Page 11 of A Wicked Business (Wicked Sons #10)
Mama,
I picked up the enclosed yesterday and thought you and Papa might appreciate it. I don’t know who the author is, but she has quite a way with words. I haven’t laughed so hard in some time, though many parts of it make you want to weep for the poor child. It breaks my heart to think of a girl like my darling Tilly, so alone and unwelcome by her own parents and then treated so ill by her wicked grandfather. Yet she is a plucky girl, and I hope her story has a happy ending. There will be rioting in the street, I believe, if there is not a kindly resolution awaiting her in the final chapters. I wonder if it is his granddaughter who has written the story to take her revenge. If so, I commend her heartily for the style shown in her retribution. She must be a force to be reckoned with.
I have an appointment this afternoon with the Earl of Keston. He asked me to call a month since, but I’ve been putting it off. I know he’s going to attempt to persuade me to marry his dreadful daughter and I shall have the devil’s own job extricating myself. Don’t get your hopes up, I shan’t marry her under any circumstances. In truth, she’s not a bad sort and when she is at ease can be a charming companion, but she’s so busy trying to aggravate her father and keep her suitors at bay that she’s all sharp edges and sharper tongue. I do not have the energy to tame such a termagant, and I cannot believe Tilly would do well with such a temperamental new mama. I believe she does not wish for the match any more than I do either.
Her father will not like it, however. I’m not sure how I shall handle him, but I suppose I cannot put off the inevitable forever.
Wish me luck.
―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon’ble Philip ‘Pip’ Barrington, The Earl of Ashburton, to his mother, The Most Hon’ble Matilda Barrington, The Marchioness of Montagu.
4 th August 1850, Hyde Park, London.
Belinda had never been kissed before. Oh, she had read about it, read love poetry and the salacious novels that Doris adored and shared with her, and she had dreamed about it. She had dreamed far too often, of late, about what it might be like to be kissed by Mr Knight. Nothing had prepared her for the reality of it.
Perhaps if her nerves had not been jangling already, his kiss would not have caused such a tidal wave of emotion. Perhaps if she had not already swerved from despair to hysteria in a matter of minutes, she could have felt the press of his mouth against hers with more equanimity. Perhaps… but she doubted it.
Strong arms banded around her, pulling her against a body that was hard and unyielding, forcing her softer shape to mould against his. The heat of him seemed to burn through layers of fabric until she was blazing with an internal heat that seemed to begin somewhere she hadn’t even a name for. That fiery joy spread through her veins as if her blood were pure brandy and this bright new flame inside her had set it alight. His mouth was at once insistent and gentle, devouring her greedily but with a tenderness that made longing burst to life in her heart. This! This was what the poets wrote about, this was the exuberant madness that overcame heroines in torrid novels and made them throw caution to the wind, casting away reputation and facing appalling ordeals, all for the men who made them feel this mad happiness, this delirious taste of what life might be like if one was loved properly, a true meeting of hearts and souls.
His mouth moved over hers, easing her lips apart so his tongue could invade and plunder deeper, startling her into making an involuntary squeak of surprise. He engulfed the slight sound as his hands moved restlessly over her and her heart stuttered as his large, warm palm moved up to settle over her breast and gently squeezed.
Belinda gasped, sensations she could hardly comprehend setting her body flaming higher, excitement and exhilaration at being held and touched and cared for by this man. Felix paused and for a dreadful moment she thought he would stop so she clung to him harder, shamelessly pressing her body against his, pushing her breast into his hand. Her arms wound around his neck, clinging like a bindweed to some poor choking plant. His hand returned to her back, using calm, soothing strokes, but as he tried to slow her, she only pressed harder, demanded more, too overwhelmed and confused by everything she was feeling to want this to end. She feared what would happen when it was over, feared that he would not offer her the words she was too greedy to hear.
He broke the kiss, both of them breathing too hard, too fast, and she gazed up at him in wonder, her soul still soaring somewhere above her as astonished happiness filled her heart. She felt exposed and vulnerable, knowing she had shown him too much of herself but not caring if there was the slightest chance he felt even a little of what she did. Her relief in having found an ally overwhelmed her, making her emotions careen around unchecked. She stared at him, a ridiculous smile on her lips, then reached up, touching her mouth, wondering if it looked different, for it tingled so with heat and the need for more of his kisses.
Mr Knight was gazing at her too, but his expression was hard to read. Belinda’s heart stuttered with the dawning realisation that he was not floating on the same cloud as she was.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said, his voice unsteady. He sounded somewhat dazed. “I ought not… Should never… That is… That was a mistake.”
