Not so wicked, p.1
Not so Wicked, page 1
Not so Wicked
Scandal Sheet Survivors Book 2
ADELE CLEE
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Thank you!
Christmas in Cumbria
About the Author
Books by Adele Clee
Copyright
Chapter One
One would think the devil lived in a cavernous basement, a dark, unearthly place where he stalked through the shadows and committed a host of wicked sins. Yet Mr Masters’ Palladian-style house on Dover Street looked to belong to an elegant man about town, not the ruler of the underworld.
The grand windows and decorative pediments were neat and symmetrical, the stucco clean and freshly painted. It did not look like the house of London’s most notorious rogue. A cruel man who lived life to excess—a lover of gaming hells and the cause of untold misery.
Mina stood on the pavement, staring at the soft glow of candlelight spilling out onto the street, trying to calm her ragged breathing.
Her life depended upon two things.
Mr Masters agreeing to speak to an unmarried lady at midnight, and him withdrawing from the duel with her dissolute brother. Should she fail either task, she had to pray the man was a terribly poor shot.
Keeping the hood of her cloak raised and gathering every ounce of courage she possessed, Mina mounted the stone steps and knocked on the imposing black door.
At this late hour, she expected to wait while the butler made himself presentable and trudged from the basement to the hall. Then she remembered Satan’s minions were accustomed to strange comings and goings in the dead of night.
Indeed, the butler yanked the door open as if he were a guard at hell’s gate, then scanned her figure with some irritation and pulled her inside. “Mr Masters expected you to arrive half an hour ago,” he snapped.
Mina blinked at the servant’s effrontery. “He did?”
People said the devil had the power of second sight, that he could predict his opponent’s gameplay before a card hit the green baize, which surely accounted for his success at the tables.
“Perhaps you failed to understand the urgency of the situation.” The butler glared through cold, grey eyes. “Time is of the essence.”
“Yes, that’s exactly why I’m here.”
She had less than seven hours to convince Mr Masters her brother would issue a written apology, which meant lying through her teeth because Thomas didn’t have an honourable bone in his body.
“Then stop dallying and give me your cloak.” The rude fellow tugged the ribbons and practically ripped the garment off her shoulders. Then he scanned her plain blue dress and loose hair and screwed up his nose in disdain. “Is that the best you could do?”
Mina raised her chin. “Had I known I was to meet His Majesty, I would have worn white silk and a diamond tiara.” Except she had sold the latter to keep her brother’s creditors at bay.
The snooty man grasped a lock of her hair, his frown deepening. “Brown? Mr Masters prefers women with hair as fiery as their tempers. He’ll not tolerate timidity.”
“As I am not marrying the man, I don’t see why it matters.” Doubtless, he would throw her out once the introductions were made.
“But everything about you is so… dull.”
Mina breathed deeply through her nose to stop tears forming. She did not need reminding of her failings. “I’d heard Mr Masters was shallow, though I hoped he would prove me wrong.”
The butler contemplated his dilemma, then huffed. “The master will have my guts for garters for this, but it’s too late to fix the problem now.” He ushered her towards the stairs. “It’s the first room on the left. Be quick before he curses us all to Hades.”
Mina gripped the newel post, but that didn’t stop the butler from pushing her up the stairs. “Wait! I cannot barge into Mr Masters’ bedchamber. Can he not come and speak to me in his study?”
Matters were progressing far too quickly.
“Mr Masters would never allow a woman to enter his private domain. You’re to meet him in the guest chamber. Now button your lip before I complain to your mistress.”
Her mistress?
Clearly, he had confused her with someone else.
She might have raised an objection, but she likely had a bruise from the constant jabs in the back, and she did not want to look a gift horse in the mouth. This could be her only chance to meet the man who would invariably kill her brother.
The impatient butler knocked on the chamber door and turned the handle. “Do as you’re told, and no more complaining.” He pushed her inside and shut the door.
The devil’s lair was dark but for the faint glow of firelight casting flickering shadows about the room. A huge poster bed with thick blue curtains dominated the space, and the potent smell of amber and cedarwood filled the air.
“You’re late,” came the rich, masculine drawl. “A man might look less endowed when he’s spent an age bathing. Take off your clothes and wait on the bed. There’s wine on the nightstand.”
Mina’s heartbeat thumped hard in her throat as her gaze settled on the naked man relaxing in the tub. His shoulders were broad, his hair as black as Satan’s soul. He didn’t look to see if she had followed his strict instructions but continued to stare at the fire’s flames.
Recognition dawned, along with mild panic.
There was only one reason he wanted her naked.
“Sir, there has been a dreadful misunderstanding.”
He rose in the tub like Poseidon, a muscular figure of perfection, a destroyer of mortal men. Water slipped over every hard plane. Rivulets ran down over his tight buttocks.
“Evidently.” He turned his head a fraction to study her form. Disappointment flashed in his dangerous eyes. “I demand obedience in all things, yet you’re standing there quivering like a frightened doe. Take off that hideous dress and drink some wine.”
