Too Wicked to Wed

by Cheryl Holt

  “You’re sorry?” her brother grouched. “What have you to be sorry about? I’m the one who’s lost everything.”

  She watched as he paced the floor. He was a pretty man, with shiny brown hair and big hazel eyes. He had such appealing features that he was often mistaken for a girl. At age twenty-three, he was the consummate London gentleman who thrived on his life in the city, and he viewed the estate as a necessary evil that funded his lavish routine. He’d never felt the bond to the land or the people that weighed so heavily on Helen.

  He was polished and suave, his clothes perfectly tailored, his hair neatly trimmed, his nails delicately manicured, and at that moment Helen would have loved nothing more than to walk across the room and slap him silly.

  Since she’d arrived home from the debacle with Captain Westmoreland, she’d been listening to a relentless diatribe of all the ways she’d failed. During the awful encounter, Westmoreland had delivered sufficient humiliation, and she didn’t need Archie piling on more.

  “You shouldn’t have made such a terrible bet,” Helen said. “You know I’d never agree to consort with him.”

  “If you had any feminine instincts, you could have pulled this off. How could you be related to me and be so lacking in style? Look at you!” He gestured at her modest green dress. “You’re a veritable drab. Of course he didn’t want you! You were supposed to be charming! You had to give him something to . . . to . . . desire! Have you no concept of the type of woman that a knave like Westmoreland enjoys?”

  Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She knew precisely the kind who tickled his fancy. She’d seen them lounging in his library like a gaggle of gorgeous mermaids, and though she’d never admit it, Archie was correct: If she’d been more glamorous or attractive—if she’d been more loose with her favors—she could have persuaded Captain Westmoreland. He’d seemed to like her, had definitely lusted after her, and if she’d enticed him, she could have saved them all.

  “Perhaps if you’d hinted at what was expected of me,” she snapped, “I might have been a tad more prepared.”

  “And how would prior knowledge of my wager have made any difference?” he retorted. “Would it have gotten you into his bed? I think not!”

  “Now, now, Archie,” his friend Adrian Bennett cut in, “you’re in a dither, and it’s not helping. You must calm yourself.” As he deflected Archie’s rancor, he flashed a conspiratorial wink at Helen. “You’re being too hard on Helen. She tried her best; you know she did.”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” Archie replied. “She’s ruined me!”

  “There’s no reasoning with Westmoreland,” Adrian continued. “You remember what he was like. He’s completely perverse. Helen hadn’t a better chance than either of us.”

  “Oh, what time is it?” Archie wailed as he glanced at the clock. “One-thirty! Gad, he’ll be here any minute. He and his crew of dirty pirates will swarm over all my property. I’m sick, I tell you, just sick!”

  He stomped out, his irrational complaining drifting off as he went. As usual, he couldn’t fathom how any of the catastrophe was his fault, and Helen could only shake her head in disgust at how self-centered he was. He’d always acted like a little prince, and he’d grown from being a cute, wicked boy to a cute, nasty man, and she’d long ago abandoned hope of improved conduct.

  As his footsteps faded, Adrian smiled and shrugged. “What shall we do with him, hmm?”

  “He’s out of control.”

  “Don’t worry, Helen. I’ll take him to London with me. We’ll have him squared away in a thrice.”

  Helen was vastly comforted by Adrian’s pledge of assistance. He was Archie’s constant companion, and they’d been confidants for over a year, so close that Archie had invited Adrian to move into his town house, where he and Adrian had adjoining bedchambers. In many ways, Adrian was Archie’s double, beautiful and slender, though with blond hair and blue eyes. He relished fashionable clothes, fine wine, and Archie’s world of parties and balls.

  With Adrian being thirty-five and so much older than Archie, she’d initially deemed it a strange relationship, but anymore, she didn’t question their association. Adrian was good for Archie. He was a positive influence and curbed many of Archie’s worst impulses, so Helen welcomed his presence and was happy to see him when the two men visited Mansfield. He was a gracious, educated, and interesting guest.

  “Will you leave this afternoon?” she asked.

