Any Wicked Thing (36 page)

H
e had done the gentlemanly thing, releasing her from their bargain. He would leave Goddard Castle with Cam when his time was up, well before the month was at its end. Dissolve the guardianship. Release her funds in their entirety. Sebastian should take some comfort in his decision, but instead his gesture struck him as hollow.

He was walking away, leaving Freddie to fend for herself. That was what she wanted, what she had always wanted. But there had been something melancholy in their coupling today. Something too tender. He did not want to think of Freddie actually
missing
him.

Or him missing her.

She needed to get on with her life and he with his. If he distanced himself now—removed himself from her bed or wherever else he might take his pleasure with her—it would be easier in the end for both of them.

Which meant that today was the last time he would ever touch her.

He swallowed back a mouthful of what tasted very much like regret.

There was plenty for him to do here to distract himself from pursuing her. The castle was rambling and ripe with possibilities. Just because nothing had been buried beneath the catmint did not mean that the lady's garden was free of loot. But to uproot Freddie's carefully tended plants would be a shame, and quite frankly, Sebastian's back ached from shoveling.

Sebastian recalled the expression on the Earl of Archibald's portrait. Haughty. Aloof. Even as a young man, he did not look apt to do any sort of manual labor to sully his consequence. No, the digging they had done had been an exercise in futility. Archibald was reputed to be clever—he'd find a hiding place that did not require him to soil his hands. They were already covered in the blood of betrayed British soldiers.

Sebastian and Cam would pore over the diary again. Freddie, too, if he could keep his blistered hands off her and she could spare the time away from her writing. He'd been selfish expecting her to drop everything for his games.

He'd wanted to punish her when he first arrived. Ironic, when it was he who was now feeling the pain.

Just a few more days. And he'd given control over most of them to Freddie. He could fix it so she didn't want him. Be as boorish as the next fellow. Push her away, inch by inch.

He could do it. He had to.

T
he next few days tested Sebastian's resolve. He had come no closer to discovering where the mythical Archibald treasure might be despite studying the diary for hours on end. After Freddie's misbegotten garden project, they concentrated on the interior of the castle, dividing up the search between the three of them. Cameron orchestrated their assignments, reducing the likelihood that Sebastian and Freddie would be thrown together. He was scrupulous in avoiding Freddie when he could, going so far as to take all his meals in his room. It killed him to think of Cam flirting with Freddie at the dinner table, but it might do her good to be the object of someone else's interest. She should marry—not Cam, of course, but someone who could keep her company through the long Yorkshire winters. Someone who would treat her with respect. Someone who would appreciate her warm heart and lively mind. Someone who would worship her body as he had come to.

He was feeling smugly successful dodging her, but after several days, his luck ran out. On his way to inspect the stable block one last time, he bumped into Freddie in the courtyard. The sky above was steel, the air heavy with moisture. Wind whipped her skirts, pinked her cheeks. He tried to brush past her, but she reached out to stop him.

“Have I offended you in any way, Sebastian? You've made yourself awfully scarce.”

“I thought we agreed we were through, Freddie.” He would make sure of it now, if she had any doubts. “You'll get the damn castle without further groveling.”

Her hand dropped from his sleeve. “I didn't grovel.”

“Whatever you want to call it. There's no need to whore yourself any longer. Cam and I are leaving tomorrow and I'll see to it the necessary arrangements are made to get you the deed and your monies. All of them. I'm not inclined to remain your guardian. I admit it's been somewhat amusing, but it's time to move on.” He had practiced every brutish word, had anticipated Freddie's response, and was not surprised to feel her fist jab into at his solar plexus.

“You—you cad!”

“I never told you otherwise. Think about it. What kind of gentleman would accept your harebrained scheme? I took advantage of you, plain and simple. I was curious to know if
you
had gotten better in bed, to quote you. But you probably don't recall, drunk as you were the other day. Poor Freddie. You'd really better lay off the intoxicants before you do something stupid again.” He stood still for another punch.

“Something stupid? Something stupid! You are the only mistake I've ever made! You've taught me your lesson, Your Grace. Never will I trust another man!”

“Oh, I don't know, Freddie. There might be some poor fool out there who wants to be managed by you. And I have taught you a thing or two of the bedroom arts. Not every wife comes so trained.”

He didn't bother ducking when she slapped him soundly across the face. It gave him perverse pleasure to know he was so efficient in alienating her. She shrieked at him for a good five minutes, competing with the howling wind. He didn't listen to the half of it, content to watch the color creep up from the collar of her housedress to her cheeks and back down again. She was alarmingly plum-hued by the time she gulped for breath. The coup de grace came as she took the Earl of Archibald's diary from her apron pocket and hurled it at him. It landed in a cloud of dust, ultimately useless. He lifted an eyebrow.

“As I said, Freddie, we're definitely done.”

“I wouldn't choose to spend another minute with you for all the money in the world!” she raged.

“You won't have to. Didn't you listen? I'm washing my hands of you and all your medieval nonsense. Have a nice life.” He walked away, but she hurled herself at his back, knocking him down. They landed in a tangle on the grass, Freddie stuck to him like a barnacle.

“Get off me! Have you no pride? No dignity?” He flipped over despite her nails digging into his neck. Freddie scrambled away, a look of horror on her face. Poor thing. He'd driven her to lose her temper, just as he had when they were children. It had never taken much, but usually she preferred to skewer him with her tongue, not her fingernails. As she claimed, he really was a cad. He sprang up and smoothed his clothing. “Don't expect me to lie still while you strangle me. I didn't count on us to end as friends, but don't you think you're taking this too far?”

