Wicked Deception (Wicked Magic Book 1) Read online

  "May I take your cloak, my lord?"

  Her father flushed in anger, but Lord Shepton smiled down at her and handed her the heavy wool garment. She hurried away and hung it on the tree in the hall, suddenly irritated with her father and this household in general. They'd had maids and a footman in the distant past when her mother had been alive. Did he think those people existed here because he wished it?

  She returned to the parlor, and her father grasped her arm roughly. "How dare you embarrass me in front of the earl!"

  "We have guests, sir," she whispered, careful to keep her voice down. "Surely, you didn't expect the earl to attend his wedding in his cloak?"

  Lord Shepton approached them with two glasses of wine. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Stratton. I hope you are well." He glanced pointedly down at her father's hand still clutching her arm, and her father jerked away as if he'd been burned. Lord Shepton handed her a glass and raised his own.

  "Here's to a mutually pleasurable relationship," Lord Shepton murmured.

  The toast was entirely inappropriate, yet she gave him a soft smile of thanks for deflecting her father's abuse. No one had ever done such a thing for her before, and she liked his protectiveness.

  "To a long and successful marriage, my lord."

  Lord Shepton touched his glass to hers. She drank and lifted her head. His eyes darkened as he gazed at her, and something warm took up residence in her belly.

  "You look lovely, Miss Stratton. So fresh and innocent."

  "I beg your pardon, my lord." The vicar shuffled toward them, clenching his hands in front of him. "I do not wish to hurry matters, but I have a christening—"

  Lord Shepton took her glass and handed it to her father, along with his own, ignoring the other man's scowl of displeasure. "I apologize for the delay. Completely my fault, of course, but we won't keep you any longer than necessary."

  He took Elizabeth's arm. His hand was gentle, unlike her father's, but she knew she couldn't escape it and followed him obediently to stand in front of the vicar to say her vows.

  She looked up into his handsome face. He smiled down at her, his teeth bared into a feral smile. He looked so hungry, but she couldn't fathom why such a word would come to her mind. When he let go of her arm, she shivered, and wanted to rub her icy hands down arms suddenly covered in gooseflesh.

  The vicar began the ceremony and looked at her expectantly. With a start, she realized she would be required to speak. "I—" She coughed and cleared her throat. "I do." Those few words, her promise to obey her new husband, were ash in her mouth. There were other words, of course. He promised to love and cherish her as he slipped a heavy gold band on her finger, but she barely heard them. His hot flesh scalded her cold hand, and she resisted the impulse to burrow against him for warmth.

  Her lips silently mouthed the syllables of the vows she'd made, knowing they were a forever sort of thing. Until the vicar had made her say those fate-riddled words, she'd felt as though the whole thing was a farcical bit of nonsense.

  They signed the registry and shared cake and punch as Shepton's groom loaded her few belongings in the carriage that would take her to her new home. Her neat penmanship was stark against his lazy scrawl on the yellowed vellum. She felt for a moment as if she'd signed her own death warrant.

  ∞∞∞

  Elizabeth, the new Countess of Shepton, stood on the front steps of her childhood home, praying she would never see it again. With her gloves and wearing her cloak over her mother's dress, she felt quite grown up, though she wondered if she had the breeding and manners to do justice to her new title. Her father hovered like a crow on the landing behind her. She ignored him as she thanked their few guests for attending the nuptials, saying goodbye to Lily and Matilda with tearful hugs and promises to write.

  Perhaps the fine pair of grays drawing the earl's carriage were evidence of what she would find in his stable. She could only hope, but she didn't want to appear greedy and ask for a mount of her own so soon after their marriage. Horses would be there, or they would not. If they were not, she hoped she would please him sufficiently enough that he would buy her a saddle horse.

  When her duties as hostess were complete and their few guests milled about the courtyard sharing gossip as they waited for the newlyweds to depart, Sir James grabbed her arm. She stiffened in fear but knew better than to pull away.

  "Don't even think of running away from this marriage, Elizabeth." Spittle dotted his lips and he sneered at her. "You will get no sanctuary here, and I don't give a damn if he beats you bloody every night."

  "It wouldn't have occurred to me to do such a foolish thing, sir. You've made your feelings about me quite clear since before Mama died."

  His mouth opened and closed, and she thought he looked like nothing more than a large fish gasping in the cold air. He scowled, the expression ugly on his florid face, and he tightened his hand around her arm as he lifted his fist to strike her.

  "Go inside, sir," she said softly. "There is nothing else for you here."

  Elizabeth didn't move, despite the pang of fear making her belly tumble. He would not hit her now; not when there were guests milling about in front of the house, and he could be seen. A warm arm wrapped itself around her waist, and her father let her go and backed away. She resisted the urge to rub at her sore arm, knowing Sir James had left a bruise.

  "Thank you for seeing my wife on her way to her new home," the earl said, his smooth voice trickling down her spine.

  Elizabeth shivered under her husband's touch. "Goodbye, sir. I shall write to you when I arrive." Both her father and she knew she would do no such thing, but it was the polite thing to say and Shepton would expect it. Lord Shepton turned her around and escorted her to the carriage, easily lifting her inside.

  She sat, facing forward, and arranged her skirts around her in a neat puddle of silk. Her new husband would sit across from her, and perhaps they could converse. The carriage was luxurious, filled with soft cushions upholstered in midnight damask. Burgundy velvet curtains were drawn aside to reveal glass windows. There was a brick to warm her feet, and a large basket rested under the bench across from her. She assumed it contained food for their journey.

