Wicked Seduction (16 page)

“Oh my, that is hard,” Kit said, his expression filled with sympathy. “But you know, nothing worthwhile has ever been accomplished without great sacrifice. Losing your ball gown must cut deeply. I understand your hesitation. But recall that we are engaged in a bold experiment. You might become the fashion leader of the
ton
.” Then he sighed dramatically. “No, no, you are right. One gown is too much to ask you to give up.”

Maddy sighed as she looked at her cousin. She understood the irony lacing Kit’s tone. He clearly meant that one gown was
nothing
to sacrifice. Especially given that he had spent the last seven years nearly naked. But Rose had not been swept up in a pirate raid. It was not in the girl to sacrifice anything. It simply wasn’t.

“I’ll do it!” Rose abruptly cried. “I will. Maddy, I want you to be beautiful. I want you to catch a husband. And
I
want to be the one to get you a husband!”

“Oh, Lady Rose!” gushed Kit. “You are the most generous of souls! I count myself most fortunate to be here in your presence.” He grabbed her hand and pressed lush kisses into her palm.

Not surprisingly, Rose blushed a most becoming shade. She was beautiful, Maddy thought, a most fortunate face with a good heart. Sadly, the moment of generosity couldn’t last.

“It won’t work,” she inserted softly. “Her father will notice and then we will both suffer.”

Kit rounded on her then. He had been acting so civilized, so proper, that she had forgotten he had a darker side. So she was shocked speechless when his anger lashed out at her.

“You will
not
take this from her,” he snapped. “She is having good, honest impulses. She wants to see you married. She is horrified that you believe yourself ugly. You will
not
take that from her!” He looked down at Rose who appeared equally stunned by Kit’s change. “And your father will
not
punish either of you. I will see to it.”

Rose nodded slowly. What else could she do with Kit looking so fierce? But Maddy was made of sterner stuff.

“I am not a doll for you to use and discard however you will,” she whispered.

She saw his eyes widen and remorse flash through his expression. He knew she was not speaking just of new gowns, but of what they had done last night. Of how he had treated her even before that in the playhouse. Perhaps he was trying to do a kind thing, manipulating Rose such that Maddy got new gowns. But she could not shake the feeling that he was still doing what
he
willed for her, without the least consideration as to what
she
wanted.

“You are not my doll, angel,” he said softly. “And new gowns can only aid you in finding a husband.”

And there he’d said the one thing that could change her mind. Of all things, she needed a husband this Season or she would be forced into very uncomfortable choices. Anything that aided her quest was perforce necessary. Even if it meant lying to Uncle Frank and taking new gowns from her cousin.

“Are you sure, Rose?” she finally said.

The girl nodded with clear resolve. “Absolutely! It shall be the best experiment ever!”

Maddy smiled at her earnest cousin. “Then I thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

Rose flushed even prettier, but it was Kit who drew Maddy’s gaze. He nodded to her in his own acknowledgment, as if thanking her for giving in. “You will make a most stunning bride,” he said softly. “I do hope you will invite me to your wedding.”

“Of course . . .” Maddy said without thinking. And then the truth of it hit her broadside. If he needed to be
invited
to the wedding, then she would naturally not be marrying
him
. Of course she knew all that. She knew he was not in a state to wed anyone just yet. His affairs were still in disarray. Good heavens, his mind was still in disarray.

But after what they had done last night, after all that she had experienced, a certain part of her had clearly hoped. Despite her resolve to be proper, she had spent last night dreaming of doing more with him as husband and wife. But he was not going to offer for her. If she had any doubt, here he was stating it clearly: I hope you will
invite
me to your wedding. Her vision swam with tears, and she turned her gaze to the window. Perhaps she could make some bland remark on the scenery that she couldn’t even see.

No need. Kit noticed where she was looking and began a rolling discussion on the English countryside. No, she reminded herself, his name was Mr. Frazier. She had no business using his Christian name, even in her thoughts. Especially in her thoughts. And in that stern frame of mind, Maddy suffered through an eternity of prattle until they arrived at the home of Lord and Lady Blackstone.

