Not Wicked Enough

by Carolyn Jewel

  “Gold, miss,” he said in awed tones.

  Lily clutched the object and speared Nigel with her gaze. “Are you responsible for this?”

  “No, Miss Wellstone.” He raised his hands, palms out. “I assure you I am not.”

  She glanced at the eldest of the three footmen. “Walter, fetch the baskets, please.”

  “Right, miss.” Without bothering to put on his coat—it was too warm for a man who’d been laboring in the sun these past hours—the young man jumped out of the trench and hurried toward the dogcarts.

  The servant who’d steadied Lily bent down and handed her a second lump of dirt. “Another one, miss.”

  Lily leaned back and gently scraped debris off the object. It was button shaped, domed on top, but too large to actually be a button. Like the other piece, it shone gold and red where she’d dislodged enough of the dirt.

  “Whatever is it?” Eugenia asked. She held her parasol over her head.

  Lily scrubbed at the object then held up the bit of metal. An elongated, U shaped stem made the button look vaguely mushroomlike. She brushed away more dirt. “My dear Ginny,” she said in reverent tones, “I do believe it’s the top bit from the pommel of a sword. A decorative button.”

  “Where’s the sword, then?” Eugenia asked. She peered in the trench, and Mountjoy did, too. Everyone did. He saw nothing that looked like a sword.

  Lily sat back on her heels, the button in her gloved hand. She’d removed more of the dirt and just then the sun hit a bit of the red material. It shimmered. “Oh,” she said. “It’s lovely.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand before she held up the object. “Do you see?” Sunlight reflected off the now cleaner edges of the metal she held. “How beautiful this will be when it’s been washed.”

  Walter returned with the baskets and Lily supervised the transfer of objects from the trench to the baskets. There were hundreds of them, few of them of any decent size.

  This was scavenged metal, Mountjoy thought. Bits of metal torn from fallen warriors, the remnants of bridles, armor, anything that could be quickly carried from a battlefield. Now that he understood what he was looking at, he could see there were buckles and brooches, broken finials, tabs and buttons, twisted shards of gold torn from whatever they had been attached to. There were gems, too, cabochons that had fallen out of their metal settings. One of the last items pulled from the dirt, though, was a set of daggers, then the decaying metal bits of a scabbard, and a sword.

  After nearly an hour with the sun continuing to climb in the sky, Lily agreed they would find no more buried objects without considerably expanding the trench. Mountjoy, who by now happened to be standing nearest her, helped Lily to her feet. He steadied her when she wavered on her feet. With a laugh that sounded too feeble for someone like her, she bent to brush the dirt and grass off her skirt.

  Her cheeks were pink, and Mountjoy wondered if she’d gotten too much sun or if that was just the flush of excitement. “Eugenia,” he said, “kindly bring Miss Wellstone some lemonade.”

  Eugenia took a step forward. “Lily?” Her voice rattled with worry. “Lily?” Lily swayed, and if he hadn’t grabbed her arm she might have fallen. “Oh, Mountjoy, help! She’s going to faint.”

  “Nonsense,” Lily said in a shaky voice. “I never faint.”

  Mountjoy caught her around the waist because Eugenia was right, and he did so not a moment too soon. Lily’s legs crumpled beneath her. With Nigel at his side, he carried her to the awning and set her down on a chair. “Eugenia,” he said. “Fetch that lemonade now.”

  She did. Moments later she pressed a glass into Lily’s hands.

  “Thank you, Ginny, dear,” Lily said. She drank deeply and then pressed the cup to her face. Her cheeks remained flushed while the rest of her skin was chalky white. She closed her eyes and swayed on the chair.

  “Take off that blasted coat,” Mountjoy said. He helped her out of the garment and scowled to find her skin clammy to touch. “Whatever possessed you to wear such a thing on a day like this?”

  “It goes with my gown.” She looked at him without her usual penetrating gaze. “How was I to know the day would be so dreadfully warm?”

