Practically Wicked

by Alissa Johnson

  Anna didn’t give him a chance to be diverted by business. Immediately after his departure, she gathered up the letters into the satchel, waited for a count of thirty, and then ten more, so as not to seem too eager, then made her way to the library, where she discovered Max was already waiting.

  How lovely.

  They settled on opposite sides of the settee, spread the letters out on the cushions between them, and slowly began to make their way through the pile. Anna couldn’t help but notice how cozy it felt, sitting across from Max quietly going through papers while a soft breeze ruffled the drapes of the open windows. Well, cozy until one gave a thought to what those papers were, and why she was compelled to go through them. Then it became a bit odd, a little disheartening, and—

  “You’re nine-and-twenty.”

  “What?” Anna’s gaze shot to Max’s. A jolt of excitement sent her heart to racing. “You found it? You’re certain?”

  He certainly looked certain, and tremendously pleased with himself. “Only your age so far, but it’s a start. Listen to this…‘My dearest Engsly, it is with a full heart that I announce the birth of our daughter, Anna Rees.’” His eyes scanned a little further down the page, then he sent her an apologetic look. “She doesn’t mention a specific birthdate, I’m afraid, but the letter was sent only a few weeks after my own birthday.”

  “May I…?” She held out her hand, took the multi-paged letter and read the pertinent passage. “I’m nine-and-twenty. That will take some becoming used to.”

  “It’s not so very great an adjustment. You’ll become accustomed to the ear trumpet in no time.”

  “You’re an arse.”

  “On occasion, when I think it will make you smile.”

  “No,” she said smoothly. “Not just then.” She scanned the remainder of the letter while he laughed, her eyes flying over the next page, and then the last. “I’ve lost more than a year of my life. How odd. I feel as if…” She trailed off as her eyes landed on a particular passage in the letter. “There’s a date…Good heavens, this letter was sent well after my birth.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a birthdate. An actual date of birth, and it was weeks before she wrote this letter.” She turned the pages over, double-checking the date at the start of the letter before returning her attention to the remainder of the letter’s contents. They weren’t particularly enlightening. “My mother apologizes to the marquess for her tardiness in writing, makes excuses—illness and what have you. Wonder what she stood to gain by waiting? I suppose…” Her head snapped up as a certain realization dawned on her. “Good Lord. I’m older than you.”

  “No, you’re not,” Max argued, sounding suspiciously defensive. He took the letter from her and looked it over. “Huh. So you are.”

  Anna craned her neck a little and stared, a little bemused, at the letter. In a matter of weeks, she would turn thirty and he would still be nine-and-twenty. How very odd.

  “I’m nearly two months older than you,” she murmured and looked up in the long silence that followed to discover Max’s expression was one of mild disgruntlement. “You don’t like that.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “Well, you’ll grow accustomed.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and smirked. “We’ll find you a set of short pants while we’re out for my ear trumpet.”

  He glared at her. “Very clever.”

  “I rather thought so.” She blinked at his scowl. “It doesn’t truly bother you, does it?” She should have considered the possibility before making a jest of it. She’d heard men could become sensitive over the silliest things.

  He chuckled softly, and Anna had the impression it was mostly at himself. “No, sweetheart. I’m happy for you. You’ve a birthday.”

  “I do, don’t I?” She stared at the letter, ridiculously happy with it. After all these years, she finally had a birthday to call her own. “I can’t wait to tell Mrs. Culpepper of it.” In fact…She lifted apologetic eyes to Max. “Would you mind terribly—?”

  “Go write your friend,” he invited, standing to help her put the other letters back in the satchel. “I’ve business to occupy myself with for a time.”

  She didn’t need a second invitation. With a grin, she grabbed the satchel, her proof of a birthdate, and was out the door.

  Max didn’t have a single bit of business to see to that morning, but saying he did was much better than saying he didn’t, which implied he had nothing to do but wait about until Anna was done with her business.

