Any Wicked Thing (13 page)

“Thank you, Your Grace. That was very diverting. You may dress again.”

Strands of golden brown hair had fallen from the spinster-neat bun. He should not want to, but he itched to unwind her braid, loosen the waves and bury his face in it.

“How on earth did you ever learn to fence like that?” Somehow he couldn't see the pater running up and down the gallery with his ward.

“I told you. De Valera's book.”

Sebastian stumbled as he stepped into his pants. “You learned all that from a
book
?” he asked, incredulous.

“It is remarkable what one can learn from books. You really ought to try it sometime.”

“I told you last night I am not the dunce you seem to think I am. But the skill you display—you put most of my former opponents to shame. Very impressive.”

Her cheeks were already pink from exertion, but he thought he saw additional color. “Even helping your father, I had plenty of time on my hands. Some of his guests condescended to indulge me. Your friend Warfield was one of them.”

“Yes, and you stuck him with a sword. He never told me that you were fencing. I was under the impression you tried to run him through for his lechery.”

“That, too, but he's a very poor swordsman. No doubt he was ashamed at his defeat at the hands of a woman and told a great many lies about me.” Freddie tucked an errant curl behind her ear, and Sebastian's fingers itched to help her.

“I gather you let him keep his breeches on.”

Freddie shivered in disgust. “Believe me, he was forever trying to unbutton his falls. Odious man. But handy for the exercise while he was a visitor here. There is not, as you have noted, much to do here, but I've managed to teach myself any number of useful things from the ancient books in the library. Making medicine and soap from old receipts, for example.”

“Freddie,” he said, remembering, “is it true that you are obliged to clean most of the rooms in the castle?”

“You're to call me Miss Wells today. I've simply done my share. We've all worked hard up here, Your Grace, while you were off gallivanting across Europe and Africa.”

“If I disliked my father before, I detest him now for making you his drudge,” Sebastian said, wiping the perspiration from his face with his shirt before he pulled it over his head. “I won't have it, Freddie. You're to cease with the housekeeping immediately.”

“Miss Wells.”

“For God's sake,” he said in frustration, “I've known you since you were a puling brat.
Miss Wells
, then.”

“Thank you. Sebastian. You must have realized by now that we're short on servants. There isn't anybody to turn the housekeeping over to. And
you're
short on funds, so we can't hire anyone even if they were willing to come here and work. There's no way to fix that unless you release my funds and sell me the castle, and then of course it won't matter to you. So I shall continue to do what I've been doing for the next month. Unless”—she brightened—“you wish to forgo our arrangement and I buy the property sooner. You'll have some money and can stop worrying over how clean or dirty this place is. Go back and do whatever it is you do and leave me in peace.”

Aha. Clever girl. “You won't escape me so easily, Fr—Miss Wells. We made a deal, and I plan to live up to my end of it.”

“Speaking of which, follow me into the library. I completed the terms of our arrangement in writing. You may sign the contract now.”

Sebastian felt the slightest misgiving. Of course, this paper of hers wasn't worth a damn thing, really. But it was a promise on his part, and he did try not to break promises. Which was why he never, ever made them. He didn't want anyone to depend upon him, as he preferred not to depend upon anyone. Not anymore. He'd made his own way and expected others to do the same.

Blast. Just last night, he'd promised the servants he'd pay them. Now he was promising Freddie he'd give her the deed to Goddard Castle.

“All right.” He looked down at his father's signet ring, a ring he hadn't wanted. A responsibility he hadn't wanted. He supposed she'd want to melt some wax so he could stamp the crest on the document.

They left the gallery and stepped down into another corridor that twisted abruptly to a set of stairs, not the way he had come. Sebastian wondered if there was a floor plan available for him to study. He had not been here long enough before to ever orient himself. Although the collection of buildings looked reasonably large from the outside, most of the rooms were uninhabitable. He wanted to make sure he didn't wander into an area where he would be buried alive in rubble, too far for his shouts to be heard and trapped under rock until his heart gave out. He had altogether different plans for the circumstances of his death—preferably many years from now in some saucy wench's bed.

After descending a circular flight of stairs, Freddie gestured him into her sanctum. The library's windows were tall and narrow, but there were a great many of them, all sparkling. Sebastian pictured her up on a ladder with a bucket, her backside swaying with each scrub. She went to the long desk and opened a drawer. Sebastian studied her as she put her spectacles on and reread what she had written. The lenses caught the sunlight and made him blink. She really was a dazzling little creature for all she tried to hide it. At length, she nodded in satisfaction and passed the papers to him.

“There are two copies—one for each of us. I realize,” she said in a brisk voice, “this is not a binding document. I'm not a fool. But you said yesterday you were a man of your word.”

Sebastian would have felt shame if he were capable. He gave a cursory glance at the words, knowing he would be abandoning her to this wretched castle and a lonely life. A good guardian would never agree to such a thing, but he was not a good guardian.

He scrawled his name at the bottom of each page as Freddie melted a bit of sealing wax. He plunged his ring into the dark red blob, making the agreement look most official.

“There,” he said, folding the parchment and smiling at her. “What have you organized for me next, Miss Wells? I don't require being held at sword point to get out of my breeches again.”

“If you're truly upset about me playing maid, you can help me clean.”

Sebastian sighed. He had walked into that one. Freddie was nothing if not practical—she'd gotten her exercise partner and now an assistant in her household tasks. A few blisters on his hands might prove efficacious in increasing sensation to Freddie's dappled skin later, though.

