Too Wicked to Kiss: Gothic Love Stories #1

by Ridley, Erica

  He turned to climb the stairs just as the two Stanton women sashayed from around the corner. Damn.

  Upon catching sight of him, the Stanton chit froze in place, as if her yellow hair and pale skin and pink gown might somehow blend undetectably into the gray marble surrounding them. Her mother, however, pursed her lips—setting that horrible mole to wriggling—and strode forward, clearly intending to cut him off at the pass.

  “Lioncroft,” she said, her close-set eyes as colorless as her skin. “Imagine running into you.”

  Gavin shifted his hold on the packages. “I live here.”

  “And what a lovely home it is. Susan was just saying so. Weren’t you, Susan?”

  The Stanton chit was too busy pretending invisibility to respond. Very well. The better for him to pounce.

  “Miss Stanton,” he said, his unexpected address startling her into a squeak. “Would you say you’ve been friends with Miss Pemberton for very long?”

  She shoved at her spectacles with the back of her hand. “Er…”

  Lady Stanton’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Why?” Gavin leaned one hip against the banister and stared into her colorless eyes. “Because I’ve just received the oddest letter. A fellow by the name of Neal Pemberton claims her to be his underage runaway stepdaughter, and demands her return.”

  “I’m not surprised. Every word you spoke is truth. I sent Mr. Pemberton a letter informing him of her whereabouts.”

  “Mother, you didn’t!”

  “Of course, I did. I told her I would do worse than that if she couldn’t be bothered to aid us in our cause, and I am a woman of my word.”

  Gavin placed one foot on a higher step to better balance the packages on his thigh. “And in what cause, may I ask, was Miss Pemberton to aid you?”

  Lady Stanton’s smile cracked like glass breaking in two. The Stanton chit had the grace to look mortified. Which could only mean one thing…

  Damn. He was The Cause.

  Miss Pemberton’s actions were somehow designed to interest him in the Stanton chit, of all people. Unbelievable. He bit back a groan. Whether by the noose or parson’s trap, every single guest beneath his roof aimed to ensnare him.

  “I see,” he said, although they hadn’t spoken. He rose from the banister and climbed a few steps toward the next floor. “I’m afraid I’m uninterested in matrimonial pursuits.”

  “Is it Evangeline?” the Stanton chit blurted out. “Are you interested in her?”

  The chill in Lady Stanton’s voice frosted the stale air. “He’s not interested in her as a wife, Susan. Didn’t you hear him? Gentlemen never marry common sluts. The best that girl can aspire to is a mistress, and I have my doubts she will find success even in that.”

  Gavin halted his ascent, turned, stared down at her. He wished he was armed with Heatherbrook’s swordsticks instead of the twins’ dolls, so he could leap from the stairs and beat Lady Stanton with them.

  “You would be wise,” he said, the words ricocheting like bullets against the bare walls, “not to disparage Miss Pemberton within my hearing if you wish to remain welcome in my home. I allow your presence as a courtesy to her, not she as a courtesy to you.”

  Lady Stanton’s narrow mouth fell open, for the first time at a loss for words. Her daughter, equally speechless, was rapidly turning an even more frightening shade of pink than her gown.

  Gavin inclined his head, turned, and resumed his trek upstairs. They made no effort to stop him.

  Within a very few minutes, he reached the nursery door. Being ajar, he was able to nudge it open with one shoulder without dumping the packages to the floor.

  Rose sat in the center of the small sofa reading a story aloud, one of the twins snuggled against either side. Jane stood just behind them, attempting to affect boredom and peer at the pages over her mother’s shoulders at the same time. Nancy was nowhere to be seen.

  “Uncle Lioncroft!” Jane rounded the sofa and rushed up to him, her younger sisters scrambling behind her. “Are all those for me?”

  “Jane,” Rose admonished from the sofa. “Show some restraint.”

  “But it’s my birthday.” Jane grinned up at Gavin. “Who else would they be for?”

  Who else, indeed. He swallowed. Replacement dolls for the twins now seemed to have been an exceptionally ill-timed purchase.

