Not Wicked Enough (25 page)

His body raced toward a pleasure that seemed just out of reach, but he couldn’t be so selfish as to not bring her again when he knew she was close, too. He reached between them and stroked her, once, again, and she shattered again. Her arms tightened around him and she said in a low, fierce voice, “Harder.”

He obliged her. Of course he did. He could deny her nothing. It seemed a miracle to him that he was able to withdraw in time, and even so, even not finishing inside her, his climax roared through him, and she wasn’t squeamish about the
result, but rather took him in hand and in that moment, he ceased to exist.

When he had his wits and his breath back, he said, “Next time, I will procure a
baudruche
.”

To which she replied, “What is that?”

“A sheath. To cover me. So that when next we do this, I can finish inside you.” And then he remembered that he’d just fucked his sister’s best friend within an inch of both their lives. And promised to do so again soon.

He didn’t feel at all guilty.

L
ILY THOUGHT IT A MIRACLE THAT SHE WAS OUT OF
bed and outdoors two monstrous hours before noon. Had someone told her she’d ever be out of bed before one in the afternoon, she’d have laughed herself silly.

Yet here she was at not even half past ten, standing midway between the back of the house and the stables. She wore a cotton muslin walking dress two shades darker than her eyes, the better to hide the dirt that would inevitably stain her hem whilst she tromped about in the fields. Her dark gold spencer was trimmed with gold braid and epaulettes, and there was a gold silk bow tied beneath her bosom.

After some internal debate, she’d elected not to wear the turban that went with the gown, but, rather, a toffee-colored top hat with an egret plume. The turban would have been more adventurous but she hadn’t the heart to forgo the match of the top hat that, with its gold trim, was a twin to the braid on her spencer. Her walking coat she left open because it was warm. Who would have guessed a spring morning would be anything but cool? Not that it mattered. It would have
been a pity to hide her frock when everything coordinated so wonderfully. Her sole reservation was that she had on her second-best boots, but since that was her only concession to the reality of mud, all in all, she had achieved the perfect ensemble for a morning to be spent searching for Roman treasure.

They were taking two dogcarts to the location Lily and Ginny had ranked first on their map of likely locations for uncovering treasure. The site had clear signs of ancient habitation. It was her intention to excavate the foundations of what she hoped would prove to be the remains of a Roman garrison. A few well-placed questions around High Tearing had uncovered tales of coins, glassware, and bits of pottery having been found by people who hiked along the river Tear until they decided to take the shortcut into the village, which shortcut ran, not coincidentally, through Mountjoy’s field and past their excavation spot.

Would not a Roman Legion have made the same trek? Perhaps even on their way to and from their barracks.

Lily supervised the loading of the cart that would transport the shovels, spades, and three footmen enlisted to dig, ticking off items on her list as they were placed on the carts. No point driving all that way only to learn something crucial had been omitted from the supplies. One needed the planning skills of a general and a quartermaster’s talents of organization for such an endeavor as this.

While she counted shovels, picks, rakes, and sorting baskets, another cart, loaded with an awning, folding chairs, tables, and hampers containing refreshments, started on its way, carrying as well two serving maids, one of the undercooks, two more footmen, and grooms to manage the horses.

The morning was a fine one without a single cloud in the sky. A breeze kept the heat from becoming unbearable, but for anyone who stood in the sun, she imagined one would soon be uncomfortably warm. Lily stopped a footman on his way back to the house. “See that there’s plenty for all of you to drink, won’t you?”

He bowed. “Yes, miss. I’ll speak with Mr. Doyle right away.”

“Thank you.” She intended to do some digging herself, of course, but it was the footmen with their brawn who would do the brunt of the work. They were all of them in for a day of what would likely be the tedious labor of uncovering the foundation of the structure she hoped was there.

Before long, the second cart went on its way, too, fully laden with all the implements required for her excavation. Lily brushed off her skirt. Excitement for the day’s adventure curled in her stomach. Bronze oil-paper parasol in one hand and her map in the other so that she could finalize her approach to the area she’d chosen to start their digging, Lily headed for the front of the house. There, she found Ginny and Lord Nigel waiting underneath the portico for the carriage that would transport them to the site.

“A most thrilling morning, don’t you agree, Ginny?” she said as she joined them. Ginny was very pretty in pale rose muslin and sarcenet and a delightful cap pinned slantways on her head. The ensemble was one of the gowns Lily had offered in the hope of tempting Ginny into remaking it for herself. Though impractical for an outing, did it matter when she looked so lovely? She put her arm through Ginny’s. “It’s unlikely we’ll find anything the first day out, but we might. We just might.”

“What do you think, Nigel?” Ginny asked. “Will we have good luck and find treasure straightaway?”

Lord Nigel took off his hat and bowed. “The first day?” He smiled a bit too heartily. Lily narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t see why we won’t find something.”

“We mustn’t forget Lily’s Gypsy magic,” Ginny said. “That’s bound to help us.”

Lily pressed Ginny’s arm. “Magic or no, we shall stand firm and not give up even if we are disappointed today. I’m sure we’ll have work for the better part of a month before we’ve excavated whatever building is there.”

“Of course.” Ginny patted Lily’s arm just as a groom brought the carriage around. “We stand firm.”

Thank goodness there would be plenty of food and drink to sustain them through the afternoon. She had no worries about Ginny’s fortitude, but she did not expect Lord Nigel to have her enthusiasm nor to withstand the inevitable tedium of an endeavor such as this.

