Being Wicked. Lacy Danes

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Being Wicked

      Being Wicked

      LACY DANES

      

APHRODISIA

      KENSINGTON BOOKS

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To my wonderful friends, Eden Bradley, Lillian Feisty, and Shelli Stevens, thank you for supporting me through all of my life’s chaos. I love you dearly.

      To Eric, thank you for pushing me to do better in life and for supporting the time I need to write. You are a constant influence. Hugs and kisses.

      This book marks a learning transition in my personal and professional lives. Life is a juggling act for me; kids, day job, writing career, dating, time to write, time to research, and time to simply be. After writing this book, I found the balance needed to survive.

      Kisses,

      Lacy

      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

      Chapter 22

      Epilogue

      1

      The Intersection

      Somewhere on a road in England, 1828

      God preserve those with good souls….

      The muscles of her back ached as another jarring rut tossed her head against the hard wall of the carriage. She clenched her teeth together and held in a squeak. What a harebrained idea this was…. Bless the Lord, she was small.

      In the end, this impropriety would only turn to good. She would prove both their relatives and the townsfolk wrong—in her mind, she would. No one could ever know she’d done this.

      Brian was a proper gentleman—not the rogue bent on pleasure. His trips to the capital were for his new responsibilities, not to squander the family money and sow his oats.

      His sullen, tired look of late had concerned her and a small doubt spiraled its way into her head. The carriage rocked to a stop. Had they made it to their destination? Wherever that was. She didn’t think she could last much longer confined in this box. She peeked out the crack in the top of the bench. Her brother did not move, but the carriage lurched to the left as someone clambered on board.

      “By Jove, Cunnington! Could you be any later?” a gravelly voice sounded through the muffled carriage seat.

      “Only a touch, St. Jerome.”

      A loud, deep laugh erupted.

      St. Jerome! Surely, her brother did not associate with that rake! She closed her eyes and imagined Brian helping her learn French. No, she surely misheard. She opened her eyes, pushed up from the floor of the carriage, and placed her ear to the crack in the seat.

      “Are we to pick up Amelia or will she be meeting you at the rout?”

      “No Amelia. I let her go,” St. Jerome replied.

      “Oh, you mean her handsome legs and even finer skills are available?”

      Lilly smothered her gasp into her bicep. She had never heard Brian talk in such a way. Maybe this was all for show because that scoundrel St. Jerome was present.

      “Quite so, but not for you, louse. With your family looming over your every move, she would ruin you.” St. Jerome chuckled.

      Oh, dash it! It was St. Jerome. The mill had been churning for the past week with his most recent, not so quiet, break from Amelia, his mistress. But what in all of England was her brother doing associating with such a rogue? Maybe he was out to save St. Jerome’s soul. But from the sounds of it…that was the furthest thing from his mind. Her chest tightened.

      Could the townsfolk have been right? Was her brother on a path straight to damnation?

      No! She shan’t let all those lies turn her against him. Oh, if they only knew the true him—the one that played with the kittens in the barn and sat patiently while she painted his likeness for the umpteenth time. He couldn’t be only after loose virtue, stiff drinks, and cards. She strained to hear their conversation as the carriage rocked to a halt and another male entered.

      “We are three…,” said a jovial voice she didn’t recognize one whit.

      “Indeed. We are off to the ball for some excellent liquor, and even finer pleasure.” St. Jerome’s laughing tone raised every fine hair on her neck.

      God preserve her. They were headed to a ball. How in the world would she get into a ball uninvited and unmasked? Her brother would notice her at one glance.

      The locals called her a pure beauty, but they were simply kind. Nothing of any significance claimed her features. She possessed the meager looks of their mother, someone that Lilly’s pa had always scolded for not presenting herself well to anyone. “Make yourself presentable…if that is womanly possible,” his angry voice bellowed at her mother. Each of his words had made her mother flinch and tears spring to Lilly’s eyes. A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed repeatedly.

      She had loved her father, though he was firm with her, and she had seen moments of his kindness to their mother. Those were the moments that she hoped for in her match. If she ever did make a match, she wanted someone who would be kind and gentle and teach her the things she needed to know.

      She had yet to make her debut in town because of her mother’s always failing health, and she had no real desire to put herself forth in such a manner anyhow. Being rejected for something she had no control over would simply be bothersome. She sighed and her stomach pinched.

      No, it would hurt.

      She closed her eyes as the carriage swayed to a stop once more.

      “Who have you set your Abraham weeping for, Cunnington?” the stranger’s voice inquired laughingly.

      “Not one of your wicked girls skilled with the art of flogging, Devonton, that is for certain.”

      Chills raced along her spine. Lord Devonton! He was the worst rogue of all! Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Her brother sat knee to knee with two of England’s biggest and most notorious rogues.

      “Certainly not, Cunnington! One hit with the switch, and you would be crying like an infant.”

      The switch…that was true. Brian had cried and yelled like an infant when their nurse had punished him. His shouts grew louder and louder with each hit. She pursed her lips. Why would Lord Devonton wish a woman to birch him? Surely, he couldn’t find pleasure in such an act. If true, the information would explain his reputation. An exasperated sigh pushed past her lips.

      What was Brian doing with men of this ilk? He was a gentleman through and through. She could see how the townsfolk thought him scandalous when he consorted with the likes of these men. He plainly had another reason