Wicked Promise

SEVENOAKS, ENGLAND

FEBRUARY 1803

N
icholas trailed a long dark finger down the small in-dentations that marked the viscountess's spine. Absently he fondled her bottom, admiring the lus-cious curves, the way her glossy black hair fanned out across his pillow. Perhaps he should take her again, he thought as his body began to harden and press against the sheets.

A glance at the ormolu clock on the marble mantel and reluctantly the notion slid away.

His solicitor was due within the hour, and though Nick rarely gave a damn what other people thought, he respected Sydney Birdsall and considered him a friend. He didn't want to add to the man's already dubious opinion of him.

Leaning over the woman curled contentedly in his bed, Nicholas Warring, fourth Earl of Ravenworth, pressed a kiss against the nape of her neck. "Time to go, sweeting."

She stirred and her head came up from the pillow. Ink-black hair trailed seductively over a rose-tipped breast. "Please, Nicky, not yet. It's still early. I thought we'd have the rest of the afternoon:"

He only shook his head. "Sorry, not this time." He toyed with a lock of her thick black hair, watched it trail over his hand. "My solicitor is on his way from London. He's due within the hour."

She languidly turned over, her breasts heavy and inviting, yet already his attention had begun to slip away. She ran her fingers through the curly black hair on his chest, circled a flat copper nipple.

''Tell him you're busy. Tell him he'll have to come back later in the evening."

Nick caught her hand, irritation threading through him, impatience rising with it, replacing the last vestige of his desire. Now that it was time for her to go, he simply wanted her on her way.

"Sidney doesn't come often. Apparently this is important." He rolled her over, slapped her gently on the bottom. "Be a good girl, Miriam. Get dressed and go on home."

Her eyes turned a faint shade darker. She made a huffy little sound in her throat. Displeasure hardened the look she cast his way as she reached for her clothes. She dressed, with jerky little motions and took her good sweet time about it. At five and twenty, Miriam Beechcroft, Lady Dandridge, was spoiled and selfish. Most of the time, Nick ignored her outbursts of temper and childish manners, but at times like these, he wondered how much longer he'd be able to put up with them.

"I shan't be back for a while," Miriam called over her shoulder as Nick did up the buttons at the back of her plum silk gown. "Max will be arriving on the morrow. He'll be staying at Westover until the end of next week." Maxwell, Viscount Dandridge, was Miriam's aging husband. Much of the year they resided at Westover, the viscount's country estate just a short ride north of Raven worth Hall. Convenient. For them both. Since Max was often away.

Nick gave her a mocking half-smile. "I'm sure he'll be eager to see you. Be sure to give him my best."

Her pretty lips thinned but Nick didn't care. Aside from her beauty and skillfulness in bed, Miriam had little to recommend her. Of course Nick didn't say that. Thin as it was, the veneer of a gentleman remained in place, even after the last nine years.

"You're going to miss me," she pouted, turning her face up to his for a kiss, her long black hair coiled once more into a knot at the, nape of her neck. "You'll be sorry you sent me away."

A corner of his mouth edged up. "Perhaps I will. I suppose I shall have to console myself with gaming and drink until your return."

She smiled at that, certain that the promise of her charms would be enough to keep him out of another woman's bed. In truth, he would do as he damned well pleased. Just as Miriam did.

They left his bedchamber by the back stairs as they always did, appearing in the downstairs hallway as if they had just left one of the drawing rooms. It was a useless ruse that fooled no one and wasn't necessary among his trusted servants, but if it satisfied Miriam's somewhat tarnished sense of propriety, it was a small concession to make.

When they reached the entry, she turned to face him. "Well, then, I shall see you in a fortnight." She smiled up at him, her lips still slightly bruised from his kisses, her cheeks prettily flushed against the creamy hue of her skin. "Adieu until then, Nicky, my love."

As beautiful as she was, Nick watched her disappear into her carriage with an odd sense of relief. As much as he enjoyed her in bed, Miriam could be tedious at times. Perhaps her absence of the next two weeks would help rekindle the passion for her that seemed to be slipping away.

He turned to the tall, nearly bald butler who stood stiffly in the entry, Edward Pendergass, a longtime Warring retainer, one of the few who had not defected over the last nine years. "I'm expecting a visit from Sydney Birdsall. When he gets here, I'll be in my study."

"As you wish, my lord." He made a slight inclination of his liver-spotted head, his posture as perfectly correct as it had been in the days
before
, when he had worked for Nick's father, the third Earl of Ravenworth. It was a far different household then, Nick thought, with the earl and his mother still living, doting on him and his younger sister, Maggie.

It was a painful memory Nick let slide away, replaced with thoughts of the upcoming meeting with his solicitor. He wondered what in blazes was important enough to compel Sydney Birdsall to travel from London to Ravenworth, a place his friend referred to as "a fresh-air den of iniquity."

Whatever it was, Nick wouldn't have long to wait before he found out.

Dressed in a gray kerseymere traveling dress cut in the military style, piped in black with matching brandenburgs across the bodice, Elizabeth Abigail Woolcot perched nervously on a sofa in the Gold Drawing Room at Ravenworth Hall.

Her stomach swirled with nerves and her palms felt damp. She straightened her narrow-brimmed gray bonnet, tucking a strand of dark auburn hair up underneath, and shifted on the gold brocade sofa. Determined to keep her mind off what was happening down the hall, she nervously surveyed her surroundings.