Belinda had once seen two children playing in the park. Siblings. The younger sister had been playing with a puppet, until her brother cut the strings and ran away laughing, leaving his sister wailing. In that moment Belinda suddenly knew how the puppet had felt, the sudden severing of that which had lifted her up and made her feel for a brief moment as if she was not alone, that there was someone else in the world who would help to guide her in the right direction.
Fool. Stupid, stupid fool.
Though her knees wanted to buckle, and she was tempted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to take the words back, Belinda reminded herself she was a lady—an earl’s daughter, no less—and even Mr Knight could not take that dignity away from her.
“It certainly was,” she said coldly, wrapping herself in the cloak of fierce pride she always wore in the company of the men her father set in pursuit of her. “I don’t know what came over you, Mr Knight, to act in such an ungentlemanly way. If you will excuse me, I believe I will be safer walking home alone.”
“What came over me?” he said, his shock evident. “Damn it, you wanted me to kiss you!”
Belinda flushed. It was no more than the truth, but it infuriated her that, even in this, he could not be a gentleman and save her from feeling like a brazen hussy. She knew, as they both knew, that she had thrown herself at him, shown him how much she wanted him, and been told in no uncertain terms that her feelings were not reciprocated. She had been nothing but an amusing distraction for a few minutes. Nothing more. Hurt and rage burst to life, and she wanted to strike back at him, to injure him so he might know the same pain she felt, the same humiliation at being rejected not once but twice in the same morning, and with such brutality.
“I never thought I would be driven to agree with him, but my father is right, it seems. You may dress a man in the right clothes, teach him to speak in the correct manner, but it will never make him a gentleman. Your common blood is showing, but I suppose breeding always wins out in the end. I bid you a good day, Mr Knight. I beg you will not trouble yourself a moment longer over my little difficulties. I shall manage things perfectly well on my own. I do not believe we shall see each other again.”
Belinda put up her chin and walked blindly away from him, tears blurring her vision. Even after being shown so callously that she was not wanted for anything other than that which he might get from any common trollop, her stupid heart still beat with the hope that he might come after her, might beg her forgiveness, but he did not. With her parting words, she had severed any expectation that they might at least remain friends, that he might be someone she could turn to in extremis, with the hateful things she had said. She hadn’t meant them, did not believe them for a moment, but wounded creatures lashed out when the pain was too much to bear, and she was only flesh and blood after all.
Somehow, she found her way home, hurrying past Kimble whose worried voice followed her up the stairs, asking if she was well. She could not find it in herself to reassure the dear old fellow, knowing she would break down and sob if anyone showed her even a mite of kindness. So, she went to her room and closed the door and cried all by herself, just as she had done as a child. And when there were no tears left, she got up and washed her face and gave herself a stern talking to. She was a woman grown now, not a helpless child. Belinda was determined she would never be helpless again. Never again would she run herself ragged, trying her utmost to collect any tiny scraps of affection her father showed her and knit them together into proof of love. She would certainly not do so for Mr Knight, making more of a fool of herself than she already had by pining for a man who clearly felt nothing for her.
There were only two people who had ever cared for her and shown it. Kimble, who had felt sorry for a lonely little girl and tried to make up for her solitary existence as best he could, and Doris, her staunchest ally and friend. Except Kimble was an old man whose livelihood relied upon working for her father, and she could not ask any more of him than he had already given. And even Doris had a future before her if all went well with Mr Kirby. Doris’ dream of Belinda marrying Mr Knight and her marrying his secretary was nothing more than that, a childish fairytale. There were no happy-ever-afters, not in real life. Not for her, at least. The best that she could do, the very best, was to take control of her life and never again let anyone else have any power over her.
For that, she must come up with a plan of action, and she must do it at once.
4 th August 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.
Felix had been so shocked by Belinda’s words, and by the coldness of their delivery, he’d been unable to move for several minutes. Though he was used to being viewed by some as a presumptuous upstart, little better than a crass barrow boy with a fortune to buy him entry into those hallowed places so prized by the ton , he had never had a woman speak to him so. There had been times at school when he’d had to fight those who believed themselves his superiors, but he’d inherited his father’s size and strength, and his formidable right hook too. No one had ever beaten him, had ever succeeded in making him feel less that he was. His parents had always given him the certainty to believe in himself, in his own talents and in a sense of justice and fair play that he had lived his life by. He had never believed those unkind, unjust opinions troubled him. He’d thought himself too confident, too sensible to care what a few narrow-minded snobs thought. There were plenty of noblemen and women who counted him as kin or friend and never made him feel he was less, that he was an imposter in their midst.
Yet Lady Belinda Madox-Brown had shaken that certainty with her words, and he was suddenly all at sea. Did she believe he was less than other men of her breeding? Did she look at him and see something lacking? And what did he care if she did?
