Wicked in His Arms

by Stacy Reid

“I wanted to kill William for touching you. In fact, he may be walking in London sometime in the future and meet his demise with a footpad.”

  She gasped.

  “You are dangerous to me, wife.”

  “No, I am not,” she said most earnestly.

  “I am leaving Grangeville Park.”

  She froze, indecisions flaring in her eyes. “For Town?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shall I pack?”

  “No.”

  He could see the pulse fluttering wildly in her throat.

  “I see.”

  What did she see, exactly? Did she understand he needed to shore up his resolve and that it was impossible to do that in her presence? Would she understand that he felt out of sorts, so unlike himself, as if someone else had invaded his body and it was all because of her? No, and he would not burden her with his feelings, he would simply exorcise her and return to the man he was at peace with.

  The man he had been before he lost his damn senses inside that linen closet.

  …

  Hours later, Livvie was unable to sleep. Kicking the twisted sheets from her legs in frustration, she launched from the bed. Marching to the armoire, she selected a simple gown and dressed herself. She headed to the room that she had converted to a painting studio, desperate to hold a brush in her hand. A few minutes later, she opened the door to the studio, calm filling her by simply being surrounded by her work.

  Glancing through the window, she spied the sunrays as dawn broke. She wanted to ride across the mews to the grotto she had discovered and pour her confusion into painting, but the overcast sky warned her it was best to stay indoors. Livvie donned an apron, left the chilly studio, and strolled down the hallway to the parlor, grateful to see that a fire was already lit there. She arranged her easel and sheets toward the windows and then drew the drapes. The beauty of the rolling lawn stole her breath. Today, she would lose herself in painting, and nothing else. Perhaps something good would come from it, and she could send a few pieces to the shop she sold through in London and hopefully they would be snatched up as her other works had been.

  She sat down, carefully opened her box, and started to paint. There was a knock on the parlor door, and Livvie reluctantly shifted her concentration from the easel. A quick glance at the pocket watch showed she had been painting for four hours.

  “Yes?”

  The door opened and in strolled Francie.

  “Oh, Livvie,” Francie said softly, rushing over. “Does your apparent misery have anything to do with Tobias departing for town?”

  Her heart cracked. Memories of the many fights between her parents surfaced and her father’s subsequent actions surfaced. “Do you suppose this means he will soon take a mistress?” she asked hoarsely.

  “Livvie!” Francie snapped, fisting her hands on her hips. “Tobias would never dishonor you so.”

  Livvie laughed without humor. “He has left for an unmentioned duration for Town. It seems the very thought of living with me is unbearable. Any gentleman as passionate as your brother would surely find it impossible to do without the more intimate areas of companionship after several weeks of estrangement from his wife.”

  Shock slackened her friend’s jaw, and she stood speechless.

  “Your fight was…”

  “Terrible,” Livvie supplied with a smile that wobbled. “I own I was reckless and foolhardy, but I thought I was protecting him from potential scandal. Instead it seems I made a muck of it, and then he made an even worse muck. Now we again hate each other, and I fear I may never regain his good opinion. It enrages me that I so desperately want it and his adoration.”

  “Tell me what happened,” Francie demanded.

  As fast as possible, Livvie relayed the dreadful happenings.

  “William attacked you?” Francie gasped, sinking onto the sofa.

  “Yes.”

  “And you challenged him to a duel? Then Tobias came and…and…beat him?” she said incredulously.

  “Yes,” Livvie snapped.

  “I cannot credit your assertions. Tobias would never fight or duel or act so scandalously.”

  “He did, and he hates me for it,” she said on a sob.

  “Oh, he must love you so much,” Francie breathed in wonderment.

  Livvie froze, even her heart felt as if it had stilled. “Love? Are you afflicted?”

  Her mind churned in confusion, and what felt like hope blasted through her. She surged to her feet and started pacing. Love? Then she scoffed at the very notion. A man in love did not abandon his wife.