  In short, he lied to save his pride.

  And now he was stuck looking for something to do so he might keep that pride. Which was why he went looking for Lucien in his study, and why he didn’t mind, particularly, when Lucien said, “I was just about to go looking for you,” without looking as if he much wanted to see him.

  Apparently, word about the picnic had only just reached the study. Pleased with the timing, Max took his usual seat across the desk. He’d clear up any misunderstandings, correct any misinformation Lucien had received, and by the time he was done, Anna would likely be as well.

  “I imagine this is about last night?” he began. “Allow me to—”

  Lucien, evidently not in the mood for allowances, slammed a hand on his desk. “You took Anna out of this house, at midnight, without my permission. What the devil were you thinking?”

  “It wasn’t quite that late,” Max returned and felt a flicker of annoyance. “And I don’t need your permission, and neither does she.”

  “Damn it, man, I thought your presence here might help ease her transition from your world into mine, not entice her back into the ways of the demimonde.”

  “I’m not enticing her back into anything.” Just toward himself, Max amended silently. “We had an army of staff present. There was nothing—”

  “She needed a proper chaperone.”

  The annoyance was growing into outright irritation. An army of anything qualified as a proper chaperone. “What, exactly, is your point of contention? That I didn’t ask her to bring along Lilly and Winnefred?”

  “Yes. Or myself or Gideon. Someone else should have been there. That is the only way your little outing would have approached acceptable. I’ve fine staff, Max, you know that—”

  “The finest,” he agreed easily.

  “But they’re human. They’ll talk. A midnight picnic was not an appropriate outing for a young, unmarried lady.”

  “Anna is a woman grown, not a silly miss taking her first bows. Why don’t we allow her to decide what is appropriate for her and—”

  “No one person sets the standards for good behavior.”

  “That’s for good society to do?” Max scoffed and shook his head. “She is the illegitimate daughter of a courtesan, raised in a home one small step removed being a fully-fledged brothel. The ton will never accept her as one of their own. You know that.”

  “She needn’t continue to be the subject of rumor and scandal either,” Lucien countered.

  “Her mother is famous. She will always be the subject of rumors. Neither of us can change that. At least let her make use of what advantage she gains from it.”

  “What advantage?”

  “Freedom.”

  Lucien shook his head. “She’s not you, Max.”

  “Not in the least. I could acquire the good opinion of the ton, if I cared for it. I don’t.”

  “Anna can—”

  “No, she can’t,” he bit off. “Damn it, man, you know she can’t. And you’ll not offer false promises or bully her into begging for something she can’t have. I’ll not allow it.”

  Lucien reared back in his seat. “You’ll not allow it?”

  “Correct.” He’d not had to take a stand against Lucien on anything in the past, and never dreamt he’d have to go against him on a matter involving family, but he’d be damned before he let Max send Anna off to court the good opinions of people who would as soon skewer her as look at her. “Let Anna decide her own path. We
shouldn’t even be having this discussion without her.”

  “Shouldn’t be having…?” The anger in Lucien’s face disappeared as he trailed off and sat down slowly. “Do you care for her, Max?”

  What sort of question was that? “Why else would I be spending time with the woman?”

  “To offer her a sense of the familiar at Caldwell Manor because I asked it of you.” Lucien tapped his finger against the arm of his chair, his gaze speculative. “How much time, exactly, have you been spending in Anna’s company, how much do you care for her, and why haven’t you informed me of either answer before now?”

  Nearing the end of his patience, Max spoke before thinking. “I’ve not counted the minutes, none of your damn business, and—because it is none of your damn business.”

  “I am her brother.”

  Max opened his mouth, shut it, and took a calming breath. Without a doubt, it was Lucien’s business, but he wasn’t going to hand the man that victory outright. “Are you looking for me to seek permission to court her? Very well, may I court your sister?”

  “No.”

  “What? Why the devil not?”

  “Permission to court my sister for your mistress? Are you mad?”

