Wicked Seduction (11 page)

“Oh, Kit,” she breathed, “we shall sort it all out. I promise.”

His eyes dropped to her lips. She would swear he was thinking of kissing her. Or perhaps that was her own wickedness. She licked her lips, wishing more than anything that they could return to that moment before his madness. She wanted to be mindless in his arms again. And maybe this time, she wouldn’t stop him. After all, it must be nearly dawn now. She would soon be discovered absent from her bed. If she were to be a fallen woman, she might as well be one in truth.

“Seth has put the kettle on,” said the viscount, breaking through her wicked thoughts. “I told him to make it strong. You know how they like to water things down here, don’t you, Kit?”

Kit turned, looking at his cousin with a dark stare. “I remember,” he said clearly. “It saves money on tea and encourages the sale of the stronger stuff.”

“Exactly so,” returned the viscount with an encouraging smile. “We should go drink some now while it’s hot. And then, I would expect that Miss Wilson needs to get home. It’s a couple hours before dawn,” he said more to Maddy than to Kit. “Plenty of time to get you in bed before light.”

Before anyone knew where she had spent the night, he meant. Which told her that there was still hope of salvaging her reputation.

“Thank you. That would be lovely.”

“I will take her home,” said Kit firmly.

The viscount inclined his head in agreement, but his expression was troubled as he looked at the two of them. She was still wrapped in Kit’s arm, held up by his strength. She could probably gently disengage herself but was loathe to do it. He wanted her tucked close, and she would stay there for his peace of mind.

“Well,” said the viscount, “whomever takes her home, I want tea first. Kit how about you help me while we allow Miss Wilson a moment to collect herself?”

But Kit didn’t move. He held her firmly, his eyes searching her face. So she smiled at the viscount. “Go on, my lord. We shall be up directly.”

“Very well,” said the viscount slowly. “But I shall be . . . I’m right up here. In case of anything.”

Kit didn’t move until the viscount disappeared. Only then did he slowly release her and step back, a blankness taking over his expression. The sight was chilling. She knew he was tucking away all that pain he suffered, hiding it from himself as well as everyone else. But she didn’t want such a thing for him. He needed to feel his pain, not run from it.

“Don’t hide,” she began, but her voice faltered. She didn’t know what to say.

“I have abused you most abominably tonight,” he said in an undertone.

“No—”

“I have. I cannot apologize enough.”

“There is no need for that,” she said, wishing she could say more. There was no need to hide his anguish from her, to retreat into polite banter, to become civilized again, even though that was exactly what she had wanted a moment ago. “I understand the need to be wild sometimes,” she said. “I have wished it a million times since coming to London.”

He didn’t answer, but she saw a silent misery enter his eyes. He didn’t believe her, didn’t think she understood pain or even the need to scream at the world like a beast howling at the moon.

“I don’t understand what you suffered,” she said firmly. “But I do know about feeling wrong from the inside out.”

“There is nothing wrong about you,” he said. “Nothing at all.” And then before she could say more, he stepped away from her. “There is a necessary just off the Green Room. Come, I will show you where it is.”

His wits were fully returned. She would get no more glimpses into his past now, and she didn’t dare question him. Not now when they were finally climbing out of the cellar. But she wondered, and she vowed to find out someday. Not for her own curiosity, though she had plenty of that. For Kit because she very much feared these episodes would haunt him until he made peace with them.

But in the meantime, she had to freshen her gown. She had to have tea with the man who had taken Kit’s fiancée away. And she had to do it all as if Kit meant no more to her than a man—any man—whom she had just met two days ago.

Chapter 9

“What happened, Kit? How did . . . How did this all happen?”

Kit swallowed his tea without tasting it. He sat in the Green Room with his cousin Brandon while his angel did whatever women did during their toilette. He didn’t answer. He wasn’t really sure what to say. In truth, without his angel here to ground him, he felt himself slipping into the cold, angry horror of his years as a slave.

