Wicked Wyckerly (27 page)

Fitz wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her from the floor, and she thrilled at his strength and closeness.

“Marry me, Rhubarbara, for I’m about to make a dishonest woman of you.”

He pressed her back against the wall and smothered any protest with his kiss.

29

As if he’d finally been released from some restraint, Fitz did not give Abby time to reply. His broad frame pressed her against the wall, and his kiss melted any thought she might have. His hand on her breast . . . Abby needed the wall to hold her up as shivers of expectation seeped to her womb and lower. In just that touch, she learned a very great deal of why unmarried men and women should not be left alone together.

She drank hungrily of his kisses, as if starved and thirsty and responding to sweet wine and rhubarb tarts. She couldn’t get enough. She wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders, let him lift her from the floor, and only moaned a protest when he cupped her bottom and brought her too close to reality.

She was a farm girl. She knew what aroused stallions did to mares.

She tried to wriggle away, but it was like forcing water to behave once it escaped the pump. She had no backbone. She wanted his kisses to go on forever.

He fell back on one of the leather couches and cradled her in his lap. “Marry me, Abby. Please say yes. I don’t think I have the strength to stop now.”

And again, before she could reply, he captured her mouth with his, begging her with sweetness and rough passion. The stubble on his cheeks chafed her skin, reminding her that he was all male, as if she needed more reminding. Bay rum and masculine musk filled her senses, and the stroke of strong fingers on the curve of her breast almost made her agree to anything, had she possessed wits to speak.

She gasped as his capable fingers unfastened her bodice and slid inside her chemisette, stroking her bare flesh. Although the tips of his fingers barely grazed her skin, she could feel the sensation through every particle of her body. She shuddered and didn’t fight him, needing this stimulation she’d been denied for so long. She ached for more but didn’t know how to tell him.

Encouraged, he unhooked the top of her corset at the same time as his tongue swept deep inside her mouth. His fingers caressing her nipple elicited a cry of shock, swallowed by his kiss.

She could feel Fitz’s arousal beneath her bottom. She desperately needed to touch him as he touched her. She wanted to lie back against the leather and let him do all the unspeakable things to her that a man did to a woman. Desire burned between her legs, and every stroke on her breast stoked the fire higher.

That was when Abby knew of a certainty that she had no choice left.

“See how right this is, my beautiful Abby?” he murmured, laying her back against the leather, just as she’d wanted.

He wants my inheritance,
her logical mind protested weakly.

Hair falling in his eyes, his jaw shadowed and taut with longing, Fitz untied her chemisette and unfastened more hooks, until she spilled from her confines like a wanton. He touched her with such reverence that Abby nearly wept with gratitude that she could offer him what he wanted. Cold air brushed her bare skin, but Fitz’s gaze warmed her from the inside out.

He bent over and licked one of her aching nipples, and she did weep, then slid her hand into his thick hair to hold him there while her body sang hallelujahs.

“I need you, Abby,” he whispered, tugging one tight crest with his teeth and fondling the other with his hand. “You need me. We’ll make it work. Trust me.”

I would be giving him everything I owned to become his unpaid servant while he gambles about London,
her stupid logic warned
.

A strong brown hand caught her skirt and tugged it upward, caressing her stockinged leg with purpose, working its way upward.

“I’ll buy a special license.” He continued eager kisses from her lips down her throat. “We can marry immediately. No one can take the children away from an earl.”

He’s right,
her weakening brain agreed.
And I want him. And he needs me. And I’m absolutely insane.

Because by then, Fitz’s fingers had found the point of no return, and Abby bit back a scream at the intimate contact with flesh no man except a husband should ever touch.

“You’re going to love the magic we can make together, my Abby,” he whispered with male pride. “You may throw me out on my head if I don’t give you pleasure. Say yes, my precious, because I don’t dare go farther until you do.”

“Please,” she heard herself inexplicably respond. “Please, don’t stop.”

Lying beside her, one leg flung over hers, Fitz propped his weight on one elbow and slowly teased the curls of her woman’s place. She didn’t dare open her eyes again, but she sensed him with every fiber of her being. She had never felt helpless and female so much as she did now, with his man’s hand setting her mindlessly free. Forces were building inside her that she didn’t understand, and all her concentration was on what he did to her. It didn’t matter what he said or she said, so long as he did not stop and leave her bereft.

“Is that a yes, Miss Merriweather?” He leaned over to nibble at her breast while one finger probed temptingly.

She nearly rose up off the couch in her eagerness. “Yes, please, hurry!”