  “Actually,” he began, and winced when her smile dimmed. “You are half-right. These two boxes are for Rachel and Rebecca, to substitute for the doll whose face I broke yesterday.”

  “Oh.” Jane stepped aside as the twins squealed and tore at the paper. “Oh,” she said again. “Dolls.”

  “Yes, dolls. Because they are children,” he told her gravely. “You are thirteen now—very nearly an adult.”

  “That’s right,” she said, spine straightening. “I’m almost a woman.”

  “Just so. And instead of commissioning toys for you, I thought you’d appreciate grown-up gifts more suited for a young lady.”

  “Grown-up gifts? But you’ve only one package left, and it’s the smallest of the lot.”

  “The other wouldn’t fit in a package. Her name is Madame Rousseau.”

  Jane gaped at him. “The most famous modiste in London?”

  He nodded hesitantly. “It will take her a few days to arrive, but if you will still be here, she will be glad to outfit you with new gowns.”

  She squeezed his waist in a quick, breathless hug before dashing to her mother’s side. “Oh, will we, Mother? Do say yes. This is the best birthday ever.”

  Gavin held his breath. As before with his letter to Mr. Pemberton, here he was again, manipulating the travel plans of others. He hoped if he could just convince her to stay another week, Rose might stop thinking of him as a villain long enough to think of him as her brother. He would have his sister again, he would have his nieces, he would have family—if only for a few more days.

  Rose closed the book in her lap and sat very still.

  Disappointment dampened his palms. She did not want to stay. She did not want to be in his company. But why? Was Madame Rousseau not enough of a lure? Perhaps Rose did suspect him of killing her husband. Or perhaps, as Miss Pemberton suggested, Rose had done so herself and wished to escape discovery. Gavin could hardly blame her, if she had. He would’ve killed the son of a bitch long ago. He wouldn’t have blamed the murder on a sibling, however, and he prayed Rose would not either. Which meant—hopefully—some third party had been the villain, and now stood idly by as Rose’s children lost their father…and Gavin lost his sister all over again. He refused to let that happen.

  “I don’t know,” she said slowly, her gaze not meeting his. “We’ll see what happens.”

  Jane sighed and turned back to Gavin. “She’ll come around.”

  He wasn’t so certain.

  Jane cocked her head. “What is in the other package? The one that’s for me?”

  Gavin’s fingers clenched around it, suddenly too embarrassed to hand it over graciously, and beginning to doubt he should hand it over at all.

  She pried it from his hand and ripped open the brown paper to the jewelry inside.

  “Ohhh,” she breathed, eyes wide and shining. “Mother, look! A beautiful, beautiful necklace, with the most cunning little portrait-locket I’ve ever seen.” Her fingers pried open the clasp. She glanced up at him, brow furrowed. “It’s empty!”

  “I know.” The words came out so garbled, he had to clear his throat and begin anew. “I know,” he said again, jamming his hands in his pockets. “I thought…If you like, that is, while we’re waiting for Madame Rousseau to arrive…I would paint a miniature for you. Your portrait, I mean. If you’d like to sit for me.”

  “I’d love it!” She clasped the locket to her chest, the chain dangling between her fingers. “Oh, Mother, say yes! Say yes, say yes, say yes.”

  Rose said nothing.

  Gavin shifted his feet.

  “I suppose,” she said at last. “But afterward, we’
re leaving.”

  Jane squealed and danced about the room, oblivious to the finality in her mother’s tone, and the blankness in Rose’s eyes.

  Gavin, however, was not. Her careful tone, her tense posture, her guarded expression all combined to say the words she hadn’t spoken aloud, to confirm his worst fear. All the gifts in the world couldn’t keep them indefinitely. In less than a week’s time, she and her daughters would leave him.

  And they wouldn’t be back.

  Chapter 24

  With the gifts delivered safely to his nieces and his discovery of Lady Stanton’s matrimonial plan souring both his appetite and his muse, Gavin avoided the breakfast room and his studio alike in favor of his office.

