One Wicked Wish by Anna Campbell

Chapter 8

Stella sat on the bed, watching in wonder as the secret door opened on a dark passageway, then closed behind Halston without a sound. She had a strange feeling that she turned into a heroine in one of the gothic romances that she devoured with such gusto.

She scrambled to her feet and crossed to examine the wall. Unless one knew about the door, one would never guess that the clandestine entrance existed. Excitement roared through her as she realized that the next time the panel opened, it would admit a man who meant to use her body.

She could hardly wait.

Stella still quivered after those passionate kisses. How foolish she was to think she understood desire. She’d wanted Niccolo with all the urgency of first love. What she experienced in Lord Halston’s arms wasn’t at all the same. It was powerful and dark and irresistible. It seemed to draw her deep into a turbulent ocean.

Despite the tragic end to her affair with Niccolo, their love had been full of joy. When she kissed Halston, she succumbed to danger and desperation.

Yet she craved Halston’s touch in a way that eclipsed even her passion for her handsome Italian suitor. Niccolo had called to her innocence. Halston called to the shadows lurking in her soul and left her craving more of his touch.

When she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the baroque mirrors, a shocked cry wedged in her throat. A shaking hand rose to clutch at her torn bodice.

Halston was right. She didn’t look like anyone’s governess. Her clothes were disheveled. Her hair coiled around her face, and her lips were full and red.

Disturbed on so many levels, she stepped closer to the mirror. She and Halston had stopped short of sexual congress, but nobody who saw her now would believe that. She looked thoroughly tumbled. Worse, the brown eyes in the mirror brimmed with sensual languor.

Stella had spent ten years suppressing the vibrant, voluptuous woman who gazed back at her. She’d managed it at nineteen. Would she manage it again, after she and Halston parted?

She’d agreed to his sinful proposition because she wanted him to give her pleasure such as she’d never known and would never know again. But what on earth would she become, once the pleasure was done?

The ormolu clock on the mantel chimed five. The eyes in the mirror rounded in horror as she realized how late it was. If Imogen saw her like this, there would be the devil to pay.

The first thing she had to do was get out of this dress and hide it away. She dashed through to the dressing room. The fabric ripped again before she managed to bundle the rag into the armoire. Memories of Halston touching her bare breasts didn’t help to steady her hands.

She managed a quick wash in water that was now ice cold. Even when she’d finished, she could still smell lust and Lord Halston on her skin.

In the nick of time, she hauled her shabby peignoir out of her bag. A soft knock sounded on the door, and Imogen came in without waiting for an invitation.

While Stella loved her cousin, she’d always hated that her servile role meant she had no right to insist on the most basic privacy. Uncontrollable heat rose to her cheeks as she imagined the fuss if the girl had marched in fifteen minutes ago.

“Harriet’s room isn’t half as nice as mine,” Imogen said, settling herself on the edge of the rumpled bed. Stella had hoped to restore it to order before Imogen turned up. As it was, she was just grateful that her cousin hadn’t discovered her close to naked in Halston’s arms. “In fact, it’s not half as nice as this one. She doesn’t have a view of the lakes.”

“Poor Harriet.” Stella’s smile was teasing, as she tightened the belt on her robe and came forward into the room from the dressing room doorway. “How will she survive?”

Imogen gave a short laugh. “You always think I’m trying to get one up on Harriet.”

“How very odd that you say that.”

Lady Harriet Comerford was golden fair. When she and Imogen were together – which they usually were – the effect was dazzling.

Imogen surveyed the room with a curiosity that made Stella jumpy. “Did you manage to have a sleep?”

“Yes,” Stella said.

“You must have had nightmares.” Imogen frowned, as she studied the wreckage around her. “This bed is a battlefield, and your hair is a complete bird’s nest.”

Stella raised a nervous hand to her tangled hair, while she injected as much conviction as she could manage into her answer. “I dreamed of Italy.”

When compassion softened Imogen’s gaze, Stella felt guilty for playing on her feelings. “I’m sorry. I remember you had bad dreams for years after you came to us.”

To Stella’s horror, she realized that Halston’s neckcloth lay at her feet. Such carelessness was unforgivable. She’d been so overtaken by passion that she’d been lost to the danger of discovery.

