Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy)

by Madeline Hunter

  She tried. Her mind remained as blank as the page. Ives did not understand. She had never had any expectations. She could hardly construct them out of thin air. She managed to jot a few things, but halfheartedly.

  Ives, on the other hand, wrote and wrote. She glanced over at a list that just kept growing. Finally he set the pen back in its well.

  He slid her page over and read it. “This is all?”

  She shrugged.

  “A new wardrobe of at least four dresses. Padua, four dresses do not a new wardrobe make. I am a man, and even I know that.” He grabbed the pen and crossed out the number of dresses. “A new wardrobe, period. Now, as to this one here, of course we will make sure your father is never destitute. What do you take me for? However, you will see on my list the requirement that he sell that house and his share of the partnership to Mrs. Lavender. I will make sure she pays fairly for it.”

  “I accept that term. I would have noted it myself, except it seemed more a formality for my father.”

  “The rest of this is easy to accept. Too easy.” He set down the paper. “There is nothing here about going to the Continent. Studying at a university. Have you given up that dream?”

  “I thought I had to, if I married.”

  “Darling, the first item on my list is that you do not go without me. Of course you will still do it. Next spring would be a good time for us to embark, don’t you think?”

  She jumped up and threw her arms around him. They shared a long kiss that had her wondering if dining tables were ever used the way those in morning rooms might be.

  Unable to stop smiling, she sat down again and plucked his list out of his hand. She began reading. After a few practicalities, the list took a turn in a different direction. The sort that was never included in marriage settlements, but perhaps should be.

  She kept reading. “You will have those negotiations in the end, won’t you?”

  He just watched her.

  She got past the amorous variations she knew about. Matters became a bit obscure after that. She pondered the meaning of one reference. When clarity struck, she cast him a dubious glance. He responded with a charming smile and wicked eyes.

  After working through it all, she picked up the pen. She struck out three items. She handed it to him. “Can you live with that?”

  He did not look at what she had rejected before folding the paper. “I can live with anything, as long as I am living with you, and as long as you love me.”

  He stood, and pulled out her chair. He lifted her in his arms. “Come with me now, my rare and beautiful lover. I will show you the most important chamber in the house.”

  She embraced his neck, and he swept her away.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  THE ACCIDENTAL DUCHESS

  by Madeline Hunter

  Available now from Jove Books

  September 1799

  Lydia stared at the cascade of raw silk and muslin falling over Sarah’s arms. She barely perceived the colors of the cloths. Her only alert sense had become one of touch, specifically of the texture of the letter crumpled in her tight fingers.

  “Which will it be, milady?” Sarah thrust the muslin forward. “The earl always liked this blue one. Since he will be there, it would be a good choice.”

  The blue dress in question looked like something a girl would wear during her first season. Since Lydia was almost twenty-four years in age, it did not suit her. Her brother, the Earl of Southwaite, did favor it, but then her brother still saw her as a girl and would continue to do so until she married. The likelihood of that ever happening decreased with every year that passed.

  Thank goodness.

  She blinked away her distraction and smoothed out the crumpled letter on her lap.

  Her fist had smeared the ink, but she could still read the words. Once more they sent a chill up her spine. This time, however, instead of heralding shock, the chill collided with the white heat of indignation when it reached her head.

  It is in your interest to meet me at Mrs. Burton’s this evening to discuss some shocking information regarding you that has come to my attention. I am sure that if we put our heads together, we can find a way to spare you great scandal.

  Your servant,

  Algernon Trilby

  The scoundrel had sent her an overture to blackmail. What nonsense. Would that she had something in her past interesting enough to provoke such as this! The stupid man had probably made a mistake.

  She pictured bland Mr. Trilby accidentally addressing this to her, and mistakenly sending an invitation to one of his boring magic demonstrations to the real quarry of his extortion. If not for her interest in sleight-of-hand tricks, she would have never come to know him well enough to attract his attention.

  Sarah shook both dresses, causing their fabrics and embellishments to make faint music. The maid’s crescent eyebrows almost reached her dark hairline due to her exasperated impatience.

  “Neither,” Lydia said, waving away both dresses. She stood and walked out of the dressing room. In her bedchamber she settled into the chair at her writing desk. She quickly penned a note while she called for Sarah.

  “Bring this down and have it delivered to Cassandra by one of the footmen. Then prepare my green evening dress.”

  “The green silk? Lady Ambury said it would be an informal dinner, you told me.”

  “I am not going to her dinner. I am begging off.”

  “This is rather sudden.”

  “Sudden, but necessary. I must go to Mrs. Burton’s tonight.”

  Sarah’s mouth twitched with an expression of disapproval. Lydia tolerated such familiarity because she and Sarah had played together as children at Crownhill, her family’s county seat, where Sarah’s father still served as a groom.

  “Speak your mind,” Lydia said while she walked back to the dressing room. “I cannot bear it when you do so with your face instead of words.”

  Sarah strolled in behind her and set the two dresses down. “Surely you can miss an evening at the gaming tables to be with family and close friends. I believe Lady Ambury and Lady Southwaite have been planning this dinner with some care.”

