My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) (11 page)

In the library, he commanded her to sit down and gave her a sheet of paper and pencil. She looked up at him towering above her, the expression on his face unreadable. She had the feeling he was a giant, a benevolent king. And she was nothing more than a paltry subject.

"Draw for me, if you will, whatever plant pops into your mind," he said, his voice less commanding than usual.

She thought for a moment, visualizing a purple foxglove rising magnificently from among lesser flowers in the English garden. Then, she began to transfer her vision to her paper. When she finished, she meekly handed it to him. "When I learn to watercolor," she said apologetically, "the pictures will be much better."

He took the drawing and stared at it.

Her heart pounded as she waited for his opinion.

"My dear Miss Lambeth," he said, excitement in his resonant voice, "you are precisely what I need!"

Her heart soared. "You, my lord, have for the past two months been precisely what I need."

He gave her a puzzled look, then rang for Eason. "Fetch Miss Lambeth's breakfast," he ordered the butler. "She will eat in the library with me."

For the next two hours, he imparted to her his ideas for the book, how he planned to divide it by genus, with drawings of all species within the genus.

"I am sure you are familiar with Nicholas Culpeper's work," Freddie said.

Lord Stacks frowned. "The man's contribution is significant, but he borrowed much too heavily on the ancients. Had you been to Greece, my dear Miss Lambeth, you would know how vastly different their climate and their plant life is from ours. What is needed is a comprehensive guide to those plants that grow on English soil."

She agreed with him. Getting to her feet, she stood behind him as he sat at his desk and proceeded to read aloud his notes, proving to him that she had no difficulty reading his scratchy handwriting. She found herself putting her hand on his shoulder and reacting to the feel of him in a profound, unexplainable manner. Deep within her stirred a strange, satisfying craving. She found herself wondering what it would feel like to be held in his strong embrace. And she blushed at her outrageous thoughts.

***

During her session with Mrs. Taylor that afternoon, Freddie was thankful to be interrupted by Eason, who informed her that Dr. Edgekirth awaited downstairs, wishing to pay her a call.

She tossed aside the tedious French lesson, grabbed Marmalade, and scurried downstairs to meet the doctor.

He stood in the great hall, his riding crop in his hand. "Knowing how much you like to ride, Miss Lambeth, I thought perhaps you would favor me by accompanying me. It's quite lovely today."

"I shall ask my guardian for permission to saddle Bay Lady," Freddie said excitedly, running off to the quadrangle where she knew Lord Stacks was working.

She found him there, his sleeves pushed up, kneeling beside a patch of rhododendron, working some dried particles from a pail into the rich, dark soil. He looked up at her, a lock of his black hair falling carelessly across his forehead. She fought the urge to smooth it away, to stoke the planes of his rugged face. "I have come to get your permission have Bay Lady saddled. Dr. Edgekirth has done me the goodness to invite me for a ride."

"You do not need my permission, Miss Lambeth. The horse is now yours." Then, his brows drew together. "But we shall instruct Jacob to saddle up two horses--one for Maggie."

"For Maggie?" she questioned.

He nodded grimly. "A proper young lady does not go off alone with a man. You need a chaperon."

"A man! Why, I assure I never thought of the doctor as a man. I mean, he is but a friend." She started to say
like you and me
, but she could not. For Lord Stacks was so much more than a friend.

Maggie was as nervous as a long-tailed cat near a rocking chair as she mounted the placid roan gelding. "I'm not used to horses, Miss," she said, taking the proffered reins with trembling hands.

"I promise no harm will come to you," Edgekirth said reassuringly, coming up beside her on his horse while Freddie confidently mounted Bay Lady.

It was a beautiful day for a ride, Freddie mused, as they rode past her guardian's orchard and she noted no two trees were alike, though they grew in precise rows. There was a peach tree, an apple tree, a walnut and plum, and many others she was unable to identify.

They rode on past the park and past the stables, taking it slowly for Maggie's benefit. Freddie was glad she had not worn a pelisse for it was a very warm day, and she loved the feel of the sun. Before long, they rode past the summer house. She remembered the day she had sat under its copper dome, warmed by her guardian's great coat, and remembered how happy she had been despite the blustery winds and her drenched clothing.

