My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) Read online

  Freddie threw an almost panicked glance at Stacks, but he was not going to interfere. "It's a lovely day for a walk, Miss Lambeth," Stacks said.

  ***

  It had been Freddie's ardent hope that Lord Stacks would intercede, telling the doctor that Freddie would not be able to walk with him today. But, alas, she was once again on her own with Dr. Edgekirth. She hoped they would talk professionally and that he would not mention again his desire to wed her, for that was a subject which caused her great distress.

  She wore a green cotton summer dress with a coordinating bonnet, and hooked her arm through the doctor's as they took their first lap around the park. The gardeners were working, and dogwoods were in full bloom now, their beds a showy pink. She and Edgekirth travelled slowly along the gravel path that circled the park.

  "About that case?" Freddie began.

  "Yes. Well, my patient, I'll call Mrs. Jones, is thirty years old and has been married for eleven years. To have a child is her fondest wish, but she has not been able to carry one."

  "She has conceived?"

  He nodded. "Many times, but they seem always to end in miscarriage."

  "Oh, the poor woman," Freddie lamented. After a moment of consideration, she said, "Because of her delicate constitution for carrying babes, I believe she should take to her bed at the first sign of pregnancy. It is my belief that the wombs of women who are predisposed to miscarriages are too thin, and the act of standing puts excessive strain on them."

  He slapped a hand to his forehead. "That seems such a matter of common sense I cannot believe I had never considered it before."

  "Have you given Mrs. Jones any remedies while she was still with child?"

  "No."

  "We have had some success with a plaister made of the fruit of the medlar tree, but the fruit must be applied before it rots, even if they are quite hard. The plaister needs to placed in the reins of the back."

  "Where can I find a medlar tree?"

  "I'm sure my guardian must have one somewhere. The problem is, they do not bear fruit until September."

  "A pity."

  "Then she is with child again?"

  He nodded.

  "Get her to bed at once and insist that she stay there. At the first sign of fruit--if she is still with child--I will help with the plaister."

  He laid his hand atop hers. "It is such a comfort to have you to talk with."

  She had to change the subject. But the only thing she could think of was her burning desire to find out how Elizabeth had died. Not that Freddie in any way felt Lord Stacks could possibly be to blame. He had told her he did not kill his wife. And she believed him.

  She drew a deep breath, then tilted her face toward Edgekirth's. "You said you were in love with Elizabeth. Did you have an affair with her?"

  He removed his hand from hers, his lips thinned. "No."

  "Did she know how you felt?"

  "I'm not sure. I never told her."

  Freddie thought about all the accidents that had befallen Elizabeth. "Do you think she was in love with her husband?"

  His face was grim. "No. For if she had, she would not have asked me to be her lover."

  Chapter 17

  Freddie watched as a gardener sculpted a tall yew with his pruning shears. She swallowed over the lump in her throat, trying to absorb the doctor's words. Elizabeth had wanted to be lovers with Dr. Edgekirth! Had the woman been utterly mad? How could she not worship the man who was her husband? Then, jarringly, Freddie thought of what Dr. Edgekirth had said about Lord Stacks' supposed cruelties. Could he possibly have been cruel to his wife? Such acts were alien to his caring nature. But then Freddie remembered how shocked everyone in Chelseymeade had been when it was learned Abe Livingston, an elder of the church, a gentle man who took in stray dogs, had for years been beating his wife senseless. Still, there was no way Freddie would ever believe Lord Stacks capable of harming anyone.

  "It's such a delicate matter to be speaking to a young lady about," Edgekirth said. "But I never think of you as a young lady. You have such a great maturity."

  She gave a little squeeze to his arm. "I feel much older than my years. Until I came to Marshbanks Abbey I had never in my life been babied."

  He gave her a puzzled glance, then continued. "I really should not speak to you about Elizabeth."

  Freddie studied his tanned face, the lock of golden hair that fell across his brow. And she understood how a woman could be attracted to the doctor. But not if that woman had lived under the same roof with Thomas Winthrop, the Baron of Stacks. To know him was to love him. "You called her Elizabeth?"

  He shook his head. "Never."

  "Yet she wanted to be your lover." Freddie released her words to the air. She could neither glance at nor quite believe Dr. Edgekirth stood beside her, that they were having this conversation.

