One Wicked Wish by Anna Campbell

Chapter 4

The next morning, the memory of Halston’s call still disturbed Stella. She was in two minds over whether to warn her cousin about the conniving earl. The problem was that romantic young girls often found a Lothario irresistible.

Imogen was beside herself about the prospect of visiting Prestwick Place. They left in a few days and would be away almost a week. Stella had tried to warn her uncle against allowing his daughter to attend a house party hosted by an acknowledged rake. But Deerforth was so blinded by the chance of Imogen attracting a proposal from a society leader like Halston that he’d refused to listen.

At least there was one benefit to this mess. Deerforth had stopped haranguing Imogen about neglecting Lord Chippenham.

Stella told herself that she disliked the idea of Halston pursuing Imogen because they were unsuited. But she had an unwelcome feeling that she was just a dog in the manger. Despite everything she knew of the reprobate earl, she wanted him for herself. Her few hours of sleep last night had confirmed that unfortunate fact. His satanic lordship had featured in feverish dreams that had her blushing when she woke.

Yesterday when she went upstairs after pricking her finger, she’d gone looking for Halston’s bouquet. Straightaway, she knew which flowers were his.

Most of the bouquets massed around Imogen’s sitting room and bedroom were pretty posies of spring flowers. So many, that Stella wondered why the perfume didn’t give Imogen a headache.

A few extravagant gentlemen had even gone to the expense of ordering hothouse roses. One gentleman alone had sent a sheaf of exotic red lilies. That seemed an odd tribute to a debutante.

Knowing that she overstepped her rights, Stella couldn’t help sneaking a look at the card. Crisp white board scored with a vigorous, slanting hand. Many men asked their secretary to order flowers for the beauties of the moment. Something about this convinced Stella that Halston had written the message himself.

“To my fair stranger, I hope when next we meet, we will be strangers no more. Yours, Halston.”

An odd message to send a debutante. An odd message to match the odd choice of flowers.

Odd or not, the lilies had found favor with her cousin. She’d set them in the place of honor on her dressing table.

With a heavy sigh, Stella pushed open the garden’s back gate. Everything was getting very complicated, and she had a headache that had nothing to do with flowers. Other than red lilies.

She was on her way to return some books to the circulating library. The membership might be in Imogen’s name, but Stella was the one who did most of the reading, unless the book was about garden design. Imogen was still asleep, probably dreaming of Halston. At last night’s ball, she’d danced twice with the earl. His wounded arm hadn’t seemed to cause him any difficulty.

Dolly, the young maid who accompanied her on errands, dawdled a dozen yards behind her. “Miss Faulkner, I forgot my handkerchief. You go on ahead, and I’ll catch up.”

“Make sure you do,” Stella said.

The morning was cold, and the girl had left her alone before, when she’d decided she’d rather loiter in the warm kitchen than come outside. Stella thought it was absurd that a woman of close to thirty and with no value in the marriage market needed a chaperone to go two streets away. But those were the rules of London society.

Once past the busy stables, she turned into the narrow alley lined with high brick walls that brought her out onto Lorimer Square. One of these walls enclosed the overgrown garden of Fleetwood House, where the reclusive Duke of Alwyn lived.

She was in such a stew over the forthcoming house party that it took far too long to realize that an unmarked carriage had rolled forward to block her exit. Only when the door opened from inside the vehicle did she recognize her danger.

“Come along, Miss Faulkner. Don’t hang about. Get into the carriage. If I’ve got out of bed at this ungodly hour, the least you can do is fall for my wicked stratagems.”

The speaker’s identity was no surprise. Of course it was Halston.

She stopped as uncontrollable physical awareness flooded her. She was unsure if she wanted to scuttle back to safety or stay and give the reprobate a good scolding – and also a warning to take care of Imogen and her reputation, if his intentions were honorable.

Honorable? How on earth could they be honorable if he’d taken to lying in wait for Imogen’s companion?

“It’s not my responsibility if you decide to keep Christian hours,” she said, despite herself venturing closer so that her voice wouldn’t carry.