Placing one foot on the length of white linen, she tried to sound like her normal self. She didn’t dare try and kick it under the bed, in case the movement attracted Imogen’s attention.

“I haven’t had bad dreams for ages.” She summoned a purposeful tone. Outside, the sky over the lovely landscape darkened toward nightfall. “You should go and change for dinner. You want to look your best.”

Imogen’s nonchalant shrug rather surprised Stella. The girl had been so excited to come to Prestwick Place, presumably because it meant the chance to flirt with Lord Halston. “Nancy always performs miracles.” Imogen’s eyes sharpened. “I’ve asked her to come to you once she’s finished with me.”

“But…”

Imogen stood, and Stella edged around to hide the neckcloth. “I know you’ll say it’s not the done thing, but Papa isn’t here to disapprove. I hate to see your pretty hair bundled away as if it’s a shameful secret. Look at it now, it’s magnificent. Like a lion’s mane. And I’m the only person who knows about it.”

After today, that wasn’t the entire truth. More heat flooded Stella, as she recalled Halston’s hands buried deep in her hair as he drew her down for yet another intoxicating kiss.

“I’ll lend you my pearls, and perhaps Nancy can do something with one of your dresses.”

“I’m only your companion,” Stella said, as the impossible vision of appearing before Halston as a woman of consequence floated before her.

She was poor, she was a child of scandal, and she had a checkered past. She’d long ago given up any futile hopes of entering society as an equal to the highborn ladies who graced the ton.

Imogen’s sniff was dismissive. “You’re an earl’s granddaughter and an earl’s niece. You’re my cousin. You have a perfect right to take your place in my world.”

“Your father doesn’t agree.”

“Papa will never find out that you loosened up a little at a country house party. Be brave, Stella. I know you try to hide yourself away, but you don’t have to. Not for the next few days anyway.”

“You’re…you’re very generous.”

“Pfft.” Imogen treated that statement with eloquent contempt, as the clock chimed the half hour. “I’ll come and fetch you, once we’re both dressed. We’ll go downstairs together.”

The moment Imogen left, Stella scooped up Halston’s neckcloth and shoved it into a drawer with fumbling hands. Nancy had sharp eyes and was a gossip besides, however much of a genius she was with hair and clothing. Stella was torn between a longing to look pretty for Halston and fear at how close she already verged to scandal.

***

When everyone gathered downstairs for dinner, the size of the house party surprised Stella. Halston hadn’t exaggerated when he said he’d done his best to hide his private intentions toward her. From what she knew of him, too, this was a much more respectable crowd than he ran with most of the time. No notorious widows. No men of doubtful reputation. Definitely no pretty opera dancers or courtesans.

This sudden change in behavior caused comment. Halston had been clever there, too. Stella had feared his invitation might rouse speculation about a proposal to Imogen. If word spread that such a connoisseur had considered then rejected her cousin, it would harm the girl’s prospects on the marriage market.

Young ladies from good families weren’t his usual company of choice. But he’d invited four of the most popular debutantes, any of whom would make him a suitable countess.

Nobody observing him with his guests would notice particular signs of favor to Imogen or Harriet, or Lily Bilson or Elizabeth Tierney. None of them sat next to him at dinner, which to Stella’s surprise had proven enjoyable.

Whether it was her less forbidding coiffure or the fact that manners were more relaxed in the country, the gentlemen on either side of her didn’t seem to resent having to speak to a woman without fortune or connections. Even better, they turned out to be interesting conversationalists. The worst part of the meal was trying to avoid staring at Halston, who was at his satanic best in formal black. He’d placed Mrs. Bilson on his right and Lady Tierney on his left. Both of those ladies were beyond the age of pursuing their host.

“You’re looking very pretty tonight, Miss Faulkner,” Lady Lumsden said, sitting beside Stella when the ladies retired to the drawing room after dinner.

Stella smiled without her usual reserve. She liked the whole Comerford family, and Lord and Lady Lumsden were among the few people in society who treated her like Imogen’s cousin and not her servant.

“Thank you. Imogen decided that I needed to come out of my shell.”

Lady Lumsden took a sip of her tea, as her perceptive blue eyes assessed Stella’s altered appearance. “Good for her.”