“You know,” his cousin commented. “When I first came back from India, I spent months as a snarling monster. I abandoned my friends, crawled into a brothel, then drank and whored until I couldn’t hear the screams in my head.”

Kit looked up at his cousin’s face. It wasn’t as haggard as he remembered. His skin seemed healthier, his body less angled and harsh. “You’ve put on weight,” he said, startled to find that he could indeed talk rationally.

Brandon smiled and looked down at his belly. He didn’t have one, but he ran his hand over his stomach nonetheless. “Well, a good life does that to a man.”

“She is happy then?” Neither of them needed to say her name. Scheherazade. The woman Kit had once loved and Brandon had married.

“I believe so,” he said, his expression open as Kit had never seen before. “I thank God every day for her. I will do anything she needs to make her happy.” He swallowed. “Kit, I am sorry for everything, but you have to know. I will not give her up.”

He felt his hackles rise. Not because he had any claim to Scheherazade. He’d given her up as lost a very long time ago. She was more of a nostalgic memory than a true desire. But there was something primal about staking a claim on a woman. A lifetime ago, he had claimed Scher for his bride, and now here was Brandon doing the same. He reacted as a beast, his hands tightening into claws. Not because he wanted the prize, but because someone dared challenge him for it.

“Thank you, sir,” said his angel from behind him. “You have been most kind.”

Both men turned to see Maddy stepping into the Green Room behind Seth, who was leading the way.

“Will you be joining us for tea?”

The big man shook his head even as he gave her a slight bow.

“He has to be up early with the stage boys,” said Brandon. “I fear that we have kept him much later than usual.”

“I understand completely,” Maddy said with a slight nod. “But I’m afraid we were never properly introduced. My name is Maddy Wilson.” She held out her hand to the big man, who bowed formally over her fingers.

“His name is Seth Mills,” supplied Brandon. “And he is greatly honored to meet you.”

Maddy smiled warmly at the large man. “Oh, but the honor was all mine. You were a wonderful help in the cellar.”

Then something happened that Kit had never seen. Seth blushed. What started as a soft rose in his cheeks rapidly became a flaming red that made his ears appear to burn. The man bowed again then ducked away, still half bent.

Brandon watched, his mouth open in shock. Kit was no better, though his mind remained stuck on something else. Not the sight of Seth’s fiery blush, but the way Maddy exuded warmth toward the big man. How easily she brought joy to everyone around her. Then she smoothly crossed the room to join them at the table, effortlessly reaching for the teapot and offering to refresh their cups. In short, she was a lady and much too refined to be sitting on a cellar floor with him.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him blush like that,” Brandon said, his voice laced with amusement. “You are a woman of many surprises, Miss Wilson.”

“I don’t know about that, my lord. My father would say that I am a woman who ends up in surprising—and vastly inappropriate—situations.”

“He sounds like a man I should like to meet.”

“You can’t,” Kit interrupted, his voice thick with emotions he could not name. “He’s dead.” Then he silently cursed himself. He sounded like a churlish child.

Not surprisingly, Brandon stared at him. Maddy, however, graced him with a sad smile. “Yes, he has been gone for some time now. I am staying with my uncle Frank, the Earl of Millsford.”

“Ah yes. I know the man.” From the sound of it, Brandon didn’t much like him either. Kit couldn’t disagree.

The other two continued to chat, speaking about mutual acquaintances and their respective families. The conversation flowed as it would in any parlor of the
ton
. Once, Kit had been a master of just such polite discussions. But now, he was unable to say anything, to do anything, while his cousin sat right there and charmed his angel.

It was ridiculous, and Kit felt his fury grow. At himself. At his cousin. Even at Maddy, who laughed and poured tea like she was a lady born. She wasn’t. Her only pretense to a title was her uncle who wanted to make her his mistress. Her lineage was no better than his, and yet watching her now, he knew she was destined for a brilliant match. An earl at least, if not a duke. She was a
lady
and he was a
slave
. The differences could not be more clear.