  If he hadn’t had a hand on her upper arm, he might not have noticed she was trembling. He didn’t like her flushed cheeks and too bright eyes. “Have you a fan, Miss Wellstone?”

  She shook her head. “I tell you, this is why I prefer to sleep through mornings.” Her voice faltered, as if she couldn’t spare the breath for words.

  “Have you one, Eugenia?” Mountjoy said. He put out a hand when his sister nodded. Eugenia pulled a fan from her reticule and moved close enough to fan Lily’s face. “Wellstone, drink more of that lemonade.” He made sure she did, then made eye contact with one of the serving girls. “Another lemonade for Miss Wellstone, if you please. And fetch a damp cloth, as cold as you can get it.”

  Nigel hovered nearby, silent. The servants had gone quiet, too.

  “Thank you, Eugenia.” He was grateful for his sister’s quick action. “Better, Miss Wellstone?”

  She closed her eyes and touched her hand to the side of her head. “I’ve the most awful megrim coming on.”

  “Nigel,” Mountjoy said. “See that the carriage is ready to go. She needs to get home. Inside. Where it’s cool.”

  Lily opened her eyes. “Don’t make a fuss.” Her voice remained indistinct. “I promise not to be a bother. I need a moment is all.”

  He grabbed her hand and yanked off her glove. Her palms were damp with perspiration. He removed her other glove, too, and let it drop to the ground. “You’re too warm.”

  “Give me back my gloves. Those are the very finest kid.”

  “I’ve seen this happen before,” Mountjoy said. “To a man in the heat too long.”

  “What happened?” Eugenia continued to fan Lily.

  A maid handed him a damp cloth, and he took it. Mountjoy gave his sister a look and shook his head. The man had died. He’d been much worse off than Lily was right now, but then Lily was a delicate woman, not a man inured to labor, and there was no knowing how badly she’d react. He wiped her face and pressed the cloth to the back of her neck. She wasn’t reviving as she ought to. Instead of protesting, she bowed her head and groaned.

  “More lemonade,” he said, pressing another glass into her hand.

  Nigel returned. “Carriage is ready,” he said. “How is she?”

  Mountjoy looked past Nigel. “Put the top up.” While Nigel did so, a maid brought a second dampened cloth. He wiped her wrists and face again.

  “Perfectly fine,” Lily said.

  “You’re not.”

  She opened her eyes and gazed at him. Her eyes were unfocused. She stood, but swayed once on her feet. “I won’t be a bother.”

  “You of all people ought to know I am always correct,” he said. He pushed her back onto the chair. “I’m going to carry you to the carriage. I wouldn’t object if I were you. Things will go badly for you if you do.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her by gathering her into his arms. Wonder of wonders, she sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

  “Adorable man,” she whispered.

  Mountjoy stood, seeing the concern on the faces of the gathered servants. Eugenia gave no sign she’d overheard Lily’s endearment, thank God. Then again, he could not see her face while she bent for Lily’s parasol and gloves. When he could, though, and Eugenia had the parasol shading Lily from the sun, he saw nothing but concern from her. From any of them. She hurried beside him, keeping the parasol over them while Mountjoy strode to the carriage with Lily inert in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  MOUNTJOY CLIMBED INTO THE CARRIAGE WITH LILY while Nigel helped Eugenia up before leaping into the driver’s box. He settled Lily on the seat between them. She went limp, as boneless as her garments permitted. He and Eugenia exchanged a look. Lily turned her head toward him and set a bare hand on his cheek. Her skin was warm a
nd clammy. “Such a lovely man, Mountjoy. Have I told you that?”

  “Thank you, Miss Wellstone.” He didn’t look at his sister to see what she thought of Lily’s boldness. Best pretend there was nothing untoward about it or that he believed she was not entirely in her right mind. “She’s still got on too damn many clothes,” he told Eugenia. “Help me get this off, will you?”