The plainly dressed coachman maintained his stolid stare over the horses’ ears. The carriage was older and shabbier than she’d expect for someone as high in the instep as Halston.

“See? Already you’re proving good for my character. With only a morsel more of your attention, redemption is a distinct possibility.”

“I’m not sure you’re worth the effort,” she said flatly.

“Oh, cruel angel,” he said, and she couldn’t stifle the warmth that stole into her heart at his absurdity. Before she could question the wisdom of what she did, she stepped right up to the carriage.

Lord Halston sat in the shadows. She supposed he was doing his best to be discreet, but she couldn’t suppress a shiver. The thought was inescapable – if she joined him, she moved from bright morning light to darkness.

“I’m no angel.” That was truer than he could imagine.

His smile conveyed acres of sin. Goodness, it was only nine o’clock in the morning. Too early for seduction, surely. “That’s what I’m relying on.”

Stella couldn’t control a blush at that. “If you bribed Dolly to leave me alone with you, the news will be all over the household before luncheon.”

She kept her tone matter-of-fact, even as a disagreeable mixture of anger and apprehension and reluctant fascination churned inside her.

He shook his head with a weary patience that made her want to hit him. “O ye of little faith.”

“You’re taking a very biblical bent this morning.”

“I said you had a beneficial influence on my character.”

“I doubt it.”

Eyes glinting with laughter met hers, and despite all the curses she’d laid on his head over the last few days, something hard and constricted inside her loosened. “I think you’re dashed ungrateful, after I struggled all last night not to spare you a single longing look or whisk you out into the garden for a kiss or two. My neck aches with the effort. There I was, dancing with all those little poppets who bore me stiff, while the woman who really makes me stiff refused to give me as much as a smile.”

She pretended not to hear that brazen comment. “You danced with my cousin. Twice.”

While she’d sat with the chaperones, afraid that Halston might make some move toward her. Then she came home depressed, because he hadn’t given her as much as a glance. She’d tried to tell herself that was what she wanted. To her regret, she didn’t believe it, although if the earl tangled her up in a scandal, her uncle wouldn’t think twice before he threw her out. Then inevitable destitution awaited.

Smugness should never be attractive. On Lord Halston, it was enthralling. “You noticed.”

Stella didn’t smile back. “And you sent Imogen flowers and a suggestive message. And you called on her yesterday, when you invited her to your home. Are these attentions the prelude to a proposal, my lord?”

Her boldness didn’t unsettle him. “I could do worse than to marry the chit.” His tone turned thoughtful. “She’s pretty, and livelier than most of the other girls on the marriage market this year.”

No, no, no.Her stomach contracted at the thought.

He paused, while Stella struggled to come up with an adequate protest. Or a protest that avoided admitting that her main reason for loathing the idea of him marrying Imogen was that she was attracted to him herself.

He continued on the same musing note. “If I marry Imogen, you and I will become cousins. How cozy will that be?”

She regarded him in horror. It seemed her suspicions had been correct. “You…”

“Unless you want to try and talk me out of my villainous plan. Why don’t you get into the carriage and tell me why I should change my mind?”

“She’s too good for you,” she said through lips that felt like wood.

“Undoubtedly.”

Her eyes narrowed on him as she climbed into the carriage and dropped onto the seat facing him. With a shaking hand, she set the heavy bag of books beside her.

She was taking a dreadful risk, but at least inside the coach, she was safe from prying eyes. What she intended to say needed privacy. Out in the alley, one of Deerforth’s grooms could wander up at any time. “I won’t let you marry Imogen if it’s the last thing I do.”

She had time to register Halston’s satisfaction as he slammed the door shut, enclosing them in a twilit space that felt uncomfortably intimate. The blinds were down for discretion’s sake, she supposed, although sitting in this confined cabin didn’t seem discreet at all.

“‘Step into my parlor,’ said the spider to the fly,” he purred from the seat facing forward. A gentleman would take the seat facing backward, but he’d already told her he was no gentleman, hadn’t he, the blackguard?

