Any Wicked Thing (25 page)

He stood over his father's mound. Belatedly, he removed his hat and let the wind buffet his hair. If he had the opportunity to speak with his father today, what would he say? In a sense, the duke's disparagement of his only son had been the making of him. Sebastian had been forced to become independent, make his own way in the world. He'd traveled extensively, acquiring knowledge that could not be found in books or museums or ton drawing rooms.

If he'd remained in England, Sebastian probably would have become like so many other aimless men his age, waiting to inherit and securing the succession with a passel of brats so that they could wait, too. Gambling in moderation, hunting in season, growing stout, making the rounds of boring parties, marrying some proper, empty-headed deb—these were all perfectly acceptable activities for a future Duke of Roxbury, or a Lord Anybody. Generation after generation might chafe under the strictures, yet the heirs followed the same narrow, well-trod path. Sebastian had occasion to cut his own trails, several times quite literally with scythes and hatchets. Whatever could be said about his years abroad, they had not been idle or safe.

Even if he hadn't discovered his father's secret life, likely he and his father would have grown no closer. There had been too many disappointments between them. But now, under the open Yorkshire sky, Sebastian felt the coil around his heart loosen. Life was too short, and frequently too brutal, to cling to past resentments. Were he a praying man, he'd have some handy quotation about redemption and forgiveness memorized, but he made do with scattershot yet sincere thoughts. He took a breath, then pinched a stem of rosemary and tucked it into his buttonhole.

Atlas tossed his head in impatience as Sebastian exited the cemetery. The scent of peat burning hung over the tiny village. There were not more than a half a dozen dwellings intact, and alas, no milliner for Freddie, no store of any kind. Two dirty little boys were engaged in a game of jackstraws in front of their cottage, but the pile of sticks collapsed once they caught sight of Sebastian.

The bolder of the two rose up from his patched knees. “Ain't you the new duke what lives in the castle?”

“I am. Is your mother at home?”

“She's next door to Gran's. Tom, go fetch her.”

The other lad scurried off around the back of the cottage. Sebastian remained at the gate, holding Atlas's reins. The boy said nothing more, just stared at Sebastian with such curiosity that he began to feel like a bug under a microscope. There seemed to be no point to small talk, so Sebastian allowed himself to be inspected, feeding Atlas one of Mrs. Holloway's antique apples from his saddlebag. After what seemed like an eternity, a round young woman accompanied by a rounder older woman peered over a bush at the corner of the house.

Sebastian gave them his practiced smile. “Good morning, ladies. I am the Duke of Roxbury, and I wonder if you could help me.”

The older woman shook her head. “No. We won't do it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You've come to ask us to work up at Archibald Castle, haven't ye?”

“It's Goddard Castle now, Mum,” the younger one said.

“Whatever you call it, the place is evil. We don't need the money that bad, and from what I've heard, you don't have any anyway.”

Good Lord, but he was being put in his place. There were no vestiges of feudal fealty here.

“Miss Frederica is a lovely girl, but I wouldn't work there again, even for her.” The woman folded her arms across her ample bosom and looked implacable. “Worked up there for the bad earl, I did, years ago. Place was a disaster then. Unsafe. Can't be any better now.”

No, Sebastian was sure it had not improved with age. But at least there was no talk of ghosts from these two. “What about you, miss ... madam?”

“Don't you be letting him turn your head, Cathy. She's not interested.”

Cathy gave him a shy smile and a shrug. “My man's in the mines at Rotherham. He sends us enough to get by.”

“Do you suppose—”

“No, Duke. Not a one of us would leave our comfortable houses to come work for you. Cathy's the only one in the village young enough to be of any use anyhow, and she has her boys to look after.”

Sebastian knew when to give up. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs.—”

“Mariah Godfrey. My daughter, Mrs. Rae.”

“You have handsome boys, Mrs. Rae,” Sebastian lied. Tom chose that moment to extract a booger from his left nostril.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Cathy said, blushing fiercely.

“Will we see you in church a week from Sunday? Mr. Clement is due.”

Sebastian looked over his shoulder at the unwelcoming stone structure. “I take it Miss Frederica attends service?”

Both women nodded.

“Then I shall make every effort to accompany her.” And hope God did not smite him as he crossed over the threshold.

“You tell Miss Frederica old Mr. Capstow loved her bramble jelly. The man's got a sweet tooth.”

One of the boys snickered. “He ain't got a tooth in his head, Gran.”

“Figure of speech, lad,” Sebastian said, rewarded by another stare. “There's no school about, is there?”

“For two children? Nay. I teach them at home,” Cathy Rae said, shy. “Miss Frederica has given me books from the castle. At Christmas she sent for primers all the way from London. My boys can read, Your Grace. They'll make something of themselves, but I suppose they'll have to leave here to do it.”

Looking at the filthy little hellions, that was rather hard to believe at the moment, but Sebastian knew pretty much anything was possible. “How many folks still reside here?”

“Just the nine of us. Mr. Capstow—he's your man of all work, young Kenny's da. His wife was a cook up at the castle, God rest her soul, and he the carpenter until he got crippled falling from the roof. Lucky he didn't end up like Archibald, eh? Then there's Fred and Molly Gardiner, but they're away in the south at the moment at their daughter's, and Mrs. Pearl. Cathy's husband is home when he can be.”

“And I gather most of you were once in employ at Goddard Castle?”

“Aye, for the wicked earl or your da, poor man. Had his head in those books, didn't he?”