Ravenworth Hall was immense and impressive, the salon where she waited richly decorated with ebony gilt furniture and high carved painted ceilings. Heavy Aubusson carpets covered the black marble floors and the walls were hung with gold flocked paper. Gold damask curtains hung at the windows yet somehow managed not to block out the sun.

In fact, the Gold Room glittered against the light that streamed in, touching on the gilded mirrors, forming rainbows of color in the cut-crystal sconces that lined the walls. It was beautiful beyond belief, but in truth, she didn't want to be there. Didn't want to be in the house at all.

Elizabeth sighed, reached down and smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from the folds of her traveling gown. She knew more than enough about this place she had come to and the man who lived here—the Wicked Earl, they called him, the villainous Earl of Ravenworth—and spending time in his house- in his company—was the last thing she wanted to do. Unfortunately, it appeared she had no other choice.

Elizabeth flicked a glance toward the doorway she had come in through, remembering the earl as she had first seen him, tall and dark and nothing at all like the man she had imagined.

Not that he wasn't just as daunting. If anything, with his slightly overlong wavy black hair, high carved cheekbones, and silvery blue-gray eyes, he looked even more formidable than she had imagined. He was also younger, perhaps not yet thirty, and he was far more attractive. In truth, the Earl of Ravenworth was possibly the handsomest man Elizabeth had ever seen.

Which made him no less a villain, she reminded herself. Nicholas Warring was a murderer—convicted and imprisoned—a man who had served seven years' indenture in Jamaica. Only his powerful father's intervention and what Mr. Birdsall referred to as "mitigating circumstances" had saved the man from hanging.

She thought of him now, tall and lean, yet his shoulders were broad, and his breeches hugged powerful thighs corded with long, sinewy muscle. Though the earl had been back in England for less than two years, he was a notorious rake with a despicable reputation.

Now that his father had passed away, he was also the fourth Earl of Ravenworth.

Which meant he was her guardian.

Elizabeth shuddered to think of it and her eyes slid away from the open doorway. Even seated as she was in the drawing room, she could hear the sound of men's voices drifting in from the study, and a tight knot formed in her stomach. What were they saying? Sydney had assured her the earl would help her, but the look on his face said he wasn't really that sure. The voices rose and fell. Her heart picked up its tempo. What in heaven's name was going on in there?

Knowing she shouldn't, unable to stand the suspense a moment more, Elizabeth rose from the sofa and crossed to the open door. None of the servants were about. With a quick breath for courage, she crept down the hall, paused in front of the study door, and pressed an ear to the ornately carved surface.

"Surely you are jesting," Nick said, rising from behind his desk to pace in front of the marble-manteled hearth. "You cannot possibly mean for me to keep the girl here at Ravenworth."

Sydney Birdsall, a slender, white-haired man once Nick's father's best friend, shifted uncomfortably but didn't look away. "No one knows better than I your sordid reputation, Nicholas. Since your return from the Indies, you have made a point of singularly destroying what little good name you had left."

Nick eyed him coldly. "Then how can you possibly suggest a young girl like Elizabeth Woolcot live under my roof?"

Sydney sighed. "If there were any other way, you may be certain I wouldn't be here. The fact is, the girl is your ward and she is in danger."

"The girl was my father's ward. Until she walked into the house, I had never laid eyes on her."

"No, but you've been sending money for her expenses. You've seen to her education and made certain that she and her aunt are well cared for,"

"All of that was done through you."

"Nevertheless, you've stood by your obligations thus far and I am asking you to continue in that vein."

Nick gave up a sigh of frustration. "You know what goes on in this house, Sydney—the sort of life I lead. What you're asking is impossible."

"Elizabeth has no one else to turn to. You know Oliver Hampton. The man is ruthless in the extreme. For whatever reason—her beauty perhaps, or simply because she has refused his suit—Lord Bascomb wants her and he'll go to any lengths, do anything in his power, to have her."

Nick turned away from the slender little man with the intelligent, perceptive eyes. Returning to his rosewood desk, he sat down wearily and leaned back ill his chair. He knew Bascomb, all right. The earl was the wealthy owner of Hampton Shipping, a conscienceless bastard who took what he wanted regardless of the consequences. He used people to further his own ends, then ground them up like so much fodder under the heel of his boot.

He was also the lying whoreson who had helped send him to prison. The thought of the Earl of Bascomb with an innocent young girl like Elizabeth Woolcot made the blood turn to ice in his veins.

He fixed his gaze on the man seated across from him. "The girl is obviously in a bad situation," he said. "I presume you have been to the authorities. What does the local justice have to say?"

Sydney made a tight sound in his throat. "The justice is in Bascomb's coat pocket. The earl is the richest man in Surrey- one of the richest in England—and technically he has done nothing wrong. Aside from that, you know as well as I do, even should Bascomb abscond with the girl, his intention is marriage. Considering Elizabeth's circumstances, every magistrate in the country will view her becoming the Countess of Bascomb as the answer to a prayer."

Nick sighed, feeling defeat creeping into his shoulders. " All right, Sydney. The case you've made is a strong one. I'll do whatever I can to help her, but she simply can't stay here."

Sydney leaned forward, his hands nervously fisted on his thighs. "You met her for only a moment. Let me bring her in so that you might talk to her yourself. Surely that isn't too much to ask."

Nick glanced away, uncomfortable with the beseeching look on Sydney's face. Reluctantly he nodded. His friend had come a good long ways. Talking to the girl was the least he could do.