When the coach lurched into motion, Stella linked her hands in her lap to hide their unsteadiness and grimaced in displeasure. “Your parlor smells like it needs a good clean, Sir Spider. You’ll need to do better than this decrepit conveyance, if you hope to impress Imogen,” she jeered, then cringed. Curse her, could she make her jealousy any clearer?

His soft laugh made her skin tighten with desire. How could she want him and despise him at the same time? She’d known the urgency of sexual craving before, but all those years ago, her brain hadn’t been in such opposition to her appetites.

As Stella’s vision adjusted to the gloom, she studied Halston. Dressed in a dark coat and breeches and boots, he leaned back against his seat. She wasn’t used to seeing him in such casual attire. For the ballroom, he was always turned out comme il faut, and yesterday for his call on Imogen, he’d worn an elegant blue coat.

The black silk sling still supported his injured arm. To her irritation, the effect was as dashing as ever. His long legs stretched across the well between the seats, so she had to crowd against the side to save her skirts from tangling with those gleaming boots.

“I don’t want to impress Imogen. I have no interest in your cousin at all, as you would know if you applied an ounce of your enormous intelligence to the matter, my sweet little nincompoop.”

Her lips straightened. “I’m not sweet. I’m not little. And I’m certainly not yours, my lord.”

“And you’re not a nincompoop.” His chuckle rippled over her like warm water on a cold day. “You’re just a tad bamboozled.”

She was indeed, but that didn’t stop her from injecting a sour note into her response. “You must be desperate to dig up a compliment, if you’re stuck with commenting on a woman’s cleverness.”

“You underestimate me. Good conversation is one of life’s great pleasures.”

“And you’re a great connoisseur of life’s pleasures, aren’t you? Clearly the world has misunderstood your interest in opera dancers, my lord. You pursue them because you want to discuss the latest poetry, not because you want to bed them.”

She broke every rule in the young lady’s book of etiquette by mentioning his affairs. But there was a heady freedom in not guarding her tongue.

“I didn’t expect you to be a snob, Miss Faulkner.” She caught the gleam of his eyes as he surveyed her. “Surely you more than anyone know that poverty doesn’t necessarily stem from stupidity.”

“You’re right to chastise me.” This time, she flushed with shame. “I don’t know those women. I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Although you’ve made a number of assumptions about me, which I’m pleased to say have brought you here now.”

Something in her refused to cower. “You’ve kidnapped me,” she said coldly. “Bravo. They’ll give you a medal.”

Another of those low laughs. “That’s a rather theatrical interpretation of a short trip around some of the better areas of the capital. Especially when you climbed in of your own volition.”

“You’re the one who mentioned spiders and flies and stepping into parlors.”

Straight white teeth flashed in a smile. “You’re much too pretty to be called a fly, Miss Faulkner. Even in that inexecrable dress that’s the wrong shade for you.”

Nearly all her clothes were the wrong shade for her. Her warm tawny coloring was so different from Imogen’s striking white skin and rich black hair.

“If I’m shabby, I match this carriage,” she retorted. “Are you sure you’re not in Queer Street and looking for a rich heiress to marry?”

“And after I took so much care to hire a vehicle that wouldn’t attract notice. I’m hurt that you don’t give my efforts to protect your good name the credit they deserve.” He paused. “Actually if I’m being strict with the truth, my coachman Terry found the vehicle. He took my instruction to locate a carriage that nobody would associate with the Earl of Halston a little too much to heart.”

“Is your coachman to be trusted?” She was too angry with him to be nervous. “I assume that’s Terry up there and not the hackney’s usual driver.”

“Yes, he’s my man. All my staff are to be trusted. They’re paid damn good wages to keep their mouths shut.”

“Yet still your doings are discussed in every corner.”

He shrugged. “My mistresses aren’t always as circumspect as my servants.”

