Not Wicked Enough (13 page)

“I regret to say,” she said in a thin voice, “that anyone who would decorate a room with such a singular lack of consideration to what is pleasing and restful to the eye is not likely to have been sensible about where the key ought to be kept. You’d best pray Miss Kirk has better taste than her mother.”

He ignored the dig, but, Lord, the thought of anyone having a hand in making over Bitterward gave him the shivers. “I’ll look again, then.” He walked to a highboy and opened a drawer at about his waist height on the theory that
the key wouldn’t be kept inconveniently high or low. “How is your hand?”

“Better.” From the corner of his eyes, he saw her study the room, gripping her handkerchief-wrapped fingers and tapping her toe. “It wouldn’t have to be the key to the door would it?” she asked.

“Of course it would.”

Lily walked to a secretaire. “Why? The door is not locked. All we need is leverage. Any key, any object capable of catching in the lock will do.”

He shut another drawer of the highboy and acknowledged that with a tight nod. “Quite so.”

With both hands, she pointed to the key sticking in the upper lock of the desk. “This one will do nicely I should think.”

If he did have to marry her, he was unlikely to be bored anytime soon. Exasperated, yes. Amused, often. But bored? Never. “Quick thinking, Wellstone. Please”—he strode to her—“don’t use your hand. I’ll get it.” He extracted the key from the secretaire. A tassel of reddish purple silk hung from the end. He didn’t like the color much himself, but what did he know? As he wriggled the key into the lock, someone knocked on the door.

Lily understood the seriousness of the moment, for she stood beside him, quite still and silent. Not that it mattered who it was. At this point, his duty was to get her out of here to have her injury looked after and never mind explaining why he had been closeted away with an unmarried lady.

“Lily?”

That was Eugenia’s voice. Thank God.

“Yes, Ginny, I’m here.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes. Tell me, Ginny, is anyone there with you? Or are you alone?”

“I am not alone.”

He and Lily exchanged a look. “It can’t be helped, Wellstone,” he said in a low voice.

“Ah,” Lily said for Eugenia’s benefit. Her somber nod of understanding was for his benefit. “If you wouldn’t mind opening the door, there’s been a malfunction of some sort. We are not currently able to open it from this side.”

“Oh, dear.”

Mountjoy put an arm around Lily’s waist and drew her away. “Be so good as to open the door, Eugenia.”

The door rattled, then moved smoothly inward, and Eugenia walked in, one hand on the side of the door. Lord Fenris and Mr. Kirk came in behind her. Eugenia took one look at Lily’s hand and blanched. “What happened?” She whirled to him. “Mountjoy, what happened?”

“Shall I fetch a doctor?” Fenris asked. He pulled out his handkerchief and, as Mountjoy had done, handed it to Lily.

“Thank you, my lord.” Lily gave him a nod and wrapped Fenris’s handkerchief around her hand.

“That’s blood,” Mr. Kirk said. “Blood all over your hand.”

“Yes, sir, it is. I had the misfortune of doing myself an injury.”

Mr. Kirk turned the color of chalk. His eyes rolled up in his head. He wasn’t a tall man, but he made considerable noise when he hit the floor and landed at Lily’s feet.

“Someone had best call a doctor,” she said, staring down at the insensible Mr. Kirk.

“Dr. Longfield is here somewhere,” Eugenia said. “Perhaps we ought to fetch him.”

Lord Fenris crouched and patted Mr. Kirk’s cheek. The man did not respond. “An excellent notion, Mrs. Bryant. I’ll see to him until the doctor has looked after Miss Wellstone.”

“Thank you,” Lily said. “That’s very kind of you.” She walked briskly past Fenris and Kirk. “You can’t imagine how badly it hurts, Ginny.” Her voice trembled, though Mountjoy could not help the impression that she was, at last, exaggerating her injury and the pain she was in. Eugenia put an arm around her shoulders. Lily shuddered. “Imagine the horror if blood had gotten on my gown. And yes, let’s do find Dr. Longfield. Quickly. I believe I’m feeling faint.”

Mountjoy watched Lily and Eugenia walk down the hallway, their heads together. “Thank God the man passed out,” Fenris said from his position at Kirk’s side.

“Why is that?”

“I suspect he’ll not recall that you were alone with Miss Wellstone.” He stood. Slowly. “I, however, will not.”

He gazed at the marquess. “Nothing happened, Fenris.”

Fenris ran the bottom of his thumb over his fingernails. “That’s never the point where scandal is concerned, is it? Your grace.”

“I don’t give a bloody damn what rumors you start, Fenris.”

“Gossip can be quite vicious.”

“I’ll marry her if I must.”

The marquess flinched. “Where I am concerned, you are, for now, both safe from that fate.” Kirk moaned, and Fenris hauled him to his feet. “You might wish to make yourself scarce.”

Mountjoy walked away and waited in another corridor where he counted to one hundred before he returned to the salon. On the way there, he stopped a servant and ordered his carriage to be brought around. He found Nigel and let him know they would be returning to Bitterward.

Not long after Mountjoy’s unexceptional return to the salon, there was a commotion that proved to be Lily returning with Dr. Longfield. Her injured finger was done up in a plaster. Eugenia walked at her side, an arm around her waist. He met them halfway.

“She’ll have an aching finger tonight, your grace,” Dr. Longfield said. “A glass of your best sherry will go a long way to relieving her discomfort.”

“Thank you.”

Longfield continued to address Mountjoy. “I’ll call in a day or two to confirm everything’s going well with my most beautiful patient. Put a fresh plaster on it tomorrow and don’t hesitate to send for me if anything seems amiss.”