Anger rose on the back of hurt and he strode out of the copse of trees, hardly knowing what direction he took. He walked without looking, without noticing who he passed or what direction he took, only put one foot in front of the other and kept going, fuelled by rage and frustration, by a sense of injustice and a nagging ache in his chest that insisted he had lost something he’d not even known he’d had, or had even wanted.
That was the most maddening sensation of all and made his anger burn hotter.
Thunder rumbled ominously overhead, loud enough to shake Felix free from the turmoil of his own thoughts. By the time some sense of reality returned to him, he realised he was on Berwick Street, and he hurried along to the smart red brick house that belonged to Larkin Weston. As he hammered on the door, the heavens opened and the rain fell, fat drops smacking fiercely against the dusty pavements as if they too were angry and venting some grievous hurt.
Felix was greeted by the surprised face of Barnes, Larkin’s valet and butler and a man who had been sorely tested by his master’s behaviour over the past year.
“Is he in?” Felix demanded, with no preamble. Barnes had seen it all before and would not blink an eye at Felix’s obvious emotional disarray.
“Yes, sir. In his studio, Mr Knight. Shall I announce—”
“No, no. I know my way,” Felix said gruffly, moving past Barnes and hurrying towards the back of the house.
The studio was usually a bright room but even that was cast into gloom on a day when the skies had turned the colour of slate, tinged with an odd purple light. Larkin was standing before the large windows, staring up at the tumble of heavy black clouds with interest. He turned as Felix closed the door behind him and smiled.
“Excellent timing, my friend. Can’t see to paint in this ghastly light. What a display, though! The lightning has been putting on quite a show.” Larkin’s amused expression faded as he sensed Felix’s less than sunny mood. “Do you need me to help you bury a body?” he asked cautiously.
Felix snorted. “Not yet, but give me time. I may come around to the idea.”
“Ah,” Larkin said with a sigh. “I recognise these symptoms, I’m afraid, as I’ve been living in close quarters with them for some months.”
“What symptoms?” Felix demanded, stalking over to a bottle of brandy and two mismatched glasses he spied sitting on a table haphazardly piled with jars of brushes and bottles of linseed oil. Mercifully, it was two-thirds full. He pulled the cork with his teeth and poured himself a large measure, turning to Larkin with an enquiring expression.
“No, thank you. I’ve just about got my life back in order and I’m not about to turn things upside down again when everything is going so well,” Larkin said, giving Felix a pitying smile that did not improve his mood a whit. “And the symptoms are unmistakable, I’m afraid. Unless I miss my guess, there’s a woman at the heart of it.”
Felix froze with the glass in midair, glaring at Larkin. “Not a woman, a… a… fiend! A creature put on this earth with no other ambition than to drive me distracted!”
“Unmistakable.” Larkin sighed, shaking his head. He moved across the room, plucked the bottle from Felix’s hand, and danced out of reach before he could take it again.
“Give that back!” Felix said furiously.
“I shall,” Larkin promised, holding out his free hand in a peaceable gesture. “I promise I shall. But I want the full story first. Come and sit down and tell me everything and once you’re done, if you still want to drink yourself into a stupor, I shall pour it down your throat myself. Deal?”
Felix glared at him. “Fine,” he said grudgingly. “But I want the good stuff you keep in the cellar. The bottles you stole from your father’s house.”
Larkin winced, and Felix knew he was pushing his luck.
“Very well,” Larkin said with a shrug. “I owe you that much for all the times you’ve dragged me out of the gutter this year and seen me home. Come along. I’ll get Barnes to rustle us up some grub, I’m famished.”
So, over plates heaped with eggs and bacon, mushrooms and sausages and fried bread, Felix told his friend of his dealings with Lady Belinda, only leaving out the precise details of the business venture with which he had helped her. When he finished unburdening himself and had found, somewhat to his surprise, that he’d cleared his plate, he sat back and regarded Larkin, expecting a sympathetic response from one of his oldest friends.
Instead, Larkin reached across the table and smacked his forehead with the flat of his hand.
“Ow! What the bloody hell was that for?” Felix demanded, rubbing the place to take away the sting.
“For being an utter pratt, that’s what,” Larkin said, looking thoroughly exasperated. “This beautiful girl—and I know she’s a beauty, for I’ve met her several times—this beautiful, intelligent girl who is out of her mind with worry, turns to you and asks you to marry her, and you reject her out of hand. Then you kiss her like a madman in Hyde Park where anyone might have come across you—and I’m guessing it was likely the first time any man has ever taken such a liberty—and then you tell her it was a mistake. Does that about sum it up?” Larkin glared at him, folding his arms and sitting back in his chair, watching Felix as though he expected the penny to drop at any moment.
It did.