Her lips firmed in disapproval. “If you’re hoping for a Devonshire arrangement when you wed Imogen, my lord, I won’t play the third side of the triangle.”

Last century, the Duke of Devonshire had maintained a famous ménage à trois with his wife and his mistress, his wife’s best friend.

Halston tutted like a schoolmaster disappointed in a lazy pupil. “I would have thought a clever girl like you would be awake to my scheming.”

“I am.” Her tone remained sharp. “You want a pretty, respectable wife. And a mistress within call as well.”

“I want a mistress, at least. I told you before that I don’t want your cousin.”

“Then why the attention to Imogen?”

“Must I explain myself? It’s a devil of a bore.”

The carriage slowed. Although the blinds prevented Stella from seeing outside, she guessed that they’d reached the main road and heavier traffic. “If my company no longer amuses you, my lord, I’m sure I’ll survive the disappointment when you take me home.” She paused. “Or to the circulating library which is where I planned to go.”

A short laugh escaped him. “I’m not your deuced coachman, damn your impudence.”

“No,” she said in a hard voice. “Right now you’re an abductor and a tormentor. And I hope that’s all. I’d hate to place more serious crimes on your doorstep.”

“Come now.” Halston made a derisive gesture toward his injured arm. “A four-year-old child could best me. I’m not about to leap on you and have my wicked way.”

Stella didn’t really think he would, bullet wound or not. If she did, she’d never have got into the carriage, no matter how she itched to box his ears. “I imagine you prefer a more luxurious setting for sin.”

His chuckle filled her with alarm. Her hands gripped each other until they hurt. “My dear, I’m so desperate that I’ll take you wherever and whenever you give me the word. Which should tell you what you ought to know already. It’s you that I’m interested in.”

The alarm deepened, but unfortunately so did the hunger. She’d wondered if the moonlight had sparked the storm of attraction she felt in the gazebo. But every time she saw him, she wanted him more. His admission that he wanted her, too, did nothing to dampen her lustful impulses. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me what you’re up to.”

Only when his smile deepened did she realize what she’d revealed in that answer. The wise choice would be to tell him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to have her at all. Now it seemed too coy to backtrack and claim a modesty she didn’t in truth possess.

He sighed and settled back against the cracked leather of the seat. “Will you come and sit next to me?”

“No.”

“Pity. How’s your hand?”

She was in such a flurry that she didn’t understand the question. “My hand?”

“You hurt it yesterday.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes. I did.” When he’d invited Imogen to Prestwick Place, and she realized that she’d have to go, too, to supervise the burgeoning courtship.

“So how is it?”

“I’ll live. I’ll launder your handkerchief and return it to you.”

“Don’t bother. I have others.”

To her mortification, she’d slept with that stained square of linen under her pillow. How he’d snigger if she told him that. For heaven’s sake, it was as if she was begging him to ruin her.

The coach came to a complete stop. The street was a chaos of people and carts and horses, but inside the carriage, Stella and Halston shared a private haven that belonged in another universe.

That thought was as dangerous as anything he’d done. Perhaps even more dangerous. Because if Stella really did live in a world where following her impulses had no unfortunate consequences, it might be her leaping on Lord Halston. She’d like to discover just what all that rakehellery had taught him about pleasing a mistress.

“In the first place, one of my footmen made an assignation with Dolly. Your name wasn’t mentioned.”

She sucked in a breath to calm her jumping nerves. “That’s how you knew where I’d be this morning.”

“See what straits you put me to? A peer of the realm turning spy.”

She should be annoyed, but nobody had taken this sort of trouble over her in years. Her anger, already shaky, shifted out of reach. She missed it. Its departure left her too defenseless against other more insidious feelings. “I imagine riding in this coach feels like more of a sacrifice than perpetrating a little subterfuge.”

“Anything for you, my darling.”

The sugary endearment provoked an unimpressed huff. “Only if it fits with your plans. I won’t have Dolly used and abandoned. If your man goes beyond a few kisses, he’ll have to wed the wench.”

