him a bit of Town bronze. I’m counting on you.”

“We all are, Miss Gray,” a familiar female voice said behind Celeste.

She turned to see Delilah—Mrs. Conley now—standing beside the phaeton. She rested her palm on the door. “Trestin has never done anything like this, not even when he was a boy. It will be the talk of the village for ages.”

Celeste’s face heated. It all seemed so strange, like it was happening to someone else. “But he despises scandal.”

Delilah nodded. “Once upon a time, that was true. Then he met you.”

Elizabeth squeezed Celeste’s hand again. “You simply
must
make him eat crow.”

Celeste wasn’t so sure she could. She waited anxiously while Elizabeth was helped down from the high flyer by Tom, their young footman. Then she flicked the reins and maneuvered the team to the invisible starting line just outside of the church doors.

Ash’s gaze found hers all the way across the throng of spectators. For a few long, heated seconds, he watched her, his eyes hungry. Then his face broke into a boyish grin and he bade his tenants to give him space. She heard him say, “I must shake hands with the competition, you know.”

He drew his curricle beside her phaeton. He had to crane his neck a bit to see her. Even so, he had all the power. He’d dropped back into her life as suddenly as he’d left and all she’d had to say in response was
Yes
.
Yes, yes. I’ve missed you so much.

“You came.”

She forced a haughty smile. “I couldn’t resist the opportunity to trounce you.”

He grinned. “I was counting on it.”

Her heart slammed into her chest. Mr. Conley chose that moment to call for the crowd’s attention. “If I may begin the proceedings,” he announced in a loud, sure voice.

Numbly, she waited while he explained the rules. “Lord Trestin hereby declares his intent to race Miss Gray from our St Andrew church to the doors of St Matthias in Plymouth. The winner shall collect a forfeit as agreed upon by the opponents. You have one minute to outline the terms.”

Celeste arched an eyebrow. She turned to regard her “opponent.” “A forfeit?”

He touched his heart in mock affront, a gesture reminiscent of Roman. For a moment, she felt regret for her lost friendship with the marquis. Then Ash recalled her attention. “Why, I thought you would be delighted to know there will be a prize. This is your chance for me to be drawn and quartered.”

Repartee was something she understood, even when she didn’t fully understand him, or why they were here. She
tsk
ed. “If I wanted to see you dead, I would have arranged for a few less witnesses.”

“Bloodthirsty wench. A kiss, then.” He caught her gaze and held it. She couldn’t break away if she tried. “If I win, I want a kiss.”

Her heart galloped in her chest. “A kiss?”

He nodded. “Just one. Right…” He touched the sharp line of his jaw, just below his ear. “Here.”
 

She could scarcely find her voice to respond. “If I win, I want to know what this is all about.”

“I think you know.”

She bit the inside of her lip to keep her questions from tumbling out. Ash gave Mr. Conley a signal and she tensed as the latter inclined his head. Mr. Conley raised a pistol into the air and fired, sending the round echoing like a Vauxhall firework.