“You have made me a very happy man.” His hair brushed her breasts as he suckled and, at the same time, brought his thumb to press at the place he’d aroused to throbbing.

Abby inched her legs wider, too aware of how her skirt and petticoat rode about her waist, afraid to look at herself. Afraid to look at him. She wanted to pretend this was all sensation and the rest of the world did not exist.

Fitz hesitated, and she almost stopped breathing. Her eyes flew open as he pulled his head back. Green eyes studied her with what she hoped was desire. His beard stubble and the fall of honey brown hair gave him a rakish look, but it was his slow smile that captured her heart.

“You are mine now, Miss Merriweather, to cherish and protect. And I’m going to thoroughly regret my good behavior in the morning.”

Before she could question, or even think to cry a protest, he turned his persuasive lips to hers, and his tongue slid seductively between them. She dug her fingers into his wrinkled waistcoat, wishing desperately that she could peel back layers of cloth to find his skin. She needed to touch the hard muscle rippling tantalizingly out of reach.

But then he spread her thighs wider and inserted his fingers more assertively, and in the blink of an instant, her world quaked and thundered and rocked.

Squeezing her eyes closed, hanging on to Fitz’s strong arms for dear life, she reveled in the astounding experience as her body came apart in sweet bliss. He eased her safely back to reality when it was over, and she wilted in his embrace. Whispering promises in her ear, he lay down beside her and cuddled her against his chest. His broad hand now stroked her bare bottom.

She was officially ruined. She thought.

“What about you, my lord?” she whispered moments later when some small portion of her rational thought returned. She knew something was lacking, but she was too lost in sensation to grasp exactly what.

Fitz hugged his beautiful Rhubarbara, selfishly admiring the bounteous breasts spilling from her bodice. He wasn’t a complete scoundrel. He didn’t want to tempt fate by leaving his precious Abby with child should the mad stone thrower actually hit his target before the wedding.

Just thinking about having his head stove in was sufficient to keep his arousal in check, although he ached with longing. His Abby was so sweetly responsive that he knew he’d chosen a bride who would enjoy many lusty hours in bed with him. Why marry a cold prude when he could save the expense and nuisance of a fickle mistress by having his marvelous Abby!

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “My turn will come after we exchange vows,” he promised. “My villainous ways extend only so far.”

“I am already ruined,” she said pragmatically, or invitingly, depending on how he chose to construe it.

He was tempted, sorely tempted. His hand held a bare, firm derriere just begging for his caress. He ached to make her his, to give her what they both desperately wanted. She was moist and warm and ready. He had only to unfasten his buttons and lay her down to be in sweet heaven.

But he’d spent too many years surviving to give in to temptation now. He had a will of iron. Still holding his bride-to-be, he swung his legs over the side of the couch, letting Abby’s skirt and petticoat fall down over her legs, although he refused to cover the sight of the creamy bosom he’d craved to behold since he’d first set eyes on her. She was so utterly perfect that he could scarcely believe his good fortune.

“I could easily lie and charm our way out of ruination as things stand,” he promised, “if that is your wish, but I respect you too much to truly ruin you until we’re wedded.”

He offered his most deceptive grin to conceal his pain.

She narrowed her eyes as if she saw right through him. “You are gambling again, aren’t you?”

He stood, holding her firmly in his arms. “In a way, I suppose I am. I am wagering that you will want more of what I can offer, and that you’ll not change your mind in the morning.”

Carrying her, he strode toward the stairs, hoping Bibley had left a light in whatever chamber he’d found suitable for the new earl.

“It takes time for me to make up my mind, so I don’t like changing it,” she warned, leaning her strawberry curls trustingly against his shoulder.

His
, the primitive warrior inside him roared. This intelligent, annoying, beautiful woman was
his
. He’d never possessed such a treasure before, and he would fight tooth and claw to keep her. His nonchalant tone revealed nothing of his inner fierceness. “Smart people change their minds when they realize they didn’t have all the facts the first time. Yes, I gamble, but I am not obsessed with it. I can stop any time.”

She apparently pondered that as he carried her up the stairs. His Abby wasn’t a twittering nag by any means. She was thoughtful, which was damned dangerous. He almost wished she’d twitter instead of twisting all his words inside her head and coming to conclusions he wasn’t prepared to counter.

“No, I doubt that you can stop any time.” She stated the conclusion he had feared she’d reach. “It’s what you’re trained to do. A farmer plants fields. A seaman sails ships. A gambler gambles.”

“A farmer can lay down his plow and a seaman can retire his ship,” he argued.

“But unless they have other income, they will starve if they do.”