  Insult fled as quickly as it had arrived. “Ah, no, not for my mistress. My wife.”

  Lucien digested that information in the time it took him to blink once. “Permission granted.”

  It took Max longer to digest Lucien’s response. “I…Well. That was a very sudden change of heart.”

  “My oldest friend wants to make my sister a viscountess. I’d be a fool to object. You’ve given due consideration to the ramifications of such a choice, I assume?”

  “The few that interest me.”

  “Fair enough. Tell me how I can be of assistance.”

  “All right,” Max said slowly. Nothing about this meeting had gone the way he’d expected. “Allow me to court Anna my way.”

  Lucien swore under his breath and dragged a hand through his hair before leveling a hard stare at Max. “Do you realize what you’re asking of me?”

  “I am asking you to trust me.” Suddenly uncomfortable, he began to pick at a loose thread on the seat of his chair. “You know I’d never…You know what this family means to me.”

  “I do.” Lucien, looking equally ill at ease, nodded and busied his hands and gaze with an ink blotter on the desk. “Very well, proceed as you see fit.” He stopped fiddling and jabbed a finger at Max. “But know this, one word of complaint from her and I won’t hesitate to call you out.”

  Max’s shoulders relaxed at the exceedingly masculine and therefore infinitely more comfortable threat of violence.

  “You loathe the practice of dueling.”

  Lucien shrugged. “I’ve never wanted to shoot anyone before.”

  “Unbearable as a brother, just as I said.”

  “Say whatever the devil you like, just remember who’s the better shot.”

  Chapter 27

  Max kept Lucien’s warning in mind as he set out to woo Anna over the next few days. He didn’t believe for a moment that Lucien would call him out for a duel under any circumstances. But neither Lucien or Gideon would hesitate to beat him to a bloody pulp and then ban him from Caldwell Manor. Max could take a beating well enough (and damned if holding Anna in his arms wasn’t worth the risk), but banishment was not a punishment he could so easily dismiss.

  He’d lose his chance to court Anna altogether. And he’d lose Lucien, Gideon, Mrs. Webster, and…Hell, he’d lose everyone and everything that meant anything to him.

  And so he was careful. Far more careful than he’d been the night of the picnic. He was forced to take his pleasures in experiencing the small things—a touch of her hand, the meeting of knees as they shared a bench, the brush of arms as they passed by in the hall. And he discovered that, when one paid attention to them, there was a great deal of pleasure to be found in those little touches.

  Not every moment that passed between them was innocent, of course. Max wasn’t above stealing a kiss or two (or ten) on their walks, or in the shadowed recess of a hallway—just a brief meeting of lips, an excuse to cup her face in his hands and torment himself with the taste of her.

  Lucien wouldn’t approve, but neither was he likely to take too much offense. And if he did, well, Max figured he could always remind Lucien of his courtship with Lilly. No man cared to be a hypocrite.

  Max smiled as he urged his horse into a gallop along the road from Codridgeton to Caldwell. All in all, things were coming along brilliantly. With a little more time and patience, he could win over Anna and they—

  Max never saw what knocked him out of the saddle. There was a blur of movement in the trees along the road and something hard slammed into his side. The force knocked him off balance just as his mount veered to one side, and the next thing Max knew, the hard road was rushing up to meet him.

  The force of impact knocked the air from his lungs, but with some luck and quick reflexes, he managed to protect his head and roll when he hit the ground, avoiding the sort of abrupt collision that could easily break bones.

  Still, it was jarring to be knocked bodily from a moving horse. Even as he pushed himself to his knees, the world spun around him in a long, nauseating circle.

  A dark form rushed at him from the side, with a heavy boot aimed at his midsection. Max threw himself out of the way at the last possible second, then scrambled to his feet just in time to take a fist to the jaw from a second assailant. He stumbled back, instinctively throwing a forearm block to escape the next blow, and took quick stock of what he was up against. There were two men, and although both were masked, they were easy enough to recognize.