  “Yes, of course.” Eugenia assisted in the removal of Lily’s spencer, a process that required some contortions from them all. That done, Eugenia began fanning Lily again, briskly enough to lift strands of his hair.

  “Ah.” Lily sighed. “That does feel good. Thank you, my dear Ginny.”

  “How are you?” Eugenia smoothed Lily’s hair. “Feeling any better?”

  “You’re such a dear, Ginny, to look after me.”

  “Is your megrim improved?”

  “Some.” Lily rested her head against the back of the seat, eyes closed. Every so often Mountjoy wiped her still-flushed face with the damp cloth he’d kept for the purpose. The carriage bounced over a rut, and Eugenia braced herself on the seat.

  A few minutes later, Lily tried to sit up and adjust her gown. “None of that,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back. “You’ll rest until the doctor’s examined you and agreed you’re well.”

  “My gown will be wrinkled.”

  “Oh, Lily—” Eugenia said.

  “Damn the gown,” Mountjoy said. Lily tried to sit up again, and this time he leaned over her, put a hand on her shoulder, and growled. “Pray do not exert yourself. I insist.”

  “Beastly man.”

  He said, “If your frock cannot be restored to its original splendor, Lily, I will buy you a new one.”

  Eugenia coughed softly, and he realized what he’d said. What could he do but pretend he’d not called her by her Christian name?

  “My God, Ginny, he’s threatening me.” Lily grasped Eugenia’s free hand and pretended to swoon. “In my weakened condition, no less. It’s a wonder I don’t have a relapse.” She gave him a look that went a way toward relieving his mind about her condition. “Besides, look at your brother’s coat. I wouldn’t trust him to buy me an apron, let alone a frock.”

  “I know how to buy a woman an extravagant gift.” At least she was feeling better. His attention flicked downward, and Lily noticed. Probably Eugenia noticed, too, but he was beyond caring anymore. Lily leaned against the seat, gazing at him from under her lashes.

  “Buying a gift is simple,” she said, with a lift of her chin. “It’s choosing one that’s fraught with danger.”

  “Don’t lecture me about buying a woman gifts. I assure you I’ve done it often.”

  “Mountjoy,” Eugenia said, more a whisper than anything else. “Really.”

  “I’ve bought you many a gift, Eugenia, and never heard you complain.”

  “Well, no, but, then I am your sister.”

  “Were you dissatisfied?”

  “No, Mountjoy. But that’s hardly the same as telling Lily you’ll buy her a gown. That’s not…proper.”

  “Then you buy it for her, so long as the woman stops thinking a deuced frock is more important than her health.”

  “Better Ginny than you,” Lily said. Eugenia laughed at the rejoinder and, well, if the laugh was at his expense, at least Eugenia had been distracted from his inappropriate remarks.

  In the ensuing silence, he traced lazy circles on Lily’s palm. He did know how to choose an extravagant gift. Several minutes passed before he realized that all this time he’d been holding Lily’s hand. He ought to let go, but that would only draw attention to the fact that he’d been doing so all this time. Eugenia didn’t appear to have noticed.

  By the time they reached the turn to Bitterward, Lily had improved to the point of taking the fan away from Eugenia and declaring she had half a mind to break it lest she turn into a block of ice.

  Another carriage waited at the head of the driveway. A groom—not one of Mountjoy’s servants— held the bridle of the lead pair. A Bitterward footman had a hand on the carriage door, ready to open it as Nigel brought the coach to a halt as near to the door as he could manage.

  Mountjoy got out, and, while he reached to take Lily in his arms, from the corner of his eye he saw the occupant of the other carriage emerge. Fenris. The bloody Duke of Camber’s heir. Nigel stayed in the coachman’s seat and called down, “I’ll fetch Longfield.”

  He spared his brother a glance. “Thank you.”

  Fenris approached, eyes wide and fixed on Lily. “My God, Mountjoy, what’s happened?” He succeeded by look and words in implying that Mountjoy had injured Lily himself. “Is she badly hurt? Is there anything I can do?”