Self-consciously Stella touched the soft arrangement of curls that Nancy had created from her unruly hair. She wore a dress she’d made herself in a subdued shade of blue. It suited her coloring better than any of her cousin’s castoffs. The borrowed pearls around her neck made her feel for once like a lady and not the hired help.

“It isn’t appropriate,” she said.

“Nonsense.” Annoyance thinned Lady Lumsden’s lips. “Just because your uncle treats you like a lackey doesn’t mean that’s what you are.”

“My uncle took me in when I had nowhere else to go,” Stella said, trying to sound suitably grateful.

“And has played on your sense of obligation ever since.” With a decided clink, Lady Lumsden set her teacup and saucer on a side table. “I’m sorry. I’m being too frank. But your mother would hate to think of you as Lord Deerforth’s drudge.”

Lady Lumsden had been friends with Stella’s mother and was one of the few people Stella had met in England who spoke of the late Anne Ridley with any fondness. Her uncle almost never mentioned his sister. If he did, it was in tones that suggested she’d committed some irredeemable sin.

In this sophisticated, acquisitive milieu, Stella supposed that marrying a poor man for love did count as a sin.

She struggled to come up with a response, but Lady Lumsden went on, thankfully on a different topic. “I wonder what Halston is up to with this house party.”

Stella choked on her tea. As she struggled to catch her breath, Lady Lumsden took her cup away before she spilled its contents.

“I’m sorry. I breathed in at the wrong moment,” she gasped, once she managed to speak.

Dear Lord, she’d better polish her skills at being surreptitious or her reputation was doomed. She feared that she must be as red as a radish.

Glad to have an excuse for avoiding Lady Lumsden’s gaze, she found her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. The problem was that Stella felt like she had a big black and white sign pinned to her back, announcing her naughty intentions toward the Earl of Halston.

During her coughing fit, heads turned in her direction, but interest faded as her coughing subsided. She must stop jumping like a startled cat whenever she heard Lord Halston mentioned. For a start, it was bad for her health. So far, she’d drawn blood with a needle and almost choked.

“Are you all right?” Lady Lumsden asked. “Shall I call a footman to help you upstairs?”

Stella shook her head. “Thank you, but there’s no need. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I wondered if you had any idea what prompted the spectacular if disreputable earl to invite a crowd of strangers to his country seat in the middle of the season. It isn’t his normal style.”

“To have a house party?”

“Oh, he’s had a few of those, but the guests are never marriageable maidens and their parents and chaperones. One might almost imagine he was ready to settle down at last. But so far, he’s paid no special attention to Harriet. Nor as far as I can see, to Lily or Elizabeth or Imogen.”

Stella felt uncomfortable discussing Halston. “I have no insight into his lordship’s intentions. How would I? I doubt he even knows who I am.” In her ears, she sounded stiff and unconvincing.

To her relief, Lady Lumsden took her words at face value. “I’m not suggesting that he confided in you, but I wondered if he’d shown any particular preference for Imogen before you left London.”

“He sent flowers and called after they met at your ball,” Stella said, guessing that neither of those things would be news. Imogen told Harriet everything, and Stella suspected that Harriet kept few secrets from her mother.

Lady Lumsden made an unimpressed mutter. “I know that. And he’s danced with her at every ball this week. But then he’s also danced with Harriet and the other two girls. If he does offer for one of them, it will be the coup of the season. Many a matchmaking mamma’s heart has broken over dashed hopes of snaring the elusive earl for her daughter. These last few years, he hasn’t frequented many ton parties. They must seem like dull potatoes, compared to the exotic fare of his cyprians and actresses.”

Stella felt composed enough to look at Lady Lumsden. She spoke with more candor than usual. Her improved appearance must be lending her confidence. “Would you like him to offer for Harriet? She’d make a beautiful countess.”

After this afternoon’s passionate demonstration, Stella knew that she was his current object of desire, but at heart she was a realist. Halston had an old title and a massive fortune. He owed it to his name to marry and have children.

It might not happen this season, but sometime in the future, Stella would have to hide her devastation when he announced his betrothal to a suitable miss. She already knew enough of her feelings for Lord Halston to understand that she’d suffer when he married someone else.

She even recognized, through the clamor of furious denial in her heart, that if he picked Harriet or Imogen, he’d gain a sweet-natured consort. She didn’t want him to be unhappy.

