My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) (14 page)

She was as intelligent as any learned man he'd ever known.

In fact, she reminded him greatly of her father. A high degree of intelligence and capability had intertwined in Frederick Lambeth. A pity he was dead.

A pity everyone Stacks had ever loved was dead.

Save Freddie.

Not that he loved her as a man loves a woman. No, what he felt for her was more like what a father feels for a daughter.

But altogether different.

To do justice to his position as her guardian, though, he knew it was his duty to see her marry well.

No matter how painful it would be for him to lose her.

First, though, he wished he could expel Edgekirth. Would Freddie be terribly offended if the physician came no more?

He had been fuming all day over the man's visit to Freddie that very afternoon. Since he'd left open his library door, he'd heard Eason announce the visitor, had heard Freddie beckon Mrs. Taylor, too, just as Stacks had instructed. She was not to meet any man alone.

But Julia Taylor had failed to perform her most important duty.

Damn the insufferable woman!

He, at least, could uphold his duties as the guardian to whom her father had entrusted his only child.

Even if she was not precisely a child any more.

Chapter 12

Freddie sat contentedly in the library, her guardian working silently behind his desk, facing her as she sketched the delicate petals of the violet. After she finished the page and was about to begin a new page, she glanced up at Stacks. He was neither reading nor writing but staring blankly in front of him.

"Anything I can help you with?" she questioned.

A pensive grin replaced his stare as he met her gaze and shook his head. "Actually I was thinking of John Donne's wisdom for I have learned that no man, indeed, is an island."

"And what does that have to do with your book?"

"Everything," he said softly, warmth in his eyes. "The book would never be more than a distant dream had I continued to live as a soul far apart from others of like mind." His eyes held hers intently, and she felt as if the very air was draining from her body. "You have been very good for me," he said.

"I've done nothing a good secretary could not have done," she answered.

"I'm not just talking about the book. You've brought life to the abbey--and you amuse me. I now have a partner for backgammon and cribbage and chess--"

"And Sunday morning worship service. The pious Mr. Donne would be happy indeed in my influence," she said lightly.

He frowned. "You take compliments poorly, Miss Lambeth."

He was right! While she felt coming to Marshbanks Abbey the best thing that had ever happened to her, she found it hard to believe Lord Stacks could reap any benefit from her. "It is just that I cannot imagine your lordship needing the society of anyone, much less an unaccomplished girl such as myself."

"You underestimate your many accomplishments." He took up his pen, but instead of resuming his writing, he continued. "Until you came I had no idea how lonely the abbey was."

Now she was sure the air necessary for speech had been sapped from her. She could not have replied had her very life depended on it.

Eason knocked, then entered the room. "A Mr. John Rountree begs a visit with Miss Lambeth."

Freddie's glance darted to her guardian.

He smiled. "Miss Lambeth will meet with the gentleman presently. Tell Mrs. Taylor her presence is immediately desired in the great room."

Once Eason closed the door, Lord Stacks smiled. "My plan goes well."

She placed her hands on her hips in mock indignation, and had no trouble now finding her voice. "And what plan might that be?"

"My scheme to find you a suitable husband, Miss Lambeth."

"I beg you not have me at the altar with the unfortunate Mr. Rountree. I daresay he is only being courteous."

"Stand up and let me see if you will do."

She rose and turned around gracefully, dipping him a curtsey as she finished. She wore a simple rose-colored muslin day dress of good lines. It accentuated the blush of her cheeks. "I feel like a horse at Tattersall's being auctioned to the highest bidder."

"The analogy does not apply at all. You are a lovely young lady." A flicker of a smile passed across his face. "Maggie has once again done well with your hair." His eyes followed the length of her body. "The dress is passable for a morning call. Enjoy yourself with Mr. Rountree. He is said to be a most eligible catch." Lord Stacks lifted his pen.

"But I, my lord, am not fishing," she snapped as she proudly strode to the door.

Much to her surprise, Mrs. Taylor had reached the great hall before Freddie. To Freddie's even greater surprise, Mrs. Taylor had taken no pains with her hair but had swept it under a widow's cap. It was the first time Freddie had ever seen her wear the cap.