Chapter 14

They had arrived. Kit threw a panicked look at Maddy but she was still determined to avoid him. He didn’t blame her. If he were a gentleman, he would have already offered her marriage. But he wasn’t a gentleman and he hadn’t been one for a very long time. He would not saddle any woman with his fits.

She did not know the nightmares he faced whenever he closed his eyes or that he slept with a knife clutched to his chest. She did not know how close his rage was to the surface, and that he struggled to keep it hidden away. She didn’t know who he was inside, and so she naturally expected that he would offer for her.

But he had made his position clear now, much to her obvious pain, but he could not help that. She would be better in the long run with a good, solid Englishman as her husband. While he, on the other hand, now had to face the most urgent of his demons: Scheherazade, the woman he had once loved above all others.

They stepped out of the carriage to view a rather dull home. Compared to the huge edifices built as monuments to titled ego, Viscount Blackstone’s home was downright modest. Two floors, perhaps some depth to the building, and a modestly decorated lawn. Wherever would all the servants sleep? But, of course, he realized, Scher was used to doing for herself. She would not want a bunch of footmen underfoot.

He had just turned around to assist Lady Rose from disembarking when the front door opened with a bang. Kit tensed, his entire body tightening from the sound. Consciously, he knew he was far away from a battle, but his skin still prickled with his own mixture of terror and excitement.

“Stop! Oy, blimey, Christopher, stop!”

A small dark form shot past. Within a moment, Kit had the child in hand and held up by his starched collar. It was a boy of perhaps five years old, his legs pumping and kicking despite being held aloft. And in his hand was the last of an apple tart, which quickly disappeared into his mouth.

Kit felt his lips curve into a smile. He remembered doing the exact same thing as a child. And again as a slave whenever food had come his way.

“Don’t let him touch me!” gasped Lady Rose. “He’s covered in tart!”

“Really, Rose,” Maddy admonished. “I think Mr. Frazier has him well restrained.”

“You never know when a child like that can squirm away!” Rose returned haughtily.

“Especially little Christopher,” came a voice from the front step. It was Scheherazade. Kit would recognize her voice anywhere, and the sound seemed to shudder into his skin, making him tremble in reaction. His hand went weak and he lowered the child to the ground. The boy was wily though and managed to twist away. In the background, he heard Rose squeak with alarm, but it was Scheherazade he listened for as she sighed heavily before calling out to her child.

“You will not escape, young man, just because we have callers. There will be a reckoning, I promise you!”

Her tone was bracing, obviously meant for her son, but Kit took it into his heart and used it to steady himself. He was a man, damn it, and he would face her. So thinking, he forced his body around to see Scheherazade and a governess standing in the doorway. But he couldn’t quite face his lost love, so he focused on the servant. She was a rough-looking woman of middle years and thinning iron gray hair. In her arms, she held another squirming child—a girl of about two years—who was obviously struggling to run after her brother.

“I’ll get him, m’lady,” she said as she watched the boy take off around the house.

“Good luck catching that speed demon,” returned Scheherazade, looking plump in her overly large dress. “Here, give me Suzanne.”

The girl transferred happily to her mother’s arms, settling heavily on the woman’s belly. Scheherazade was certainly increasing. About six months along, he estimated, and more beautiful than he remembered. Her face had a healthy glow and was no longer gaunt with fatigue. Her strength seemed to have increased too, as she easily maneuvered the little girl, despite her pregnancy girth. But most of all, he noticed her eyes as they settled on him. Green, steady, and blinking against a sheen of tears. “Kit,” she whispered.

She didn’t speak the word loud enough for him to hear, but he saw the shape of her mouth and knew she breathed his name. He started forward, intent on taking her and her child into his arms. But at that moment, Brandon also appeared. He was tall, dark, and his size easily filled the doorway.

Scheherazade turned from Kit to her husband. She said something Kit could not hear, then Brandon smiled at his daughter and lifted the babbling girl from her mother’s arms. But even as Brandon blew kisses at his daughter, he kept Kit within his line of sight.

Was there worry in the man’s eyes? Did he wonder if Scheherazade loved her husband? She did. He could see that as clearly as he saw the clouds in the sky. But it didn’t stop him from stepping forward.