Lady Lumsden frowned as she contemplated the prospect of Harriet as Lady Halston. “It would be a great feather in her cap. But he’s so much older and more jaded than these young girls.”

“It’s the way of the world that men of experience marry well-bred maidens.”

Lady Lumsden shook her head as if banishing a troublesome thought. “I suppose if Harriet loves him, I won’t stand in her way. I made a love match. I’d like the same for my daughter.”

“Do you think she loves him?” Stella stopped in horror. “I’m sorry. My new hairstyle has stolen all my manners. That’s none of my business.”

“You have a right to an opinion.” Lady Lumsden smiled. “After all, you’ve spent such a lot of time with the girls. Harriet is so fond of you. As are Lord Lumsden and I.”

Shock crashed through Stella, and for once it was a shock unrelated to the man she intended to bed tonight. “Really?”

Lady Lumsden gave a short laugh. “Don’t sound so surprised. Both my husband and I have remarked on your intelligence and your devotion to your cousin. Anyway, I wanted to talk to a sensible woman about this situation.” She glanced around the room and lowered her voice. “I’m not sure anyone else here qualifies.”

Stella gave a startled giggle, even as part of her wanted to refute any claim to being sensible. She was on the verge of being very imprudent indeed. Even worse, she could hardly wait to go to the bad.

Lady Lumsden went on. “And as far as your question goes, no, I’m rather relieved that Harriet isn’t in love with Lord Halston, although I suspect if he made a genuine effort to attach her interest, she couldn’t resist. Heavens, I’m a middle-aged wife and mother, and I’ve been in love with Pelham from the day I met him, yet even I get a thrill when Halston levels that naughty green gaze on me.”

“He’s very handsome.” Stella hoped her tone didn’t betray that she was in thrall to their host.

“He is. But it’s more than that. He’s clever, and you sense that somewhere under all that decadent charm, there’s a man of character. I’m just unconvinced that a chit of twenty will unearth any unplumbed depths in his soul. Does Imogen like him?”

“Lord Deerforth does,” Stella said, before she remembered that she was a mere companion and a damned indiscreet one at that.

“Of course Deerforth does. He wants to cut a dash in the world, and Halston moves in the highest circles.” Lady Lumsden paused. “If I were a young girl, I’d find Halston preferable to that windy bore Chippenham.”

So would Stella, but she’d already said too much. She summoned a polite smile. “I’m sure my uncle is doing his best to find a suitable husband for Imogen.”

“Very diplomatic, my dear.” Amusement sparked in Lady Lumsden’s eyes. “But I imagine you want Imogen to be happy.”

“Very much. But if she’s set her heart on someone this season, she hasn’t confided in me.” Her eyes found Imogen, chatting with Harriet and Lily and Elizabeth on the other side of the room. The four girls made a picturesque group. Any one of them would make a fitting match for Halston.

She’d known and liked Harriet for years. The other two were new to her since she’d arrived in London, but Stella liked what she’d seen of them. So did Imogen, and while she might be young, she was no fool when it came to judging people.

Perhaps only wishful thinking convinced Stella that Imogen hadn’t set her cap for Lord Halston. She certainly appreciated the attention that his notoriety gained her. A girl who aroused Halston’s interest was always worth a second glance, or so the world believed.

While it mightn’t be Halston, someone had caught Imogen’s eye. Stella was sure of it. She hoped to goodness that whoever it was didn’t turn out to be a heartbreaker.

“You wouldn’t tell me if she had.”

Stella smiled. “Probably not.”

“Which is just as it should be, I suppose. I’m just a nosy old woman.”

Stella always appreciated Lady Lumsden’s self-deprecating humor. “Is it possible that Lord Halston has no ulterior motives and he’s just decided to vary his guest list for once? Miss Bilson’s father is active in business, and Miss Tierney’s father is a power in parliament. Lord Lumsden is good company. Perhaps we’re wrong to concentrate on the feminine guests and should instead think about the men he’s invited.”

“You could be right,” Lady Lumsden said without sounding persuaded. “I imagine everything will become clear over the next few days.”

The gentlemen chose that moment to join the ladies, which hinted that their host’s interest didn’t focus on the influential men he’d invited. They hadn’t lingered over their port to talk business or sport or politics.