She tried to straighten her spine, though it seemed to be made of jelly. “I—I am not the woman you ordered.”
“No, it appears your mistress has poor eyesight or cannot read. I prefer auburn hair and a slender figure. You possess neither attribute, madam.”
She swallowed past a lifetime of inadequacy. “Thank heavens. Although when a man must pay for female company, one would think he’d be less fussy.”
He hissed a breath and stepped out of the tub, mindless of the puddle pooling at his feet or the fact he was naked. “Now I know you’re an imposter. I’m told Madame LaRue’s ladies have a touch more elegance.”
As they were trading insults, she should be thinking about her reply, not the sight of his flaccid manhood. While she had seen intimate drawings in a physician’s book, being the object of the ton’s ridicule, she had never thought to see one in the flesh.
“Forgive me if I do not take offence. A man who uses a bawdy house is hardly considered a good judge of character.”
“The complex nature of my current problem leads me to take drastic measures.” He prowled boldly towards her, his thick shaft hanging like a weapon between his muscular thighs.
“You mean the duel at dawn?”
Dark brown eyes twitched in surprise. “While I am considered an expert shot, these might be my last hours on this earthly plane. If I want to live, I cannot blur my mind with liquor. Why not bed a woman instead?”
She understood his motive, not his need to pay for the pleasure.
“Do you not have a mistress?” she said, observing his full lips and the harsh angles of his face. Surely, his wealth and athletic physique would compensate for his patrician nose and stern expression.
“I thought they taught ladies not to ask impertinent questions.” His gaze slipped to her nose, which was equally too long for her face, before lingering on her mouth. “So, if you’re not Madame LaRue’s most skilled Cyprian, who the devil are you?”
Nerves fluttered in her throat. Because of his dishabille, she had no choice but to look him in the eye. “The sister of the man you’re to meet at dawn. I’m here to plead for clemency.”
His face hardened, his eyes flaming with barely contained fury. “What the blazes! You’re Miss Wilhelmina Stanford? You’re related to that loose-mouthed ingrate?” He gritted his teeth. “And Bates let you in? What the hell was he thinking?”
He stormed to the armoire, unleashing a string of vile curses, and pulled clothes from the shelf. She watched him thrust his powerful legs into a pair of blue breeches and pull the waistband up over his damp buttocks.
“I should throw you out,” he growled, dragging on his shirt, the fine lawn clinging to every wet muscle.
When Thomas was in a foul temper, arguing only made matters worse, and so she spoke to Mr Masters with an air of gentle serenity. “I should be the one stomping about in a rage. If you shoot my brother, I shall have to sleep in doorways and walk the streets selling oranges and lemons.”
“How is that my fault?” He poked his chest, then pointed at the closed door. “Should you not have this conversation with the degener
“I would if I could find him.” Thomas had stormed out of the house hours ago and had not returned.
Mr Masters laughed. “Check the nearest gaming hell.”
“Do you know how many disreputable haunts there are in London?” Of course he did. He was a master card player. “It would take a week to visit every one. Being a woman, I wouldn’t get past the front door.” She stepped closer and clasped her hands in prayer, for she was not averse to begging. “Sir, I implore you to accept my brother’s apology and let that be the end of the matter.”
Mr Masters jerked his head. “The lout acknowledges he is at fault and agrees to pay his vowels? I must say, I’m surprised. I thought he had a death wish.”
“Thomas knows he was wrong.”
He paused and sharpened his gaze. “You’re lying. It’s written all over your face. I hear disloyalty runs in the family, Miss Stanford. I read about your escapades in the Scandal Sheet. Were you not jilted at the altar for being unfaithful to your betrothed?”
Shame burned her cheeks.
“Do not believe everything you read, sir.” Since the story had appeared in that ridiculous rag, ladies whispered insults in the street. Men made indecent proposals. And though she went to balls, hoping people would forget the gossip, she was forced to hide in the corner as penance, feel the pain of shame deep in her gut. “Mr Wenham broke off the engagement a week before the wedding and proceeded to lie for his own end.”
What a fool she had been to believe his protestations.
But a lady who lived with the threat of ruin sought security, and Mr Wenham had swept her away with his kindness. Until questions over her dowry had shone a light of doubt on his character.
I would need a substantial sum to marry a woman as dull as you!
The comment had pierced her heart like a barbed arrow.
“My brother failed to provide proof of my dowry.”
“Probably because he had spent it,” Mr Masters mocked.
“Still, Mr Wenham needed money and had to find a good excuse to break our arrangement.” Hence, he paid someone to lie and ruin her reputation. Surely, Mr Masters could see the importance of keeping Thomas alive. “The stories in the Scandal Sheet are nothing but a fabric of Mr Wenham’s vengeance.”
Mr Masters studied her intently, then shocked her by grasping her chin. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a virgin, madam?”
