I’m Only Wicked with You by Julie Anne Long

“Lillias, Claire. Something terrible has happened!”

Lillias was in the midst of splashing water on her face—the way she began every morning—and flew, dripping, out of her bedroom, nearly colliding with Claire dashing out of her own room.

For the next few seconds, a veritable abyss of horrible possibilities opened and howled at her feet.

“Your father tried to hire away the cook. And now the ladies of The Grand Palace on the Thames want to throw us out.”

Lillias stumbled to the settee and sat down hard, then dropped her face in her hands. “Thank God!”

The worst thing she could imagine was losing anyone she loved.

Claire sank down next to her.

Relief made Lillias weak. Which was how epiphany swept in with a violence: Hugh Cassidy had lost so many people he loved. How on earth was he still able to face each day?

Let alone climb a ladder to the roof, lecture her, and refuse to kiss her when she’d all but stood there in the misty, starlit moonlight and, like a wanton, implied he ought to go ahead and do it?

“It’s rather embarrassing,” her mother added, more mildly. “And your father and I don’t want to leave.”

“More embarrassing than Papa shooting a hole in our walls?” Claire said somberly.

Lillias peered through her hands at Claire and flashed a smile.

But her mother seemed genuinely distressed.

“But Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Durand wouldn’t make us leave . . . would they? But . . . they’re so very amiable,” she pointed out gently.

“And strict,” her mother reminded her, with a certain regretful relish.

“There are other places we could go . . .” Claire ventured, reluctantly. There likely were, but there was no guarantee that rooms would be either available or comfortable for all of them.

“Your father and I like it here,” her mother said firmly. “We like having everyone together in one suite. And it’s so inconvenient to move everyone all at once.”

Her mother poured tea for the daughters she’d startled awake and a lull settled in and heartbeats slowed and nerves quieted.

And it was strange . . . but as of late, when Lillias awoke in the morning, she enjoyed three blissful seconds of consciousness before Landover-Ball-dread rolled in like a cloud bank.

This morning, her first thought had been of sitting with Hugh Cassidy out on the roof.

It had also been her last before she’d finally, just before dawn, slept.

From his first appearance on the roof holding a lamp, like Diogenes looking for an honest man until he swung her down from the ladder—she’d spent the balance of the night poring over every moment as though they were tea leaves. But now, in the hard light of day,the dread set in.

Ten more days.

Lillias suddenly realized she didn’t quite want to leave The Grand Palace on the Thames yet, either. The whole place seemed suspended in time, though being confined to the place for smoking a cheroot had something to do with that. But it had begun to feel a bit like the withdrawing room at a party, during which one retreated to repair a trodden hem or hair that was coming out of its pins, life and music and merriment going on faintly outside the door. The time between her life had unraveled and . . . whatever her life would be after the Landover Ball.

A time that contained a big American who had quietly sat beside her while she drank in the view of London from the rooftop, lectured her, and refused to kiss her.

Her cheeks went hot all over again.

She held her tea up to her face so her mother would only suspect steam if she noticed the rosiness.

But oh, he’d wanted to.

And that wasn’t all he wanted to do.

I’ve never before been alone in the dark with a woman who wasn’t beneath me, begging me to take her faster and harder. That, Lady Lillias, is a singular pleasure.

It was yet another infuriating version of, “Go inside, little girl.” He’d said that in order to both unnerve and enthrall her. It had worked on both counts.

But it had enthralled more than unnerved. Burning with curiosity and jealousy, her very sheets against her skin were a sensual torment as she imagined his beautifully battered body covering her own.

I should hate for any harm to ever come to you.

He’d also said that.

Of course he worried. How on earth was he still able to face each day, knowing how ephemeral life was? Let alone climb a ladder to the roof, lecture her, make her laugh, and refuse to kiss her.

What was the matter with him?

What was the matter with her?

Maybe she was quite mad. His will was stronger than hers. Largely precisely because life had buffeted him quite a bit. Absurdly, this infuriated her. How was she ever going to get the better of him?

And yet in some ways she already had. It had nearly killed him to take his hands from her waist after he’d lifted her down. She’d felt the war he waged with himself humming in his body.

Why did this make her want to . . . protect . . . him?

He was from an entirely different world. He was practically a brute, albeit one possessed of a nimble vocabulary and a startling swift wit. And yet, in the dreamlike world of the roof, in the dark, outside of time, Hugh Cassidy sitting beside her, she had briefly made sense to herself.

Why should any of this make her feel close to tears? It was all a bit too much, and she had only herself to blame.

“So where is Father now?”

“Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Durand have him down in the receiving room and it looks serious, indeed. Oh, and St. John was locked out last night, as he missed curfew. He hasn’t yet come home.”

Claire and Lillias exchanged an uncertain glance. Lillias’s stomach tightened again.

“Oh, St. John is a grown man. He can look at his watch now and again, for heaven’s sake. He’s been out all night before. Docks or no docks. He’s not an utter fool. I’m certain he’s just fine,” her mother said firmly.

