Practically Wicked (Haverston Family Trilogy #3)

by Alissa Johnson

  “Indeed. The very reason I sought you out this morning, in fact.” He steered her away from a rough patch of ground. “I wished to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”

  “Do you wish to apologize,” she asked with skepticism, “or do you apologize?”

  It was the most minor quibble of semantics, and one she felt no shame at all in making. She rather felt she deserved a proper apology.

  “I apologize,” he said in a clear, earnest voice. “I behaved badly and I am sorry for it.”

  He seemed sincere, but while his unexpected confession of remorse was welcome, what she couldn’t understand was, “Why?”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Why are you sorry now, all of a sudden? What changed over the course of one night?”

  “Perception,” he offered. “A little time can effect a drastic change in perception . . . I can see by your expression you don’t believe a word of it.”

  “A word here and there, certainly.” Time could change a great many things, but she wasn’t willing to accept that a single night had changed him. “But in this instance, I am uncertain of the sentiment.”

  “Would you allow me an explanation?”

  “By all means.” She rather felt she deserved that along with the apology. Perhaps a bit of groveling as well. His behavior really had been quite atrocious.

  There was a brief pause before Max spoke. “I had not thought to see you again,” he began at length. “I’d not realized I’d be seeing you again when I arrived at Caldwell yesterday. The news of your imminent arrival came as considerable surprise.”

  “My arrival at Caldwell shocked you into behaving like an arse?”

  “More or less,” he replied with a slight shrug. “I said I had an explanation, not an excuse. If I had an excuse, I wouldn’t need to be apologizing.”

  She considered that with pursed lips and silently conceded he had a fair point. “Do you always respond to surprise with anger and contempt?”

  “Do you always respond to apologies with suspicion and criticism?”

  She had no idea. The only other person she’d every truly fought with was her mother, and the woman never apologized.

  “I don’t mean to be difficult.” She reconsidered that. “Or perhaps I do. I daresay I’ve some call to be. Either way, I simply do not understand the why of it all. Why should seeing me again cause such an unpleasant reaction in you?”

  “If you had asked me before last night, I’d have told you I was merely being protective of a friend. But the truth is, I used my affection for the Haverstons as an excuse to behave badly.”

  “Why did you want to behave badly at all?”

  “Because . . . Our last meeting . . .” Looking uncomfortable, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and mumbled, “Never underestimate the awful power of wounded pride.”

  “Your pride?” What absurdity, she thought. “Why should your pride have been wounded?”

  He stopped them both and dropped her arm as he turned to stare at her intently, his expression unreadable.

  “What?” She demanded after a moment. “What is it?”

  “I am trying to puzzle out if you’re being deliberately mean or deliberately stupid.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She stiffened, inside and out. “I have never been either.”

  “Accidently stupid, then?”

  “If this is how you issue apologies, I’ll do without—”

  “You refused to see me,” he accused suddenly. He looked away, giving Anna the impression he was both angry and a little embarrassed. “You asked for a promise and then refused to see me.”

  “I . . . I don’t understand. Last night? I retired early, and I’d no desire—”

  “No, not last night,” he bit off, still refusing to meet her eye. “At Anover House.”

  There was a moment of silence as she tried to wrap her head around his words. The moment didn’t help. “I refused to see you at Anover House?”

  “Yes, you . . .” Finally, his gaze came back to her. “Didn’t you?”

  “Just . . . Before? In London, you mean?” Of course in London, she thought with irritation. Was there a different Anover House? “You called on me?”

  “I did. Repeatedly, in fact.” He titled his head, his hazel eyes studying her face. “You didn’t know, did you?”

  She shook her head. “I still don’t understand. Did you call on me recently?”

  “No. I came to see you a week or so after our meeting . . . As I said I would.” The embarrassment and aggravation were gone from his features. In their stead was the light of dawning realization. “I was told you wished not to be disturbed, that you would not receive me. That wasn’t the case, was it?”

  She shook her head slowly, mutely.

  He’d come? He’d called on her? A spark of excitement lit beneath her skin, but she was careful to keep it banked.

  “Told by whom?” she asked, afraid she already knew the answer. There was really only one person it could have been.

  “Your mother.”

  “Oh.” A tight knot formed in her stomach. “Oh, I see.”

  She didn’t see, not really. There was a swirling cloud of questions and fury and hope and she couldn’t see much of anything past it. Why would her mother have done such a thing? No wonder he’d been less than eager to see her again.

  He’d come. Just as he’d promised.

  “There were letters as well,” he told her.

  “Letters,” she repeated softly, stunned.

  “A couple. May I presume you did not receive them?”

  “I never saw them. I never heard . . .” She shook her head, feeling adrift. “You wrote to me. You came to see me.”

  “Yes.” He tipped his head a little, studying her. “You truly had no idea?”

  “No. None at all. I give you my word.” She wished she had something better to offer. The word of a courtesan’s daughter held little weight. Fortunately, in this case, it only had to hold more than the courtesan’s.

