Wicked and the Wallflower (The Bareknuckle Bastards 1)

“And what is that?”

“You are trying to scare me away from this place. And you should have thought about that before summoning me here.”

“I didn’t summon you,” he said. “I left you my direction so that you could get me a message, if necessary.”

“Why?” she asked.

He blinked. “Why?”

“Why would I need to get a message to you?” The question set him back. Before he was required to fabricate an answer, she continued. “Forgive me if you are not exactly the type of man I would ask for assistance.”

He didn’t like that. “What does that mean?”

“Only that a man who climbs into one’s bedchamber uninvited isn’t the kind of man who assists one into a carriage or takes the empty slot on one’s dance card at a ball.”

“Why not?”

She cut him a look. “You don’t seem the dancing sort.”

“You’d be surprised by what sort I can be, Felicity Faircloth.”

She smirked. “You’re currently bathing in front of me.”

“You didn’t have to come in.”

“You didn’t have to invite me.”

If he’d known what a difficult female she was, he would never have allowed this plan to go through.

Lie.

She sat back on the high bed then, letting her pink-slippered feet dangle, her hands settling to the counterpane. “You needn’t worry, anyway,” she said. “You are not the first man I have seen in a state of undress.”

His brows shot up. He could have sworn she was a virgin. But she knew how to pick a lock, so perhaps there was more to Lady Felicity Faircloth than he imagined. Excitement warred with something else—something far more dangerous. Something that won out. “Who?”

She drank again, more careful this time, and the liquor did not burn as much. Or she was better at hiding it. “I don’t see why that is any of your business.”

“If you want me to turn you into a flame, love, I must know all the ways you’ve sparked before.”

“I told you. I’ve never sparked before.”

He didn’t believe it. The woman was all spark—constantly threatening to flare.

“That’s why I agreed to your offer, you see. I fear I shall never spark. I’m squarely on the shelf, now.”

She didn’t look on the shelf.

“And I was not blessed with porcelain beauty.”

“There is nothing unattractive about you,” he said.

“Please, sir,” she said dryly, “you shall fill my head with your pretty compliments.”

He didn’t like how this girl could make him feel things he had not felt in decades. Things like chagrin. “Well, there isn’t.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

He changed the subject, suddenly feeling like a proper ass. “So, the extent of your witnessing men in a state of undress ends at who, your father in his casual, country attire?”

She smiled. “You are showing your lack of knowledge of the aristocracy, Devil. My father’s casual country attire includes a cravat and coat, always.” She shook her head. “No. As a matter of fact, it was the Duke of Haven.”

He resisted the urge to stand. He knew Haven. The duke frequented The Singing Sparrow—a tavern two streets away owned by an American and a legendary songstress. But Haven was wild for his wife, and that wasn’t gossip—Devil had witnessed it.

“I assume this is the duke who tossed you over for his wife?”

She nodded. “So it wasn’t a state of undress that mattered,” she said. “I was one of his bachelorettes.”

She said it as though it would explain everything. “What does that mean?”

Her brow furrowed. “You don’t know about Haven’s search for a new duchess?”

“I know Haven has a duchess. Whom he loves beyond reason.”

“She demanded a divorce,” Felicity said. “Do you not read the papers?”

“I cannot articulate how little I care for the marital strife of the aristocracy.”

She stilled at that. “You’re serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You really don’t care what happened? It was in all the gossip pages. I was quite famous for a bit.”

“I don’t read the gossip pages.”

One mahogany brow rose. “No, I don’t imagine that you do, what with how very busy and important you are.”

Devil had the distinct impression she was teasing him. “My interest extends to how it is relevant to you, Felicity Faircloth, and barely that far.”

She cut him a look at the last. “Last summer, the Duchess of Haven demanded a divorce. There was a competition to become the second duchess. It was all foolish, of course, because Haven absolutely loved her beyond reason. Which he told me. While in his dressing gown and nothing else.”

“He was unable to dress before telling you that?”

She smiled, soft and romantic. “I shan’t allow you to make it sound ridiculous. I’ve never seen anyone so undone by love.”

Devil’s gaze narrowed. “And so we get to the heart of the impossible things you wish for.”

She paused, myriad emotions passing over her face. Embarrassment. Guilt. Sorrow. “Don’t you wish for such a thing?”

“I told you, my lady, passion is a dangerous play.” He paused. “So, Haven kept his duchess and what happened to the rest of you?”

“One of us left mid-competition to marry another. One of us became a companion to an aging aunt and is on the Continent, looking for a husband. The final two—Lady Lilith and I—we remain unmarried. It’s not as though we were diamonds of the first water to begin with.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “We weren’t even diamonds of the second water. And now, our mothers’ desperation to get us matched has become something of a vague black mark.”

“How vague of a black mark?”

“The kind that makes us vaguely ruined.” Another drink. “Not that I wasn’t vaguely ruined before that.”

It had always struck Devil that women were ruined either entirely or not at all. And she did not look ruined.

She looked perfect.

“Is that why your unfortunates passed you over for no apparent reason?” he asked. “Because that seems like a reason. An idiotic one, but one that the aristocracy would happily cling to in order to roast one of its own.”

She looked to him. “What do you know of the aristocracy?”

“I know they like to drink bourbon and play cards.” And I know there was a time when I wanted very much to be one of them, just like you do, Felicity Faircloth. He leaned back in the bath. “And I know it’s better to be first in hell than simpering in heaven.”

Her lips flattened into a straight, disapproving line. “Either way, your end of our bargain is more than a challenge. The Duke of Marwick might not care for a wife with such a sullied reputation.”

The Duke of Marwick had no interest in a wife, period.

Devil did not tell her that. Neither did he tell her that her sullied reputation would be in tatters soon enough. He was suddenly uncomfortable, and he stood, water sluicing off him as he came to his full height.

He would be lying if he said he did not enjoy the way her eyes went wide or the little squeak she made as she hopped off the bed to turn her back to him. “That was very rude,” she said to the far wall of the room.

“I’ve never been known for my politeness,” he said.

She gave a little snort. “What a surprise.”

He shook his head, amused. Even now, she remained smart-mouthed. “Are you regretting your earlier bravery?”

“No.” The word cracked on its high pitch. She drank again. “Keep talking.”

It was his turn to be suspicious. “Why?”

“So that I can be certain you are not approaching to take advantage of me.”

“If I were going to take advantage of you, I would approach from the front, Felicity Faircloth. In full view, so you would have

the joy of expecting me,” he said. “But I shall talk, with pleasure.” He moved to dress, watching her the whole time. “We are going to begin with a gown.”

“A—a gown?”

He pulled on his trousers. “I promised that Marwick would be slavering after you like a dog, did I not?”

“I didn’t say I wanted that,” she said.