  “As soon as the Captain’s entourage is spotted out on the road.”

  Helen breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t have to place Archie and Captain Westmoreland in the same room to predict that it would be a disaster.

  Noise erupted out in the drive, and Adrian walked to the window to discover the cause.

  “Is it Westmoreland?” she inquired.

  “Yes. He’s brought only one carriage, though. He’s on horseback, with another rider accompanying him.”

  “No horde of pirates?”

  “No. I guess he’s not afraid of us.”

  “Why would he be? We’re a bunch of housemaids and farmers. What could we do? Beat him to death with mops and hoes?”

  “It’s a thought,” Adrian said, chuckling; then he quivered with an uncharacteristic annoyance. “He sits on that horse like a king! He’s smug and proud as a peacock.”

  “Why shouldn’t he be? He’s got everything, and we have nothing.”

  “He’s a handsome devil, isn’t he?”

  “He is at that.” She flushed with memories of how dashing he was, how tall and broad. In the week since she’d trifled with him, she’d relived their encounter over and over. Each detail was as vivid and arousing as when it had actually transpired.

  Suddenly she felt overheated, her pulse beating too fast, as she rose to greet him. She was much more excited than she should have been. After all, the blackguard was coming to evict her. Her bags were packed and in the foyer, her and Archie’s gig ready to carry her to the vicar’s residence in the village, where she would spend a few days while she decided what to do next.

  “Would you like me to go down with you?” Adrian queried.

  “There’s no need. One of his minions swore to me that he doesn’t bite.”

  “With all those weapons hanging off his belt, he certainly looks vicious. Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure. He talks tough, but he’s harmless.”

  “Harmless! He’s rumored to have murdered a thousand men.”

  “All poppycock.” She started into the hall. “Why don’t you find Archie and keep him occupied? It’s probably best that they don’t bump into each other.”

  “A prudent suggestion.” He nodded and followed her. “I’ll distract him and spirit him away before he realizes that Westmoreland is here.”

  “Thank you.”

  She descended the stairs alone, savoring a final solitary stroll through her home. The staff was awaiting the Captain on the lawn. They were dreading his appearance but curious, too, about the infamous swashbuckler and hero. Everyone wanted to take his measure, and they were eager to curry his favor so they wouldn’t lose their jobs.

  She didn’t blame them. It wasn’t their fault that Archie was a fool. They had bills to pay and families to support. She simply wished she’d had the gumption to offer Westmoreland something he valued so that she could have stayed, too.

  As she stepped outside, she wondered why she wasn’t more distraught. She should have been crumpled in the grass and weeping like a babe, but the occasion was so unbelievable that her mind couldn’t process it. Events were happening slowly, as if she were trudging through water or having a peculiar dream.

  The gardener grumbled, “Will he eat the children? Shall we hide them?”

  The entire assemblage bristled at the prospect, and Helen scolded, “For heaven’s sake! He won’t eat anyone’s children!”

  “Will he ravish the women?” The maid Peg shivered as if she was hoping he’d commence with her.

  “No,” H
elen insisted. “The stories you’ve heard are nonsense. He’s a perfect gentleman.” Which was a lie but would calm nerves.

  Westmoreland reined in and dismounted, and in the brilliant sunshine he was even more dynamic than he’d been in London. With his golden hair and bronzed skin, he shimmered like an apparition. He was attired as the bandit he was, in a rough-hewn tan shirt, brown trousers, and high black boots, and he had a gold earring in his ear that she hadn’t previously noted. As if anticipating resistance, he was armed to the teeth, with a large pistol strapped to each hip and ferocious daggers dangling from several locations.

  The slim, alert guard she’d seen in the city lagged behind him, watching his back. The guard was as heavily armed as Westmoreland and scanned the landscape, searching for trouble and risk. The only normal one of the bunch was the young, efficient Mr. Smith, who climbed out of the carriage to join them.

  Westmoreland stood, feet braced, studying his new domain with a keen interest. As he finished his survey, a barking hound rushed from the stables, and it was stupid enough to lunge at the imposing stranger.