  He had to believe it was Madame who lied. He had to believe she’d not have treated him so callously.

  “I believe you,” he said.

  Oh, thank heavens.

  She offered a tentative smile. “And I believe you came as promised.”

  “Thank you.”

  For several long moments there was silence between them. Her smile wanted to waver, but she it kept it firmly in place. What did she say now? What did they do?

  “Would you have met with me?” he asked suddenly.

  She hesitated in her response. Not because she was unsure of the answer, but because the question felt weighted. As if she might be admitting to something vastly more significant than certainly I would have sat with you of a Saturday morning in my mother’s parlor.

  “Yes,” she said at last, though the answer was delivered to her own feet. She’d never known such a strange mix of awkwardness and hope. “This is most uncomfortable.”

  “Is it? I find it . . .” He paused, considering, then landed on, “. . . Interesting.”

  That was certainly one word for it.

  “I don’t know what to say.” She swallowed audibly. “I apologize for my mother’s interference and any discomfort or—”

  “Don’t,” he cut in gently. “If it wasn’t your doing, then I don’t want an apology from you.”

  What did he want from her? She may have found the courage to ask just that, but he spoke again before she could.

  “I feel doubly foolish now, for my earlier behavior.”

  “I feel more inclined to forgive it.”

  “It isn’t typical for me to be so ill-mannered,” he assured her. “Well, yes, I suppose we both know it is. But I’m generally not so callous with it. I am sorry.”

  Anna considered whether or not she wished to accept the apology in full. She truly was more inclined to forgive him now that she understood the source of his animosity, but she hadn’t fully made up her mind on the matter. Rejection was not
an acceptable reason for treating a person poorly.

  On the other hand, he appeared to have arrived at the same conclusion, apologizing to her whilst still under the impression that she had turned him away in London. That ought to count for something.

  “Apology accepted,” she said at last and prayed she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

  He blew out a short breath of relief that Anna found most gratifying. “You’re a patient and forgiving soul, Anna Rees.”

  “Am I?” Was she? She’d never been called so before, not even by Mrs. Culpepper, who was always quick to compliment. Her mother, who preferred to be quick with an insult, regularly accused her of being impatient, intolerant, and unfeeling. “You are the first to allege it.”

  “I find that difficult to believe,” he countered, catching his hands behind his back. “Both times we have met, I have been inebriated with either drink or anger. And yet you are still willing to speak to me. Patient and forgiving.”

  “I’d not thought of it quite that way.” Her lips twitched with amusement. “You have been uncommonly loutish in our encounters, haven’t you?”

  “A man does like to make a memorable first impression on a lady,” he returned ruefully.

  Her initial impression of him had been quite favorable, until her mother had ruined everything. And then, of course, he’d made everything worse. If only it was possible to go back and make everything right.

  “Perhaps we might start again?” she suggested. It was never truly possible to start over, of course. One could no more erase the past than predict the future. But sometimes, a second chance could be had. Perhaps their meeting again, after so many years, was such a chance.

  “I would like that.”

  “Well, then.” Feeling better than she had in days, she dipped into a quick curtsy. “Lord Dane, I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  He returned the bow. “Miss Rees, the pleasure is entirely mine.”

  Anna held back an outright grin. Her spark of hope was fast growing into a small flame of cautious excitement. But there was one troubling matter left that she could not allow to pass without comment or clarification.

  “Before we put all the disagreeableness behind us, might I ask you a question?”

  “Am I going to like this question,” Max asked warily, “or am I going to be apologizing again?”

  “I’ll not pretend to know what you will or will not like, but there’s no need to apologize a second time. Once was enough.”

  “Ask your question, then.”

  “Do you . . .” She stopped to find the right words. “Are you truly an amiable drunk?”

  She couldn’t possibly become friends with someone who viewed her as “less than,” who thought she belonged to the class of “everyone,” as he had applied the word the night before.

  He winced, which was even more gratifying than seeing him relieved. “I feel like apologizing again.”

  “If it would help to clear your conscious, by all means, do so.” Though it wasn’t necessary, she was still amendable to a bit of groveling.

  “I’m sorry. No, I don’t . . . That is, I am not an amiable drunk . . . Well, I am, in truth. I’m quite good-natured when in my cups, in fact. But the implication made last night—”

  She held up her hand. “I understood the implication, and I accept the apology.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.” He let out a small puff of air, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “Now then, I’ve a question for you. Are you truly Lucien and Gideon’s half sister?”

  “Yes, I am.” And now that they were no longer at odds with each other, she no longer felt compelled to pretend she wasn’t fazed by the sudden change in her circumstances. “I don’t fault you for not believing it straight off. It is strange, as you said before. I can still scarce believe it myself. But I have the proof, if you’d like to see it—”

  “I would.”

  “Oh.” She blinked at that, felt the spark of hope dim a little. She’d only made the offer conversationally. “Right. Well.”