  Lydia pawed through her jewelry box. “That means they invited some man for me to meet. All the more reason to go to Mrs. Burton’s instead. Cassandra will add her aunt to balance the table, or Emma will bring one of ours instead. My absence will cause no serious awkwardness.”

  Sarah opened a wardrobe and took out the green silk. “They only want you to meet him, if you are correct about their plan. A mere introduction is hardly an imposition. As for Mrs. Burton’s—how much fun can you have now that your brother requested that promise from you?”

  “Southwaite requested nothing. He demanded it.” That conversation with her brother had been recent enough that she still smarted from the insult.

  “He only wants what is best for you,” Sarah muttered.

  Of course he did. Everyone did. Southwaite and his wife Emma, Cassandra, and her two aunts all wanted what was best for her to their collective mind. Even Sarah did.

  “He knew it was just a matter of time until your luck turned,” Sarah went on.

  Except it hadn’t yet. That frustrated her brother. Her uncanny ability to always come out ahead at the tables seemed immoral to those who believe one reaps what one sows. Her small fame as a result of her luck smelled scandalous to them.

  So Southwaite, after waiting in vain for her to get her comeuppance with a big loss, had interfered to ensure such a loss never did happen. If she ever risked more than fifty pounds in one night, he would cut off her allowance and make sure every gaming hall in town learned of it.

  “Perhaps he was also concerned that the excitement had captured you too much.” Sarah kept her gaze on the green dress while she examined it for damage. “That is known to happen to some people. It gets to where they can’t stay away, much as a drunk can’t put down the gin.” She reached for her sewing basket. “They pass up other entertainmen
ts, even evenings with family and friends, to return to those halls. Even if they use their winnings in the best ways, the thrill can be too alluring in itself.”

  Lydia glanced in the looking glass at Sarah’s concentration on her needle and thread. They had played in the mud together as girls, and remained more friends than they were lady and maid. Lydia had defied both of her aunts to insist that Sarah remain at her side, even though it meant two years of supervision and training by a more experienced servant.

  Lydia, however, did not much like this indirect warning from Sarah. Too many people felt free to warn her, direct her, scold her, manage her. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake.

  “Do you fear I am such a person, Sarah? Drunk on the excitement? Unable to stay away? Doing it for the thrill instead of a means to an end?”

  “No, milady. I would never—” Her face reddened.

  Of course she would. She just had. “Rest assured, I am not changing my plans tonight in order to gamble.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “The truth is—and promise you will tell no one—I am going to Mrs. Burton’s in order to meet a man.”

  She glanced again in the looking glass and noted with satisfaction how Sarah’s eyes bulged with shock and curiosity.

  “Please bring that letter down now, then help me prepare quickly.”

  * * *

  Clayton Galbraith, the Duke of Penthurst, believed that a man, no matter how elevated his station, could not claim good character if he did not show patience and politeness to the older relatives of his family. He therefore sought equanimity while he attended on his aunt Rosalyn while she gambled at Mrs. Burton’s gaming salon.

  She had requested he escort her. He waited for her to reveal her reason. Thus far it appeared she merely sought his company so she could share a month’s worth of gossip.

  She did not need to drag him here for that. She lived in his house, as she had all his life. She had never married because, as she liked to explain, for the daughter of a duke to marry often led to a loss of status and precedence. He suspected the real reason was that marriage would remove her from the ducal residence, and infringe on her ability to meddle in the lives of its inhabitants. Since he was the only other person living there now, that meant him.

  Her fashionable evening dress, the color of an iced lake, complemented her white skin, gray hair, dark eyes, and regal bearing. She lost her money at a very leisurely pace between her sotto voce confidences. The whole table’s gaming slowed as well, to accommodate her. One by one the others excused themselves until he and she sat alone. Which, he suspected, had been her intention.

  He slid the dealer a guinea by way of apology while his aunt squinted at the new hand she had just received. As age thinned her face and sharpened her features, he and she looked more and more alike. He had not realized the similarities until one day, when seventeen, he had visited her while she was sick and seen her without paint or smiles or distracting wig. The same chestnut eyes and winged, straight eyebrows, surely, and perhaps even the same wide mouth, although her feminine version of the features appeared less severe.

  “It is too bad about Kendale,” she murmured while she studied the cards. “He waited too long, of course. The older a man gets, the more likely some young flirt will turn his head.”

  Penthurst debated whether to defend his friend Viscount Kendale, or pick up the challenge just thrown at his feet. Damnation, if his aunt had plotted this evening in order to broach the tiresome topic of his lack of a wife, he would make her be blunt and not smooth the path for her. “He appears very happy, and very much in love. Would you wish less for him?”

  “Kendale in love? Whoever thought to see the day.” She tsked her exasperation, then called for a card. “She is not suitable. Everyone knows it, including him. He should have married correctly. If he is very much in love, he did not have to deny himself.”

  “He is too honest for that. And you should hold now. You are likely to break twenty-one if you take another card.”

  “Honest? Is that what it is called when a peer indulges in romantic notions better suited to a schoolgirl? I hope that you have much more sense than that kind of honesty.”