  He did not look at her either as they strolled along the sloped park. His voice was uneven when he spoke. "I was forever attending Lady Stacks for her never-ending injuries. Toward the end, she told me she and her husband did not have sexual relations." Edgekirth swallowed hard. "She stroked my arm and said she needed me."

  The beauty of the portrait came even more alive now. Freddie could picture Elizabeth reaching out to Edgekirth, her voice smooth, her blue eyes simmering with desire. Desire that was not for her husband. For an instant, Freddie hated the woman. She supposed she had always hated her, but the current intensity of the hatred surprised her. "It must have been very difficult for you to refuse her."

  "It was the hardest thing I've ever done."

  "But a man of honor cannot take another man's wife--even if he despises the other man."

  He did not answer. "I despise him to the very core of my soul." His eyes were hot and angry when he kicked gravel and turned smoldering eyes on Freddie. "I cannot bear having you under that man's roof."

  "He will never harm me," she said softly. Speaking of her guardian, like thinking of him, demanded soft words and mellow thoughts. "You saw for yourself how he worried about me when I was sick."

  His lips thinned. "It was the same with Elizabeth."

  "It is his nature to administer care. Not just with his purse but in the little things. Like giving me the kitten. He is forever thoughtful."

  "But there is another side to him."

  "I cannot believe that."

  "His wife told me that he would not make love to her. Doesn't that show you he didn't care for her? That he could do those terrible things to her?"

  "It does not! If he did not partake of his conjugal rights, there had to be a reason--something she did perhaps." She stopped to snap off a pink bloom, then she shot a questioning glance at the doctor. "How did she die?"

  "She was hanged."

  Freddie spun around, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. "See! She killed herself!"

  "That was the ruling at the inquest. But there were just too many cases of abuse before the ultimate act. There were stories, too, about her death."

  She linked her arm through his again. "What kind of stories?"

  "They say she was completely unclothed when her body was found." He kept walking forward, his vision straight ahead.

  "Who found the body?"

  "Stacks."

  "Was he upset?"

  "How would it have looked if he wasn't? Oh yes, he put on a show of grief."

  "I don't believe it was a show."

  He patted her hand. "You're so trusting. I suppose that's one of the things I love about you, Freddie."

  Her throat constricted. "My guardian would not like for you to call me Freddie."

  "To hell with your guardian!"

  She stiffened. "To lambast him is to alienate me."

  "Damn him."

  They walked their final lap in silence.

  ***

  Her hands thrust on her hips, Freddie shot a gleeful look at Marmalade, who was playing with a plant. "I daresay Mr. Marmalade has all but destroyed your catmint plant, my lord."

  St
acks stopped his toil, wiped his brow, and cast a bemused glance at the cat. "It will grow back." He watched Freddie move along the garden path. She wore a saffron colored muslin today and looked incredibly graceful. How correct Mrs. Baron had been when she said Freddie would wear clothes well because of her height. Even in the shabby clothes she had arrived in, she had possessed an odd elegance that had transcended her faded being.

  "Have you any burnet saxifrage?" Freddie asked.

  A half smile broke across his face. "And what potion do you plan to make with it?"

  "I plan to use it to remove these hideous freckles that insist on dotting my nose."

  He got to his feet, brushed off the dirt from his knees and hands, and walked over to Freddie. "Allow me," he said, lifting back her bonnet. He scrutinized her face. It was but inches from him. He could smell the light scent of lavender on her and see the golden specks in her eyes. He could hear the heaving of her breathing and feel her warm breath. And he was swamped by powerful emotions he could not put into words. He had an overwhelming desire to kiss her.

  Then he was sickened by the thought. Would he destroy her, like he had Elizabeth?

  "Oblige me by not removing the freckles. I find them delightful."

  She pouted. "I assure you a lady does not want to be delightful. She wants to be pretty."

  He stood back. "You are pretty. Your freckles are part of your allure."

  Her eyes sparkled. "I have allure?"

  "You have allure."

  "You are sure I do not need the burnet saxifrage?"

  "You do not need the burnet saxifrage."

  She stooped to lift Marmalade, rubbing her own cheek against his, her face alight with happiness. "Dare we hope we have no callers today? I long for it to be just you and I and Marmalade under the sun and sky."

  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.