  As if wild dogs were a common occurrence, Westmoreland hardly reacted. He casually turned and ordered, “Sit!”

  The command was so forceful and authoritative that the whole line of servants shifted as if the direction were for them as well as the animal, and Helen was surprised that none of them plopped down on the ground. As for the dog, it was completely cowed. It whimpered and fell to its haunches.

  Westmoreland leaned down and extended his fingers, letting the creature learn his scent; then he straightened and—as if they weren’t aware of his identity—proclaimed, “I am Captain William Lucas Westmoreland. If any of you has a problem with my arrival, you’re to leave immediately. Those who would like to remain are welcome, but you’ll have to swear an oath of fidelity to me. I demand absolute loyalty, and I’ll brook no disobedience. Talk it over among yourselves, then apprise Mr. Smith of your decisions.”

  He started toward the house, but she was positioned in front of the door, and he couldn’t enter unless she moved.

  “Good day, Miss Mansfield,” he hailed. “We meet again.”

  Ridiculously, she was hurt that he’d referred to her as Miss Mansfield. In London, when they’d been intimately thrown together, he’d called her Helen.

  “Captain Westmoreland,” she said, nodding.

  “You’re looking particularly fetching this afternoon.” His avid gaze raked over her, his lusty nature apparent for all to witness. The men were green with envy, the women fanning themselves, and Helen blushed a bright pink as she was assailed by recollections of her and Westmoreland’s magnificent kisses.

  Before she could regroup, he gripped her by the waist, picked her up, and set her to the side, strutting past as if she were invisible.

  She couldn’t say what behavior she’d wanted from him, but she’d never have guessed that he’d act as if they were scarcely acquainted. Their brief, wicked tryst had rattled her so that she could reflect on naught but him.

  Absurdly, she’d assumed that the rendezvous would have had a similar effect on him, that he’d have been missing her and glad to see her again. The fact that he’d barely glanced at her was a painful and humiliating reminder of how insignificant the assignation had been on his end.

  He was the consummate cad, who regularly engaged in seduction, and she’d been so inept at amour that he probably didn’t even remember what they’d done.

  Ablaze with mortification, she kicked herself for mooning over him. What had she been thinking?

  Determined to depart with aplomb and courtesy, she followed him inside. Though it galled her, she’d give him a polite tour, would chat and describe the rooms and furnishings, then she’d go without a nostalgic tear or moment of begging.

  She’d just firmed her resolve when her brother waltzed into the foyer. There was an instant of astonished recognition; then Archie sneered, “So, Westmoreland, you’ve finally slinked in. You filthy thief, I could smell you at twenty paces.”

  At the slur, the spectators gasped. Compared to Westmoreland with his superior size, Archie was a tiny man. He’d always had an elevated opinion of his place in the world, and he felt that others should defer to him because of it. He didn’t grasp that social standing meant nothing to the Captain.

  Westmoreland towered over Archie, but Archie didn’t notice or comprehend that he was in danger.

  “You’re supposed to be gone, Mansfield,” the Captain remarked. “Why are you still here?”

  “I live here, you despicable swine.”

  “Not anymore. This is my property, and I don’t have to suffer your annoying presence.”

  “I’ll go when I’m good and ready, you foul bastard.”

  A deadly menace swept over the Captain, and he grabbed Archie by his shirt, lifted him with one hand, and tossed him against the wall. Archie flew through the air like a rag doll, his arms flailing, his head hitting the plaster with a loud thump; then he slid to the floor and huddled in a ball.

  Westmoreland bent over him and muttered, “If you ever insult my mother again, I’ll kill you.”

  As if Archie were dung in a pasture, Westmoreland stepped over him and proceeded on. Adrian was lurking in the shadows, observing the altercation with alarm.

  “Aren’t you Mr. Bennett?” Westmoreland questioned.

  “Yes,” Adrian admitted.

  “Drag your queer friend out of here, and if you value your meal ticket as much as you seem to, you won’t let him return.”

  “I won’t,” Adrian vowed. “We’ll leave for London right away.”