  Max had the decency to look a little sheepish. “Please understand, I am grateful for your forgiveness, of course, and happy to have peace between us. But the truth is, Miss Rees, I don’t know you. Aside from your purported desire for a dog, and the fact that you’ve laid a claim on the Haverston family—a family to whom I owe a great deal—I know next to nothing about you.”

  She saw the sense in his argument and understood the reasoning behind it, but the words still pricked. After Mrs. Culpepper, Max probably knew more about her than any other person in her life. They were the only two people who knew of her dream to buy a country cottage. And he was the only one to know of her silly wish for a hound.

  Which, now that she thought on it, was a sad state of affairs, indeed. She had no better claim to friendship outside of Mrs. Culpepper than a man with whom she’d spent such a nominal amount of time? And who had been ready to toss her bodily from Caldwell Manor only yesterday?

  Surely she had more depth of character than what could be mined in the course of an evening. She did not begin and end with her dreams of a thousand pounds, a hound, and a home. She was vastly more complex, far more interesting than that. She had to be. The alternative was too depressing to entertain. Almost as depressing as never having known a friend who’d not been paid to keep her company. But that, at least, could be changed.

  She had no intention of spending her visit defending herself to Max, but she could certainly spend her visit coming to know him and Engsly. She could at least try. There were a thousand reasons for why she might ultimately be unsuccessful—her lack of experience making friends being foremost in her mind—but that wasn’t an acceptable excuse for not making the effort.

  If she’d intended to be isolated and friendless for the rest of her life, she should have stayed at Anover House. And if showing Max the proof of her lineage would help create a foundation of trust between them—a necessary beginning to any friendship, surely—then she was willing to oblige.

  She brushed her hand down her waist in a smoothing manner. “The proof is in a contract, along with a journal and several correspondence between the late marquess and my mother. I presume Engsly’s man of business still has the contract. You may ask to see it, if you like. I’ll not oppose it.”

  “And the letters and journal?”

  “I retain them, though Engsly’s man has seen them and can verify the existence of the pertinent content. And no, you may not see them. There is much in them that is private.”

  “You wish to protect your mother?”

  At the moment, she wished she could use the journal to beat her heartless mother about her scheming head.

  “My mother is not the only person who would be adversely affected should the contents of her journal and letters be made public.”

  “I’m not going to make them public—”

  “The answer is no, Lord Dane.” It wasn’t often that she felt compelled to put her foot down on a matter, and it was unfortunate that she had to do so with Max, so soon after determining that they might become friends, but there was no way around it. The journal and letters were filled with material she had no right to share.

  Max’s mouth turned down at the corners, but he nodded. “Fair enough. The contract will do. But tell me this—are the Haverstons counted amongst those who might be adversely affected?”

  “The letters are from the late marquess to a woman who was not his wife,” she pointed out. “If nothing else, it would be further insult to the late marchioness.”

  “I see,” he said grimly. “Is there any chance I could convince you to destroy those letters?”

  “Yes. I’ll gladly do so at the first opportunity.”

  “Is immediately not an option?”

  “They are proof of my parentage,” she said by way of answer.

  “And you need the proof to get the thousand pounds.”

  “Yes,” she answered and lifted her chin. If he expected her to apologi
ze for the need to eat and house herself, he was in for quite a wait.

  He bobbed his head. “Sensible.”

  “I . . . Yes.” She’d not been expecting such ready agreement. “It is.”

  His lips twitched. “You were waiting for me to condemn you.”

  “. . . Perhaps.”

  “As I said, we do not know each other well.”

  “No, we do not,” she acknowledged. “Do you mean to stay on at Caldwell?”

  “For a time,” he replied.

  It took all her courage and determination to meet his eyes. “Then we’ve time to know each other.”

  She’d issued exactly two invitations for friendship in her life, both of them to Max. God willing, this one would fare better than the last.

  His smile was slow and perfect. “I do look forward to it.”

  This time, when he offered his elbow, Anna took it without suspicion or argument.

  Chapter 8

  In retrospect, it may have been wise for Anna to have put up a small argument because two minutes later, she stumbled when her foot met with a sharp rock and he immediately bent down, slipped an arm under her knees, and swung her up against his chest. Apparently without consideration as to whether or not she might appreciate the help.

  She did not appreciate the help.

  “Put me down,” she demanded, even as her arms went around his neck to steady herself.

  “So you can further injure yourself? Or trip, fall, grab at me in a blind panic, and injure us both?”

  She sputtered at that bit of silliness. “I . . . Blind panic?”

  “As I said, I don’t know you all that well.”

  “Oh, this is ridiculous. If you would just—”

  “If you continue to struggle,” he told her casually, “I might well drop you.”

  “I highly doubt the fall would prove fatal.”

  “No.” He shifted her weight in his arms. “Tremendously embarrassing, though.”

  She considered that. If he dropped her now and she wasn’t able to get her feet under herself in time . . .

  “Wise decision,” Max murmured when she went perfectly still.