Page 22 of Wickedly Yours
Blood everywhere. A rifle in Father’s mouth. Her mother lying on the floor, still clutching a cup of wine. A horrible screaming sounded, like the wild banshees the Irish cook told her about. It wouldn’t stop. It was coming from her.
‘Bella!”
She awoke with a start, shaking as the remnants of the dream left her. It had been years since she’d relived the nightmare of her parent’s deaths. Her mother’s outstretched hand grasping a goblet of wine even as a pool of blood widened around her. Father, with the back of his head gone, a crimson splatter behind him on the wall. Nick had flung her over his shoulder and run from the room while she screamed. Her brother must have taken her to the drawing room, but Arabella had no memory of him doing so. What she remembered next was Peabody kneeling beside her while Grandfather spoke to the staff. Then nothing but black. Every dress had been black for what seemed years until a pair of unkind girls began to caw like crows when she neared them while walking in the park.
Grandfather had told her not to worry, for those girls would bother Arabella no longer. Every little girl, he said, had a father or mother with secrets and Grandfather knew them all.
Arabella hadn’t known what Grandfather meant by that at the time; she’d thought he was only comforting her. Of course, now she knew exactly what he had meant.
She lay still, listening to rain batter the windows. The parlor was dark, the fire in the hearth beginning to dim. The wind continued to howl, but not as loudly. Arabella wiggled and stopped. Warm muscles lay beneath her cheek, accompanied by the steady beat of a heart. Rowan’s heart. She was curled up in his lap.
Her head moved slightly with the rise and fall of his chest. When Arabella tried to move away, his arms tightened around her.
“Malden?” she whispered. When he didn’t reply, she lifted her head, taking the opportunity to study him up close. The strong lines of his nose and cheekbones stood out starkly against the fading light of the fire. She wished to run her fingers along the seam of his mouth. Touch his lips.
He’s beautiful.
The tip of her finger scraped against his jaw where the line of stubble was rapidly filling in. He’d have a rather nice beard if he went much longer without his valet. The shirt he wore was unbuttoned just enough to expose a small triangle of flesh at his throat.
“Malden?” She waited again for him to respond. Assured that he would not wake, Arabella boldly touched the exposed skin. The flesh beneath her finger was warm and smooth. Sneaking one more look at him, she touched the tip of her tongue to the same spot, tasting salt and heat. He was delicious. She shivered and not from the chill that permeated the room.
Foolish. I am foolish.
In the cozy little parlor, cuddled in Malden’s arms, it was easy to forget the outside world. Corbett, Jemma’s treasonous father, her brother’s anger and her own bitterness all faded away. At this moment, here, in Malden’s lap, she was safe from all of it. Closing her eyes again, she burrowed into his chest, inhaling deeply of his scent. Tomorrow would come soon enough. Tonight, she would only allow herself to feel the pleasure of this moment.
15
Arabella opened her eyes to find herself in the chair, with one of the quilts given to them the night before tucked around her. She looked to the other chair but found it empty. No rain beat against the windows.
And she was quite alone.
Sour wine clung to the inside of her mouth. Water was an immediate necessity. And her tooth kit. Gingerly she moved her head, careful least she intensify the pounding headache behind her eyes. Sunlight streamed through the window across from her, shining on a field of wildflowers. Birds darted by, singing their morning song. A bloody bucolic scene. She truly detested the country.
Well, I couldn’t have behaved more like a wanton last night.Mother would be impressed.
“Stop your singing,” she spoke out loud to the warbling birds. She was irritated. Her head hurt and she was more than a little ashamed of herself. The coach ride back to London with Malden sitting across from her would be unbearable.
A timid knock on the door was followed by the older woman from last night, carrying a tray with tea and toast. “His lordship said you’d be wanting something to eat this morning.” A crock of butter and jam lay next to the plate along with a steaming pot of tea. “He said you’d want something light.” She gave Arabella a knowing look.
Wonderful. In addition to feeling rather immoral, the innkeeper and his wife thought her a drunkard. She’d managed to become her parents within the space of a few hours.
“Thank you.” She stood and threw off the quilt. “Please leave the tray.”
The woman bobbed and left the room. “I’ll bring you water to wash.”
Arabella waited until the woman left before flouncing back on the chair. Perhaps she’d dreamt the events of last night. Maybe this entire journey was nothing but a nightmare brought on by eating spoiled fish. She would wake up in her bed at Twinings wondering when Nick would allow her to come home.
No. This was no dream. She’d nearly married Corbett and she’d kissed Malden.
More than that, you nearly allowed him further liberties.
Arabella moved to the tray and took a piece of toast, slathered it with butter and munched away. She was starving and wished there was something a bit more substantial on the tray. And the tea was weak.
Tasting the jam and deciding it suitable, she spread some on top of her remaining piece of toast. Apparently, she wasn’t frigid, which was a bit of a relief. She was certain her attraction to Malden was only because of the situation they’d found themselves in, not because of any genuine feeling. Except Arabella didn’t feel especially distressed over recent events and what of Malden?
Arabella wasn’t naïve, and she didn’t consider herself to be quite as innocent as most unwed ladies. Her parents were not discreet, and she and Nick happened upon them having sexual relations often, and very rarely with each other. Once, she’d needed to retrieve a doll mistakenly left in the family’s private drawing room and interrupted Mother and one of her lovers. The man had been nonplussed at the sight of Arabella, only giving her a sly grin before walking out of the room, naked, his clothes bunched in one hand.
Arabella knew exactly what had been pressed against her bottom last night.