  Ox and Jones. Bloody hell.

  Max dodged a lumbering charge from Ox and managed to jam an elbow into the man’s lower back as he stumbled past, then spun and ducked as Jones swung at his head. Lashing out with his own fist, he was rewarded when knuckles connected with nose, and Jones howled in pain. He stepped forward to follow up with another attack, only to be knocked sideways by a glancing blow from one of Ox’s ham-sized fists, a gentle reminder that he would have to fight this battle on two fronts.

  He did his best to cover both, landing blow after blow, but he took almost as many hits in return. When his left eye began to swell shut from an unfortunate collision with Ox’s right elbow, Max realized he needed to bring the fight to a close or lose any hope of victory. He dodged a swipe of Jones’s new blade and turned quickly, catching the man off balance so a swift kick sent him sprawling. The knife clattered across the rocky road into the thick grass and Jones scrambled after it, allowing Max to finally give Ox his full attention.

  He beckoned the big man forward in a taunting gesture and was not surprised when his opponent lowered his head for another bull rush. Slow learner, Mr. Ox. But this time, instead of just dancing out of the way, Max ducked under the massive arms that reached for his throat and got a proper hold on one. He gave that arm a firm twist as Ox’s own weight and momentum carried him forward to the ground. There was a sharp snap and a bellow of pain.

  “My arm. Rutting bastard broke my arm!”

  Abandoning the search for his knife, Jones rushed forward and grabbed Ox’s other arm to drag him backward. “Shut up, man.”

  It was tempting to taunt them, to let them know he’d recognized them before Ox had opened his mouth. But it was smarter to say nothing.

  Particularly as the injury to Ox seemed to have put the men off any further violence. They backed away, Ox cradling his arm, then turned around and bolted into the trees and, no doubt, their waiting horses.

  Max stood where he was for a long time after they left, willing his wavering vision to steady. As the intensity of the moment passed, so did the worst of his dizziness, and at last, he was able to walk the distance down the road to collect his horse and pull himself up into the saddle.

  The ride home would always remain something of a blur, as his only real thought had been to stay on
the horse. And his brief journey from the front drive to the front parlor would also remain a blur simply because of the amount of noise and movement that accompanied it. One footman spotted him climbing the steps to the portico, and by the time he was taking a seat on the settee, a dozen members of Caldwell staff were buzzing around him like flies.

  Max breathed a sigh of relief when Lucien strode into the room and took command, sending most of the staff away on errands. Then he poured Max a glass of brandy, pulled a chair close to the settee, and took a seat.

  “Anything broken, you think?”

  Max finished the drink in a single swallow, ignoring the sting of his split lip. “Oh, that’s better.” He set the glass aside and gingerly prodded the most tender spot on his rib cage where Ox had landed a particularly brutal blow. “No, nothing broken.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Mrs. Wrayburn’s men.”

  Lucien went very still. “You’re certain?”

  Max nodded, then wished he hadn’t. “Mother of God, that hurts.”

  “I hadn’t realized she was capable of something like this.” Lucien swore viscously. “I let Anna confront her at the inn. She asked and I—”

  “No, I went.”

  “You did?” Lucien slumped in his seat, sighed heavily. “Thank you. Thank you for that.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Think she’s become desperate, stupid, or mad?”

  “She’s not stupid. Desperate and mad are possibilities.” She had to have known the risk of discovery was high, if not inevitable.

  “Do we tell Anna?”

  “Tell me what?” Anna’s voice floated in from the hall, cheerful and light. “What are the pair of you doing? Mrs. Webster said you needed…” She trailed off and visibly paled as Lucien moved aside and she got her first look at Max’s face. “Oh, my Lord. Oh, my God. What happened to you?”

  “I ran into a bit of trouble.”

  She rushed to him, sank down beside him on the settee. “Trouble? What sort of trouble results in this?”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.”