Page 10 of Wicked with Him

“So it is. What a shame,” he murmured, continuing to watch her closely.

Amity bore the inspection without fidgeting, refusing to be intimidated by a mere glare. She’d suffered worse at the hands of the tyrant, her brother. “You can leave me here, too, if you like.”

Fairbridge growled, and if he hadn’t raised his hand, she might have not flinched and revealed her fear of angry men. His eyes narrowed at her reaction, and he lowered his hand slowly. His next words were more subdued than she expected. “What were you thinking, embarrassing yourself like that? Do you realize the cost of your actions tonight?”

Amity took a steadying breath and met her steely-eyed cousin’s glare without feeling remorse. He was not like George. Fairbridge had never been violent with her before, or with anyone she knew of, though he must often want to strangle his own brothers frequently. Yet they survived to this day to cause trouble for everyone. But there was nothing Fairbridge, the future Duke of Ravenswood, could do to her worse than her own brother had tried behind closed doors. “Yes. I knew what I was doing.”

Fairbridge raked a hand through his hair. Of all her cousins, he was the most similar in looks to his father, the frequently feared Duke of Ravenswood. Dark and dangerous in his own way, and not above putting his own interests first, too. She did not expect leniency or understanding from him.

“Did you not think I could have helped you avoid marriage?”

She blinked, utterly surprised by the question. “Why would you want to?”

“It doesn’t matter now, but I was damn well trying,” he complained, almost shouting before he remembered himself. He heaved a frustrated sigh and raked a hand through his hair again. “A closer alliance with your brother’s cronies was entirely unwanted by many members of the family. I objected to the match, which is likely why George pursued the matter so doggedly.”

Fairbridge could be fierce in his dislike of certain people and had become a master manipulator within the family at a young age. George, her brother, loathed his very existence, since he would inherit a title he coveted. But Fairbridge was making a name for himself as a man to fear crossing outside of the family now, too, and George believed his influence was growing too fast to be contained.

Amity supposed she’d made herself his enemy now, as well. She had not intended that but upsetting him was inevitable. “Then you should be thanking me for taking care of the matter for you. Your hands are clean. He wouldn’t look at me tonight. I’m sure my brother will never arrange a match between us now.”

“Just as well.” Fairbridge folded his arms over his chest, studying her with a brooding expression that promised their conversation would continue.

She wasn’t sorry for what she’d done. Her ruin and defiance had been liberating. For too long she’d cowered, afraid of putting a toe out of line within the family. As soon as she could, she was leaving London and her controlling family far behind. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.” Fairbridge squinted out the window. “You will tell me the name of the man who marked your neck now.”

She put her hand over the blemish, not out of shame but out of fondness. She was glad Roman had given her a love bite, something she’d not considered originally. But the way her brother had railed about it so loudly meant that everyone had heard she’d taken a lover. She was grateful Roman Crawford had been so thorough in ravishing her. She’d not had to prove her ruin yet by lifting her skirts for a physician’s inspection. She was grateful for that, but it was only a matter of time before her brother demanded her examined to know the truth.

“His identity is my secret to keep.”

Fairbridge sighed. “Must be someone you care for a great deal, then.”

Fairbridge was far too observant. Yes, she viewed Roman Crawford with a certain degree of affection, but he’d only ever had eyes for that silly twit he’d loved and lost. A woman he continued to pine for in a way that was sometimes painful to behold. She shrugged.

Fairbridge sat forward suddenly. “Was this fellow ever a suitor?”

“No. Merely a means to this end,” she promised with a careless wave of her hand, hoping Fairbridge would cease questioning her.

She meant no harm to come to Roman Crawford for what they’d done together that night. He deserved her gratitude, not to become embroiled in scandal with her.

Her cousin’s carriage finally came to a complete stop. The grooms jumped down and Amity quickly looked around to get her bearings, discovering she was not at the ducal mansion where she’d expected she’d be taken for further questioning.

She squinted at the black lacquered door and dormer windows on the high roof of a townhouse she didn’t recognize and then looked to her cousin for an explanation.

This was not a family residence. Not his, nor his father’s, nor even a meddling aunt’s.

A groom opened the carriage door, and Fairbridge climbed out without a word. When he thrust his hand toward her impatiently, Amity slid across the bench and put her hand in his. But she had to admit she was frightened and trembled as he led her away from the carriage and what little comfort she’d found there. “Where are we?”

“You’ll see,” he repeated.

From his pocket, he produced a key and let himself into the darkened townhouse. A butler appeared out of the gloom carrying a single candle, clearly startled, but welcoming to the late-night arrivals. As if accustomed to this place, Fairbridge led Amity into a nearby chamber and told her to sit down and wait there while the servants quickly lit a few candles.

Amity waited, biting her lip in worry as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings as they emerged from the shadows. The chamber was large and well appointed, the chair beneath her was covered in rich, expensive brocade similar to those found in her uncle’s London mansion.

Footsteps came toward them, and Fairbridge turned toward the sound immediately. He disappeared into the hall to meet whoever was rushing toward them. After a few moments of whispered conversation, her cousin returned, bringing with him the woman long rumored to be Fairbridge’s lover.

Lady Lydia Barnes was a married woman, and a powerful force in society in her own right. But she had wed a fellow twice her age. Seeing Fairbridge kiss the woman’s cheek, while she wore a nightgown and robe, hair tumbled around her shoulders, and knowing he possessed a key to the townhouse where Lady Barnes slept, confirmed their scandalous arrangement was fact after all.

Fairbridge nodded. “I believe you are already acquainted.”