Wicked Wyckerly (31 page)

And then Fitz’s pace increased to one of urgent insistence, and any further thought departed Abby’s head. With his powerful, surging thrusts, her body spiraled out of control, seeking some height she’d never known. Her hips rose and fell, taking him deeper. She relished his groans of pleasure, the tight grip of his hand on her breasts, their mindless lack of control.

Just when she thought she might come apart, he stroked his thumb between her legs, and ecstasy swept her away. In response to her cries of joy, his body rocked harder and deeper until he shouted and flooded her with his seed. On the distant horizon of awareness, the significance of the deed thrilled her as much as the climax of sensation.

It was done, and there was no turning back. She was officially the Countess of Danecroft.

With Fitz’s big body wrapped securely around her, Abby thought perhaps being a countess had its merits.

35

“Abbieeee, Abbieeee,” Cissy was crying pathetically from somewhere in the distance.

“Shhhh, you’ll wake them up,” Penny whispered so loudly that she could probably be heard two floors below.

A feminine giggle under Fitz’s armpit warned that his newly ravished bride had heard them, too. He sighed in resignation and rose up on his elbow to admire the prize he’d won last night. He couldn’t be more content if he had won a pirate’s golden hoard.

The candles had guttered into smoking wax, but the morning light caught the crystals, and rainbows danced merrily across the walls and ceiling and his bride’s strawberry curls. Despite her initiation into sensual pleasure, or perhaps because of it, she still looked angelic and wholesome and entirely his beautiful Abby.

Fitz kissed her freckled nose.

And she lifted her shoulders from the mattress to kiss him back, placing his lips close to heaven. He pushed her to the mattress and straddled her hips and bent to claim a succulent breast.

An adult voice in the hall intruded. “Hush, now! What are the two of you doing down here at this hour?”

Fitz jerked his head up in startlement and gazed down at Abby. “Isabell?”

Abby beamed. “I placed her in the room at the head of the stairs.”

“What is all this racket?” a deep male voice asked querulously as Cissy continued to cry, Penny continued to protest, and Lady Bell dealt ineptly with both.

“Quentin.”
Realizing any thought of further conquest was futile while his wealthy guests tangled with the children, Fitz rolled back to the mattress. Now that he was more fully awake, he knew he needed to give Abby time to recover from last night. He’d tried to be gentle, but she’d been too eager for his witless cock, and the deed had been done swiftly. Twice.

He could easily envision indulging several more times this morning and wondered how long it would take her to heal. “You gave Quent the chamber next to Lady Bell’s,” he said with what should have been accusation but was more amusement at her conniving.

“They were the best chambers. Besides, those two manipulators deserve each other.” She wet her finger and ran it down his rib cage.

Fitz almost rolled over and ravished her right there. But he’d spent most of his adult life resisting what he wanted. “Maybe so,” he agreed, rolling out of bed, “but it won’t put either of them in good humor to realize it.”

The bare floor and cold wash water set him back quickly enough. “I’m amazed you found a stick of furniture left for them to sleep on. The only reason I could salvage your ring is because the lawyers kept it locked up. The legalities of entailments seldom deterred my family from selling off anything so common as household goods.”

“Not just your family,” she confirmed. “Your enterprising servants have been using your home as an inn. Apparently there is a nice profit to be had in renting out rooms they don’t own, so most of the bedroom furniture and linens were kept up.”

Fitz lifted his head from a towel to stare at his wanton bride. She wasn’t even bothering to hide her nakedness, and he could swear there was a come-hither look in her eyes. He didn’t know why he’d been blessed with this amazing woman, but he thanked the heavens. Then dunked his head in cold water again.

He had a house full of solicitors and a furious executor waiting. He would have to return to London to gamble for a living if he meant to pay his enormous debts. Perhaps he’d bang his head against the wall while he was at it.

“Maybe they have the right idea,” he muttered, slathering soap across his bristles. “Maybe we should rent this place out and retire to your cozy cottage.”

“You’re accustomed to challenges. You wouldn’t last a day in rural boredom.” She dragged a sheet to her breasts and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. “If you think it might help, you could rent out the entire house during hunting season. But you need to look over your accounts first. You may not be as far in debt as you thought.”

“I could be only
half
as far in debt as I thought and still be too deep for my pockets.” He scraped at his face and tried not to watch her in the mirror, but having a wife was new to him, and his curiosity about her was insatiable.

