My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) (20 page)

Had she invaded his very thoughts? "Shall I tell Eason we are not at home?"

A wicked smile played at her lips. "Oh yes!"

So he had been right about her. She enjoyed the boring acquaintances no more than he. Just one more tie binding them. Freddie and him. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was only eighteen. She seemed equal to his own thirty-seven years.

Yet at other times, he was convinced he thought of her as a child. As the child he would never have. He delighted in giving her shelter and making it possible for her to have fine clothes, but his possessiveness toward her went far deeper than the external. He sometimes felt she was his child, she was so very much like him. Her interest in his garden and in his book was genuine. A warmth spread over him when he thought of how competitive she was when they played with the pasteboards. Exactly like him. And she was skilled, too.

But then he thought of the unnatural waves of desire she elicited in him. Surely no father would ever...should ever...Dare he even put his thoughts to words?

Then, a self-loathing swept over him. How could he feel that way toward Frederick's child? How could he feel that way over any woman after what had happened to Elizabeth?

Always his thoughts went back to Elizabeth. He rued the day he first beheld her laughing blue eyes.

***

Astride Bay Lady, riding next to her guardian, Freddie's heart soared. A warmth, not just from the glowing sun overhead, seeped into her like smooth brandy. He had said she was pretty! He had said she had allure! He liked her freckles! Surely her looking glass lied. She must be the most beautiful girl ever. At least that was how she felt at this minute under the cerulean skies, the sea breezes blowing through her wavy tresses, the tang of salt water in the air, the heron lazily meandering overhead.

And just the two of them.

"Think you this a promising place for our picnic?" he asked, his gaze alighting on a single elm, its limbs reaching out over a clump of verdant grass like an umbrella. It was a short distance off their bridle path.

She looked at the stern cut of Lord Stacks' jaw, his pensive jet eyes, and she nodded.

He helped her down from Bay Lady before he spread out the picnic offerings. She smoothed out her skirts on the blanket, watching him unpack the basket Cook had packed. There was a bottle of wine, two hard-cooked eggs, a half loaf of bread, and two plums.

When he finished, he sat down facing her. She would have preferred him at her side. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to her. Then he poured one for himself.

"I feel as if we should be toasting something," she said.

He held out his glass. "Shall we wish for you a sensational mate, Miss Lambeth?"

She slowly clanged her glass to his, her face worried. Was he in a hurry to be rid of her? At least he wanted a sensational mate for her. There was only one mate for her, she thought morosely. And he would be sensational. She closed her eyes and thought of being enfolded in Lord Stack's strong embrace, of resting her face against his chest, of lifting her lips to his. She grew hot as she imagined what it would feel like to have his mouth on hers, his tongue parting her lips. A wet heat centered between her legs. Her thoughts drifted even further away. She thought of lying with him, wet flesh against wet flesh. She could almost feel his mouth close around one breast.

"You do not look happy," he said to her.

She drew a deep breath and faced him. "It seems my company grows tedious for you. You are in so great a haste to marry me off, to be rid of me."

He reached out and touched a finger to her cheek. "I attempt to be selfless, Miss Lambeth. I want what is best for you. For myself, I would have you at Marshbanks Abbey until the end of my days."

Until the end of his days
. If only. . . "Imagine how many books we could do, given that length of time, my lord." A smile shone in her eyes, in the uplifted tilt of her mouth.

He studied her face for a moment. "I believe the prospect does not offend you."

"You must believe me when I tell you I've never been happier than in these past few months at the abbey." She had wanted to say
these past few months with you
.

"Then your life must have been singularly uneventful before."

She smiled. "That, too."

He took a sip of wine, peering at her over the rim of his glass. "Do you miss your father?"

She gathered a handful of soft fabric from her skirt into her hand. "To be honest, no."

His brows lowered. "How can that be? You seem to worry over every creature. You are so very caring."

