Practically Wicked

by Alissa Johnson

  “I know enough. We share a bond. We share blood.”

  “The blood of a faithless bastard,” he reminded Lucien. “And her mother, you’ll recall, is Mrs. Wrayburn. A woman many might call a faithless bitch, though I’ve yet to meet the man careless enough to do so within earshot—”

  “You’ve never believed blood would out,” Lucien said, clearly taken aback, but not so much that he slowed his determination to wear a hole in the carpet.

  “It doesn’t. It can’t. Blood doesn’t do much of anything.” And the mere claim of blood shouldn’t grant one unfettered access to Caldwell Manor.

  “It makes family,” Lucien countered.

  “No, it makes lineage.” Max shook his head and held up a hand to forestall further argument. A serious debate wasn’t going to help Lucien at present. “Just…be cautious in your dealings with Miss Rees.”

  “Of course.”

  There was no “of course” about it. “What proof did Miss Rees provide?”

  “Correspondence between our father and her mother, along with a contract and a journal.”

  “A contract?”

  “She was his mistress. Naturally, there was a contract.” Lucien’s lips twisted. “And naturally, his lordship failed to fulfill his obligations.”

  The sliver of unease and suspicion that had been working on Max’s skin began to grow at an exponential rate.

  “And Miss Rees has requested you do so in his stead,” he guessed. “Those obligations amount to how much, exactly?”

  “A thousand pounds or so.” Lucien dismissed the number with an impatient wave of the hand. “Immaterial, she’ll have whatever she needs. Settling the contract is not the purpose of having her visit. She’s my sister. I want to meet her.”

  Max said nothing aloud, but he was swearing profusely in his head. Anna wasn’t coming to Caldwell Manor to meet with family, or even to collect that thousand pounds. She was after what Lucien’s reputation guaranteed—the very thing he had just agreed to provide…whatever she needs.

  It was no secret the marquess and his brother had been actively making retributions for the financial crimes committed by their stepmother before her death. And it would be a fairly simple thing for a woman as diversely connected as Mrs. Wrayburn to find a competent forger in London.

  Max debated how much opposition it was wise to put forward at present. Just a little to start, he decided. It was too late to rethink the invitation, but not too late to encourage that bit of caution once the woman arrived.

  “You don’t find it peculiar that there’s been no mention of Miss Rees or Mrs. Wrayburn amongst your father’s papers?” he asked.

  “I’ve not gone through them all. I’m not sure we’ve found them all. My stepmother made a mess of things before her departure. Boxes in the attic, in the cellar, even in the stable. Some things have been lost for good, I’m sure.” Lucien grimaced and shrugged. “To be honest, finding and reading my father’s personal letters has not been a priority.”

  Max nodded in reluctant understanding. He’d just as soon not learn the contents of his father’s mail. He was, however, determined to learn of Anna’s intentions in attaching herself to the Haverstons.

  “She’s here,” Lucien announced suddenly, his gaze riveted to the windows overlooking the front of the house.

  Rising from his seat, Max saw the small black dot of a carriage that was slowly making its way down Caldwell’s long, winding drive. A spark of anticipation began to mingle with his unease and suspicion. There she was, he thought, Miss Anna Rees.

  Bloody hell.

  He’d not thought of the woman in years…not voluntarily. She did have a habit of sneaking into his mind at the oddest times. The smell of roses and baking biscuits had brought her to mind once or twice, and he’d caught himself staring at a terrier of some sort in Hyde Park a few months back and recalling her dream of owning a hound. And there’d been that brief and unexpected burst of fear two weeks back when he’d heard someone from Anover House had been injured in a fall from her horse. It passed mere seconds later when the injured party was revealed to be Mrs. Wrayburn, but in that moment before…

  Max cut off his line of thought with a scowl. Clearly, he’d thought of her more often and more recently than he’d cared to admit.

  “I cannot believe the Ice Maiden of Anover House might be your sister,” he murmured.

  “Is,” Lucien corrected as he made a failed effort at flattening his hair with his hands. “Is my sister. And you’ll not call her that.”