  “He does not love me…he desires me, but there are no tender sentiments in his heart.”

  “Oh, Livvie, surely you must see how rattled he would have been by his rage. He is so composed and chilly, and for whatever reason you have been unraveling his knots.”

  “And he resents it.”

  “Or maybe he is just unsure?”

  “He left me.”

  “I do not think he means to be away forever, think of the scandal when society learns of your estrangement.”

  “He does not care about society’s opinion. In fact, he would be much relieved if I left for another of his estates and lived there until I am needed for his heir.”

  Francie shook her head as if in a daze and then her gaze landed on the canvas. She gasped and her fingers fluttered to her lips. It was then that Livvie glanced down at the painting she had rendered. It was of Tobias.

  “It’s beautiful,” Francie said in a breathless tone. She stood and walked over to look at it, awe settling on her face.

  The image was of Tobias standing on the cliff bluff at the far east of the estate. He looked raw, untamed, passionate, and free from constraint. Though she painted him immaculately dressed in riding breeches and jacket, hat and a crop dangling from his hand, his eyes and expressions were anything but proper. The wildness of the land around him and the fierceness of the man himself could not be denied.

  “Is this how you see my brother?” Francie asked softly.

  Livvie frowned. “This is how he is, this is Tobias, but he hides from his passion…”

  Francie gripped her hand. “Have you decided which estate to depart to?”

  “No!”

  “Select one, go there, and give him time. It may take several months, but I believe he will realize how much he adores you and—”

  “You expect me to leave my home?” She tugged her hand away and fisted one on her hip.

  “I—”

  “I will not run with my tail tucked between my legs, nor will I mope and cry and suffer my heart to break more every day. I love your infuriating brother, more than I dreamed possible, but I will not allow such sentiments to…to…” She caught her breath on a frustrated sigh. After taking a deep breath, she continued, “The Season is in full swing and I will be traveling to Town.”

  “You are expressly disobeying him, Livvie. I do not think that is the way to win over Tobias.”

  Livvie steeled her resolved. “Who said anything about winning him over? I aim to show my earl that I will not wilt away without him, and if he adores me as you say, then he will recognize my worth. If he does not, then to hell with him,” she said with a satisfied nod. Then she swept from the parlor, determined to heal her heart and not remain broken.

  Though deep inside, she felt it was false bravado at best.

  …

  Livvie had been in London for two weeks, and her husband was quite aware. He had made no effort to call on her, and she would not visit the town house, though secretly she desired reconciliation.

  “I thought you had determined to be merry,” the duchess of Wolverton murmured to Livvie.

  She smiled, desperately wanting the ache inside to vanish forever. The fight between her and Tobias had been wretched, and their days apart only reinforced how unsuited they were for each other. Except…she missed the dratted man, and was irrevocably in love with him.

  Despite enduring such tempestuous passion for him, she wo
uld not seek him out in Town. He had left her…after everything they had shared. And it had occurred to her how silly she had been in trusting that he would always be there. How silly she had been to easily abandon her hopes for independence, and her dreams to be a painter. Only a day after his departure, she had launched into motion, refusing to pine away for a man who did not accept her completely.

  Oh…what I wouldn’t give for him to accept me…for me.

  “Livvie?”

  She glanced at the duchess. “Forgive me, I was lost in thought.”

  “I do not think you are enjoying yourself much. Would you like to leave?”

  She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing footman and took a sip. “I admit it, I am bored. I have never found balls entertaining.”

  “But at least you have secured several clients for your fabulous paintings. Are you at all worried about what Lord Blade will say when he discovers you have sold several pieces?”

  Perhaps, but she would never admit it. “I do not give a fig what he thinks.”

  Adel chuckled, her eyes dancing with merriment and a good bit of mischief. “I hope not, for your work has become the rage and the entire ballroom is atwitter with the piece you did for Lady Branson, and now Lady Livingston is demanding you clear your schedule for her.”