“Hello, Scher.”

“Oh, Kit . . .” she said, and with those words, he closed the distance between them and swept her up in his arms. She was so much larger than he remembered, her body softer and infinitely more womanly. And even more disconcerting was the way she held him so tight. She clutched him to her without the reserve he remembered so clearly.

He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. She’d always smelled of ale and grease paint, but not today. Today her scent was of rose water and apple tarts. His Scheherazade had never smelled so . . . so sweet. Like a mother or a cook. But when he pulled back, he saw her eyes and remembered the woman he once loved.

There was pain in her gaze and a longing that echoed through his entire soul. Memories assaulted him. Not real ones, but the pretend ones, imagined fantasies that he had held tight to his heart all those years as a slave. He gasped and leaned forward, struggling beneath the weight of what he’d once felt. His brain didn’t even register the movement until he was already leaning forward to kiss her.

Then pain clamped onto the back of his neck, squeezing such that his shoulders tensed in agony. He struggled to hold on. He had worked through pain much worse than this. But the grip at the back of his neck was relentless and amazingly strong.

“Release my wife, Kit.” Brandon’s voice was implacable.

The beast in him snarled, his lips curling and his hands tightening. But he wasn’t at full strength, not with his cousin’s fingers boring deep into his neck. Meanwhile, Scheherazade stepped from his arms to confront her husband.

“Brandon, let him go!” the woman gasped. “It was just a kiss hello.”

“Scher—”

Kit took that moment to spin around, easily dislodging Brandon’s grip. He might have attacked then, simply out of habit. But his cousin was still holding his daughter, and Kit would do nothing to endanger the child.

“Did you notice that it has become a beautiful day?” came another voice. His angel. Maddy. “I vow it never feels this lovely in the city. Do you think, Lady Blackstone, that we could have tea outside? Is there a table or something set up in back?”

“There is indeed,” Scher returned as she smiled warmly at Maddy. “You must be the intrepid Miss Wilson.”

“And I am her cousin, Lady Rose. We were having a lovely conversation on the drive here. All about how I intend to become a fashion leader. You wouldn’t know much about that out here in the country, but I vow I will become the most important heiress in all of England.”

“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lady Rose,” Scher returned smoothly. “Please, let us all step inside for a moment while I have Cook set up tea on the lawn.”

Scher turned and led the way inside. Lady Rose scampered up behind, babbling all the way about a new idea she had to dress Maddy differently so as to draw attention to her flaws. Maddy followed more slowly, her eyes dark and troubled as she looked from Kit to Brandon.

“A pleasure to see you again, Lord Blackstone.”

“An honor, Miss Wilson,” Brandon returned, bowing formally to her.

She smiled, then looked at Kit. It was clear she wanted to say something. Perhaps an on-dit that might cut the tension that continued to mount between him and his cousin. But what could she say?

“You are snarling, Kit,” Maddy said softly. “Do you hate my gown so much?”

She was teasing him. She knew his expression was for his cousin, but it had the desired effect. He consciously reined in his feral impulses and turned his sneer on the paneled, ribboned, and flounced monstrosity that she wore. “It is an affront to the senses,” he drawled. “I do believe it even sounds ugly.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Brandon’s eyes widen in shock. One did not speak to a lady as such, even if it was about a hideous gown. But as he knew would happen, Maddy smiled in response, obviously relaxing into the teasing banter.

“Truly? Does this sound ugly?” She purposely rustled her skirt. “I used to think it was wonderful.”

He shuddered in mock horror, the tension flowing from his shoulders as he forced the movement. “Silks, Miss Wilson, those sound lovely. What you are wearing must have been made from barn hay.”

“Oh, how cruel you are to Rose, sir!” she cried in mock horror as she took his arm and began gently leading him up the steps. His side prickled as he passed Brandon’s hard stare, but he didn’t swing his fist into the man’s eyes. It would alarm Maddy too much. Then they were inside the front foyer and he was able to whisper to her.

“Thank you for suggesting we sit outside. I find it easier to breathe in open spaces.”

