Not Wicked Enough

by Carolyn Jewel

  “Nigel!” She waved again. “Look, Mountjoy, it’s Nigel and the Misses Kirk.”

  Indeed, Nigel was walking in the opposite direction on the opposite side of the street, with Jane and Caroline Kirk on either side of him. Mountjoy waited with Eugenia and Lily for Nigel to safely escort the Kirk sisters across the street.

  Nigel greeted them with, “You’ll never guess who I met. Completely by luck, of course. I met them coming from the stationer’s.”

  Eugenia looked gravely around her and said, “By any chance was it the Misses Jane and Caroline Kirk?”

  There were fond greetings between the women, compliments for Eugenia’s appearance, and then, without Mountjoy knowing how it had happened, they were walking, all of them, to the milliner’s.

  For God’s sake, the milliner’s.

  Inside the shop, which reminded him of a closet in which bits of a woman’s wardrobe had exploded, the ladies carried on an animated discussion of the wares. Their conversation slid past him. He didn’t retain a single word they said between them, not even when they spoke directly to him or Nigel. Nigel had no trouble offering his opinion, requested or not. He had neglected Eugenia, he thought. He had allowed his sister to fall into her grief and stay there. She’d lived here so quietly, managing all the things a woman managed for a household, and he had let her wthout a thought to the consequences for her isolation. Shouldn’t he have remembered before now that Eugenia had once been more like Lily than him? Happy and quick to laugh. His sister had not always been content to keep to herself the way he was.

  He had the presence of mind to step to the counter when Eugenia approached the clerk with the ribbons she’d selected. They were white, pink, and yellow, and for several seconds he wondered why that seemed odd. It was, he realized, because they weren’t black.

  “I hope, Eugenia,” he said, “that this means we shall soon see you in matching gowns?”

  “Perhaps you shall,” Eugenia said. She smiled, and he was reminded of the way she used to smile before.

  Lily leaned her forearms on the counter. Last night, only an untimely interruption had prevented him from taking her on the library table. “I daresay we might, your grace,” she said. She picked up the pink ribbon. “This is an excellent color for you, Ginny. What do you think?”

  “Have a gown made in that color,” he said. “Yellow, too. And blue. I remember how well you look in blue.” He paid for Eugenia’s ribbons, aware that Lily was smiling in his direction as if nothing indecent had happened between them. “It’s time,” he said. “No more black, Eugenia.”

  Eugenia glanced at Jane. “What about you, Mountjoy?”

  “No pink for his grace,” Lily said. “It is not his color.” Enough laughter followed that he was not obliged to respond to his sister’s hint about the state of matters between him and Jane.

  Nigel insisted on paying for the Kirk sisters’ selections. Jane had chosen green and lavender, and Mountjoy duly admired them when she showed them to him afterward. He wasn’t without sensibility. Admiring her ribbons was nothing more than any soon to be-engaged man would do. It was about time he behaved as if he were. In any event, if she was pleased with her ribbons, that was exactly what she ought to be. Caroline Kirk slipped her packet into her reticule.

  Lily approached the counter with a batch of ribbons and gewgaws of the sort that ended up on ladies’ hats and gowns, and Mountjoy hesitated to approach the counter again.

  He’d bought ribbons for ladies before that damned attorney called on him and changed his life. But he had not done so since. He’d understood very early on after he came into the title that his attentions to a woman, particularly a young, unmarried woman, created expectations he was not ready or willing to fulfill.

  Lily didn’t have those sorts of expectations. No one would think anything of it if he paid for her ribbons. Everyone, including Lily, knew he was going to marry Jane.

  Nigel reached again for his wallet and the paper money there. “Allow me, Miss Wellstone,” his brother said before Mountjoy could act.

  “How kind, Lord Nigel, but not necessary.” She lifted a hand and dazzled the clerk with a smile.

  After which commenced one of the most ruthless bargaining sessions he’d witnessed in some time. She never lost her smile and she did not denigrate the merchandise other than, perhaps, to frown as she fingered a bit of fabric. She relentlessly made it clear that without a discounted price, she could buy nothing. Why not add another length of ribbon since she was buying so much, and by the way, if anyone asked, she’d instantly tell them where she’d obtained the items that adorned her gowns. There was to be dancing at Bitterward, you know. A Spring Ball, everyone would be there.

  She had her coins counted out and on the counter before he or Nigel could even attempt to pay for her purchases.

  They left the shop, Jane on Nigel’s left, Caroline beside her while Lily took Nigel’s right. He took Eugenia’s arm and they made their way to the confectioner’s for chocolate and perhaps some candies and tortes, so the ladies declared. They were nearly there when Lily released Nigel’s arm.

  “Oh,” she said. From her tone, one imagined that the world had just come to an end.

  Everyone stopped to see what was the matter.

  She stood motionless. “Disaster has struck.”

  “What is it?” Jane asked. “Are you unwell?”

  “I knew I should have worn the half boots. You know the ones I mean, Ginny. With that darling fold by the ankle. But these slippers are such a perfect match for this gown that I thought the risk worth it.”