  “You do that.” Westmoreland stormed by him, bellowing over his shoulder to his guard, “Sergeant Reilly, I want them off the premises in fifteen minutes. Have my driver take them in the carriage, so that I can be certain of it. I won’t have them riding off on my new horses. Keep them out of the stables.”

  Reilly acknowledged the order with a smart salute, then went over to prod Archie to his feet.

  Helen watched the mêlée, stifling her glee at Archie’s receiving the thrashing he’d so richly deserved. Still, she was terrified over the fate of her tenants and servants. Westmoreland obviously had a temper that could quickly have him rampaging, so what would become of them?

  When she and Westmoreland had been sequestered in his bedchamber, she’d had such a different view of his character. She’d pegged him as a tough, uncultured individual, but one who was reasonable and wise enough to manage the estate in her stead.

  She hadn’t foreseen drama and intimidation and . . . and . . . violence. How could she have been so mistaken?

  She couldn’t allow the fiasco to continue. Not when she had the power to prevent it. She sidled around her brother, where Adrian was hunkered down and assisting him, and she hastened to Westmoreland’s side.

  “What?” he growled, his eyes shooting fire.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she whispered, not anxious to be overheard.

  “About what?”

  “About you. I’ll . . . I’ll have you.”

  Realization dawned as to her intent, and he scoffed. “Well, I won’t have you. Go away. I’m busy.”

  He espied Mr. Smith, who was tiptoeing by the brouhaha in the threshold. Smith was clutching papers, his astute gaze assessing the surroundings, his pen poised to jot an inventory of her belongings.

  “Mr. Smith, come here,” Westmoreland commanded.

  Smith hurried over. “Yes, Captain?”

  “Miss Mansfield is pestering me. Find out where it is she’s planned to settle, and see to it that she gets there without delay.”

  “But what about my cataloguing the chattels?”

  “It can wait.”

  Mr. Smith moved to usher her out, and she leapt out of reach, hiding behind Westmoreland’s broad frame. She snuggled herself to him, boldly wrapping her arms around his waist so that Smith would have to physically yank her away to comply.

  Westmoreland snarled with frus
tration and pried at her fingers, but every time he pulled them apart, she laced them together again.

  He peered around and groused, “Miss Mansfield, stop it.”

  “No.”

  “What is it you want from me?”

  “Give me another chance. Please?”

  He pondered and wavered, his male attention drifting down her body. Ultimately, he warned, “I don’t have the patience for your games. You better mean it.”

  “I do.”

  “Then haul your ass upstairs. Now!” She released him and raced away, scrambling as fast as her legs would carry her. Down below, he was talking to Smith.

  “Guard these stairs,” he said, “and don’t let anyone up them till I come back down.”

  “But . . . but . . .”

  “Just do it, Mr. Smith.”

  Then he was tromping after her, his strides heavy and purposeful. She was quaking with trepidation, shocked by what she’d instigated. Their prior foray had provided her with some idea of what was about to happen. He would touch and kiss her, would fondle and pet, would do more and try more than she could begin to imagine. And she was ready to permit him any liberty!

  She wanted him so desperately, and she couldn’t figure out why. Her amorous hunger was wrong and sinful, and she had to fight it with every fiber of her being. She couldn’t participate with the enthusiasm she’d shown previously, wouldn’t embarrass herself with the same sighs and moans of ecstasy.

  She had to control herself, as any properly bred Englishwoman ought!

  She dashed into her room, entering before she had the opportunity to reflect on why she’d brought him to her chamber instead of another. There were a dozen bedrooms. She could have chosen any one of them, but she hadn’t, and it was too late to select another location.

  If he came in—for even a second—the rumors would be excruciating. She’d never live them down.

  Did it matter? With the security of Mansfield at stake, was there any other option? Considering the good she’d render by proceeding, how could her reputation signify?

  She stared at her bed, seeing it in a whole new light. It was so small and cozy, so different from his king’s bed, and her stomach tickled. As she perused it—her thoughts in disarray, her resolve weakening—he stomped in behind her.