She noticed, blushed, then hastily pulled the covers up over the sheets. The physical side of marriage would make her nervous for a while. He ought to stay with her until she got used to him.

But he had to secure her dowry, then pay back Quent’s loan and claim his stud. Then set up race dates and stud fees. He’d have to go back to gambling just to cover expenses. Abby’s small inheritance would go only so far after he paid Quent. Thank goodness he had Applebee to organize the tenants and start planting the fields.

“Still, it is better to have an accurate accounting,” she continued, “and force the merchants to deal honestly with us.”

Us.
He was still adjusting to having a partner who understood his concerns. He stared at her in fascination.

“Your creditors are much too accustomed to dealing with Bibley,” she continued, not noticing his amused delight at his countess’s managing ways.

“Now,
there’s
a scoundrel,” Fitz agreed. “I suppose while we have a house full of solicitors, I could look through the accounts and ask them if the debts will all hold up in court.” Remembering the missing cash, he wondered if he ought to present the evidence of family embezzlement while he had legal minds available, or if he should simply beat an explanation out of his heir.

A door knocker pounded loudly below. Small foot-steps scampered down the hallway. Arguing voices carried up from the foyer, ending his dallying.

This was more a marriage of
in
convenience.

Abby darted back to her room and Fitz finished shaving and washing before a polite knock on his door warned him that the household wouldn’t wait any longer.

“You have a visitor, my lord,” Bibley announced from the other side of the panel.

“I seem to have a few dozen visitors, Bibley,” Fitz called, grabbing a shirt from the wardrobe and pulling it over his head. At least he had clothes with him this time.

“Mr. Wyckerly said you expressed a wish to see him, my lord,” Bibley stated solemnly.

“Geoff? Geoff is out there? Finally! Damn that bounder—” Dancing on one foot, Fitz pulled on his trousers, and in stocking feet, he jerked open the door. “Where is he?” he roared.

Abigail had a great deal of experience at dressing quickly, but this morning her head was still atwirl, and she felt too languid to move with any direction. Lady Belden had seen that she had her new gowns, but they really required a maid and too much fuss, so after washing, she donned one of her more modest, less fashionable dresses. With all the aches and chafes in scandalous places to remind her of what she’d done last night, she didn’t feel any less wanton wearing a simple gown, but she hoped she looked respectable.

She was still pulling on her slippers when she heard Fitz’s angry bellow in the next room. Hastily tying the shoe ribbons so she didn’t break her neck, she dashed out in the hall in time to see the top of his head disappear around the bend in the stairwell.

She ran after him, but she wasn’t quick enough to halt her husband’s fury from erupting.

“Where the hell have you been and who the hell do you think you are, looking at carriage crests while I’m bloody well alive?” Half-dressed in only shirt and trousers, Fitz bore down on an expensively attired, handsome gentleman standing in the rotunda, gazing around at the splendor, as all visitors must. The man glanced up in surprise at Fitz’s roar of rage, and Abby screamed as her husband’s fist connected loudly with their guest’s jaw in a resounding crack.

The gentleman flew backward, losing his hat, but he scrambled up quickly enough to show he wasn’t taking a pummeling lying down. Fitz raised his fists and jabbed a punch to their guest’s midsection before he could dodge, doubling the gentleman over in pain.

“Where have you been hiding while assassins tried to kill me?” Fitz shouted, waiting for his opponent to stand up so he could swing again. “There were women and children there yesterday!” The instant the gentleman straightened, Fitz’s left fist shot out, connecting with his chin, and the visitor stumbled backward again.

Was this the gentleman Fitz had been cursing as he’d perused the ledgers? Surely account books did not justify murder. Of course, if the newcomer had shot that arrow yesterday . . .

The rotunda began filling with guests and servants. And children. This wouldn’t do at all. It was apparent their visitor’s fists wouldn’t kill Fitz, but Abby didn’t want him hurt either, and she wouldn’t have the men setting a bad example for the little ones. She gestured peremptorily at Fitz’s friends. “Stop them!” she commanded.

Lord Quentin merely shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest while he watched Fitz try to murder a guest. Setting her lips grimly, Abby picked up a terrified Penny and shoved her into the nanny’s arms. “Take the children to the nursery. I’ll deal with this.” Grabbing the twins, she pushed them at Lady Isabell and Lady Sally. “Take all of them.”