  “Everyone calls her that,” Max countered. He craned his neck to watch as key members of Caldwell staff began to line up on the portico. “And for good reason.”

  “No longer. Let your London acquaintances know she’s a member of this family now, and she’ll be afforded the proper respect.”

  “It’s gossip amongst the ton, Engsly,” Max replied dryly. “No one is afforded the proper respect.” He threw up a hand to forestall an argument. “I’ll do my best to be of use to you.”

  Lucien nodded, satisfied in the way only those who assumed the best of everyone could be. He shot his sleeves and straightened his cravat. “How do I look? Presentable?”

  Good enough for the likes of Anna Rees. “You look like the Marquess of Engsly.” Max gestured toward the door and studiously ignored the sudden urge to fuss with his own appearance. “Let’s go greet the woman.”

  Chapter 5

  This is lunacy.

  Anna glanced out the carriage window at the passing front lawn of Caldwell Manor, with its lush green grass and towering hardwoods, and wondered at what size a lawn and drive ceased being a lawn and drive, and became a tidy field and well-tended road.

  She looked over at Mrs. Culpepper, who was slumped against the side of the carriage, face covered by a bonnet gone askew. Her companion’s skin had taken on a peculiar green tint over the course of their half-day journey, the result of Mrs. Culpepper’s susceptibility to carriage sickness.

  They were cracked, the pair of them.

  What on earth had they been thinking, sneaking out of Anover House in the dead of night to come here? What if her mother took it in her head to send someone after them? They’d run off with her third-best carriage, after all.

  What if the Marquess of Engsly was a complete loon and had taken it into his head to retract the invitation to Caldwell Manor before they’d even arrived?

  What if the invitation had been sent merely as a means to lure her away from the safety of Anover House, and the moment she did arrive they were swept off to the continent, or Australia or the Americas, or to wherever the devil it was the Haverstons swept their unwanted bastard children. God, she hoped it wasn’t to the bottom of a local lake.

  The morbid thought was just ridiculous enough to snap her back to her senses. For goodness sake, she wasn’t going to suffer violence at the hands of the marquess. Her screaming nerves and wild imagination were naught more than an overreaction to the strains of the past fortnight.

  They hadn’t slipped away in the dead of night; they’d left at dawn. And her exchanges with the marquess over the last week had been perfectly civil. There was no reason to believe the man was an ogre in person.

  Really, all she needed to concern herself over was how to make herself agreeable to a perfectly courteous man, which shouldn’t be too terribly difficult. She’d had a lifetime of facing the judgment of strangers, courteous and otherwise, and she’d muddled along well enough.

  Surely she could muddle along just as well for an hour or two at Caldwell Manor. She could smile and curtsy and swallow her fear and pride this one last time, and then she would be free.

  Probably…Maybe…Blast it, this was different. Vastly different. Smiles and curtsies were, most often, all that had been expected of her at Anover House. The marquess would expect her to speak. He would expect her to converse.

  In the whole of her life, she had conversed with only one other gentleman. And he’d not sought the experience out a second t
ime.

  A bubble of nervous laughter escaped before she could tamp it down. “This is madness.”

  Next to her, Mrs. Culpepper stirred, pushing her bonnet out of her face. “What is it, dear?”

  “Nothing, I…” Anna trailed off as she glanced over and saw that her companion’s skin had gone from green to gray sometime in the last hour. “Mrs. Culpepper, are you all right?”

  Mrs. Culpepper waved a large hand. “Quite. Good heavens, have we arrived?”

  As if to answer the question, the carriage rolled to a stop. “It would appear we have.”

  “For pity’s sake, child,” Mrs. Culpepper gasped and began a frantic bid to right her appearance, “why did you not wake me earlier?”

  As there was little to be gained in explaining that she had, in fact, attempted to rouse Mrs. Culpepper on two separate occasions, Anna turned her attention out the window instead and came to the startling realization that Caldwell Manor was rather lovely up close.