An exaggerated sigh. “Dolly shall be safe. You have my word on it.” He paused. “Although you mightn’t be.”

The mortifying fact was that with every minute in Halston’s company, safety lost more of its appeal. “And Imogen?”

Again she’d missed an opportunity to put him in his place with a decisive “no, thank you.” She feared that she moved beyond the chance to speak those words. At least in a way he’d believe.

“Can you see me with the chit?”

“Yes, I can. She’s not silly, and she’s very pretty, and while her father’s no prize, she’s wellborn enough to be your countess.”

He frowned as if her response was a disagreeable surprise. “Are you trying to talk me into proposing to the girl?”

She shook her head. “No. She deserves better than you.”

“Ouch.”

She didn’t smile. “She’s pure and she’s good, and I’d hate her to be disillusioned by the man she marries.”

“Whereas you have no illusions at all.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You knew what I meant when I said you made me stiff.”

Startled, she sat up straighter as the carriage jerked forward, bumping across the cobblestones. There was shouting from the street, but she paid it no heed. The squabble outside couldn’t compare to the war she fought in this private space. A war she seemed to be losing.

The problem was that she faced attack on two fronts. Lord Halston wanted her to succumb to him. So, to her disgust, did everything untamed and free that had lurked in her heart for the last ten years.

“Did you think you pursued an unworldly spinster?”

He gave a derisive huff of laughter. “Wide-eyed innocence isn’t my style.”

“So why did you send flowers to Imogen?”

“Haven’t you worked it out yet?” His hand sliced the air. “The lilies were for you. I assumed you’d guess. They’re not suitable for a young girl. The message should have told you, if nothing else.”

Could that be true? Had she been so blinded with jealousy that she’d missed the most obvious answer? From the first, something had seemed off about those flowers and that message when she tried to match them up with Imogen.

“Imogen was a stranger to you, too.”

“Imogen is a means to an end. I told you in the gazebo that I’ve been trying to work out how to gain your attention.”

“And the house party invitation?”

With a speaking expression, Halston glanced around the coach’s dilapidated interior. “In the country, I’ll find it easier to arrange time alone with you.”

Time alone with her? A naughty thrill that she didn’t want to acknowledge ripped through her. “You’re taking a lot of trouble to create an opportunity for fornication.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure my labors will receive adequate reward.”

Her laugh was wry. “Are you? I’m not.”

Halston arched his eyebrows. “Miss Faulkner, I’m counted a fine judge of women. If I deem you worthy of notice, odds indicate that you are.”

Stella studied him, profoundly perturbed. She’d started out convinced that the dangers of an affair with this decorative libertine outweighed all other considerations. Now she seemed to be contemplating how they might manage a liaison.

“If my uncle ever learns that you and I were involved, I’d be out on the streets. You risk nothing in this game. I risk everything.”

“I know.” For once, his tone held no challenge. The unexpected gentleness undermined her caution as nothing else could have. “Which is why I’m trying so hard to keep our affair a secret.”

“We’re not having an affair,” she retorted, although if she heard fading resistance in her voice, so could he.

God save her, could she do this shocking thing? The perils were enormous. Unthinkable. Yet something told Stella that if she went to Halston’s bed, the rewards would be even greater.

She’d struggled to reconcile herself to surviving without excitement, physical pleasure, even any genuine purpose. Halston reminded her that she was a woman with feelings and desires. Life since she’d left Naples had done its best to suffocate her ardent nature. The grim reality was that the years to come would achieve that goal.

This might be her last chance to revel in a man’s passion. It might be her last chance to reciprocate that passion. Whatever else Lord Halston was, she knew he’d prove to be a breathtaking lover. The future promised to be bleak and lonely. Memories of a rake’s touch might offer a little warmth to hold against the endless cold.

Halston watched her with an unwavering stare. His voice was soft. “We’re not having an affair yet.”

“Yet,” she echoed, peering at him through the dimness and wondering if she could trust him. Wondering if she’d gone past the point where she’d hesitate even if she couldn’t trust him.