“Abby, no, I want to stay!” Tommy protested. “I can help.” Raising his fists, he prepared to leap into the fray to defend his hero.

“As you can see, Fitz doesn’t need our aid. You can help by reassuring the children that everything will be fine.” Abby pushed him toward Jennifer. “Go, now. I will fetch you shortly.”

The two men rolled across the marble floor. She winced at the sound of a head striking stone. She would crack a few heads herself if someone didn’t come to his senses soon.

Once the children and her reluctant female guests were out of sight, Abby glared at the audience circling the fight. The maids were clustered in a corner, wringing their hands, captivated by the sight of their half-dressed lord bruising his knuckles on an elegant visitor.

Even in his fury, Fitz was being a gentleman, giving his opponent time to recover before he launched into him again. They were evenly matched in size, but the other man was bleeding from the nose and lips, and Fitz scarcely looked winded.

“Brooms, Mrs. Worth!” Abby shouted at the housekeeper, around whom the maids were huddled. “Fetch your brooms. We have rats to chase from the house.”

She caught the aged butler before he could escape. “Bibley! Don’t you dare leave. Do you know the meaning of this?”

“He’s Fitz’s heir, my lady,” the old man said, as if that explained everything.

The gentlemen observers were now watching her as warily as they’d been watching the fight with enthusiasm. She seared all of them with a steely glare. All larger and broader than she, they seemed unfazed by her fury—just because she was small and female.

If this was the great London society she had dreaded, she’d set her fear aside right now. They were no better than stable lads punching noses in the hayloft. “If this unseemly situation isn’t halted in three seconds, gentlemen, I shall commence screaming. It will not be pleasant,” she added, in case they didn’t grasp the full extent of her threat.

Fitz was obviously beyond hearing her, but she didn’t think he’d overlook her screams. She had a good country voice, pitched to be heard across entire fields when necessary.

The gentlemen didn’t move, obviously not understanding the danger of screams.

As the first maid ran up with broom in hand, Abigail tore it from her grip and, swinging it at Fitz’s broad shoulders, simultaneously began screeching at the top of her lungs.

Her husband pitched forward, toppled more by surprise than by her blow. Her screams echoed against the hard surfaces of the rotunda as she pounded the broom between Fitz and his opponent, sending the latter shooting backward across the floor.

To Abby’s immense gratitude, Mrs. Worth appeared with a basin of water. When Fitz’s adversary seized the back of Fitz’s shirt, seeking to take advantage of the earl’s momentary shock, Abby snatched the basin and flung the water in their guest’s pretty face. She continued to yell simply because it felt good to be in control for a change.

The gentlemen were no longer laughing but covering their ears. Lord Quentin shouted,
“Enough!”
in that peremptory tone of his, but smugly, Abby realized she didn’t have to listen to him. She might be rustic and unprepossessing, but she had the good English privilege of rank.

Fitz rolled out of reach of the water just in time. Laughter lit his eyes at the sight of her. Abby wished she had more water with which to soak him. How could he laugh when moments ago he’d been ready to kill his
heir
? She was too furious to be coherent.

Rather than listen to any more screeching, Fitz’s friends finally stepped up to grab the arms of the golden-haired man with the battered face, giving Abby some reassurance that the massacre had ended, and she might take a breath of relief and rest her voice.

“My countess, Geoff,” Fitz said laughingly from the floor, where he lounged as if he were a king on his throne. “The General of Danecroft. Make your bows, Cuz, and I will call her off, but endanger her family with more assassins, and she will no doubt shoot you more accurately than the nodcocks you hired.”

“Or bash his brains out and drown him,” Atherton said, eyeing Abby warily while he and the others hung on to their struggling captive.

“I didn’t hire any damned assassins!” the golden-haired man shouted. Or tried to shout. He winced and shook off his captors to test his jaw. Glancing over at Abby, he attempted a modest bow and almost toppled. “Good day, my lady. I did not mean to disrupt your party, but your husband has a short fuse and a few wits to let.”

“Montague, stuff him in a cellar before I take his head off again.” Fitz scrambled to his feet and came to stand in front of Abby. “My apologies, my dear. I will deal with the beast, if you will reassure the children that we have not been invaded by barbarian hordes.”

“The only barbarian here seems to be you, but I will assume you have your reasons.” She studied him critically, noticing a bruise forming on his jaw but seeing no blood. “I think our guests must breakfast before we subject them to any further entertainment.”