  “What’s happened?” Caroline asked.

  “My slipper has come unlaced.” Her shoulders tipped as, Mountjoy surmised, she balanced on one foot. “Not just unlaced, I fear, but damaged.” She made a shooing motion. “Pray don’t wait for me. I will attempt to effect a repair and rejoin you as soon as possible.” She waved them off. “Lord Nigel, take Ginny and the Misses Kirk to the confectioner’s. If my slipper cannot be repaired, I’ll send Mountjoy for the carriage. Oh, do please, go,” she said, forestalling objection. “I’ll feel just awful to have spoiled our outing.”

  “Ought we to return home?” Eugenia asked.

  “By no means,” Lily said. “I won’t hear of it.”

  “I would be happy to fetch the carriage if required,” Mountjoy said.

  “Go on, Ginny.” Lily waved them on. “See that you drink an entire chocolate for me.”

  Once the others had moved off, she hopped on one foot to the side of the shop where they’d stopped. Mountjoy was both resigned to his fate and on edge with anticipation.

  “Give me your arm, your grace,” she said. He did so, and she actually blushed as she stooped, one hand gripping his arm for balance. A moment later, she had her slipper in hand. “Dear. Much worse than I feared.” One of the ribbons that tied around her ankle had shredded where it was affixed to the inside of the slipper. “You’ll have to fetch the carriage,” she said so mournfully his heart actually dropped. “I did so want a cup of chocolate.”

  He held out his hand, palm up. “Allow me?”

  “It won’t fit you, sir.”

  “I am crushed, Miss Wellstone. Crushed.”

  She put the slipper on his palm and continued to hold on to his arm. “I can’t walk without it fastened, as you can well imagine. It will never stay on.”

  She was entirely correct about that. The slipper was hardly more than a leather sole with a bit of fabric attached.

  “I’ll wait here for you to return with the carriage.”

  Mountjoy pulled the sapphire stickpin from his cravat and held it up. “With your permission, I think I can make a temporary repair.” He wanted to pull her into his arms and cover her with kisses. “In the alternative, I can carry you to the confectioner’s where you can wait in comfort with the others while I take your slipper to the cobbler two streets over.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, you clever, clever man. Do you think you can? I should hate for
your stickpin to be damaged.”

  He smiled and did his best not to think of her on her knees. “We can but make the attempt. Shall I?”

  “Please.”

  “I’ll need both hands. And the ribbon.”

  “Oh, yes. Naturally.” She gave him the ribbon. “Do be careful, your grace. I shouldn’t like for you to be injured.”

  Mountjoy met her gaze. “For you,” he heard himself say, “I would slay dragons.”

  Her smile struck him dumb, and the truly astonishing thing was that she appeared genuinely touched. Why? A woman like her had to have heard such nonsense from dozens of other men ever before he uttered such an inanity.

  “How gallant of you to offer. But I require only my slipper.”

  His idea was a complete success. Her slipper was made of a material more than fine enough to pierce through with the added thickness of a folded section of the ribbon. The pin itself was long enough and sturdy enough that he fully expected it would hold until they returned to Bitterward.

  “Voilà.” He held up her slipper, pinned side toward her. “You are rescued.”

  Her smile threatened to stop his heart. They stayed where they were, gazes locked. She lifted a hand to his face but stopped short of touching him, while he wished she hadn’t. She whispered, “What a lovely beast you are.”

  “Lovely, I can’t agree. But a beast?” He leaned closer. “There are all manner of beastly things I wish to do with you.”

  He knelt at her feet. She pulled up her skirts and obligingly extended her stockinged foot. Her ankle was slim and her arch delicate, and he wrapped his hand around the back of her ankle, sliding a finger over the lace clocking along the outward side of her silk stocking. She slid her foot forward. They were in public, he reminded himself. Not someplace where he could lock the door and to hell with what was right and proper. He slid his smallest finger upward, to her calf. Lily remained still. He didn’t dare more.

  Neither of them spoke while he retied her slipper. When he was done he stood and stared at her mouth, and in his head was the image of her on her knees before him. She gazed back. Quiet. Serene.

  “Shall we, then?” he said. There were a dozen possible meanings, and he meant every bloody one. Was there a man alive who could look at that angelic face and not think of what it would be like to have her beneath him? He wanted to touch her, caress her, and he had to fist his hands to prevent himself from doing just that. It was bad enough to have compromised her in private. To do so in public would be reprehensible.

  “Yes,” she said with a decidedly wicked grin. “I think we should.”

  He held her gaze while he extended his arm and walked, metaphorically speaking, through the gates of Hell. “Excellent, Wellstone.”

  “Oh. I’m Wellstone now?”

  “You know very well you are. Come along.” The confectioner’s was yet twenty yards distant, at once too far and not far enough away. She was tall enough to keep pace with his longer stride, but he maintained a slow walk out of concern for the repair to her slipper.

  “What sort of beastly things were you thinking?” she asked.