  She’d not expected a peer’s country estate to be lovely. She’d expected grand and imposing. The house may have laid some claim to the first, particularly at a distance, with its stone façade and impressive size, but she could see now that the severe lines of its three stories were softened by gently arched windows, cheerful blue shutters, and the somewhat awkward and whimsical addition of a small turret at the back corner of the house. What might have been an austere entrance was brightened by the inclusion of potted plants at the front doors and colorful flowers along the base of the portico.

  Almost, it appeared inviting. Almost.

  Waiting on that portico was Lucien Haverston, the Marquess of Engsly…along with a goodly number of his staff, which was most odd.

  “Why on earth would he—?”

  Anna snapped her mouth closed when the carriage door swung open and a footman appeared, ready to assist her down.

  She blinked at him, at the harsh sunlight beyond the carriage, and at the almost-but-not-quite-welcoming front portico.

  And suddenly, she wished the front lawn had been a little larger, the drive a little longer.

  “Chin up,” Mrs. Culpepper advised in a whisper. “Shoulders back and eyes straight ahead.”

  It was the advice Mrs. Culpepper always delivered before Anna was forced to make an appearance for her mother. The familiarity of it gave her the courage to step from the carriage.

  After a moment’s adjustment to the bright light, her eyes landed on the unfamiliar gentleman standing in the center of the portico. Tall and lean, in a finely tailored suit, the Marquess of Engsly looked very much as Anna had expected, with the notable exception of his hair being a little messy and his deep-set eyes being rather dark. She had pictured the marquess with the lovely blue eyes of his father.

  Their father, she reminded herself as she assisted Mrs. Culpepper out of the carriage and up the steps of the portico. The late marquess was their father.

  “Miss Rees.” Engsly bowed low as they approached. “Welcome to Caldwell Manor.”

  And this man was her brother, standing right before her, and still it didn’t feel real to her.

  “My lord.” She curtsied smoothly, relieved when her knees of pudding held. “It was most kind of you to invite us. May I present my companion, Mrs. Culpepper?”

  Engsly bowed again but straightened with a slight frown. His eyes flicked from Anna and back to Mrs. Culpepper. “I…Forgive my bluntness, Mrs. Culpepper, but are you unwell?”

  Observant, Anna noted. And interested in the well-being of someone a man of his rank might consider well beneath his notice.

  Or fearful his guests had brought a plague to Caldwell Manor. It was difficult to say.

  Mrs. Culpepper inclined her head briefly. If she was impressed by a man of Lord Engsly’s stature, it didn’t show. But then, Mrs. Culpepper had witnessed any number of peers engaging in any number of unflattering behaviors at Anover House. The nobility’s thin layer of charm had no doubt worn away long ago.

  Or it might have been the carriage sickness. Also difficult to determine.

  “Quite, my lord,” Mrs. Culpepper replied. “It is only that travel does not agree with me.”

  “I understand. My sister-in-law is much the same.” He made a subtle motion with his hand and two maids in crisp white aprons immediately stepped forward. “Allow Faith and Mary to escort you upstairs. Would you have me send for the physician?”

  “Thank you, my lord, but no. I shall be quite well now that I’ve feet on solid ground once more. And I shall be well enough for the time being to remain here with Miss Rees—”

  “Nonsense,” Anna pressed. “You must have a rest.”

  “Well…” Mrs. Culpepper glanced at the maids, and Anna knew the woman was in more discomfort than she had let on, to even be considering the suggestion. “If you are certain?”

  Anna nodded and, not trusting herself to speak again, lest the selfish sentiment I take it back, don’t leave me alone with these people should come spilling out, pressed her lips together in what she hoped was some facsimile of a confident smile.

  Evidently, it was good enough for the ailing Mrs. Culpepper. She sent Anna a sickly and grateful look, along with a weak pat on the shoulder Anna assumed was meant to be bolstering, then allowed the maids to lead her away.

  Feeling cut adrift, Anna watched the line of staff shuffle a bit as the trio passed. A footman stepped aside to allow them entrance into the house…

  And that was when she saw him, standing bold as you please next to one of the pretty potted flowers.