  His steps quickened as he strode away from the nursery. A few hours solitude would not come amiss before a flurry of birthday activities. Having already dispatched his response to Miss Pemberton’s stepfather, Gavin now needed to confront the duplicitous woman herself. Not outside her chamber, where anyone in the guest quarters might overhear. Not in the middle of Jane’s birthday party, either, where curious eyes would be on them at every moment. He needed her now. He needed her alone. He needed her—Good Lord, what the devil was the woman doing outside his office door?

  Gavin stood in the shadows and waited. Miss Pemberton gave no indication of having heard him approach from a connecting corridor.

  She raised a gloved hand and poised her fist a few inches from the door’s surface, as if to rap her knuckles against the wood. She paused, frowned, lowered her hand without knocking. She tugged off her gloves and shoved them in a pocket. No pocket. The crumpled kidskin fluttered to the floor. She bent to retrieve them, unwittingly presenting Gavin with an unexpected view of the perfect derrière.

  As she swiped for the gloves, pins flew from her hair. The longer she stayed bent over to retrieve the lost pins, the more gravity worked on her heavy mass of coiled hair. What might’ve once been a chignon slid from the back of her head to off-center of her crown, and then exploded in a jumble of tangled curls.

  Miss Pemberton sighed, righted herself, shook her head. Any lingering pins tumbled to the floor. She allowed them to remain there. After dumping the handful of pins she’d managed to collect into one of her gloves, she returned her attention to the door. Once again, she made as if to knock, then seemed to think better of the movement. She used her raised hand to comb through her unruly curls instead, as if belatedly realizing a lack of hairpins might well portend a lack of style. Locks tamed as much as they would ever be, Miss Pemberton lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders, and reached directly for the doorknob.

  Gavin stepped forth from the shadows. “You wanted to see me?”

  She squeaked and spun to face him, hands clutched to her throat. This action dislodged both gloves and hairpins, sending the entire collection on a return journey to her feet. She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse before fixing Gavin with a blinding smile. He didn’t trust blinding smiles.

  “Er, yes. Good morning, Mr. Lioncroft.”

  Without returning the greeting, he retrieved her gloves and swept past her into his office. He circled his desk, placed the gloves atop its neatly organized surface, and dropped into his chair.

  Miss Pemberton hesitated only a moment before inching into the room.

  “Close the door.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a wise idea,” she mumbled.

  “Of course it’s not,” he said briskly. “Neither was coming to see me unchaperoned. As that’s never stopped you before and I was hoping to catch you alone in any case, we may as well make the most of a fortuitous situation. Close the door.”

  She did, and promptly plastered her back against it as if already planning her escape. “You were hoping to catch me alone?”

  “As were you me, I daresay, or you wouldn’t be here now. Shall we spend a few more minutes informing each other of the obvious, or shall we cut directly to the point?”

  “The point,” she agreed faintly, resting one hand on the doorknob. “I…don’t want to be missed.”

  “No?” Gavin leaned back in his chair to study her. “No, I suppose not. Although, some would say a chit who steals away from her legal guardian should surely expect to be missed. Would you not agree?”

  She blanched. “I…Legal guardian?”

  “Let’s see, I have it right here, a Mister…” Gavin shook the folds from the missive he’d long committed to memory. He produced an unnecessary quizzing glass from his desk drawer and positioned it between his eye and the parchment just to make her sweat with fear. Even though Miss Pemberton was no longer in his direct line of sight, he could hear her anxiety, as the trembling of her hand was fierce enough to rattle the doorknob. “Ah, yes,” Gavin said above the rapid intake of her breath. “A Mr. Neal Pemberton demands your immediate return.”

  “No,” she burst out, abandoning the door to tremble before his desk. “No, you cannot. I—I cannot. I refuse.”

  “Legal guardian,” Gavin repeated, enunciating each word clearly. “Surely you do not suggest we hold ourselves above the law?”

  “Yes. Yes, a capital idea.” She slapped a bare palm against the surface of his desk. “Let’s hold ourselves above the law.”

  The quizzing glass fell atop the parchment. “What?”