Grimly, Fitz noted the light at the end of the hall and stalked toward it. The woman—or her conclusion—was becoming damned heavy. He ought to set her down right here and make her walk, but he couldn’t bear to let her go. “I never owed another man in my life until I inherited this pile,” he growled, as if she could follow his thought.

“And you hate being beholden to anyone,” she agreed, her active mind trotting right along with his. “How much do you owe Lord Quentin?”

“Too much.” He shoved the partially open door with his shoulder, swinging it wide and revealing a chamber that at least possessed a plump mattress, and pillows covered in what appeared to be decent linen, and a silk coverlet. Any draperies that might once have adorned the tester frame had been discreetly removed, probably because they were moth-eaten and filthy.

He flung her down in the center of the mattress, and when no dust rose up, he smirked in satisfaction. Propping his fists on his hips, he admired his wanton intended sprawled across
his
linens. “I wish I could have your portrait painted like this. You were made for this bed.”

Abby instantly sat up and scrabbled to pull her bodice over her breasts, but Fitz fell down beside her and slid her sleeves off her shoulders, capturing her arms. He couldn’t resist leaning over to suckle at her celestial bounty. He was a damned good judge of people. His farmer girl had been born to fulfill his needs.

He wasn’t a stupid lovelorn youth anymore. He was a man on the brink of claiming a prize he’d worked to earn. He would prove he could take very good care of her.

“What are you doing?” she asked in surprise as he tugged her arms from their sleeves and began unfastening her skirt hooks.

“Ruining you more,” he said matter-of-factly. “Ruining you for any other man in the universe. Making you want me as much as I want you. Keeping your active mind from asking any more irrelevant questions. Is that enough for now?”

To Fitz’s surprise, his Abby put her small hand against his broad chest and shoved him back against the mattress. When she began unfastening his waistcoat, he grinned hugely and helped her.

“Then we shall be ruined together, my lord,” she said in the same tone as he’d just used. “And if I ask any questions, they will be very relevant. Most likely, impertinent as well.”

He laughed with joy.

30

Abby had struggled to retain her chemise during the night she spent in Fitz’s bed, but her new betrothed was a charmer who could talk a snake out of its skin.

And she had to admit, the self-satisfied look on Danecroft’s face in the early-morning light as he lay beside her, gazing down upon her nakedness, was worth surrendering her last shred of decency.

He, the smirking devil, was still wearing his long shirt and breeches, concealing every inch of the hard body she’d stroked and tested in the dark. She’d been reduced to a complete mindless twit, and he’d maintained all his composure. Or almost all. There’d been a few moments when she’d touched him, and he’d smothered his moans by biting a pillow.

She ought to be thoroughly ashamed of herself, but Fitz had taught her lessons last night that she’d never thought to learn. And he had made every one of them seem perfectly natural, if only they could have been carried to their logical conclusion. Which they hadn’t.

She had spent a night in a man’s bed and was still a virgin. She picked up her pillow and smacked him across his grin.

Chuckling, he fell back against the mattress and let her pummel him with feathers. “I heard the children run past five minutes ago. They could be anywhere,” he said, laughing as he caught the pillow and flung it across the room.

“You are a scoundrel,” she complained, dragging a sheet over her breasts a little belatedly for decency.

“But I’m an honest one,” he crowed, vaulting to his feet and searching a wardrobe for who knew what, since neither of them had any luggage.

He found a shirt and shook it out, frowning in dismay at its condition before shucking the wrinkled one he wore.

Abby stared, dumbfounded, at the remarkable broad chest he so casually revealed. And square, muscled shoulders. And taut . . . All the blood seemed to drain from her head as she admired the masculine torso she’d touched only in the dark.

John Fitzhugh Wyckerly was a stallion in his prime, with brawny arms, sculpted chest, and long, powerful limbs. No wonder he’d been able to haul her less-thansylphlike self across halls and up stairs.

And he wanted to marry
her
? Her puny inheritance was scarcely an incentive for a man who could have any woman he wanted, should he put his mind to it.

And he’d chosen
her
. She couldn’t grasp such an enormity. He really must want her, not just her money.

“Dane,”
she said thoughtfully. “A Viking Dane capable of carrying off entire villages of women.”

Washing in the tepid water left in the pitcher last night, he swung to lift a quizzical eyebrow at her.

“You call me Rhubarbara,” she pointed out, quite sensibly, she thought. Or as sensible as she could be while eyeing the hair between his masculine nipples, running down into his breeches. Breeches that bulged intriguingly, she might add. Breeches that would fill her every waking thought if she didn’t find a new direction. “I think you are more a Dane than a Fitz.”