“You ought to make a good luck wish on your medallion before we go,” Ginny said.

“Excellent notion, my dear.” Standing beside the carriage, she held her medallion, closed her eyes and counted to three, throwing in a hasty wish for good fortune and lots of treasure—no harm in that—and then opened her eyes. How odd that the metal was warm against her fingers. Had she been in the sun long enough to heat the gold? “There. All done. Shall we go?”

She accepted Lord Nigel’s hand up into the carriage. “Come, Ginny.” She patted the seat. When Ginny was seated, Lily held up her medallion. “You ought to wish for good fortune as well.”

“Do you think it will work?”

How wonderful to see Ginny smile. “It can’t hurt.”

“Is there a best form?”

She rubbed the medallion between her fingers. “I think it’s sufficient if you close your eyes and wish wholeheartedly, but whatever you feel is efficacious would be much appreciated.”

Lord Nigel, now perched in the driver’s box, snorted. Ginny stuck out her tongue at her brother’s back. Then she closed her eyes, medallion in her hands. “There,” she said. “I’ve wished for us to find a treasure trove.”

From the driver’s box, Lord Nigel snorted again.

“You ought to wish for good fortune as well, Lord Nigel.”

“I do,” he said. “I do.”

“Well. That’s that then.” She leaned back. Lord Nigel snapped the reins and they were off. He was perfectly put
together. It was a pity, really, that she did not like blond men and that he was, in any event, far too young for her. She did admire the cut of his driving coat. If only Mountjoy had a coat that fit his marvelous form as perfectly as Lord Nigel’s coat fit him. Of course, very shortly, he would.

When the day came that Mountjoy dressed in clothes worthy of his physique, no woman would be able to resist him. To be fair, she doubted many women resisted him now. There were times when his eyes positively smoldered. What woman could deny a man who gazed at her with such open passion?

As they drove, Lily kept her map spread over her lap, studying her sketch. She didn’t believe for a moment they would find any artifacts, not the first day, but she saw no reason not to apply her intellect to the matter of exposing a building, whether it once housed Roman Legionnaires, medieval serfs, or a family of Angles or Jutes.

She set aside her study of the map when Ginny said, “I’ve been thinking, Lily, about what we should serve for our spring fete.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. I’ve been wondering about a menu.”

Lily took out her notebook and pencil and found a blank page. “What do you think?”

“We ought to have pheasant.”

“Yes, I think we should.”

“I’ll ask the cook if any is laid by.”

As best she could given they were driving the carriage over a road rutted from the season’s late rain, Lily made a note about the pheasant. “Duck, too, don’t you agree?”

“Jane says to ask her father if we haven’t any. He hunts every season, and she says there’s always an abundance.”

She noted that, too. She wondered when Mountjoy would offer for Miss Kirk. Not until after she left Bitterward, she hoped. She and Mountjoy had no future beyond her stay here, yet the thought of his eventual marriage felt bittersweet to her. Her preference would be to read of the engagement
in a letter from Eugenia, not witness it personally. “Duck Mr. Kirk.”

“Cakes, too,” Ginny said. “And other sweets from the confectioner’s in High Tearing.”

“Oh, certainly. We ought to meet with the cook tomorrow. To plan a menu.” She made a note of that, too.

Ginny sat sideways on the seat, a smile on her face, and Lily was strongly reminded of the woman who had become her friend in Exeter, before the heartbreaking loss of her husband. “We should have music and dancing for the young people, don’t you agree?”

“Heavens, yes. We must have dancing for everyone who wishes to. Including you, my dear.”

“If you will, I will. If anyone asks, that is.”

“You may be assured of that.”

“I haven’t danced for ages and ages, Lily. I’m not sure I remember how.”

“Everything will come back to you as soon as you hear the music.” Lily waited for the carriage to pass over another rut before she made that note. “Is there a local orchestra you can recommend or should we send to Sheffield?”

“We’ve a very good one here.” Ginny leaned in and pointed at Lily’s notebook. “Put down that I’ll hire them.”

And so it went until Lord Nigel slowed the horses and looked over his shoulder at them. “We’re here. The awning isn’t up yet so now’s the time to say something if this isn’t the spot you meant, Miss Wellstone.”

She looked around. They were on the northeast corner of the property at the rock-strewn meadow she and Ginny had felt was the most promising. The field was no more than a thirty-minute walk from the ruins of the Norman church and within sight of the river Tear. A likely place, as she’d thought from the very first, for a fortress.

“Yes,” she said. “This is the place.”

Lord Nigel put on the brake and secured the reins before getting down to assist his sister and then her. Interesting, she thought, that the degree of Lord Nigel’s attentions to her
could be predicted by whether his brother was present. In the former case, she could count on Lord Nigel flirting a little too much. But without Mountjoy? He was merely a very polite young man.

By the time they’d crossed the meadow, the servants had put up the awning and were arranging table and chairs underneath. Farther away, the rest of the men were unloading the shovels and other excavation implements.

Lily put up her parasol and walked smartly to the spot she thought was the place to begin. Lord Nigel and Ginny came along. The ground was strewn with rocks, most smaller than her fist, though a few were larger. She strongly suspected and hoped to confirm that the rocks were all that was left of a Roman garrison. Larger stones that would have once formed the walls had likely been long ago scavenged for fences or homes elsewhere. Like Lily, Ginny held a parasol over her head to ward off the sun. The day was really quite warm. Lord Nigel’s hat did not provide him sufficient shade. He’d be brown as toast before long.