"Here's Miss Lambeth," Mrs. Taylor announced in sugary tones as Rountree got to his feet and bowed to her. How grandly he dressed for a morning call in his gray pantaloons, a double-breasted scarlet velvet top coat with a black satin waistcoat. Freddie found herself wondering if such dress was
derigueur
for the country.

"At your service, Miss Lambeth."

She dropped a quick curtsey, then sat on the sofa by Mrs. Taylor as he returned to his chair facing them.

"I was just inquiring about Mr. Rountree's family," said Mrs. Taylor. "Unfortunately, he lost his papa rather recently and, being the eldest son, cut short his studies at Cambridge to come home and oversee his family's holdings."

"My sympathies on the loss of your father," Freddie said softly.

"And such a distress it must have been to suddenly be forced to leave your friends at school," Mrs. Taylor added.

"Yes, quite," the young man said. "Miss my friends dreadfully. Was particular friends with the Viscount Mannington, you know."

"How delightful!" Mrs. Taylor said.

Freddie wondered if that were a name she was supposed to know.

"Actually," he said, "can't say that I miss the studies. Deuced difficult they were. Glad I am to be away from them."

"Are there many people of your age hereabouts?" Freddie inquired. She guessed him to be a year or two older than she.

"Company is bloody thin here," he answered.

"Lord Stacks plans to hold a ball," Mrs. Taylor announced proudly.

The young gentleman's eyes lit up. "That so?"

"It will be a good way for me to meet what my guardian calls
the good people of Yorkshire
."

"I daresay the field of genteel young people hereabouts is slim," he said, a frown on his face. "My brother, Luke, I am sure, would treasure an invitation to the ball. He is a curate at a village about twenty miles away."

Mrs. Taylor raised an inquisitive brow. "Is he married?"

Mr. Rountree shook his head.

"What age is he?" Freddie asked.

"Twenty-two. He's just a year younger than I."

"I suspect the two of you are very close," Freddie said.

He nodded. "Have you brothers and sisters, Miss Lambeth?"

"No," she answered. "I envy you that. I cannot tell you how I have always longed to have brothers and sisters."

"I should be most happy to give you one of mine," he said, a smile covering his nice looking face. For Rountree was quite handsome, a fact that had not escaped Freddie's notice at church the day before. He was as tall as Lord Stacks and had dark hair, also, though Rountree's hair layered so carelessly she knew he must have spent a great deal of time to achieve so casual an effect. He was more powerfully built than her guardian, and she suspected he would grow fat by the time he was the age of Lord Stacks. His laughing, perfectly chiseled face featured the most extraordinary set of white teeth she had ever seen. And the man--who smiled readily--was well aware of his dazzling smile.

"I've three brothers and five sisters," he continued.

"Your family alone assures our ball great success," Freddie said, a gleam in her eye.

Eason stepped into the room and announced that Dr. Edgekirth was calling.

Freddie was growing more comfortable commanding servants. "Ask him to come in here," she instructed Eason.

Edgekirth swept into the room, his eyes alight until he saw Rountree stand. He bowed first to Freddie, then to Mrs. Taylor. Lastly, he turned to Rountree. "Your servant, Rountree," he said, a hostile edge to his voice.

"I am just becoming acquainted with Mr. Rountree," Freddie told the doctor as he sat in another chair facing the sofa.

"We informed him of the ball," Mrs. Taylor added, her face glowing. "Mr. Rountree's sisters should assure many young ladies in attendance. Do you know them, Doctor?"

"Yes," he said, his smoldering eyes on Freddie.

Freddie noted the difference between the doctor's simple country clothes and Mr. Rountree's. She thought she preferred the doctor's.

"Dr. Edgekirth and I have become great friends," Freddie told her caller. "We have discovered we have much in common since my father was a surgeon, and I assisted him from my earliest youth."

Edgekirth smiled. "If you put it that way, Rountree will think you're a novice since you're still so very young."

Freddie frowned at the doctor. "You've never before remarked on my youth. I had hoped you thought me quite mature." That was the way she wanted to appear. Especially to her guardian. She wished he were here now. What was he doing? Was he working in the garden? She pictured him, coat off, sleeves pushed up, stooped over one of his plants, and she wished she could be with him this very minute and not here in the great room with two men who were doing their best to win her favor. A favor she could never grant either of them.