“Loosely translated,
Fitz
means bastard,” he acknowledged, turning back to his ablutions, rubbing his unshaven jaw as he gazed at the mirror. “I always thought my mother’s surname of Fitzhugh rather rude, but otherwise, it’s fitting enough.”

She flung a pillow at his back and dug around for her clothing. “You’re an honest scoundrel,” she reminded him, dragging on her chemise, “not a bastard. And if you really meant what you said about a special license, I will have to send for funds to pay for it, and then everyone will know where we are.”

He soaped his face and stropped a razor he had found in the washstand drawer. “I will ride up to London and borrow more from Quent. The matchmaker in him won’t be able to resist.”

She almost forgot to finish dressing while she watched him draw the straightedge across his dark whiskers. Her insides quivered in expectation when she noticed he was observing her in the mirror as much as she was staring at him.

“You’d better bring a vicar back with the license, then.” She acknowledged what they both felt with that admission. She didn’t think she could last another night in his bed and retain the shreds of her innocence.

His smile ran straight through her heart and left her breathless.

“And ye of little faith doubted my ability to choose my perfect countess. Don’t question my judgment of people next time. I’ve not entirely wasted these last years.”

She wasn’t certain how she felt about marrying someone who could see right through her, so she turned her back on him to hook her corset. Before she knew he’d crossed the room, Fitz planted a soapy kiss on her shoulder and lifted her breast free of its confinement.

“Don’t wear the corset,” he murmured. “I like to touch.”

“You won’t be here, and I have to face your servants with some degree of respectability.” But her bones melted at the prospect of stolen moments and caresses in their future.

A cry of “Abby, Abby!” in the hall ended any other intimacies they might have shared.

He sighed loudly and released her to open a door into an adjoining room. “Your boudoir, my lady, if you wish to wash and prepare yourself before the imps find you.”

Daringly, she stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to the shaven spot on his square jaw. “My Dane,” she said in satisfaction, before dodging his grab and darting through the open door, closing it behind her.

She was definitely a shameless hussy. The marchioness had been right. She had needed to learn who she was before she settled down in the country. Abby didn’t think shameless hussy was what the lady had had in mind, but she was quite content with it if it meant she could make Fitz laugh with real enjoyment, and not just false charm. Making a man happy was even more delicious than watching the children play.

She hastily washed and wiggled into a gown that she had needed a maid to help her hook and pin the prior day. She considered asking for Fitz’s aid, but she worked out the fastenings as best she could. Fearing she’d left a gap unfastened in the back of her bodice, she donned her shawl and glanced around at the beautifully curved and elegant furniture, before sailing out to meet a wide new world.

Abby hadn’t realized how completely different that world was until she sat next to Fitz in the estate office after breakfast, puzzling over years’ worth of dusty household ledgers. While she struggled to understand invoices for candles at twice what she paid at home, and income reading
one brace mallards,
instead of pounds or pence
,
Fitz was attempting to unscramble ancient banknotes.

“This isn’t right.” He kept shaking his head, totaling and retotaling columns longer than Abby’s hand. Then he’d pull out an even older ledger and start the process over again. “I’m not the only scoundrel in the woodpile,” he muttered once. “And no wonder Geoff is hiding in the outback of nowhere, afraid to show his face! If I thought he knew about this, I’d trounce the scoundrel. I still might.”

Abby was a little less brave about making accusations, so she reserved her opinion until she had time to study more. “I didn’t think your cousin Mr. Wyckerly had anything to do with the estate,” she offered once, when Fitz was growling about
slack-brained lickspittles
.

“If there’s wickedness about, a Wyckerly is at hand,” he muttered even more incomprehensibly. “I’m finding banknotes aplenty, but no cash expensed to pay for improvements or debts. The notes have my grandfather’s signature, but where are the deposits to go with them? And look, here, none of the writing in these ledgers matches my grandfather’s execrable penmanship. If Bibley is right about the inability to read, my grandfather did not handle these accounts!” He angrily shoved still another ledger aside and looked up when Bibley announced the presence of Mr. Applebee.

Fortunately, the bell hanging at the front door intoned at the same time, and Abby gathered her skirts and hurried out with the excuse of making sure the children hadn’t decided to swing from the rope. If Fitz had truly been cheated out of his inheritance, which was what it sounded like to her, she really didn’t think she had the heart for listening to the steward discussing the condition of fields Fitz could not afford to repair.

“Where’s my papa?” Mulish bottom lip stuck out, Penelope did not hug Abby when she opened the door to the new arrivals.