  Livvie glanced at the painting hung above the fireplace at the far left at the ballroom. “Lady Branson is quite pleased with it, isn’t she?”

  “Hmm, and your earl has just entered, quite discreetly I might add.”

  Livvie froze.

  Tobias is here?

  Her gaze eagerly sought him, and when their eyes collided, she audibly gasped. He was shockingly handsome in black trousers and jacket, with a dark green waistcoat that she knew perfectly complimented his eyes. What was he doing here? Was it because he was aware she would be in attendance? Her heart thudded alarmingly, and she tried her very best to act blasé. What would he say when he realized her paintings were taking the ton by storm, as the duchess had claimed? Surely he would banish her then, for bringing the Blade name to more notoriety.

  She tilted her chin in defiance, and acting on instinct, lifted her flute of champagne in his direction. He arched a brow, but the dratted man’s face remained inscrutable. She wanted to rush over and kiss him, and then slap him for causing her anguish. The two desires melded in her so strongly, she forced herself to turn away to gather her composure.

  “Oh,” slipped softly from Adel.

  Unable to restrain her curiosity, Livvie turned. A fist closed itself over her heart. The lady she had spied at Grangeville Park in the hallway of Tobias’s room was practically draped over him. Lady Arabella. His head was dipped low as he conversed with her. The picture was intimate, and Livvie’s heart broke. Had he taken back up with his mistress?

  “I am sure it is quite innocent,” Adel murmured sympathetically.

  Livvie’s throat worked but no sound issued forth. She silently urged her husband to look her way. Instead, he walked through the ballroom with his former—or his current—mistress strolling beside him. Arabella was smiling and nodding to varied ladies and gentleman while Tobias had his usual air of insouciance about him.

  Unexpectedly, he glanced up toward her. For a moment, hunger flashed in his emerald depths and her heart seemed to stop. Then he lowered his eyes and bent his head to hear whatever Lady Arabella chose to lightly tip on her toes to whisper in that moment.

  “I daresay, from the scandalously heated look your husband just gave you…Lady Arabella’s presence is a mere annoyance and nothing more,” the duchess said after touching Livvie’s arm gently.

  Her throat tightened. “I must leave.”

  “Surely—”

  “I cannot stay. Do you see how everyone is staring at us?”

  And they were. Some ogled discreetly behind their artful fans, while others stared blatantly. She hurriedly bid the duchess adieu, and with her head lifted high, she made her way to the entrance and ordered her carriage. Livvie waited in the foyer, her heart a beating mess. Should she have gone to Tobias? And what would she say if she did? Should she tell him her father had collapsed when he learned of William’s behavior, and that her stepbrother had been sent away to Scotland to revive a flagging estate there? Should she ask him when the tension between them would be solved, and when would they have a reasonable conversation? The most pressing question…should she ask him if he had taken back up with his mistress?

  The questions burning through her, she turned, and with determined steps, reentered the ballroom. She scanned the crowd and spied her husband exiting the room, Lady Arabella following at a discreet distance. Livvie’s knees went weak and a blast of anger tore through her, leaving her hands trembling.

  How dare he break his promises. A footman passed and she grabbed a glass of champagne from his tray and emptied it in one swallow. She took another, and followed the path her earl had taken. She went through the terrace door and allowed their voices to guide her steps.

  She turned left at a column and froze. Lady Arabella was kissing her husband. The pain that tore through Livvie’s heart was like a poison-tipped knife.

  Tobias pushed his mistress from him, a derisive smile tipping his lips, but Livvie was not mollified.

  “How dare you,” she breathed out.

  The lady spun, her eyes widening in genuine shock. So this was not staged as how Lady Wimple had done.

  “Why am I always coming upon you with a trollop twined around you, my lord?” Livvie asked cuttingly.

  A muscle jumped in Tobias’s jaw. “You will mind your tongue, countess, and we will have this discussion in private.” Keeping his gaze firmly on her, he spoke. “You will excuse us, Lady Arabella.”