Mountjoy nodded. “I will.”

The doctor left to attend to Mr. Kirk, and Mountjoy took that opportunity to tell them he’d ordered the carriage. Lily said nothing, but he thought both women looked relieved to have avoided another encounter with Fenris. Their good luck did not last, for just as they reached the stairs that would lead to the entrance hall, Fenris intercepted them.

“Your grace,” he said, bowing to Mountjoy. For a man who had done nothing to make himself agreeable to Mountjoy or his siblings, he had some nerve accosting them. Fenris looked between Eugenia and Miss Wellstone, but his attention lingered on Eugenia. Mountjoy, well aware of the role Fenris had played in attempting to convince Robert Bryant not to marry Eugenia, silently counted to ten. The urge to plant his fist in the man’s face did not fade. “Mrs. Bryant.”

Eugenia, whom Mountjoy had never in his life seen cut anyone, turned her back on Fenris. Lily said nothing. Fenris blanched, but that was the only sign that he was affected by Eugenia’s refusal to acknowledge him. Could he truly have expected anything else from her when his offense against her was so grave?

The marquess bowed to Lily. “Cousin.”

Mountjoy kept his hand on Lily’s elbow. He didn’t like the man, and now that he knew of his relationship to Lily, he liked him even less. “We are on our way out, Fenris.”

“I shan’t detain you long,” he replied.

A flash of irritation passed over Eugenia’s face. “Mountjoy, we ought to go now. Lily is not well at all. She’s had a shock.”

Fenris took an abortive step forward. “Miss Wellstone,” he said quickly. “Did you know you look very much like your grandmother? And mine.”

“How would I know such a thing?” Lily said, her words clipped.

Fenris paled.

“Enough is enough, my lord.” Mountjoy shifted so that he stood between Lily and her cousin. “Another time you might be welcome. But not now.”

The marquess gave them both a curt nod and once again, his gaze slid from Lily to linger on Eugenia. Did the man still resent her for her marriage to Robert Bryant? Mountjoy found himself making a fist of his free hand. He would not allow anyone to cause Eugenia any more pain. Most especially not this man. Bloody officious prig.

Fenris bowed again. “Your leave, Mrs. Bryant. Mountjoy.” He hesitated, as close as Mountjoy had ever seen to uncertainty. “Cousin Lily.”

“Good day,” Mountjoy said.

They left Fenris standing at the top of the stairs. Quite alone.

At the front door, Mountjoy took the doorknob out of his pocket and handed it to the Kirks’ butler. “You’ll want to have this repaired.”

Lord Fenris, Mountjoy thought as he handed his sister and Lily into his carriage, had not behaved like a man who despised his estranged cousin. Quite the opposite.

H
AVING FINISHED VOLUME ONE OF THE NOVEL SHE’D
selected the night of her arrival, Lily made her way to the library in search of the second volume. She carried a lantern in one hand and the first volume of her novel in the other. She had not bothered yet to dress for bed and still wore the gown she’d worn at supper, a sumptuous white silk trimmed with lace she’d tatted herself last winter at Syton House. Amid the lace were gold gauze flowers no larger than her littlest fingernail that she’d spent most of one Easter week making. Similar flowers around the hem complimented the burgundy bodice. Her slippers were white satin embroidered with matching burgundy flowers picked with tiny gold accents.

Pearls were her jewelry of choice tonight: at her ears, her throat, and even a strand wound through her hair and one on the first finger of her left hand. Her injured hand was not yet healed enough for jewelry. She’d changed the ribbon of her Gypsy medallion to a white silk that matched her ensemble. Her shawl was white cashmere embroidered with gold silk
and gold accents to match her slippers. Even at four-thirty in the morning, one ought to look one’s best.

In the library, she set the lantern on the table nearest the bookcase where the novels were shelved. She kept her volume in hand while she admired the room. The ceiling, though not visible at its highest point, was the original Gothic structure, vaulted with structural ribs that supported the central dome. One of these days she would add a sketch of this library to her growing collection of architecturally interesting structures and rooms. There were no windows here, and what walls were not covered with shelves were carved stone. In one such corner stood a suit of armor, supported by a stand and polished to a sheen. Upon closer inspection, she found some wag had placed a book of poetry in its upraised steel hand.

She stood before the armor, rapt. Which ancestor of the duke’s had last covered himself in all that metal and ridden to battle? A dent marred the chest plate, a small defect near where the man’s ribs must have been. She imagined Mountjoy’s ancestor standing beside his destrier, sword in his hand, defending himself—no—attacking his enemy.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor. She recognized that determined stride, having by now heard it on those occasions when the duke was home. She was therefore prepared when she faced the doorway. The shiver down her spine was familiar, too.

Mountjoy appeared in the doorway but stopped without stepping over the threshold.

“Good evening, your grace,” she said.

He leaned against the side of the doorway, looking, for once, especially dashing in a luxurious midnight blue silk banyan. Gold embroidery of Arabian flair decorated the fabric. The banyan was nipped in close around his arms and chest, though he’d not closed the garment but left it open to show his waistcoat and shirt. The silk fell to the tops of his shoes, draping in a way that came only from superior workmanship. And the colors. Blue and gold were luscious on
him. His waistcoat was a match for the banyan, with the same fabric and embroidery, by which she assumed banyan and waistcoat had been purchased as a set.

“Wellstone.”

She wanted to drink him in, caress that gorgeous fabric, and tell him how very lovely he looked. Instead, she pointed to the corner. “Do you know, sir, when that suit of armor was last worn?”