  “Do not provoke me, Wellstone.” He glanced at her and found her watching him. He had a mad desire to drag her into some dark corner of High Tearing and kiss her, to lift her skirts and take her up against a wall or find a private room anywhere he could and get her on her back. She knew what he was thinking, too. He watched her front teeth press into her lower lip.

  “Will you think me terribly wicked if I ask you a favor now?” she said.

  He forced himself to look away from her mouth. He shouldn’t rise to that delectable bait, but he did. “I should like it if you did,” he said. “Your favors are quite rousing as I recall.”

  “Not that.” Her cheeks pinked up. “I would like your assistance with a project that I think will engage your sister’s spirits.”

  “That’s all?”

  She nodded.

  “Does it by chance involve flaming pencils?”

  “No, your grace.” She laughed, and he felt unduly proud to have amused her. He was not known as a man who amused people. “But I daresay you won’t like my idea.”

  “What?” He wanted to put her on her back right now, having stripped her naked and then himself.

  “You heard me mention a ball at Bitterward when we were buying ribbons.”

  “Did I?”

  “You know you did.” Her fingers tightened on his arm, a gentle reproof. “I was perfectly serious about a ball. I was astonished to learn you’ve never had dancing in all the time you’ve lived at Bitterward.”

  “For most of that time, I did not have a hostess.” Not that his single state was an excuse. “When Eugenia came home, she was in mourning.”

  “You ought to have had a ball before now.” They continued walking. Slowly. They were neither of them in a hurry. “If only for the ladies of the parish. All those beautiful Kirk sisters, and you’ve never given a ball. For shame, sir, when Bitterward has a splendid ballroom.”

  “Are you asking for permission now?” he asked. “I’ll wager you’ve already invited most of High Tearing.” They weren’t walking very fast, but they were nearly to the confectioner’s.

  “Yes, I am.” She gave him a narrow look, full of suspicion. “Do you mean to refuse? Could you be that heartless?”

  “I surely am, Wellstone.” True. “I am heartless as you well know. But I am also selfish. Any favor that puts you in my debt is one I mean to grant.”

  “Is ‘thank you’ the correct reply?”

  “It is. Have whatever parties you like. I’ll tell the staff you are to be accommodated in your every requirement in that regard.”

  She stopped walking. “Do you mean it?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? So long as you inform me of expenses over fifty pounds before they are incurred. Or if your expenses exceed two hundred pounds in total.”

  “Tyrant.” They started walking again. Even more slowly than before.

  “A solvent one, Wellstone.”

  “I trust you will engage to attend.” They’d reached the confectioner’s and now stood only a few steps from the door.

  He sighed. Through the low shop window, he saw Eugenia and both the Misses Kirk at a table, each with cups of something to drink. The fabled chocolate no doubt. Nigel had his back to the door but appeared to be dancing attendance on the ladies. Another gentleman in the shop sat with his back to the windows. “So long as you tell me when and where I am to be.”

  “I will slip a note amongst the bills.”

  “Be certain you inform my secretary. He keeps my appointment calendar.”

  “I will do so, your grace. Now, I have another project in mind.”

  “Two favors will cost you dearly.”

  “Wretch.” She grinned at him and they stood there, not daring to stand closer. He did want her. Quite badly. “No phosphorus is required.”

  “You relieve my mind.” He laughed and didn’t care who saw. He was doing his duty to his family, and he was damned if he’d feel guilty for enjoying himself. “What is the project you really want me to approve?”

  “Too clever by half, your grace.”

  “I am the eldest brother. I am required to be clever simply to survive two devious siblings such as I have. What is your project?”

  “Treasure.”

  He stood in front of the window. Nigel, facing the window but with his attention entirely on the ladies, put a hand on the back of Jane’s chair and bent to whisper something in her ear that made her laugh. He wondered if Jane had refused other suitors because everyone, including him, expected he would marry her. Had other men declined to court her as a result? “I beg your pardon?”

  “You and Jane suit you know.”

  He nodded and looked away from the window. He did not want to think about Jane just now. “What is your favor?”

  “I’ve been having the most astonishing dreams. About finding treasure at Bitterward. And I thought, why not?”
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  “Why not what?”

  “Why, why not search for treasure? My project, your grace, my brilliant notion to amuse your sister and recover her spirits, is to find buried treasure somewhere on Bitterward lands.”

  “Treasure.” He frowned. “Am I expected to conjure up this treasure you’ve dreamed about?”

  “I misspoke, your grace.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “Not treasure. A treasure hunt.”

  “You seem convinced you’ll find it.”

  “I have the very highest hopes for success. It happens all the time, some farmer…” She hesitated, he knew, because she was remembering that he had once been a farmer. “An earnest farmer toiling among his parsnips uncovers an ancient artifact. A cache of Roman coins, part of an ancient road, pots, a sword or poleax, or jewelry, all having been buried for hundreds of years. We shall search for treasure, Ginny and I. After all, the Romans were here in the north. We’ll survey the property, make maps of suspicious mounds or likely caves. Why, you might be engaged for weeks with the project, long after I’ve gone home.”