The elderly nanny who had accompanied the child gaped at the rotunda entry just as everyone always did. In this instance, Abby excused the poor woman for not responding to her charge’s distress. “Your papa is in his business office, talking with his estate manager. Shall I take you to him so you may peek and wave before we find Jennifer?”

She was fairly certain the children had been making so much noise in the upper stories that they hadn’t heard the carriage arrive or the bell ring down here. In a house this size, she would feel better having the extra eyes of Penny’s nanny to watch over them. She hadn’t forgotten Fitz’s tale about stairs to the roof.

“Jennifer’s here?” Only partially mollified, Penny took Abby’s hand and tiptoed cautiously across the floor adorned with the family crest.

The child’s obvious fear tugged at Abby’s heart. She desperately wanted to cradle Fitz’s daughter as she would the twins, but Penny needed reassurance first. “Yes, that’s what your daddy was doing, rescuing my brothers and sisters. He didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. He missed you very much.”

Nodding more confidently now, Penny hurried along beside Abby through the vast corridors leading to the back of the house. The business office was approachable by tenants—and creditors. The townsfolk had learned the earl was in residence and had been lined up at the door since dawn, but Bibley had been refusing them entry.

Not meaning to disturb Fitz, Abby intended only to let the child peek and be reassured that her father was there, but the instant Fitz caught sight of them, his face changed from hollow and cold to beaming and warm. Even the agitated tradesman standing beside Applebee looked startled by the transformation. Wide-eyed, the merchant respectfully tipped his hat to Abby as Penny tore from her grasp and ran across the room to fling herself at her father’s knees.

Abby knew how villages worked. News of her presence would have gossips whispering far and wide. And she still wasn’t ashamed that she was living here without a chaperone. Perhaps that came of twenty-five years of the kind of security that allowed her to know who she was, even if she didn’t know this strange environment she’d been dropped into. Maybe, just maybe, she could learn to be what Fitz needed. She hoped so, because she didn’t see any way out of what they’d done.

Perhaps, if she needn’t entertain or go about in society pretending to be a
countess
, she could go through with this marriage. She really had no choice now. No other man would have her, and the executor would be too appalled by her behavior to consider her a suitable guardian for the children unless she married.

To the side of Fitz’s desk stood the short, stout, and balding Mr. Applebee, who wore boots so old that even with a thick coat of polish the wear was apparent. Abby understood why Fitz had chosen—
gambled
on—this man to save his land. She saw only eagerness to please in the estate manager’s expression as he bowed to her.

Perhaps she needed someone in her life who was willing to take chances.

While Penny planted kisses all over her father’s laughing face, Abby held out her hand to the man who would have to turn Fitz’s land to profit. “It is good to see you here, sir. I hope you found comfortable quarters.”

“A little work, and they’ll be right as rain,” Applebee said cheerfully. “My missus knows how to make a penny squawk.”

Abby wasn’t yet mistress here, but she liked people and hoped the Applebees would stay, so she did her best to make him feel comfortable by promising a visit later.

Fitz made his excuses and, carrying his daughter, stepped outside the office. Abby followed. Placing his free hand at her back, he guided her away from listening ears.

“Now that the imp is here, I need to depart for London. I don’t know how long it will take to procure a license.” He planted a kiss on the top of Abby’s head that she felt clear to her toes.

“You will see Lady Belden and extend my apologies again?” Abby murmured, taking Penny from him and finally giving his daughter the hug she’d wanted to offer earlier. “I cannot imagine what she is telling the Weatherstons. And I really must find someone to take the executor to court so we needn’t hide forever. I’m even afraid to write home and tell them everyone is well.”

“Special license first, the toughest barrister on earth next, and the dragon lady after that,” Fitz promised. “Will you mind dealing with this tomb while I’m gone? I fear you won’t be able to go about without tradesmen at your heels.”

“I cannot even imagine how to ‘deal with this tomb’ with no money,” she said honestly. “I think I’ll find the kitchen garden and get dirty, like the children.”

“I hope you did not give away all your old clothes. I have a feeling you’ll need them here far more than the pretty London ones,” Fitz said with sympathy, proving he understood her too well already.

“I am not much interested in gowns,” she admitted. “The children, however, grow out of their clothes faster than I can have them made. I don’t think you’ve given full consideration to their cost.”

“And I don’t intend to,” he said cheerfully, tugging Penny’s braid and kissing her cheek. “We’ll put them to work and make them earn their way, won’t we, princess?”

“I’ll swat spiders,” Penny agreed with a firm nod.

“See, it’s all settled!”

Fitz looked so confident and determined that Abby knew he was as dubious of their future as she was.