What fresh hell would she put him through? He'd have his chance tomorrow to rest and relax with her, although sex was as vigorous as any parry, deceive and feint. In his mind he equated the fencing terminology with sexual positions, and was thoroughly preoccupied when Freddie snapped her fingers in his face.

“We'll start with your bedroom, as you are lord of the castle for the time being. Do not even think of getting me back in your bed today. I will show you how to change your bedding and dust properly and I expect you to pay attention. You'll have to take care of your room yourself while you're here if you want it to be ordered. I will meet you up there in fifteen minutes.” She disappeared out the library door, taking their agreement with her.

Sebastian took in the floor-to-ceiling shelves, groaning with battered books and stacks of papers. One taper dropped into the lot and they'd be smoke and ash in no time. The surface of the desk was neatly arranged, a sheaf of virgin paper and quills and inkpots lined up. A basket of thin white cotton gloves sat beside an ancient book that was propped open on a stand with ribbons marking whatever had caught Freddie's interest. Idly he thumbed through the pages—without protective gloves; Oh! The historical horror!—his eyes glazing over at the mention of the Golden Bull and the Diet of Worms and the Imperial Chamber. He remembered his reaction first coming across the words Diet of Worms as a boy as he snooped about his father's papers in their estate in Dorset, thinking even if he were starving, he'd not eat such things. When he'd innocently told his father of his resolve, his father had mocked him for an idiot and made him do a report on the general assemblies of the Holy Roman Empire that took place in Worms, Germany in 1521. Sebastian had pushed every fact he'd learned then out of his mind, and he was not about to familiarize himself again with such useless information.

His father's three fat published volumes stood at proud attention on a corner of the desk, bracketed by intricate marble bookends of weary-faced Knights Templar. The pater hadn't bothered to send copies to Sebastian, or even tell him he was engaged in such a ridiculous venture. The covers were a deep blue leather, almost black, quite handsome in their way. Sebastian left them where they were without examination. He poked around some more, finding nothing but the signs of efficiency and organization. Freddie must have been a godsend to the late duke, who was known more for his enthusiasm than his methodical mind. When Joseph Wells, that inimitable secretary and sodomite, dropped dead, it must have hurt his father doubly, but Freddie had evidently stepped into the breach. In fact, he wouldn't be a bit surprised if Freddie had written most of the content in those blue books.

On his way to change sheets, he bumped into Warren in a hallway. The butler was covered with a capacious apron and wielded a feather duster as though it were a lance.

“A word with you, Your Grace.”

“Make it quick, Warren. Miss Frederica is awaiting me upstairs in my bedchamber.”

The butler turned brick red. “Aye, that's just what I wished to discuss with you. It—it is not proper to spend time with Miss Frederica alone in your bedchamber.”

“I am not a conventional man, Warren, and you're skating on awfully thin ice. Make your point.”

The man's Adam's apple bobbed, belying his next words. “I'm not afraid to speak up. You won't find anybody to replace me, so if you sack me, the only person harmed will be you. I've put a tidy little sum by to see me into my old age and I have nothing to lose.”

Warren looked determined. As far as Sebastian was concerned, the man was pretty well in the throes of old age right now and probably should be pensioned off. The butler had been ancient when Sebastian was born thirty-one years ago. But as Sebastian didn't have the ready to shut the man up, he leaned back against a bumpy stone wall. “Go on.”

Warren looked around, as if the cold walls had ears, and lowered his voice. “I heard you last night, making Miss Frederica suffer. Worse than the Archibald Walkers, you were. She's a good girl, Your Grace. She shouldn't have to assuage your devilish appetites just so she can keep her home and occupation.”

“Ah, I see. So she's confided in you her plans to purchase the castle from me? They were
her
conditions, you know. I had no intention of ever fucking her again.”

Warren was now as pale as a walking corpse.

“Thank you for your concern, Warren,” Sebastian replied coolly. “I know serving my father, you were privy to a great many odd occurrences. I thank you for your past discretions. But heed this. Continue to mind your own business. If you don't, you might not live long enough to enjoy that tidy little sum you've saved. Are we clear?”

Warren straightened. “Perfectly, Your Grace.”

“Very well, then. Carry on.”

Before he turned away, Warren looked at him with something like pity in his eyes, and Sebastian felt ten again.
Damn and blast
. What had possessed Sebastian to threaten the old butler? Not that he would ever try to snuff the old boy out. Warren was a sort of father figure to Freddie, and God knew she needed one after how disappointing her young womanhood must have been. Now Freddie had confessed their sins and had gained a knight-errant armed with a feather duster and indignation.

They had both needed sensible fathers, but at least Freddie got a loyal butler. Joseph Wells had died not long after Sebastian decamped. Sebastian wondered if his father's brutal words about Wells's daughter had contributed to the man's death. How ironic that Phillip Goddard, Duke of Roxbury, permitted himself to engage in a criminal affair with his male secretary, but forbade his son to honorably marry the man's daughter. Low birth was not an impediment for love, for Sebastian knew that his father's affection for Joseph was real. He'd heard the declaration himself, Freddie still as a stone in his arms.

H
e whistled up the stairs, disappointed when he got to his bedchamber to find that Freddie had shucked her tight breeches. She was now wearing a sack-like gray dress and a pristine pinafore over it. Her hair had been tamed, all the charming little tendrils trapped behind an ugly head scarf. Though the tub had been removed, lingering scents of citrus and rose soap and sex permeated the room, and Sebastian took a deep breath. Freddie went to a window immediately and threw it open to the fitful moor winds.