Lillias knew her parents loved all of them. What degrees of fortitude must one possess to allow their children to do what they did—ride horses, shoot rifles, stay out all night? How did anyone manage the fortitude to love anyone? It was fraught with peril and pocked with hazards one could not foresee. She’d never before asked these questions of herself, but suddenly she understood it was why Hugh Cassidy had such an expansive plan for his life. She suspected this was how he’d imposed order on chaos, and gave content to emptiness, and form to dreams. Because lately, this was what her sketchbook had become to her. It was the only place in which she could shape anything at all to her satisfaction. The one thing she could control.

“I suppose we’ll just have to await the verdict,” the countess said. “I think some more tea to settle our nerves would be in order.”

She refilled her daughters’ cups.

Lillias could have told her that she’d become an old hand at anticipation, that more genteel word for dread.

“The maid brought up the newspaper with the tea.” Her mother rattled the pages open. “Oh, would you listen to this. ‘The whole of the tonwonders what that heavenly heartbreaker Lady Lillias Vaughn will wear to the ball.’”

Claire rolled her eyes.

“And there’s a bit about Gilly, too!” her mother exclaimed. “The rumors about Lord Bankham’s impending nup—”

Lillias yawned so loudly, widely, and deliberately her mother was startled into silence. And then fixed her with a puzzled little frown.

“Won’t it be lovely to see Gilly and his parents at the Landover Ball, Lillias—it’s been at least two months since we last, hasn’t it? And it’s only ten days away,” her mother said with some satisfaction.

Actually, Mama, it’s about ten days and about seventeen hours. Or about fifteen thousand four hundred twenty minutes.

“Oh, who’s counting?” Lillias gave another cavernous and entirely feigned yawn. “The tea is excellent, but I think I need to splash a bit more water on my face in order to adequately face the world.”

Startling her mother and sister, she stood abruptly. If only a face full of water was all it would take to face the Landover Ball.

“It’s difficult to convey the depth of the betrayal we feel, Lord Vaughn. We’ve grown quite fond of you and your family.”

Delilah and Angelique occupied one settee in the reception room. The earl had been bidden to sit on the other. Dot had not been requested to bring in tea. This was not a social call, and tea was not the traditional accompaniment for perfidy.

The earl was subdued. “She told you everything. Helga did.”

“Of course she told us, Lord Vaughn,” Delilah said reproachfully. “We’re like family here.”

He fidgeted, as though he’d very much wanted a cup of tea, and then settled his hands in his lap. “Well, it’s what one does with servants, isn’t it?” He raised an expression that begged for understanding. “It’s difficult to get good ones, and the marvelous ones come dear. Servants move about from place to place. It’s business, isn’t it, ladies? You ought to know.”

Delilah and Angelique could indeed testify to how difficult it was to find good ones, the ones who wouldn’t steal spoons or pinch bottoms, let alone keep good ones, but they weren’t about to commiserate.

They presented a united, softly reproachful front.

“Helga was very adamant that she would not leave you,” he said. Impressed and rather surprised.

“We know.”

“I promised her an enormous increase in salary.”

“Money isn’t everything, Lord Vaughn,” Angelique said.

“And a pension.”

Well. Helga didn’t have that, but she soon would, was Delilah and Angelique’s silent communication. Hell’s teeth, the expenses here at The Grand Palace on the Thames did tend to grow apace with the profits.

“We know you did,” Delilah said obliquely.

“And you thought you could hire her away because . . . how did you put it . . .” Angelique touched her fingers to her chin. “‘The status of working for an earl is surely infinitely preferable to working at a little inn by the docks.’”

The earl actually blushed.

“It was by way of persuasion. I think your boarding house is very fine, indeed, and we have enjoyed our stay here.”

They were quiet for a time.

They let him reflect upon his shame.

Finally, he sighed deeply. “Do either of you ladies yet have children?” he said finally. A bit hesitantly.

“Neither of us has yet been so blessed,” Angelique said gently.

“Mine are getting older. They are always running about, hither and yon, with their friends and so forth, which is as it should be. St. John spent so much of his time away at school. They will soon have families of their own, and I look forward to grandchildren. But this part of our lives . . . will be over soon. It flies by in a heartbeat, your time with your children. Only yesterday Lillias was sliding down a banister, and look at her now . . . a beautiful, elegant grown young lady. And although the circumstances which compelled our residence here are rather absurd, and even though my son can be a blight indeed, I have relished this opportunity to have them all so snug and close, in the comfort and welcome of The Grand Palace on the Thames. In this charming place you’ve created. Please don’t make us leave. Please.”

It was admittedly a very pretty speech.

They turned when they heard the front door open.

Slow footsteps echoed in the foyer. Then stopped.

A handsome young man paused in the doorway and looked in on them.

A coat was draped across one arm, and a crushed-looking beaver was gripped in his other hand. His cravat was askew. Whiskers darkened his jaw and chin, completing the air of rakish dissolution.