The doctor broke into her reverie. "I haven't remarked on how very fine your hair looks short, Miss Lambeth."

She nodded toward Maggie. "I have Maggie to thank. She has uncommon talent fashioning hair."

"She has a lovely subject to work with."

Why was it when her guardian paid her a compliment, she glowed, but when Dr. Edgekirth did so she wanted always to change the subject? "I am distilling the white mullein now," she said. "The elixir should be ready for you the day after tomorrow."

"Ah, another excuse to pay you a visit."

When they reached the moors, they turned back toward the abbey. She and the doctor talked at length about herbs and remedies, but for some unknown reason, Freddie had no wish to share with him her work with Lord Stacks.

As he left her on the steps to the abbey, she invited him to dine with them that night, knowing that her guardian would enjoy having a fourth to play whist. Only tonight, she would offer to partner with Mrs. Taylor. Were the physician and her guardian still as stiff and cold to one another as they had been, she would never have insisted on throwing them together, but their animosity was lessening. For which she was grateful. Her dear Lord Stacks needed the camaraderie of other men. And he did love a good game of whist. He had done so much for her, she wanted always to think of little ways in which she could repay him.

***

In the days that followed, Freddie and her guardian spent every morning together working both in the library and in the quadrangle, with no one the wiser regarding the many hours they spent in one another's company. Since each of them was an early riser, they would meet for breakfast, take coffee into the library and spend a couple of hours on the book. As the sun grew higher in the sky, they would finish out the mornings in the quadrangle.

On this morning, Freddie lounged on a sofa in the library, alternately copying her guardian's notes while stealing glances at him as he sat at his desk writing. The more she looked at him, the handsomer he grew. Though too slender to be considered rugged in the accepted sense, he conveyed a raw masculinity with his dark, sinewy good looks, his keen intelligence, and his solid dependability. She wondered if his leadership abilities were the result of being a lord or if he would have commanded fealty had he been a mere laborer.

He looked up from his notes to watch Marmalade skitter beneath his desk. "That cat of yours seems to have developed a great fondness for the cubicle under my desk."

Freddie screwed up her face. "He has a name."

A slow grin spread across Stacks' face. "I'm not about to call the creature
Fluff Muffin
."

She tossed her papers aside and affixed hands to her hips. "That is merely an endearment. You know very well his name is Marmalade."

"I much prefer
That Cat
."

She picked up her papers and pretended exaggerated interest in them. "And I suppose you'd spell cat with K," she muttered.

Now he faced her with an impish grin. "I've been waiting for that."

She threw a defiant glance at him. "For what?"

"For you to find fault with my spelling."

She laughed. "It's not your spelling I find fault with, my lord, but your misspelling."

"Ouch!"

She snatched up the papers, got to her feet and walked to his desk. She pointed to the word l-e-a-v. "What is this word, if you please?"

"Leaf," he replied matter-of-factly.

"In the singular it is spelled l-e-a-f. In the plural---"

"L-e-a-v-e-s. Now that you mention it, I seem to recall some such blasted rule, like in knife and knives."

"But a mind crowded with so much more important information simply cannot be bothered to retain anything so inconsequential as a ridiculous spelling rule."

He nodded sincerely. "I told you no one could read my writing."

"Give me a magnifying glass and lots of time, and I have no problem. Your script is so very small."

"I will have to try writing larger."

"But you won't," she lamented. "It was the same with my father. I fail to understand why the most petite women have bold flourishes to their handwriting while the most masculine men persist in their tediously tiny lettering."

The crooked grin reappeared on his face. "I thank you for at least thinking me masculine."

An uncomfortable silence came between them like an invisible curtain. Freddie looked down at her guardian's notes and pointed to another word. "What, pray tell, is that?"

He looked at the word, then at the sentence it appeared in. "Oh," he said solemnly. "It's supposed to be s-a-p."

"Very glad I am to hear of it, since I have never heard of the word s-a-b."