Stella waited for some sign of triumph, because they both knew that she teetered on the brink of consent. But the eyes that met hers were serious and conveyed a sincere concern that she feared relying on. “Will you come to me when we get to Prestwick Place, Miss Faulkner? I’m ravenous for you, and I have a suspicion that you might feel a slight yen toward me, too?”

“A slight yen?” she repeated with a hint of mockery.

That mobile mouth quirked. “Do I dare to suggest that I underestimate your interest?”

“Devil take you, Halston.” She sighed as she gave up the fight. His victory had been ordained since she’d first seen him across a crowded ballroom and her starved heart had kicked into a frantic gallop of greedy desire. “You’ll dare more than that before you’re finished.”

“By God, I hope so,” he said in a fervent voice as he seized her gloved hand.

Stella didn’t try to pull free. After yesterday, the shock of contact shouldn’t catch her unawares. But her ungovernable heart slammed to a dizzying stop, and the breath crammed in her lungs.

“What do you say, Miss Faulkner?” He paused. “Damn it, I can’t keep calling you Miss Faulkner.”

Amusement turned down her lips. “No, I suppose not. Not if this really is going to happen. My name is Stella.”

Silly, given she agreed to allow him all kinds of liberties, that inviting him to use her Christian name felt like she broke some taboo.

He firmed his grip. “Stella.” Her name sounded beautiful on his lips. “So you agree to be mine?”

Heaven help her, heaven help both of them, it seemed she did. “Yes,” she said on a shaky exhalation as delicious heat flowed up her arm. “We…we have to make a few things clear.”

“Anything,” he said urgently.

Her laugh cracked. “Careful. You don’t know what you’re promising.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do anything to have you.”

Astonished, she tried to make sense of this. He’d had so many women. Why should she be anything special? “You sound like you mean that.”

“Don’t you know that I’m mad for you?”

That should terrify her. Not least because she feared that when they came together, she’d prove a sad disappointment. But every word Halston spoke sent need pulsing through her blood.

“You…you have to protect my good name. You know what all this can cost me.”

“You have my word.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t believe him, except that he’d already gone to extraordinary lengths to conceal his interest in her. In London, the world’s gaze followed his every move. In the country, they might find a chance to be alone and unobserved.

“The affair ends when I say. It won’t extend past our time at Prestwick Place, in any case. Once I’m back in London, you and I go back to being strangers.”

He frowned. “Will that be enough for you?”

Stella already knew that it wouldn’t be, but what choice did she have? “If we come together in London, people will find out.” She paused. “I thought you’d like that condition. Your dalliances aren’t noted for their longevity.”

His wince was theatrical. “I don’t know why I like you so much. I’ve never met a girl so candid about my failings.”

She didn’t smile back. All this was so fraught for her. She might have consented to come to Halston’s bed, but she was wide awake to the dangers of her decision. Even if she was discreet, discovery was possible. Even likely.

“I suspect that I’m only of interest because I’m a novelty. You, too, may stop the affair any time you like. I promise I won’t make a scene. That should make a nice change for you.”

“I won’t call an end to things before I have to.”

The certainty in his voice set her heartbeat leaping. “We’ll see.” Before he could argue, she went on. “I can’t risk a child. You must finish outside me.”

She expected her frankness to disconcert him, but he merely nodded. “As you wish.”

“Thank you.” She sucked in another breath. The realization seeped in that she’d committed to become Halston’s lover. Even worse, she couldn’t muster a moment’s regret about the decision. “Now I think you should take me home.”

His devilish smile set her secret places clenching. By heaven, he was a beautiful man. How could she, how could any woman resist falling?

“Not quite yet. We need to seal our deal.”

A sudden attack of nerves made her disentangle their fingers. Her hand rose to the base of her throat where her pulse raced fast enough to win the Derby. “You said you’d wait until…”

“Until we get to Prestwick Place.” His smile intensified. “I did. But I’m sure that a woman who makes such a businesslike contract to come to my bed can spare me a kiss on account.”