  Lord Maximilian Dane.

  Oh, hell. Oh, holy hell.

  For the first time in her life, Anna knew what it meant to have the air stolen from one’s lungs. It felt, she discovered, very much as the phrase described, as if someone had reached inside her and snatched away her breath.

  She’d truly believed she’d never see him again, and his sudden presence before her now felt, if not like a blow, then an impossibly hard shove. She had the ridiculous urge to step back and call out for Mrs. Culpepper, or turn about and head straight back to the carriage. At the very least, she wanted to swear loud and long.

  This was dreadful. This was inconceivably awful.

  In the days and weeks following the realization that Max Dane would not be returning to Anover House, Anna had indulged in a daydream or two (or several dozen) of what it might be like should they meet in passing sometime in the future.

  The exact content of those daydreams had varied, but on the whole she had envisioned herself to be surrounded by a bevy of friends and admirers. She’d been flawless in appearance, composed in manner, and eloquent of speech. In short, her dreams had been flights of extreme fancy in which Max Dane had come to the realization that not returning to Anover House had been a judgment error of colossal proportions.

  Now here she was, dusty and rumpled from travel, alone for all intents and purposes, and stunned speechless.

  Oh, how she wanted to get back into the carriage.

  Fortunately, a lifetime of keeping her chin up, shoulders back, and eyes straight ahead stopped her from making a complete cake of herself. She even managed after a moment to school her features into a serene expression.

  Coherent speech, however, remained elusive.

  “I…Er…”

  Max did not appear to be similarly affected. He quickly stepped forward and executed a smart bow.

  “Miss Rees. All of this has come as something of a surprise to me as well.”

  This wasn’t a surprise. A surprise was finding an unexpected gray hair at one’s temple, leaving one to wonder if one was a trifle older than previously estimated.

  Seeing Max Dane at Caldwell Manor was an outright shock. And seeing him close up prompted the immediate and entirely useless thought that he’d grown more handsome. Probably it was merely that he was (presumably) sober. There were no shadows beneath his hazel eyes, no sallowness to the skin that spoke of too much drink and insufficient sleep. Lord Dane didn’t look like
the dissolute rake she’d met at Anover House four years ago, the dashing but inebriated young man whose sensual mouth and captivating charm had tempted her into initiating the most wicked moment of her life. That man had been fascinating and charismatic and, at times, in very real danger of losing his seat.

  The Lord Dane before her now had bowed with an easy grace and restrained strength. He looked strong and hale and…and not particularly pleased to see her. His handsome face was set in hard lines, his mouth unsmiling.

  Was he angry with her?

  Surely not. He had no call to be. Surely, he was simply taken aback, as she was.

  Anna managed a credible curtsy, caught between an involuntary thrill at seeing him again, and the ardent desire to be somewhere, anywhere, else at present.

  She had kissed this man. She had leaned forward and pressed her lips to those lips. And then she’d never seen him again.

  “Lord Dane…” She began, and then, to her mortification, found she was unable to add anything more substantial than, “…Hello.”

  She watched him smirk a little, which both confused and annoyed her. Of course he wasn’t out of sorts. He’d obviously had some warning of her arrival.

  “Hello,” he echoed. “Your journey was uneventful, I trust?”

  They’d become stuck in a rut for two hours. She’d almost turned the carriage around a half dozen times. Mrs. Culpepper’s illness had required they stop repeatedly. One stop had come too late.

  “Quite.”

  “We are all happy to hear it, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Go away, she begged silently. Please, please go away. She could face her new brother, or she could face the man who’d broken her heart. She couldn’t face them both together.

  Engsly cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Dane’s estate of McMullin Hall is but twenty miles away,” he explained. “Our families have been friends for generations.”

  “How lovely.” Please do make him go away.

  “Miss Rees may wish to hear of our history another time,” Max suggested, and then, as if he’d heard her thoughts and had a care for her discomfort—both of which she highly doubted—he bowed and added, “If you will excuse me, I’ll leave the two of you to become better acquainted.”