"The exact word I would use to describe you, my lord. However
, caring
is not a word I would use to describe my father, although he did care very much for my mother. Unfortunately, he held me responsible for taking her from him."

"But that's ridiculous! You didn't ask to be born!"

"He did not see it that way."

Stacks watched the leaves of the tree shimmer in the breeze and did not speak for a moment. "So that explains why your education in the feminine arts was so neglected."

She nodded. "You have shown me more love in these past few months than I received in an entire lifetime." She felt her cheeks growing hot. Why had she used the word love? She had not meant to burden him with details of her unhappy life, but she felt incredibly open whenever she was with him. "That is why I've been so happy here, why I am in no hurry to leave the walls of Marshbanks Abbey."

He reached out and took her hand. "You have a home here for as long as you want."

She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in pools of unshed tears.

Lord Stacks was moving to her. She felt his arms close around her. She felt his warm breath on her cheek, and she lifted her face to receive his kiss.

Chapter 18

In the quadrangle, he had told her she had allure. But never had she been possessed of more allure than when she sat there under the elm tree, sun dappling her pretty face through the tree's leaves. And she told him she had never been loved until she came to Marshbanks Abbey. Not until she uttered those words could he have realized the powerful emotions that had been battling within him since the ragged orphan had shown up at his home, so proud and vulnerable.

He had wanted to blanket her with his care, to let her know that he did, indeed, love her as her father never had.

But not as a lover.

Then why, he asked himself, did he force what must have been his repugnant physical presence on her? Why had he kissed her so seductively?

Their lips had come together as bees to nectar, his breathing heavy and urgent, his tongue reaching deep inside her.

In a frenzy of mindless passion, he suddenly had seemed detached from the physical act he participated in. It was like he was a great omniscient being looking down at a mortal man who had fallen prey to his own selfish cravings and trapped a helpless, grateful maiden in his vile clutches.

With that disturbing vision impressed into his mind, Stacks had been able to pull away from Freddie, to gaze at her stunned face with a semblance of somber dignity despite the disturbing sexual stirrings within him.

He had withdrawn from her and attempted to still the rapid beating of his heart, to allow his breath to grow even before he spoke. At first he could not look at her. He busied himself with putting back the remnants of their lunch. Eventually he had found his voice. "I cannot ask your forgiveness, Miss Lambeth. What I have done is unpardonable." He had gotten to his feet and mounted Lucifer.

"I shall have a footman come back for the leavings of our picnic." Looking off into the distance, he spoke quietly. "Now you must understand why a woman such as Mrs. Taylor was necessary to protect you from me. I find I must remove myself from your presence, Miss Lambeth. I owe you respect. You, dear one, owe me nothing."

***

He had ridden off. From the depths of her befuddled soul, Freddie had wanted to call after him. His name, Thomas, had fallen softly from her lips as his vision on the stormy black stallion grew dimmer.
Come back, Thomas, my love
. But she had been too timid to speak her mind, to speak her heart.

She sat there on the blanket, their blanket, the sensations of his powerful kiss numbing her. She could still feel the softness of his lips on hers, the waves of delight washing over her as she felt his long arms wrap about her. She could still fee his satisfying warmth and smell his musky scent, could taste the wine on his breath.

For a mindless moment she had known a satisfaction so deep it reached into her very heart. But as quickly as it had come, it had vanished, leaving her completely bereft. The wind from the sea began to chill her.
Thomas, Thomas
, she cried from her soul.

Then, like a hug from a favorite grandmother, she felt comforted. She remembered his last words to her.
Dear one
. Would that his words rang true.

Great tears began to fall. She could not tell if they were from the emptiness caused by
his
absence or if they were tears of happiness over being called his
dear one
.

After she allowed herself the satisfaction of a good cry, she mounted Bay Lady and rode back in the direction of the abbey. When she got to the park, she came abreast of Dr. Edgekirth, who was on foot.

He helped her dismount. "Lord Stacks informed me you stayed behind from a picnic to study Yorkshire plant life."