Felix swallowed as a weight far heavier than a penny made his stomach drop. A cold sensation settled in his guts and the breakfast he’d just eaten sat uneasily. Put like that it did sound rather awful.
“Er…” he said, suddenly wondering if he had been a bit too quick to judge, a bit too much on his dignity. If he had earned her fury and if perhaps those old wounds and slights he’d suffered about his father’s heritage had been rather closer to the surface than he’d realised.
Perhaps Belinda had been well within her rights to say he was no gentleman. Christ, what a bastard he had been, and how she must hate him. Belinda, with her fierce pride, had shown him her vulnerability, had shown him she not only needed him but wanted him, and he’d rejected her in the most callous way possible. His heart clenched as he realised just what he’d done. Had he hurt her beyond repair? Was she even now weeping because of him? His own heart hurt as he considered it. How on earth could he fix this? How could he do anything to stop her from hating him for the rest of his days?
Suddenly, that Belinda might be out in the world, despising him, was the worst thing he could think of. That he’d had her admiration and respect, perhaps even her love, and he’d thrown it back in her face made him so panic-struck he could hardly breathe. Had he just thrown away the woman fate had chosen for him because he was too pig-headed to give up his bachelor existence?
“Oh, damn me to hell,” he said, and put his head in his hands.
“I should say you’re already there, you great pillock,” Larkin replied frankly.
Felix groaned. “Oh, Lord. I’ve made a mull of things, I know, but Larkin, you don’t understand. You can’t know what she does to me. She… She makes me so… so…” He clenched his fists with frustration at being unable to articulate the wild surges of emotion Belinda provoked in him. “God, I want to shake her!”
Larkin snorted and shook his head, smirking at Felix over the rim of his coffee cup. “No, dear boy. That is not what you want to do to her, and we both know it, and this is the source of your vexation as you would realise for yourself if you troubled to think about it for above five minutes. Lord, the mess some of you fellows make over falling in love.”
Felix stared at Larkin in outrage. “You, of all people, dare to say that!”
“Yes, I dare . I dare precisely because I went to the devil,” Larkin said crossly. “I fell in love, and I didn’t hide it, and I got my fingers burned and my heart kicked around. I hurt and drank myself half to death to drown the pain, but I didn’t deny it! I never pretended I hadn’t got my heart broken, I never pretended that I didn’t care. But you, clever fellow that you are, can’t see what’s bloody obvious to me. You care for Lady Belinda. You are afraid of what will become of her if you don’t intervene, but you’re scared to death because it’s all happening too fast and you’re not ready to commit yourself to her. Well, you’ve heard of love at first sight, you’ve heard tales of whirlwind romances. Perhaps this is yours.”
Words crowded on Felix’s tongue, fighting to burst out of him and deny the accusations with everything he had. Larkin lifted one eyebrow, daring him to do so. Felix couldn’t do it, remembering the awful sensation of having lost something important that had plagued him from the moment Belinda had turned and walked away from him. He felt it again now, a sharp-edged presence in his heart, jagged and angry and full of remorse. Perhaps he didn’t want to marry Lady Belinda maddening Madox-Brown, at least, not right at this moment, but the devil of it was he didn’t want any other bastard to marry her either. The thought made him feel sick, if he were honest. That she might throw herself away upon some bloody fortune hunter simply to thwart her father’s plans made him want to do violence to whoever the nameless sod might be.
“But I don’t want to get married!” he protested, hearing the words and knowing he sounded like a petulant child. “I’ve… I’ve got too much to do. Businesses to run, a fortune to make. How the devil am I to show my father I’m worthy of my inheritance if I’ve got a woman like that distracting me at every turn?”
“Don’t ask me, ask your father,” Larkin said with a laugh. “He seems to have managed it. A fine-looking woman, your mama, and no shrinking violet either, if I’m not mistaken.”
Felix glowered and then put his head in his hands.
“Damn me,” he muttered. “Damn me. What the hell am I going to do?”
“Now, now. There’s no need for that,” Larkin said, his voice maddeningly calm.
“There damn well is. I can’t just turn up at her door and grovel on my hands and knees, can I? Her father would set the bloody dogs on me. Larkin, you know her. Can you get a message to her for me?”
Larkin considered this. “Yes, I think perhaps I would be accepted as a morning caller, but what we need is a plan.”
Felix sighed and allowed Larkin to refill his coffee cup instead of demanding he fetch the brandy like he’d promised. A plan would be a start, he supposed morosely, but what he really needed was a blasted miracle. Apologies did not come easily to him, being rather too stubborn in the manner of his own sire. Apologies to Lady Belinda were bound to be painful in the extreme and horribly humiliating. Yet it was everything she deserved for the shabby, dishonest way he had treated her. So, what else was there for him to do?