  “I don’t wish to return. I don’t wish to lay eyes on him ever again, nor he on me. How did he find me so quickly? How did he know I was here?”

  “You don’t deny having run away from your stepfather?”

  Miss Pemberton closed her eyes and shivered. When her gaze again focused on his, a hollowness had replaced the usual spark. “What point would there be? You’ve a letter from him right before you.”

  “A letter demanding your return.”

  “A demand with which I have no intention of complying. He…” She paled, shook. “He thinks only of himself.”

  “Yet you find no fault in complying with others’ self-centered demands, do you not?”

  She stared at him. “I do what?”

  “If you expect me to collude with you outside of the law, the very least you could do is be honest with me.”

  “I am honest with you!”

  “You said you were a friend of Miss Stanton’s, not a girl on the run from her stepfather.”

  “I am both those things.”

  “Are you? Are you simply the bosom friend of Miss Stanton’s as you would have me believe, or are you perchance a manipulator and a liar, presenting me with one face while conspiring behind my back to compromise me against my will to a chit I have no desire to be leg-shackled to?”

  “Lady Stanton…is very single-minded.”

  “Lady Stanton,” Gavin corrected, “is a bitch. What makes her a better ally than your stepfather?”

  “Not being my stepfather.”

  “Were you aware she wrote a letter to inform him of your whereabouts because you failed to fulfill your half of the bargain?”

  Miss Pemberton gasped. “She is a—I cannot believe—well, unfortunately, I can believe—but the party hasn’t even concluded! How would she know what I will or won’t do before we leave?”

  “I have no intention of marrying the Stanton chit even if falsely compromised, nor do I appreciate your complicity in Lady Stanton’s stratagem.”

  Miss Pemberton rose to her feet. Although still unnaturally pale, her chin tilted at a stubborn angle. “I respect that. I had no wish to make any progress in that regard. However, I would do anything to escape my stepfather.”

  “I surmised as much.” Gavin nodded toward a chair. “Sit.”

  She regarded him warily, as if half expecting him to pounce. “You’re not angry?”

  “I’m furious. Sit.”

  Miss Pemberton sat.

  “Whether you wish it to be so or not, I have the power to send you home to your stepfather.”

  “You do not,” she gasped.

  He raised a brow.

  “I could run away again,�
� she insisted, eyes wild. “I’ve done it before.”

  “To raging success, I see.” He returned his quizzing glass to its drawer. “Have you any money?”

  “No.”

  He refolded the missive and replaced it on its pile. “Transportation?”

  “N-no.”

  His fingers steepled. “Lodging? Food? Protection?”

  This time the word was a whisper. “No.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Then I find running away to be a very foolish alternative, to say the least.”

  She blinked slowly, as if forcing him into focus. “Alternative to what?”

  “Staying here until my brother-in-law’s killer has been brought to light.”

  “But my stepfather demanded my return—”

  “And I penned a very pretty apology because I am unwilling to give you up until you’ve helped me prove my innocence. You begin today.”

  “I do? Does that mean if I do not, you intend to throw me from your house?”

  “If you do not, I intend to return you to your legal guardian.”

  Her knuckles whitened in her lap. “You’re extorting my help. Temporary freedom in exchange for assisting your personal goals.”

  “Was that not your arrangement with Lady Stanton?”

  “It was a horrible arrangement. I should’ve chosen a penniless life on the streets of London.” Miss Pemberton stared at him in disbelief. “You’re no better than she is.”

  Gavin shrugged. “I never claimed to be better than anyone, merely innocent of this particular murder. I intend to prove this fact before being hanged for a crime I didn’t commit. And I need your help to do so. Do we have a deal?”

  “What do you wish for me to do?”

  Ah. Progress.

  “The last time we were alone, you admitted Lady Stanton orchestrated just such an event so you could touch me and spy inside my mind, did you not? You, Miss Pemberton, have an invaluable talent. I would rather it be used to my benefit than hers.”

  “Everybody does,” she muttered.

  “You willfully spied on me. Inside my brain. Without permission. Against my will. Surely I can ask for restitution to such a trespass.”