She nodded. “A foolish one, sir. Based on the gossip and my plain looks, I will likely remain that way for quite some time.” Unless Thomas died and she had to sell her wares in Covent Garden.
The man released her, though she could still feel the imprint of his warm fingers on her skin. “I believe you, Miss Stanford. Not that it makes a difference in your bid to save your brother.”
A hard lump formed in her throat. “You won’t withdraw your challenge?”
Had she embarrassed herself for nothing?
“I cannot.”
“Please reconsider, sir. Thomas is a liar, a cheat and a reckless fool, but without him, I am lost.”
For a man reputed to have little tolerance, Mr Masters surprised her by giving a resigned sigh. “Enough men owe me money. They’ll tear up their vowels if I fail to make Stanford pay for the insult. However, I shall ensure the ton learns of Wenham’s lies, ensure the gossip ceases. It may help in your quest to find a husband.”
He cast a doubtful eye over her person.
“It’s not that I’m ungrateful, sir, but how will that help me if I am destitute? You may kill my brother tonight, and no man will marry me without a sizeable dowry.”
Mr Masters gave an arrogant smirk. “I have no intention of killing your brother. I shall aim high or, at worst, shoot him in the arm. Someone needs to teach the fool a lesson.”
She feared Thomas might lose both arms and still find a way to roll the dice and hold his cards. Cutting out his tongue was the only way to stop the slanderous remarks.
“The wound may become infected, and he might die.”
“That is not my problem.” Mr Masters braced his hands on his lean hips. “Madam, do you know who I am?”
Satan! Mina thought, but suppressed the urge to shout it aloud. “You’re the most skilled gamer in all of London. A man reputed to be as intelligent as he is dangerous. It is said you tied Lord Kinver to a tree, ripped his shirt off his back, and gave him ten lashes.”
His expression darkened. “Then you know I cannot tolerate a weasel like Sir Thomas Stanford saying I cheat at cards.”
Of course she knew.
Most gentlemen would punish Thomas for the insult.
Her shoulders sagged as she realised nothing she could say would change the outcome. “Then I thank you for listening to my heartfelt plea.” He had been more than fair, all things considered. “I shall leave you to enjoy the next seven hours, though I am certain you will have many more nights ahead of you. Think of me the next time you pass a woman in rags weeping in a doorway.”
She turned and had barely taken a step when Mr Masters wrapped his fingers around her wrist to stall her departure.
“You surprise me.” He pulled her around to face him.
“Why? Because I give up so easily?”
“Because you found the courage to come here tonight, yet lack the drive to achieve your goal.” With a glint of fascination, he looked to where his fingers rested against her porcelain skin, but did not release her.
“You made your position perfectly clear.”
“Yes, though there is a way for you to appease me and save your brother. Don’t disappoint me now, Miss Stanford, not when you’ve made such a lasting impression.”
A way to appease him and save Thomas? Did he expect her to play a harlot in exchange for her brother’s life?
Despite heat radiating from his fingers and spreading to other parts of her body, she raised her chin in defiance. “Surely you don’t want to bed a virgin. It will hardly make for a memorable experience, and if I’m to lose my virtue, I may as well risk a life on the streets.”
The man’s gaze slipped to the swell of her large breasts.
“I lack the attributes you require in a bed partner,” she reminded him, though he looked quite taken with that part of her anatomy. “And I am certain Madame LaRue’s ladybird will arrive to service you shortly.”
A slow smile formed on his lips. “I meant you might come with me to the secret location and stage a scene. Despite what you may have heard about me, I am a gentleman, Miss Stanford. If a lady throws herself at my feet in front of witnesses and begs for mercy, I shall be obliged to act.”
She tried to hide her embarrassment. Of course he didn’t want to bed her. No one did. Hence why she spent her time hugging the potted ferns at balls and soirées.
“And as you say,” he continued in the smooth voice that played havoc with her insides, “if your brother devises a plot to kill me, I would rather not spend my last hours balls deep inside a woman who’s wincing in pain.”
Shocked by his crude comment, she said, “I might accuse you of hypocrisy, sir. A gentleman would never speak to a lady in such a way.”
“A lady would not come to a man’s house alone at midnight. And after your experience with Mr Wenham, I thought you might prefer the direct approach.”
Having lived with a liar for her entire life, she found it hard to believe any man spoke the truth.
“If we’re being frank, sir, you should know a lady with larger hips tends not to feel so much pain.” Her friend Lillian was a fountain of knowledge when it came to romantic liaisons.
Amusement danced in his dark eyes. “Are you attempting to sway my decision, Miss Stanford? Anyone listening would think you want me to bed you.”
Oh, the man was incorrigible.
“I plan to give my virtue to my husband, and since you have no interest in marrying me”—nor did anyone else for that matter—“accept that I merely meant to correct your misconception.”
He moistened his lips. “Yet now you leave me intrigued.”