Kit abruptly stood up, and his chair scraped loudly in the room. Maddy gasped in surprise, and Kit once again damned himself for being a cad. “It is late,” he said, working hard to keep his voice genteel. “You should get home.”

Maddy recovered quickly. Of course she would. “You are quite right,” she said, but then her gaze slid to Brandon. “But I do have one rather impertinent request, my lord.”

Kit didn’t like her looking at Brandon, but he couldn’t stop her. So he held himself still and waited, hating every moment that she looked at Brandon and not at him.

“I came to the playhouse tonight expressly to find your lady wife,” Maddy said, her expression apologetic.

Brandon frowned but moved smoothly behind her to pull out her chair. Hell and damnation, why hadn’t Kit thought of that? Gentlemen assist ladies to rise. How could he have forgotten?

Meanwhile, his cousin was speaking. “Why would you be looking for Scher?”

“It is for Rose,” she said her cheeks flushing. “My cousin, Lady Rose, wants to have a tea where Kit . . . er, Mr. Frazier and your wife both attend.”

“Ah,” responded Brandon, and in that one word was a wealth of understatement. He knew exactly what Rose’s motivations were for having the tea. The hostess who could catch both Kit and Scheherazade in the same room would have the event of the Season.

“I know it is a terrible imposition,” she continued.

“My wife is increasing.”

“Yes, and I would not wish to endanger her health in the least.”

Brandon released a quick laugh at that. It was startling. Kit could not remember ever hearing the man make so lighthearted a sound. “As to that,” Brandon said, “have no fear. The woman is tireless. Doesn’t even get morning sickness.”

Maddy nodded. “Then it is the spectacle you object to. I quite agree but promised Rose I would ask. Thank you, my lord, for hearing me out.”

Brandon nodded, but his gaze was on Kit, his expression serious. “Do you wish to attend this party?”

Kit did not know how to answer. No, of course he had no interest in Rose’s tea. Certainly not a public one where his every move would be scrutinized and discussed for weeks on end.

“I need to see Scher, Brandon,” he said softly. “After my capture, I would dream of her. I would think I was back home and we were getting married. I would think so many fanciful things. It kept me sane.” He looked at his cousin, trying to find the words to explain. “But there were nightmares too. Where she was hurt or dying and I couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t help.” Just like the nightmares he had had of Maddy this morning. “I just need to see her, Brandon. Just . . . see her. If not at this tea, then some other time, some other place. Soon.”

Maddy touched him then. He saw her movement long before her fingers reached his arm, and so he was able to remain still while her heat speared through his body. “But why would you want this to be public?”

He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t put words to his need to see Scher was alive and well. Perhaps he should have done so when he’d first purchased his freedom four years ago, but he’d had no money for passage and knew he was more animal than man. It had taken all this time for him to believe he was fit for civilized company. Clearly, he’d been wrong, but that didn’t change the need.

Fortunately, Brandon understood. “He doesn’t care how he sees Scher. He just needs to know.”

Kit nodded, and in time his cousin came to a conclusion.

“I will speak to Scher. We will do what she thinks best. Agreed?”

“I have waited seven years,” he said. “I will wait a day more.”

“Kit,” Maddy admonished softly. “This will be a shock to her.”

“A day,” responded Brandon. “I will send our answer to the earl’s home.”

“But—” interrupted Maddy. No doubt to explain that he was
not
really staying at her house.

“That will be fine,” Kit interrupted. Then he took Maddy’s hand. “We must be leaving now. The sun will be up much too soon.”

“Really?” she said, frowning out the window. “How can you tell?”

He couldn’t tell. Not in London where the buildings crowded close and smoke clogged everything. But he shrugged and lied because he did not wish to look like a fool. “There is a rhythm to everything, even here in London. And it tells me that you have dallied too long.”

He thought he was lying but realized at the last moment that it was the truth. There was a rhythm in London. One that he had once known intimately. Perhaps he did not have the knack of it exactly now, but it was coming back. Already he could feel the city as it prepared to wake.