She could not meet his eyes. She looked for all the world like she was eight years old again—disheveled, freckled, her dirty apron reminiscent of the pinafores she used to wear. If he were a gentleman, he'd help her up. But he'd just gone to rather elaborate lengths to prove he was not.

Hang the stables. There wasn't anything there but hay and horse manure. What he needed was some exercise. He'd get Cam to fence with him and drive Freddie from his mind. Sebastian glanced up to the open library windows. He'd left Cam packing a few of Freddie's cast-off books that he'd already paid Sebastian for so he'd have enough blunt to get back to Dorset. It was the devil to be beholden to him yet again, but one last favor wouldn't make much difference.

Half an hour later, Sebastian was breathless, wet as the world outside. Freddie must have picked herself up off the ground once the rain began, but she certainly wasn't in the long gallery to witness the violent sparring. He did not plan to run Cam through, but he had to aim his blade at something on this gray, rainy day. His fight with Freddie had made him reckless, but it had done its job. He'd bet she wouldn't come out to the battlements and wave her handkerchief when they left on the morrow.

The long gallery rang with the clash of metal and frustrated oaths, the wall sconces casting macabre shadows as the men parried and deceived up and down the hall. Sweat poured down Sebastian's body, but he didn't stop to wipe his brow, which was why he found himself blearily careening into the late Earl of Archibald at sword point. With a snap of wire, the portrait fell from the wood-paneled walls, and Sebastian fell with it. He was almost glad to have crashed to the stone floor, for he could not have lasted much longer against his friend, who did not have the same demons working to defeat him.

“Mercy! You win. Get your damned father off me.”

“Tut, tut. You've ruined the frame. All that gilt.”

Sebastian rolled out from underneath the canvas, sat up and picked up a chunk of gold-painted gesso. He was too tired to stand yet, his legs trembling like jelly. “Take it when you go. Take them all. That's if Freddie's agreeable, and I think she will be. She's never liked the paintings.”

“What, the last bastard live with centuries of Archibalds? See how they disapprove already.”

Sebastian laughed, a bit breathless. “They always look like that. You occasionally show a flash of that expression yourself.”

Cameron examined the wall, running his hand on the intricately carved dark wood. “Damn me! I'll have to work on that. Make myself look less sniffy. I say, this is really fine raised paneling, Sebastian. Now, if you'd let me remove
it
, I'd consider taking the ancestors to my attic. Some old Archibald must have installed it to keep the portraits from the damp of the walls. Really fine craftsmanship. See this?” Cam pointed to the geometric design that was for the most part covered by the massive paintings.

“I'll have to take your word for it. I know next to nothing about interior decorating.”

“Seriously, this paneling would fetch quite a bit from a rich cit trying to gentrify his new house. It has, what we like to say in the trade, patina. If these walls could talk, eh?”

Sebastian sighed. “You'll have to ask Freddie. Our terms are she buys everything in the castle. We're talking of walls here. I rather think she thinks they're included in the sale.”

“You'll not see their like again. Here, touch this. Like satin.”

Reluctantly, Sebastian got up from the floor, pocketed the bit of frame and poked a finger at a knot of leaves in the center of a diamond. There was a popping sound, and a wide panel of the wall inched backward.

“What the devil?”

“Damn me again! It's a secret passage. How very gothic.” Cam pushed the door in a little ways. The paneled carving was attached to a massive door, equal in thickness to the planks of the castle's main entrance. “Stuck, of course. Let me borrow a shoulder.” The two of them shoved against the panel as it creaked open.

“Black as pitch. Grab a light from the sconce, would you, Sebastian? Better take the swords in with us. We may have to beat off bats and spiderwebs.”

“You're not planning to murder me in the dark?”

“Oh, no. I could have done that anytime in Egypt, remember?”

Sebastian definitely did. Shivering a bit in the cool of the narrow corridor, he led the way with the flickering taper, slashing through the cobwebs with his foil, feeling very much like a little boy on a treasure hunt. He stopped stock-still, and Cam bumped into him, fortunately not with the business end of his sword. “You don't suppose—”

“I see we're thinking alike. My papa's portrait could have been guarding his stash all these years. Come to think of it, the wall panels were even drawn in his diary, not that I recognized what they were. Carrigan—my forger fellow—can write, but not draw. I thought they were just doodles. Wouldn't it be a miracle if we found the treasure after all?”

“Let's not count chickens.” Sebastian sneezed, his exercise-damp clothing covering him like a cloak of snow. “I may not live long enough to enjoy his ill-gotten gains. Damn, how far down does this hall go? It's as crooked as that French whore's teeth we shared in Marseilles. What was her name?”

“I don't think I ever caught it, infamous rake that I am. Patience, Sebastian. Here. Let's switch places. You're missing spots and I'm getting mouthfuls of spider eggs.”

Sebastian turned the taper over to Cam. It was only fitting that if there was something, Cameron Ryder should find it. He was the one with the reputation for antiquities. It would be one discovery he could never brag about, however, if they wished to keep clear of the law. Sebastian kept to the stone wall so he wouldn't smack his face into the abrupt turns. He'd lost sight of the gray light of the tunnel entrance almost from the beginning. “This hall must be accessible from another part of the castle, but I see no doors.”