  “Fenris—”

  Fenris pulled up short. “Where is your sister, Mountjoy? Has something happened to her?”

  He hardly had time to register the sharpness of that last question before Fenris glanced away and saw Eugenia ready to step from the coach. He moved smoothly to the carriage door and held out his hand, cutting off the groom ready to assist Eugenia. “I’ll see to Mrs. Bryant,” Fenris said. “Mountjoy, take my cousin inside. And do try not to do her further injury.”

  “Lily,” he said in a low voice as he climbed the front stairs with her in his arms. “You would be easier to carry if you didn’t behave as if you’d rather leap to your death than touch me.”

  “What if someone should see us?”

  “They will assume I am carrying you to your room so that you may be properly looked after.” She turned her head away from him, but she did slip an arm around his shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. Doyle opened the door and Mountjoy strode inside.

  She rested her head against his upper shoulder, and, well. Her bodice gaped and the shift in her position provided ample evidence of the curves he wanted so much to caress again. “I’m sorry to be a bother,” she said.

  “You are not a bother. Which way is your room?”

  At the top of the stairs, Lily pointed right and said, “Left here.”

  He went left and moments later he’d found Lily’s room. The Lilac room. The predominant color was indeed lilac, from the canopy over the bed to the pattern in the wallpaper. He laid her down on the bed and stepped back. “You see? I did not drop you.”

  They gazed at each other, and Lord, he thought he might go up in flames. This was her room. The bed in which she slept. What would happen if he locked the door, with him still inside?

  Her lips parted, and she licked her lower lip. “I didn’t think you would.”

  “Nor ravish you,” he said in a low voice. He could hear someone, a servant or perhaps Eugenia, moving down the corridor. Close. Too close to risk anything.

  “Were you at least tempted?” She lifted one knee, only a few inches, but that movement was enough to expose a slender ankle.

  As Eugenia came in, Mountjoy held her gaze, not hiding a thing from her, and said, “Yes.” To his sister he said, “Is Fenris still here?”

  “I gave him leave to depart.” Eugenia went to the washstand. A moment later, she came to the bed with a basin and a cloth. She gave him a peculiar look and said, “Go on, Mountjoy. You’re not wanted here anymore.”

  He cleared his throat and bowed to her and then to Lily. “I leave you in my sister’s capable hands, Miss Wellstone. Please accept my hopes that you recover enough to join us for supper.”

  “A cool bath will be just the thing,” Eugenia said. “Very refreshing.”

  His gaze slid from Lily’s ankle to her face. While he’d been engaged with thoughts of her legs and regions north, she’d slipped a hand underneath her head. His eyes locked with hers again. That she understood the carnal nature of his perusal of her was no fault of hers. Or, no more than it was his. He didn’t look away when he ought to have. Neither did she, and he felt a burn of desire start up in his belly.

  Christ. He wanted her still. Again. More. Much, much more. More than any woman he could recall, he wanted Lily Wellstone,
fascinating, desirable, infuriating creature, in his bed as often as he could convince her to join him there.

  “Shoo, Mountjoy,” Eugenia said. She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him toward the door. Was that amusement in her voice? “She needs a bath and to rest and you aren’t helping by standing there like you’ve turned to stone.”

  “Ginny? Are you saying I am Medusa?”

  “No, Lily. Of course not.” Eugenia threw him a last glance. “Go, Mountjoy. I’ll have a word with you later.”

  “As you wish.”

  In the hallway after Eugenia closed the door behind him, he wondered what the hell had happened to his formerly regulated life. He had only himself to blame. Lily wasn’t chasing after him. He knew what it was like to be chased after. He was the one pushing matters between them. He’d done that. Him. Because he wanted to take her to bed, and now that he had, he wanted to do so again. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to care more for her than was safe. This was a first for him with a woman—the worry that he might want more than she did.