His person was liberally sprinkled with little bits of straw.

“Well, good afternoon, St. John,” his father said pleasantly and ironically.

“Good afternoon, Father. Mrs. Durand. Mrs. Hardy.”

The ladies nodded to him, coolly.

There was a silence as they inspected him with varying degrees of pity, humor, and sympathy, but absolutely no remorse.

He was too tired, apparently, to do anything but stand there and submit to inspection.

“You’ve bits of straw all over your person, St. John,” the earl mused.

“I spent the night in the livery stable,” he said.

“Ah.”

“It was not too uncomfortable,” he added, after another long pause, with a certain admirable attempt at defiance. The shadowy crescents beneath his eyes and the fine red lines across their whites suggested that “comfortable” wasn’t a word he’d use, either.

He didn’t apologize for missing curfew. Nobody expected him to. Nobody apologized for locking him out, either. It wasn’t personal. Those were the rules.

To his credit, he wasn’t wasting any of his obviously currently scant emotional resources on raising a complaint.

“Well. I think I shall go up now,” he said.

“It’s good to have you back,” Delilah said kindly. “Would you like some tea? And would you perhaps like a warm bath prepared?”

“Yes, please, thank you,” he said meekly, and turned to go share the good news of his return with his mother and sisters.

“You do recall that baths cost a little more, of course,” Angelique said to the earl, quietly. “They require significant staff time to prepare. We’ll add it to your account.”

“Of course.”

Briskly, they returned to the business at hand.

“Well. What do you say, ladies?” He offered them a charming smile. “Will you allow us to stay, and accept my abject apologies?”

Angelique and Delilah exchanged a long look.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to take a minute or two to discuss it privately between us, Lord Vaughn,” Delilah said. “For you see, it’s not just that we consider Helga family. It’s that she’s part of the very lifeblood of our business, and we can attribute a good deal of our success to her talents.” Every word of this was just a little bit of an exaggeration, but at its core was truth. “When people become our guests they find comfort in every way, and that includes the food. She also manages our kitchen and the maids, and this is no small skill. As a man of business, you likely understand that the loss of her would strike a blow at the very foundation of our livelihood.”

He blanched a little and looked deflated. “I see.”

It was rather sweet to see that he was truly suffering, the traitor.

And it wasn’t as though the Earl of Vaughn and his family didn’t have other equally or more attractive options. Perhaps another hotel in London could find a way to accommodate them; at the time of their arrival, nothing had been available for them at the precise moment they’d been compelled to hastily vacate their home. But both Delilah and Angelique believed in the quality of their service and they also knew the profound value of perceived exclusivity.

“If you would be so kind to wait here while we discuss it?” Angelique said to him, on a nearly funereal hush. Together she and Delilah gracefully rose and crossed the foyer underneath their beloved crystal chandelier, to the opposite parlor, lately the scene of such merriment. It was empty now.

“‘Strike a blow at the foundation of our livelihood.’ That was very good, Delilah,” Angelique whispered.

“Thank you. It just came to me.”

“How long do you think we ought to let him marinate in guilt and remorse?”

“Well . . . he’s a good man, I think. And he’s an earl. Even now he’s considering offering some sort of financial solution, because most things have a financial solution when you’re an earl.” Both Delilah and Angelique knew this from personal experience.

“I have a suggestion if he doesn’t come up with it on his own,” Angelique said.

“I suspect it’s the same as mine.”

“We’ll nudge him in that direction if he doesn’t come up with that solution on his own. But we need to stand here another minute or so in apparent fevered discussion. What shall we talk about?”

“How to persuade Mr. Cassidy to build the rod for hanging the curtain? Pay for pensions? And footmen?”

“That will do quite well,” Angelique said.

They returned to the reception room a few minutes later. The earl searched their faces in vain for anything revelatory of his fate.

“I believe we’ve reached a decision, Lord Vaughn,” Angelique said very, very gently. Her tone implied regretful resolve.

He took a breath. “Before you speak . . . I’ve been having a little think while you were discussing matters. What if, by way of restitution . . . I agreed to buy a fine new curtain for your stage? And perhaps I can persuade a friend or two—I have in mind the Earl and Countess of Landover—to visit your new ballroom with an eye toward perhaps attending a soiree there?”

Delilah and Angelique exchanged a look.

This was exactly what they’d been about to suggest.

Delilah spoke for the two of them. “How very kind and intuitive of you, Lord Vaughn, to notice how much our new ballroom means to us, and to recognize how an elegant curtain will elevate it to something truly splendid. It’s a gesture that speaks to our hearts. We’ll accept your offer . . . as long as you promise not to cause Helga any anxiety by attempting to lure her away again.”

“I swear upon the honor of my family that I will only humbly appreciate your staff, and not attempt to abscond with them.”

They smiled at him.

There was a little pause.

“We’ll need the curtain straight away, of course,” Angelique added gently.

“Of course,” the earl replied with a little smile.