  “Darling, I—”

  “Now.” His voice vibrated with cold warning, and Arabella flushed.

  She hurried away, and when she passed by Livvie she murmured, “He was mine first and I will have him again, you upstart.”

  Livvie swiveled and stepped in her path. “What did you say to me?”

  Arabella faltered, no doubt not expecting Livvie to act with such bold impropriety. She was simply too out of sorts to be pretentious.

  “I said nothing, Lady Blade,” she said demurely, but her eyes fired with spite and there was a mockingly cruel slant to her lips. Then she mouthed the word upstart.

  Livvie did not pause to think, she simply lifted her hand and delivered a sound slap to Arabella’s cheek. The lady stumbled back and promptly burst into horrified tears.

  “If the earl and I ever separate, you are welcome to him. Until then, if you dare try to disrespect me and dishonor my marriage, I will call you out and put a bullet in you,” Livvie snapped low and hard.

  Lady Arabella whitened, shock glazing her eyes.

  There was a gasp behind Livvie, and in her periphery, she spied two ladies. They hurried from the terrace back to the ballroom, surely to spread what they had just witnessed.

  “Countess!”

  She glared at her husband and her hands trembled in reaction. Within two strides, he was in front of her, staring down, his mien wintry. “We will leave this instant,” he said flatly. “Are you staying at your father’s town house?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will escort—”

  “I am not going anywhere with you, my lord.”

  “Do you understand the magnitude of the scandal you just caused with your reckless—”

  She stepped close to him so her breast was flushed against his chest. “You, my lord, have no cause to berate me. You came here with your mistress!”

  A flush worked itself along his cheekbones. “I did nothing of the sort. I encountered her in the hallway and we only spoke of business. Now, we will leave, and I will escort you home where we will have a calm and reasonable discussion.”

  “No,” she said. “I will stay at the ball and dance the night away.” She was very aware of the crowd gathering on the terrace and the loud murmurings filtering through.


  “She challenged Lady Arabella to a duel!”

  “How shocking and scandalous.”

  The tick in her husband’s cheek grew more pronounced. Embarrassment and hurt vacillated through her in equal measure. He would never forgive her now for the scandal erupting. The reconciliation she had been hoping for would never come. Tears pricked behind her lids, and she stood frozen. Livvie almost fainted when her husband grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder and calmly walked through the throng, as if such a spectacle was an everyday occurrence.

  Chapter Twenty

  The carriage traveled with speed through London, jostling Livvie uncomfortably. No doubt her father’s coachman was responding to the veiled anger in Tobias’s tone. She was still in a daze from being carted off from Lady Branson’s ball. It was too overwhelming to even think of the scandal they would face tomorrow. He’d said nothing after he had none too gently stuffed her inside the carriage and taken a seat opposite her.

  “You threw me over your shoulder,” she finally said, still unable to reconcile his actions.

  “It seemed the most efficient way at the time to get you to leave. I could see you were preparing to be stubborn.”

  “The scandal…it…”

  “It will roar through the ton and linger for weeks, months, years,” he said flatly. “No doubt they will all recall the way my father acted in the past and celebrate my behavior in a similar manner. Bevies of callers will descend on the town house and the papers will sensationalize everything and a great deal of lurid speculation will be attached to our names.”

  Her throat tightened. He appeared so dispassionate. “What were you thinking?”

  “That is the problem, wife. I never seem to think or act sensibly around you.”

  There was an intolerable ache of tears burning in the back of her throat. She knew how much he despised the scrutiny of society and she had done nothing to temper the rage and pain she had felt. She had acted on pure emotions, a state in which he despised. “You must resent me,” she said softly. “Since I’ve entered your life I have done nothing but cause you heartache.”

  The silence thickened and her heart broke a bit more. She gripped the edges of the cushioned seat, a strange sort of desperation worming through her heart. Was her mother truly correct in her insight? For their marriage to work, would she have to bury all sense of herself?