“I know,” she said.

He started. How could she know that he had spent years trapped belowdecks? That any home—even so open and airy a place as Scher’s house—still reminded him of wood soaked in blood and sweat and echoing with the sobs of grown men? Above deck—in the sun—was safer than below. Above deck, the wind smelled better and carried fewer diseases. Above deck was for the masters while below was for the slaves.

“Inside is not so bad so long as I can hear your voice,” he said truthfully.

“But your forehead is not so pinched with a bright sky above you.” She tugged him forward as they followed Scher and Rose through the house. “Come, let us see if that beleaguered nurse has caught the little boy.”

He went easily as he always would around Maddy. He was aware of Brandon, of course, still holding his daughter while his eyes bored into Kit’s back. And he watched Scheherazade bobbing her head while Lady Rose chattered about fashion. He saw her pause and give an order to a maid. And he saw her maneuver gracefully around an upturned chair, a discarded child’s blanket, and a small army of wooden soldiers set on attacking a large China doll.

“Kit,” Maddy called softly as she squeezed his arm. “What are you thinking?”

That Scheherazade was beautiful pregnant. And that Maddy would be as well. Maddy had that same thinness that had dogged Scher. But given her size, Maddy’s bones appeared more pronounced, more carved than Scher’s ever could. With a little more weight and the right clothes, Maddy could be a rare kind of beauty. Not a rosy-cheeked doll like her cousin Rose, but statuesque in the classical style. Like a Roman goddess come to life.

“Kit?”

“One day,” he said softly, “you will be round with a child, and your husband will think himself the luckiest man alive.”

Maddy’s eyebrows rose sharply in surprise, but pleasure lightened her features and touched her cheeks with color. “You are acting very strange, Mr. Frazier. I do not know what to think of it.”

“Do not think, sweet angel. Just keep talking to me.” It would keep him sane. And likely prevent him from killing his cousin.

“I shall make a bargain with you, sir,” she said softly as they began to maneuver though the toy soldier battlefield. “I shall endeavor to keep talking, if you swear to never again try to kiss another man’s wife.”

He paused, his foot suspended in air as he looked at her face. She was serious. Gravely serious and frightened for him as well. Then he slowly set his booted heel down on the floor.

“I had not intended to. She just looked like I have always wanted for her. Plump and happy, children at her feet.” He shook his head, confusion once again tightening his throat. “I cannot . . . I do not . . .” He looked into her eyes, trying to blot out the memories—the fantasies—that whirled through his mind. “This doesn’t feel real to me, angel. None of it.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Talk to me. Let me hear your beautiful voice.”

“Well, of course, Mr. Frazier,” she said with a too bright smile. “I believe I can summon up some nonsense.” Then she began to chatter. About what, he hadn’t a clue. He listened instead to her open vowels and the steady, lilting cadence of a gently bred English woman. It was Maddy, his angel with the beautiful voice and the worried eyes. She feared for him, he knew. She should, for he was perilously close to insanity. And yet with her arm tucked securely in his and her voice flowing through his ears, he believed he could remain civil. He could talk with Scheherazade, even exchange pleasantries with Brandon, and not descend into madness. With her beside him, he could do it.

And then he walked through the back doorway and realized he was very, very wrong.

Maddy saw the feral hunger enter his eyes and threw herself completely into spouting nonsense. She talked about gardening, of all things, about which she knew much more than any gently bred woman should. Her father, she told him, had valued the medicinal properties of many herbs and had sent her often to learn from the village witch. She was not really a witch, of course, just an herbalist who was lonely for a child of her own. If things had gone differently, perhaps her father and Miss Ruseman might have formed a deeper friendship. Perhaps. But then he had grown ill and her entire life had changed as a result.

“That must have been very hard,” said Lady Blackstone. “I lost my mother as well and felt very lonely without her.”

Maddy smiled wanly at Lady Blackstone. Maddy had been speaking to Kit as a way to keep him calm and make the dark violence fade from his eyes. It had started to work. She had felt the muscles of his arm relax. But then the woman had spoken—his fiancée and the woman he obviously still wanted—and his entire body had coiled tight again.