Halston prowled in last, and Stella couldn’t help watching as he gravitated toward some of the older ladies beside the blazing fire. Her shiver of awareness had nothing to do with the cold night.

“See what I mean?” Lady Lumsden murmured, proving to Stella’s dismay how closely she observed her. “He just has to walk into a room and every woman goes daft.”

Stella made herself smile, although she was mortified that Lady Lumsden had noticed her reaction. “Even humble companions.”

Lady Lumsden cast her a sharp-eyed glance that made her cringe and fear that she might have shown too much interest in the handsome earl. “You know, I never think of you as humble, Miss Faulkner.”

“I…”

Lady Lumsden waved away her protest. “You might do your best to fade into the background so your uncle doesn’t cut up rough, but at heart there’s much more to you than you let on.”

“Thank you.” Halston had said something similar. “I think.”

Lady Lumsden’s amusement was kind. “It’s a compliment, in case you’re wondering. Although I’m sure that life these last ten years would have been easier if you were the dull creature you pretend to be.”

“I think you overestimate me, my lady.”

“Do you? I don’t. Anne Ridley’s daughter was bound to be interesting.”

“My mother made some disastrous choices,” she said through stiff lips, as old grief pierced her.

“She and your father were happy, weren’t they?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And they loved you?”

“Very much.”

Lady Lumsden shrugged. “Then their choices weren’t disastrous. Society’s view of life isn’t always the full story, you know.”

Startled anew, Stella looked at Lady Lumsden. “You’re being very nice to me.”

“I hate to see a woman of your quality wasted. If life with your uncle ever becomes unbearable, don’t assume that you’re friendless.”

Her amazement grew. “You’ve never spoken to me like this before.”

“A house party provides more opportunity for conversation than London.”

“But you could have drawn me aside in Gloucestershire.”

“I could, but it’s only since we came to London that I realized quite what a tyrant Deerforth is. You’re his sister’s child. He shouldn’t treat you like a skivvy.”

Stella couldn’t summon the hypocrisy to defend her uncle again. “I could never leave Imogen, but thank you. I loved Mamma dearly, but here in England, nobody has a good word to say about her. Except you. That in itself makes me grateful.”

Sadness dimmed Lady Lumsden’s bright gaze. “She was a good friend, and I see so much of her in you. Not least the passionate heart.”

Stella’s lips firmed. “A beggar can’t afford a passionate heart.”

Lady Lumsden took her hand and pressed it. “Remember I’m your friend, too.” She mustered a smile, although Stella could see it was an effort. “Now I’ve monopolized you long enough. I promised to make up a fourth at cards. Would you like to join us?”

“No, thank you.” If Stella tried to concentrate on cards, she was afraid that her distraction would cause comment. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Lady Lumsden rose and crossed to speak to Mrs. Bilson.

What a surprising, uncomfortable conversation, although Stella appreciated Lady Lumsden’s generosity. In this last week, two people had offered help if she needed to make a new life. Imogen said she’d give her a home after she married, and now the Lumsdens extended their support.

At present, she had no plans to leave her uncle, although if Imogen wed, that would change. But it was a relief to know that she didn’t face the future alone.

She doubted that either offer would survive a scandal, though, which made it even more imperative to hid her affair with Halston. Lady Lumsden had called her sensible. That sparked cynical amusement. A sensible woman would never fall into a rake’s clutches.

The awful truth was that she had no wish to disentangle herself. She only wanted to entangle herself further. Those kisses this afternoon had stoked her hunger. It had been years since a man had touched her in desire. The hiatus had strengthened her responses. She hadn’t yet gone to Halston’s bed, and already he’d taken her into a new universe.

Stella just prayed that disaster didn’t ensue, once she surrendered. Even as she realized that when she was so set on sin, praying was probably a waste of time.

Since he’d come into the room, she’d struggled not to look at Halston. He’d avoided looking at her, too. Now she couldn’t help sneaking a glance.

Even though his back was to her, he must sense her gaze. She saw his shoulders stiffen. It was dangerous to watch him for too long. She feared that her face might betray her longing. But nonetheless her gaze lingered.

When he shifted, his eyes met hers across the room with an impact like lightning. Then with a deliberate motion, he turned away, before anyone noticed where he was looking.

The rake was more careful of Stella’s reputation than she was.