“Aye,” replied Sebastian, mimicking her accent. “I was just visiting him.”

“Too late, aren't you? But better late than never. Miss Frederica comes down regular-like to tend to those two graves. She's a good one, she is.”

Too good for the likes of him. “See you Sunday next, Mrs. Godfrey, Mrs. Rae. Boys.” Their grandmother gave them a stern look and they reluctantly bobbed their shaggy heads.

Sebastian turned his mount toward home. No, Goddard Castle was definitely not home, this dismal little village not his responsibility or priority. There were ten times the number of people who depended upon him in Dorset to drag Roxbury Park into the nineteenth century. He needed new mechanical equipment for his fields, new seed to plant, cottages to repair and roofs to thatch. The sooner he got away from here, the better.

Why should he keep Freddie to her promise? It was cruel to continue to corrupt her, keep her away from her work, make her a disciple to his deviltry. Last night should be enough for him.

But, he thought ruefully, it was not, nor likely to be.

A
fter an hour, Frederica wiped the nib and laid her pen carefully in its tray. She stood, brushing the wrinkles from her skirts. She was bored—bored by her own words, blocked from her usual facile attention to detail. She'd had to look up the same facts twice and still had trouble integrating them into her paragraph. Sebastian had made it impossible for her to write, even if he was not hovering over her shoulder, whispering sin into her welcoming ear.

What else could be in his trunk? She had opened it once to hide the evidence of their first lustful night, but did not have the time to peruse it at her leisure. But Sebastian was gone now, so there was plenty of opportunity for her to satisfy her curiosity. She wanted a closer look at his toys, his lengths of braided silk, his books. One could tell a great deal about a person from their taste in literature. Of course, she knew most of the pertinent facts about the Duke of Roxbury—he was an unrepentant satyr who had somehow managed to penetrate her defenses.

Penetrate
. She chortled. The most apt word of her day. She felt completely open to Sebastian as a lover, when she knew she should snap her lips and legs shut and send him on his way. What would he do if she refused him? Their bargain was not truly binding—she had been deliberately vague when she wrote out the sales agreement for the castle. No, the only binding things were to be found in Sebastian's trunk, and she was anxious to see what else he might have in store for her.

She slipped upstairs to his room, finding it relatively tidy. Sebastian had opened the windows to the sunshine, so the air that greeted her was fresh. While he may not be keeping his sheets as well tucked as she had shown him, there was little dust to be seen and his clothing was not littering the floor. His battered travel trunk sat at the foot of the bed, its brass hinges dull. He'd had this same case as a boy when he went away to school, but Frederica was not expecting to find Latin and Greek texts within.

It was not locked. The items inside were also tidy. His collection of short whips was tied with a black lace ribbon. Upon further inspection, Frederica saw it was a woman's garter. What kind of woman permitted herself to be whipped? Beaten? Sebastian had used one of them to tease her body, but had not struck her. She would never permit such a thing, even if it was his day.

Unscrewing an enamel jar, she inhaled the refreshing citrus cream that was Sebastian's secret ingredient for awakening her body. If she knew what was in it, she could duplicate the aroma and make it herself. Then she'd have something to remember him by when he left. If she could bear to.

Frederica opened a polished wooden box to find an assortment of marble and ivory toys, their design making perfectly plain what they were meant to resemble. She had never seen another man's organ except Sebastian's, but judging from the contents of this box, they came in all shapes and sizes. None of them looked as large—or as luscious—as his.

She shook her head. She was well and truly ruined. How many days had it taken? A handful. She rooted around beneath his stockings and small clothes and felt tooled leather beneath her fingertips. The book she withdrew wasn't thick, some sort of diary, three-quarters full as she riffled through it. The dates written in Sebastian's sprawling hand started many months ago, probably dating to his time in Egypt. He'd told her very little, but if she wanted to know him better, she imagined this volume would make fascinating reading. She reluctantly returned it to the bottom of the trunk, loath to invade his privacy any more than she was already. Besides, his handwriting was impenetrable. There she was, with another “penetrating” word. She really needed to consult a thesaurus.

“What the fuck are you doing?” A hand came from behind her and slammed the lid shut, just missing her fingers.

Oh dear
. Caught very much in the act. “I—I—I was looking for something to read.”

“With all that shit you have in the library? Tell me another! You were spying on me.”

His voice was arctic, icicles dripping with every breath. She turned to look up at him, very much at a disadvantage on her knees. The delicacy of her position was not lost on her. “Yes. I was wondering what else you had in that trunk to torture me with.”

“I would have gladly shown you, Freddie, had you but asked.” He threw open the trunk again and rummaged around, fishing out a small jewel case. He popped it open. “See these?” Nestled in the blue velvet lining were two peculiar silver pins. “They're for your nipples, Freddie, to pinch them so that when I whip your breasts, the pain will be exquisite.”

Frederica felt dizzy with disgust. “You—you wouldn't.”

“I have, and I would. I admit I hadn't planned to use them on you, but after this—you deserve some sort of punishment.”

Her mouth was dry, her tongue thick. “I'm sorry, Sebastian. I was just curious.”

“A smart girl like you must know curiosity killed the cat. Never ask a question you don't already know the answer to.”

“That makes no sense at all. One would never find out anything.” She struggled to her feet, Sebastian refusing to extend a hand to help her. “I admit I was wrong. But really, I wanted to know what kinds of books you read.”