He gulped. "Careless of me."

Freddie broke out in peals of laughter.

"What's so funny?"

Wiping tears from her eyes, Freddie met his gaze. "It's just that in so many respects you are a devil of a perfectionist, but I do believe, my lord, you need me in this one respect." Without knowing what she was doing, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. "And I'm so very glad."

Just then Marmalade came out from under the desk, rushing toward the open casements as if he were on fire. Stacks looked up at Freddie. "I fear I've kicked your cat."

Freddie's face fell, and she scurried after the cat, cooing endearments.

***

Upon entering the dining room for dinner, Mrs. Taylor raced to plop down in the chair next to Stacks and throughout dinner directed all her conversation toward him, much of the time while possessively settling her hand on his ruffled sleeve. It seemed to him Freddie bristled when the woman would lament over how very much she had to impart to "Poor Fredericka."

He was pleased that Freddie did not speak of the work she was doing with him on the book. But, then, it was difficult for anyone save Mrs. Taylor to talk. The woman had no skill at polite conversation wherein others were solicited to talk. Rather, she felt every word that came from her mouth to be of monumental import to all at the table. Did not everyone wish to know about the time
she
had actually gotten to speak French to an exiled French nobleman? And did not everyone want to know in just what way
she
was related to the renowned Meriwethers? When she was not talking about what she believed to be her own superiority, she used her untiring breath to point out Freddie's inadequacies.

"It is a good thing you have no social festivities here at your wonderful abbey," Mrs. Taylor said to Stacks, "for poor Fredericka is not at all ready to be presented to polite society."

"I beg to differ," Edgekirth snapped. "I find Miss Lambeth to be in possession of all the graces any lady of quality could desire."

"You have lived too long in the country, I fear," Freddie said with a laugh.

Stacks' gaze moved from Edgekirth to Freddie, his lips compressed. The damned doctor was falling in love with Freddie! He would not do at all for her. Stacks desired nothing so much as to prohibit the insufferable doctor's visits to the abbey this very night. But he could not do so were it to cause Freddie distress. After all, the girl professed to be great
friends
with the outspoken doctor.

Stacks found himself paired with Edgekirth for whist after dinner. The doctor was a skilled player--as skilled as Freddie. Stacks never thought he would say a woman had skill at whist. Elizabeth had been no better at the game than Julia Taylor. But Elizabeth had other admirable attributes, he thought with hazy longing, remembering the pleasure of removing her gown on the night of their wedding. He remembered how beautiful she looked beneath him. Then, he remembered thoughts he had long tried to purge from his existence, thoughts that were too painful to be remembered.

"Isn't that right, my lord?" Mrs. Taylor asked, breaking his reverie.

"I'm sorry, what was that you were saying?" Stacks asked.

"I said women in polite society are never to discuss the gaming hells men frequent."

"Quite right," he said, eyeing Freddie and feeling badly that the poor girl had to be straddled with Mrs. Taylor. He must have been so totally bewitched by Elizabeth that he had given no thought to her plain companion. Had she always been so obnoxious?

"I don't know that I even like you discussing them in front of Miss Lambeth," Edgekirth said defensively.

"You, Dr. Edgekirth, are not my ward's protector," Stacks hissed through gritted teeth.

"But you have credited him with making me well," Freddie countered in an effort to quell an argument.

"For which, I might add, he has been handsomely paid--against his protestations, though it may have been," Stacks said.

"I did not use the money for myself," Edgekirth countered. "It went to buy medicinals and to help some of my patients who lost their livelihood due to ill health."

"How very commendable!" Mrs. Taylor said, looking at Edgekirth with admiration.

Stacks held the doctor with his fiery gaze. "If anyone in Morton needs assistance in the future," Stacks said, "I wish to know about it."

Freddie gazed at Stacks with warmth. "My guardian is wonderfully generous."

***

Roberts always stayed up to help his master undress. This night, Stacks was in a bleak mood.

"Would you believe that obnoxious doctor is falling in love with my ward!" Stacks said vehemently. "He will never do for her."