Practically Wicked (18 page)

“Perfectly,” she replied. “Now there’s something else you know about me.”

“There certainly is. How did you learn it?”
Why
had she learned it? It couldn’t have been done voluntarily. No one in their right mind studied ancient Greek voluntarily. It was an obligatory hell reserved solely for schoolboys and historians.

“Books, of course. I learned all my languages from books.”

All?
“How many comprises all?”

Her eyes narrowed and looked to the ceiling, and he realized with astonishment that she was counting.

“Eight,” she said after a moment. “Including English.”

“Eight?” Good God, and he’d thought himself well educated knowing three.

“Mrs. Culpepper says I have a talent for learning language.” Her lips curved in a self-depreciating smile. “Mostly, I’ve had time.”

“Which languages?”

“French, German, Italian, Russian, Latin, and Greek.”

“That’s seven with English.”

“Oh, ancient Greek and modern Greek.”

“Impressive.” And, for some reason, decidedly alluring. He had the strangest urge to ask her to say something to him in French. To stifle it, he spoke in Italian.

“Non tutti quelli che hanno lettere sono savi.”

Anna’s forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Not all…letters…something.” She shook her head. “What does that mean?”

“I thought you spoke Italian.”

“I can read it without trouble, but I must speak it slowly.”

Because she’d learned it from books, he realized. Eight languages, learned entirely through books. It was an astounding achievement. “It’s an old proverb. It means not everyone who is educated is wise, though that’s not a strict translation.” He smiled at her disgruntled expression. “Have you heard Italian spoken by someone else before?”

“A passing phrase here and there. Along with what Mrs. Culpepper managed in my studies. She’s no more fluent than I.” She closed her book and looked at him hopefully. “Will you say something else?”

“Vorrei poterti baciare,”
he said without thinking.

Anna bit her lip thoughtfully. “I…would like…something?”

I wish I could kiss you.

“Not quite,” he told her and counted himself damned lucky that she’d not recognized the words. He hadn’t meant to say them. “Can you speak any of the languages?” he asked, hoping to distract her.

“Yes, French and, to a lesser degree, German. I was fortunate to have Mrs. Culpepper for a governess.” She stepped closer to him, eager. “Tell me what it meant.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I will as yet.”

“Why not?”

Because not everything a man is thinking ought to trip off his tongue. “I am mad with power.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied and hugged her book to her chest. “I’ll not beg.”

“Certain of that?”

“Yes, quite.”

He shook his head in playful disappointment. “Killjoy.”

“So my mother has often accused.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “If this new friendship is going to work, you’ll need to refrain from drawing comparisons between me and your mother.”

Her lips twitched as she nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Why didn’t she raise you elsewhere?” he asked, hoping to draw her completely away from the matter of Italian and kissing. “Forgive my bluntness, but if the two of you were not close, why did you remain in the house?”

“Madame liked having a daughter about,” she explained with a small shrug. “Someone to put in diamond dresses and show off to her friends.”

Like a living doll, he thought, disgusted. “And yet she had no reservations about sending you here for your inheritance?”

There was a marked pause before she answered. “It is possible she did.”

“She tried to stop you?”

“No. I wasn’t being coy in saying it was possible, I meant it was possible but I’ve no way of knowing for certain. I didn’t speak with her before leaving.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here? Did you sneak out of Anover House?”

“Of course not. I’d never be so heartless…I left a note.”

“A
note
?”

“You may wish to temper your criticism of me. She was taking laudanum for her injury before I left. Holding a rational discussion on the matter was out of the question.”

“And if it hadn’t been?”

“I…” She pressed her lips together a beat before answering. “I would have snuck out and left the note. She is often unreasonable, even irrational.”

He added this bit of information to everything else he had learned of Mrs. Wrayburn in the past four-and-twenty hours. “Well, I am relieved I decided against paying her a visit today.”

“You thought to go to London?”

“No, I went to London,” he admitted, surprising himself. He’d no intention of telling her that, but he found he had no taste for continuing the lie about having gone into the village.

“I see.” She tilted her head, her expression shrewd. “And did the contract meet with your approval or your expectations?”

“Both, as pertains to you. The first as pertains to your mother. I assumed she gave you the contract,” he explained. “I suspected she might be lying to us all.”

“Ah.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Well, your trip makes sense, then. I daresay, I’d do the same in your place. But, no. Mrs. Culpepper and I…er…discovered it.”

“Discovered,” he repeated, amused. “I know what that means. You’re not angry that I went to London?”

“When you said you were going to the village? No, not especially. Your reasons were sound. And you’ve told me now, haven’t you?”

“I have.” And he hoped she was telling the truth about not being upset. There were too many misunderstandings between them already. “I should have told you my intentions this morning.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “But our peace is new. We’re bound to have a misstep or two, and I like that you’ve erred first. You’re now obligated to forgive me when I make a mistake.”

“Does Miss Anna Rees make mistakes?”

“They say there is a first time for everything.”

Her willingness to make jests erased any concerns he had that she might secretly be harboring a little resentment. “You’re truly not upset,” he said, a bit awed.

“You were being protective of your friends,” she replied. “There is nothing wrong in that.”

“I am sometimes overly protective of Lucien and Gideon,” he admitted.

“And why might that be?”

“Another time,” he evaded. He wasn’t opposed to telling her his history with the family, but he wasn’t interested in telling it tonight. He wanted to learn more about her. “So, you found paperwork you were not meant to find and you left home without permission or even advance notice. Am I right in guessing that this is an escape from your mother?”