"You are wise beyond your years," Edgekirth said gently.

Looking at Rountree, Freddie said proudly, "I have made some elixir for Dr. Edgekirth's gout patients."

"She is as learned as any apothecary in London, I'll wager," Edgekirth said.

Rountree frowned. "Never heard of a woman doctoring."

Freddie ignored the rebuke and addressed the doctor again. "Did you know the vicar asked me to provide him with a remedy for the wind that plagues him."

Mrs. Taylor coughed.

"I shall make a distillation of dill and white wine," Freddie added, "for the vicar's wind complaints."

"Did you not tell me, Miss Lambeth, you would show me your guardian's garden?" Rountree asked.

"Oh, yes." Freddie stood. "Come with me now."

"You must first get your bonnet," Mrs. Taylor reminded.

***

Though Stacks would have preferred a titled gentleman for Freddie, he knew he was aiming too high. But the Rountree family was one of the most respected in the area. They had been landed gentry in these parts since the first Baron Stacks had settled Marshbanks Abbey. And the eldest son, John, would do well for Freddie. Quite a handsome young man. Just the right age for her. He dressed as a pink of the
ton
--too showy for Stacks' taste--but, then, Stacks had been long from London. The fellow was likely the first stare of fashion.

Stacks plucked some bulbs from the fertile soil. He would put those away in order to plant summer blooms.

"There you are!" Freddie said to him. "I've brought visitors to see your garden. Would it be excessively rude of me to ask you to show them around?"

"Not at all," Stacks said, swiping his hands together to remove the dirt before he stood up.

"I will pinch off some dill for the vicar's decoction," Freddie said, skittering off to the other side of the quadrangle, Marmalade following her until he got the scent of catmint and stopped to attack the bush.

Stacks began to walk the paths and discuss his plantings with the two men. He launched into a discussion of the genuses and species. "Of which I am sure you'll readily recall, Rountree, coming so freshly from Cambridge."

"Can't say as I do," Rountree answered. "Bloody boring to me. Never could master all those Latin terms. Daresay we've no use whatsoever for the language. My poor father, bless his departed soul, spent twenty quid on tutors for me, and still it's all bloody Greek to me, if you know what I mean."

Stacks' brows drew together as he strode along. No, Stacks thought, Rountree would not do at all for Freddie. The man would bore her to distraction.

Stacks bent to snap off an orange rose, his finger impaling a long thorn. He issued a curse.

Freddie dashed over to him. "Are you hurt, my lord?"

A narrow stream of blood flowed from his finger. "It's merely a prick," he said. "Forgive my language, Miss Lambeth. I am unused to having a lady around."

"La!" Freddie said, taking his hand and pulling the large thorn out. A smaller one remained embedded in the skin. "I shall procure a piece of Scabious. Applied directly to your finger, it will draw out that nasty thorn."

She scurried off to find the Scabious and was back a minute later, clutching the fuzzy stalk in her slender hand. She took his hand in hers, her brows lowered, as she worked on his hand. Her touch was light and gentle, like her voice. Against every shred of decency within him, Stacks found himself stirred by her touch. His breath grew short, and he felt himself hardening. He thought of having her youthful body beneath him.

Then Freddie's face turned to Elizabeth's and he remembered lying over her, her naked body writhing under him, satin bands tying her wrists to the bed. And he was utterly sickened.

He jerked his hand from Freddie. "Allow me to clean up. I fear the blood has gotten on my clothes." He spun on his boot heel and left the quadrangle.

***

When she finished showing the gentlemen the garden, Mr. Rountree politely took his leave, telling Freddie he would enjoy calling on her again.

Edgekirth was not so polite. "Could you honor me with a walk about the park, Miss Lambeth?" he asked.

Would she need to send back for Mrs. Taylor to accompany them, Freddie wondered. The park was
not
the woods. They would be on plain view from all the windows on the abbey's rear wall. "A short walk," Freddie said. "A thrilling French lesson awaits me."