Page 7 of Wicked with Him

She also hurried to push her breasts back into her torn bodice and looked up at the dark shape before her. “Well…that’s done and everything squared away.”

Crawford said nothing to that.

“Well,” she repeated, uncertain of how to go on with Crawford so quiet now. “You’d best be on your way, sir. Thank you.”

He was suddenly clutching her elbow. “Should I stay?”

“No!” she cried and hurried to push him toward the secret door. The last thing she wanted was for him to develop a conscience. “You must go. My brother will be looking for me. You must go back to the ballroom. I’ll go the long way round.”

Crawford lingered. “Have you a plan for tomorrow, too? What if he throws you out tonight?”

“I should be so lucky. But he wouldn’t dare. I’ll be all right, I promise.”

Crawford grunted.

She eased the door open, peeking out at the brighter light of the hallway, and although he seemed reluctant to leave her, Crawford stalked away unseen by anyone as far as she could tell.

Amity closed the door again and took a deep breath. Her next steps were crucial. She had to act as if nothing was wrong, all the while looking like she’d been ravished. She clung to the shadows of that secret room a little longer, mainly to give Roman more time to return to the ballroom by his route before she stepped out and took her chosen path. She stayed there as long as she dared, then she stepped out boldly to walk the halls, a proud and decidedly smug ruined lady.

Amity went to the retiring room first, intending to muss her hair more if it was needed and assess the damage done to her bodice. She hoped it was torn in an obvious place for any casual observer to notice.

As luck would have it, her sister-in-law was already there with a maid, primping before the mirror. Melody glanced up, smiling—and then her expression froze. “Sister?”

Melody only called her that when she was at her most condescending. Amity had never warmed to Melody. She’d learned quickly that any secret she told her brother’s new wife would soon be whispered in his ear or to another member of the family out of spite. “Mrs. Sweet.”

Amity moved toward a mirror to admire her appearance, tugging at her bodice to discover the location of the tear. Fixable, perhaps, but it would need a skilled hand, and for Amity to completely disrobe first. Her hair was falling from their pins, too, her lips pinkened and swollen from her skilled lover’s kisses. She looked ruined—and that made her so very happy.

Melody met her gaze in the mirror, her mouth pinched with disapproval. Then she whirled about and fled the room.

Amity hummed a happy tune as she re-pinned parts of her hair very poorly in the mirror. She made no serious attempt to hide her ravishment, though. That was the point of being ruined tonight. Any moment, another member of the family would arrive, and then perhaps George as well to call her out as scandalous.

Amity grinned at her reflection in the mirror, enlightened, and happy as never before.

She put her fingers to her shoulder and traced an angry red mark that suggested she’d been with a man intimately. She giggled, delighted with that, too. Roman Crawford had exceeded her expectations for their tryst. She hoped he had enjoyed having her, and that his view of her brother’s rage and embarrassment was unimpeded when the time came to see it.

Deciding that enough time had passed for Melody to do her whispering, Amity waltzed out the door into the hall.

George was waiting. His face was set with fury. “Who did this to you?”

Amity smiled into her brother’s angry eyes, and then glanced past him to a small crowd that hovered close behind—including the contender for her hand, his mouth agape in shock. Judging by everyone’s stunned expressions, it was clearly obvious what had happened to her without having to say a single word.

There would be a scandal, she was ruined, and she’d at last stood up to her family.

Chapter 3

“Here,” Lord Cushing whispered, pushing a piece of paper at Roman. “I believe this is what you were seeking more of.”

Roman glanced at the details of a promissory note for fifty pounds and nodded. George Sweet seemed to owe everyone lately. Getting payment out of him appeared to be quite difficult for many of his acquaintances, though. This one was merely a small debt compared to some, but the value of those other notes Roman held in his safe was always increasing. From his pocket, he produced a wad of notes, slightly more than the value of the debt itself, and slipped it discreetly to Cushing’s waiting hand. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Cushing gushed and glided away again.

Cushing had been part of George Sweets’ inner circle until recently. The loyalty of quite a few of his friends seemed to be unravelling of late. Greed and a wish to be made whole again won out more often than not.

Roman remained on the sidelines of the ballroom, watching the pretty young women twirl and smile coyly in an attempt to catch his eye. He shouldn’t be here still, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. He wanted to know that the damn prissy prig, Amity’s older brother George, was frothing at the mouth, brought low by a scandal brought on by none other than his own supposedly pure-of-heart sister.

He raked his hand through his hair, trying not to laugh at the truth of the matter. Amity hadn’t been pure of thought at all, and had proven herself to be both brave and wicked at once. She didn’t even disapprove of his attempts at revenge.

Tomorrow, Roman had planned to present himself at George’s door, demanding the debts he held be settled immediately. That should have put Amity’s brother in a bad mood, but on top of all this it might kill him. No one could get money from a dead man though.