  “Rest assured, I am so ruthlessly practical with my women that no one will ever pity me as you do Kendale.”

  She called for another card despite his advice. It put her over. “Yes. Well, at least he did marry, didn’t he?” A note of aggrieved censure sounded. “She is very lovely, I have to admit. And, despite her birth, she has some style.”

  He refused to humor her. He turned his attention to the ballroom that served as a gaming hall in this Mayfair home. Mrs. Burton ran the most polite place in London aside from gentlemen’s clubs in which to gamble away fortunes, and perhaps the only establishment that ladies could visit alone without raising eyebrows. There had been some official moves against other gaming salons run by well-bred women in their homes, but Mrs. Burton’s aristocratic clientele afforded her a special dispensation.

  “Speaking of lovely girls,” his aunt said while the dealer slid away her money. “Did I mention that Lady Barrowton’s niece is coming up to town? Her beauty is said to be celebrated.”

  “Said to be? Has no one seen for certain?” Only a corner of his mind heeded the conversation, since the rest already knew what it would hear. Most of his attention had riveted on the entrance to the ballroom. A dark-haired, soulful-eyed woman had just arrived. Lydia Alfreton.

  That was odd. He was certain Southwaite had mentioned that his sister would be at that little dinner party being held tonight at Ambury’s house. Yet here she was, ready to press her considerable luck at the tables instead.

  The green dress she wore flattered her dark hair and very pale skin. She appeared happy. She only looked like that when she gambled, unfortunately. If one met her during the day, her eyes stared right through you, opaque and unseeing, and her face remained expressionless.

  “Of course some have seen her niece. Otherwise she could not be celebrated. However, she has never been to town before. She is coming for her final finishing prior to coming out.”

  “A child then. All children are lovely. Sweet too. And boring.”

  “Hardly a child. A fresh, innocent girl. I would like to introduce you.”

  “I am not interested, but thank you.”

  The proximity of the dealer suddenly discomforted her. She dismissed him in an imperious tone that had him backing away at once, leaving a good deal of money unattended. She turned her whole body. She angled her gray head so her next words would not be missed. “You must marry eventually, and this girl sounds perfect.”

  “I told you long ago that I would not be managed in this. If you think I will be more amenable because you raise the matter in a public place instead of at the house, you are mistaken. And, surely by now you know that I will have no inclination to marry a fresh, innocent girl when the day comes that I marry at all.”

  She heaved a sigh of forbearance. “I have never understood your preference for older women.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  She flushed and looked away to avoid acknowledging the question. Something distracted her. Her brow furrowed. “I suppose I should bow to your preferences, since your instincts proved so wise regarding that one there. Her poor mother must be turning over in her grave.”

  He did not have to look to know she spoke of Lydia Alfreton. He did anyway, in time to see Mrs. Burton greet Lady Lydia and escort her to the hazard table.

  “I had no instincts regarding her. I had an understandable annoyance at you and Lady Southwaite deciding whom I would marry before the girl was one day old. Such prearranged pacts are antiquated, lack any legality, and are not to be tolerated.” Upon inheriting at age fifteen, disavowing their ridiculous arrangement had been among the first things he did. No one but his aunt spoke of it anymore. He doubted anyone else even remembered it.

  “Celeste was my dearest friend, and so sweet and good. Whoever expected her daughter to�
��well, to turn out like that.” Her hand gestured at Lydia, who had just won a throw. People had gathered around to watch her. Perhaps her reputation for winning drew them. Maybe her vivacious excitement did. Eyes afire with lights that normally the world never saw in her, she raised her gaze and her arms upward while she laughed after each win, as if thanking Providence for once more favoring her wagers.

  His aunt clucked her tongue. “During the day she is a sphinx, and unknowable. Here at night she is like a bacchante drunk on wine. She is going to ruin Southwaite if he does not rein her in. Everyone says so. She will ruin herself, and him, and that whole family.”

  “She wins. If she keeps at it, she is more likely to double the family fortune than ruin it.” That was the problem. Southwaite was sure that if she would lose even once, big, that would end it.

  “I am not talking about the gambling.”

  That got his attention. “You cannot be talking about men.”

  “Can I not?”

  “She has no interest in them. Gambling, yes. Horses, yes. Art and literature, yes. But if there are rumors about that other kind of ruin, they are not accurate.”

  “You heard this from Southwaite, no doubt. As if he would know!” Her eyes narrowed on the other side of the chamber. “She has befriended a number of men while she games, and is hardly demure in her conversations with them, I am told. Her aunt Amelia is most distressed about it.” She shook her head. “My dear, dear Celeste. Perhaps it is just as well she did not live to see it.”

  He swallowed the inclination to repeat that the gossip was inaccurate by a mile. In the end, what did he know? Southwaite certainly worried about his sister. If more than her gambling had become a problem for the family, Penthurst did not expect to be informed.

  As if to underline his aunt’s whispers, a man approached the hazard table. He squeezed himself through the crowd so as to stand by Lydia’s elbow. Penthurst angled his head to have a better look at the fellow’s face. He could not prevent a laugh from escaping once he recognized the man. Algernon Trilby? Trilby and Lady Lydia? He did not think that likely.