“Her world,” Anna clarified. “Anover House, the demimonde. It is an escape from all of it.”

“A world is greater than one person and one place. The demimonde has more to offer than what goes on at Anover House.”

She looked decidedly unconvinced. “I assure you, if the demimonde offers it, it goes on at Anover House.”

He wondered if she was jesting, or if she was naïve enough to believe it. Anover House, while very much a den of considerable infamy, was by no means the destination of choice for either the most depraved individuals of the demimonde, or the most interesting. Present company excluded, naturally. “Would you say all of those of the ton are the same?”

“I’d say near enough that I don’t want anything to do with them either.”

“You’re stubborn in your views.”

“Determined in my path,” she countered.

It bothered him to hear it. The demimonde was his world of choice, the ton his world of birth. To know she was looking to be rid of both made him nervous, and a little defensive.

On the other hand, it gave him greater insight into her determination to gain a thousand pounds from Lucien. She didn’t merely want the money or feel entitled to it. Having left the protection and support of her mother, she needed it to survive.

“What role does your Mrs. Culpepper play in all this?” Did she encourage Anna’s bleak views on society? he wondered.

“Oh…friend, travel companion—”

“Coconspirator?”

“That as well,” she admitted with a soft chuckle. “She was the architect of our plan, to be honest. I’d still be at Anover House, were it not for her.”

“Then I owe her a debt of gratitude.”

She didn’t blush, as many women of his acquaintance might, but her eyes darted away a second before returning to his. It was a start, he told himself.

But he wanted so much more. He wanted to kiss her.

The Italian phrase hadn’t materialized out of nowhere. The desire was there. The urge to touch her had gnawed at him since he’d walked into the house and seen her walking down the stairs.

It seemed right to do it now, while she was surrounded by flickering candlelight and the books she so clearly loved. They were alone and hidden, and he badly wanted to pull her close and feel the warmth of her through their clothes, her mouth move beneath his.

But it wasn’t the right time. Trust wasn’t rebuilt in a day, and he’d be a fool to push things too far, too fast. Particularly as he wasn’t at all sure where he wanted things to go.

Better for him to step away.

Better…but not easier. His brain produced a half dozen excuses for his prompt departure, but not the discipline to put a single one of them to immediate use.

He stayed exactly where he was as a weighted silence stretched out between them.

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

Her gaze skittered away as her fingers played with the spine of her book. He imagined them sliding up the back of his neck to play with his hair.

Clearly, she was aware of tension building between them. But she wasn’t running away. That was promising. Very, very promising.

But it changed nothing. He was going to put an end to the tension. Immediately. He was going to walk away so she wouldn’t have to run. He was going to—

In the end, he didn’t have to do anything. It was an upstairs maid, Abigail, who saved them both. After a polite knock on the open door and an equally polite apology for the interruption, the young woman crossed the room and handed Anna a small ring of keys.

“Mrs. Webster has said that His Lordship has said that you are to have this.”

“Oh, right.” Anna accepted the ring, looking far more composed than Max would have liked. “Thank you. I hope I’ve not caused an inconvenience.”

“A few less keys to haul about is no inconvenience to Mrs. Webster. But it was kind of you to ask. Should I show you which keys go to which cases, miss?”

Anna’s gaze shot to him briefly. “Yes, I suppose that would be wise.”

Max tried not to resent the intrusion (they were keys and locks, for pity’s sake, how hard could it be?) even as he acknowledged that it was all for the best.

“I believe I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said before Anna could follow Abigail to the nearest case. He gave her a small bow. “Good night, Miss Rees.”

“Good night, Lord Dane.”

If she was disappointed by his decision to leave, no sign of it reached her face. Her smile was polite, but distant. It irritated him no end.

Which is why he made a point of whispering in her ear as he brushed by her on his way to the door.

“Sweet dreams, Anna.”

He’d never know if she had any visual reaction to his words, but he heard her breath hitch, and that was enough for him, for now.

 
 
Chapter 11

As dawn broke over Caldwell Manor, Anna stood in her room, wiggling her bandaged feet inside her shoes.

“Quite comfortable, really,” she murmured.

Mrs. Culpepper’s balm and a good deal of time spent barefooted had done wonders for her blisters. With bandages and a careful choice of shoes, she was confident she could walk a little ways without further aggravating her sore feet.

And should they became a little aggravated…Well, she would live with it. It was too fine and sunny a morning to stay indoors, she decided and headed downstairs.

As for the rest of yesterday’s mishaps, they were easy to avoid once a person knew what to look for. She’d keep her feet away from manure and out of streams, give a wide berth to sheep and shepherds’ dogs, and limit her stroll to level ground.

A warm wash of early sunlight settled on her face the minute she stepped out the back door Max had carried her to the day before. She blinked, clearing her eyes, and discovered Max himself leaning against the stone balustrade of the terrace and looking quite handsome in his black coat and buckskin breeches.

He looked even better when he smiled at her, his hazel eyes shining a bright green in the morning light. “I hoped you’d come this way.”

“Good morning.” Better than good, possibly the finest morning she’d had in years. “Rather early for you, isn’t it? I thought the demimonde kept town hours, even in the country.”

“I keep whichever hours suit me,” he replied, straightening as she approached. “And it suited me to find you here this morning.”