She nodded self consciously.

"I don't believe him," Edgekirth said, stopping abruptly and spinning toward Freddie, anger flashing in his eyes. "Did the fiend harm you?" He watched her grimly.

Her face colored. "Oh course not!"

He continued to study her, his eyes simmering. "I'll kill him if he harmed you in any way."

"How many times do I have to tell you Lord Stacks is incapable of harming anyone?"

Edgekirth had neither taken a step nor removed his gaze from her. "Something's wrong," he said. "Something happened between you and Stacks. Out there."

"Nonsense!" Freddie said defensively.

"I'll kill him if he laid a finger on you."

"He did not lay a finger on me."

He lifted her chin with a firm hand. "Then why do you blush?"

"It is merely the sun on my face."

"Did he kiss you?"

She felt as if he could see the imprint of Lord Stacks' lips upon hers, and she refused to answer.

"Your silence tells me what I want to know. No," he amended, his mouth twisted with anger, "let that be what I did
not
want to know."

She laid a hand on his arm. "Do not think ill of Lord Stacks. He is truly a gentleman. He suffers great distress over his action."

"As well he should," Edgekirth snapped. "The man is as a father to you, which is fitting, given his age."

"And how old are you, doctor?" she challenged.

"I'm thirty-five."

"And his lordship is thirty-seven."

"But you are only eighteen!"

"You yourself said I seem much older. You would not allow my age to be a barrier to a relationship, would you?"

"But that's different. I am not your guardian."

She shrugged. "It matters not. My guardian looks at things as you do. He does not want to feel any attraction to me. I am merely a child who is in his care."

"As it should be," Edgekirth said, offering his arm to Freddie.

He folded his mouth grimly and did not speak for some time. "If he ever hurts you, I will know," he said. "And I will retaliate this time."

"Your fears are completely unfounded."

"I hope you're right, Freddie."

"I told you Lord Stacks would not like for you to call me Freddie."

"Has he ever called you that?"

"Of course not!" But he had called her
dear one
. The thought brought happiness.

"I can be a very patient man. I plan to wait however long it takes to get what I want." His voice softened. "Just know I will always be here for you."

They took two turns about the park before he walked her back to the abbey where Eason awaited.

Turning his attention to the doctor, Eason said, "Lord Stacks requests the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight."

A smile flickered across the doctor's face. "I should be delighted to oblige."

"His lordship hopes for a good turnout," Eason said.

***

When Freddie came to dinner she was surprised to find not only the doctor there, but Squire Whitcombe, the vicar and Mrs. Farraday along with their daughter Catherine, and five Rountrees. To Freddie's chagrin, Denise Rountree wore a fetching peach silk dress with an uncommonly low neckline, and she directed her full attention at Lord Stacks.

To distress Freddie even further, she found herself at the opposite end of the table from her guardian, and saw that Denise Rountree was seated at her guardian's left hand.

Luke Rountree was on one side of Freddie, Tobias Whitcombe on the other, and both men seemed bent on fixing her attention.

"Allow me to say that color becomes you, Miss Lambeth," Mr. Whitcombe said of Freddie's pea green dress. "Methinks it would look very fine on my little girl." Freddie tried to remember back to the only time she had seen the squire's two children on the steps of the church. She vaguely recalled that the little girl was freckled with great green eyes.

"To be sure," Freddie said. "How long has it been since she lost her mother?"

"Fifteen months."

"How very hard it must be on the children," Freddie said with true feeling.

"Indeed it is," Mr. Whitcombe said.

"Do you plan to attend the assembly at Landsdowne?" Luke Rountree asked the squire.

"First I've heard of it," Mr. Whitcombe said.

"I believe Miss Lambeth and her guardian plan to attend," Luke said.

Freddie's only recollection of the event was when Luke had brought it up at their last dinner here, and Lord Stacks had displayed nothing more than mild courtesy.

"When is it to be?" Freddie asked.

"Next Friday."