“He has always known the time,” said Brandon. “Even as a boy who could not read a clock, he knew the when of things.”

“Then,” said his angel as she squeezed his arm, “I should listen to you and be off.”

“Take my carriage,” said Brandon before they could leave. “The coachman is very discreet and I have already warned him to be ready. I shall spend the night here, so he knows to return when you are done.”

“You are most kind.” Maddy bestowed one of her most beautiful smiles on his cousin, and Kit found himself fighting the urge to haul her away from Brandon’s too charming presence.

“We must go.”

“Good night, my lord.”

“Good night, Miss Wilson. Kit.”

Kit didn’t respond. His hold on his tongue was tenuous at best, and so he ushered Maddy quickly out the door. The carriage was waiting, and so they were on their way within moments. But once moving, a terrible silence descended between them, all the more awkward because he searched for some way to break it. But everything that came to mind was either surly, impertinent, or ridiculous. In the end, he simply spoke the truth.

“I shall be at your tea, no matter what happens. Just furnish me the date and time.”

“You needn’t worry. I’m sure it will be a strain.”

“I said I will be there!”

He watched as Maddy pressed her lips together. She had been trying to help and in return he had accosted her. He had not forgotten what he’d done before the madness seized him. The shape of her body, the feel of her thighs, the heat of her kisses, all became the thing of feverish desire here in the dark carriage. There were not words that could atone for the abuses she had suffered tonight. Then her voice came to him, soft and melodic through the darkness, breaking him out of his useless brooding.

“Do you truly intend to spend the night at Uncle’s house tonight?”

“What? No, no. I have let rooms.”

“Oh! Good. Good.” Was that disappointment he heard in her tone? Or relief? He could not tell. “Was the price very dear? Can you afford it?”

“No. I mean, yes, I can afford it. And, no, it wasn’t dear. I find my needs are relatively simple.”

It was so dark in the carriage that he could not see her face. And yet, her voice was so soft that he imagined her smiling when she spoke.

“You are much like my father in that. Our home in Derby was very simple.”

“What of your mother? Did she like it so plain? I cannot imagine my own being content with a staff of less than ten.”

“Ten!” she gasped. “Imagine all those people underfoot! No, as my father spoke of her, Mama wanted very little as well. She died of childbed fever, so I never knew her.”

“I’m sorry. It must have been hard growing up without a mother.” He liked speaking this way, whispering together in the dark.

“I—well, yes, sometimes. But I was very happy with just my father.”

Her words petered out, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. And then her voice whispered through the darkness again.

“Might I . . . Would you, perhaps, furnish me with your address? We would like to send you an invitation to the tea.”

“I will do whatever you ask, Miss Wilson,” he said, not at all surprised when the words came out like a vow. “I owe you everything for how you have helped me these last two days.”

“Mr. Frazier . . . Kit . . . please. You have given me such excitement these last days. You cannot know how my days drag on with the very
sameness
of it all. I should be thanking you.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Miss Wilson,” he drawled. “I once longed for excitement, foreign travel, and a chance to make lots of money. I got my wish, you know. Just not how I thought.”

She fell silent then, and he imagined that she mulled over his words. What did she wish for, he wondered. Could he make any of her desires come true?

“I have a gift for you,” he said as he pulled it from his coat pocket. “Something to show my thanks.” It was a broach weighted with gold and old jewels. He had ripped it from one of Venboer’s victims and secreted it away before any could see. He had intended to sell it to a jeweler years ago, but had never brought himself to do it. And now he was giving it to her.

“My goodness!” she gasped as he pressed it into her hand. “It’s so heavy!”

“It’s gold. And very old, I think.”

She shifted to the window, holding it out so that the moonlight could shine on the piece. “Oh my! I cannot take this! It is much too valuable.”

“Of course you can. No need to tell anyone. Hide it away. Save it until you have need of something to sell.”