  She peeked out the window as he strode back to speak with her father. When her father's face darkened into an unattractive shade of purple, she hid a smile behind her gloved hand. The two men were too far away for her to hear their conversation, but whatever Lord Shepton said had displeased her father greatly. Knowing Sir James, it could have been almost anything, but she wasn't foolhardy enough to ask.

  Lord Shepton left her father standing on the front steps, and climbed into the carriage. He pushed her skirts out of the way to sit next to her on the bench. She stiffened in surprise, but didn't object. It was his carriage, after all, and she supposed she ought to get used to acceding to his wishes.

  It had occurred to her to ask for a chaperone for the trip, but the idea seemed silly. What use did a married lady have for a chaperone with her own husband? Asking for such a thing would only make her appear frightened, and that was not the impression she wanted to give to her handsome new husband. She refused to start off their marriage from such a position of weakness.

  The carriage lurched forward, and she grasped the handle on the door to steady herself. He stared at her pensively but made no indication that he would speak. She considered beginning a conversation herself, but she had no idea what to say to the arresting man seated next to her. Glancing sideways at him from under her lashes, she wished she had a clever tongue like Matilda. In an effort to control her nerves and discomfort, she pulled a book from her reticule and settled back against the soft squabs.

  He bent forward and pulled the lid from the basket, exposing a bottle of wine, beaded with condensation, and a crystal flute. With an expert twist of his thumbs, he released the cork and poured the pale liquid into the glass.

  "Have you nothing to say, Lady Shepton?"

  Her new name sent a shiver of p
leasure down her spine, and she looked up from her book. "Should I have, my lord?"

  His mouth quirked up into a smile, and she was struck anew by his physical beauty. God had indeed been generous with this man. Long lashes surrounded his icy blue eyes, nearly resting on his cheeks when his lids closed to blink. His nose was a sharp blade above full lips turned up into an enigmatic smile. His closely cropped hair suited his ascetic mien. She looked down in fascination as his long fingers stroked the stem of his wine glass.

  "I've found that girls your age have no end of chatter," he said, his voice mocking and daring all at once. He touched her chin with two fingers, tilting her head up as he held the glass to her lips.

  Chapter 2

  A good marriage would be between a blind wife and a deaf husband.

  Michel de Montaigne

  Too shocked at his movement to protest or take the glass from him, she swallowed the chilled wine gratefully and breathed out as it eased the lump from her throat. He pulled the glass away too quickly, leaving an icy droplet to trickle down her chin. With a wicked smirk, he wiped it away with his thumb, his blue eyes never leaving her face. His tongue shot out to lick the wetness from his hand.

  She gasped, the low hiss of her inhalation escaping her parted lips before she could call it back. Her belly clenched and butterflies danced a lively reel in her abdomen as she watched him suck the wine from his thumb. Her husband's sober dress and appearance hid a roguish and rather debauched sense of humor. She was not at all prepared for such things.

  "I've found it's best to be silent unless one has something worthwhile to say." She couldn't help her breathless reply and lowered her head, returning her attention to the book in her hands, her cheeks burning under his piercing gaze. She shouldn't have taken the book out at all, but he'd given no hint that he wished to talk until now. It would have been better to stare out the window.

  While she was grateful he'd rescued her from an unfulfilling life with her father, it did not give him the right to be so forward with her! She considered objecting to his behavior, but stopped herself before the words left her mouth. He did have the right to be forward. They were in the privacy of his carriage, and they'd said their marriage vows in front of the vicar.

  His behavior wasn't what she'd expected, yet she didn't know if it was wrong. It was possible that all married couples behaved that way when they were alone. And truly, she'd had no expectations at all, aside from having a title and some measure of financial comfort. Most importantly, she knew she hadn't had a choice. Her father would most likely have turned her out if she'd refused the match.

  Elizabeth pushed the thoughts away, knowing they were the product of nerves and perhaps a little fear of the unknown. She didn't think her new husband would beat her as her father had done, but one never knew. Matilda was her only married friend, and refused to give her any guidance, aside from telling Elizabeth that her husband would be kind if she was obedient.

  Such words were less than useless to Elizabeth, and she'd given up on getting information from Matilda. Her father had said much the same thing, but his beatings had little correlation with her behavior.

  "What are you reading?"

  His sudden conversation startled her, and she nearly dropped Mr. Darwin's interesting work. This was her second copy; her father had roared his displeasure and tossed the first into the flames. He'd been adamant that she would never find a husband if she continued to read books best suited for men. It had been her hope that her new husband would be more understanding.

  "Nothing of importance. Simply a novel that would interest a young girl."

  "I see." His gaze pierced her, and she knew he didn't believe a word of her ridiculous falsehood. The leather-bound tome was too large to be something considered suitable for a young woman. "Do you have interests aside from reading novels?"

  "I enjoy riding and working in my garden, my lord."

  "You may call me Richard, if you like." He tipped the glass to her lips once more, giving her another small sip of wine. His thumb brushed her lower lip, but he didn't pull the glass away and allowed her to finish it.

  She attributed the warmth in her belly to the wine. "Thank you. You may call me Elizabeth, if it pleases you, my lord."

  "Tell me about what occupies a young girl every day. Eighteen is so very young, after all."

  "I'm sure my days will hold no interest for you." Her face heated as she thought of what his reaction would be to her dreadfully dull life. There were no balls or soirees, no fashionable friends, no hunt parties… She bit her lip and looked out the window, hoping he'd drop the uncomfortable conversation.

  "Tell me anyway."

  He shifted in his seat, moving closer to her. His hand fell to her thigh, and he caressed the heavy silk of her mother's gown. The warmth of his palm made her skin prickle, and she had to swallow hard against the whimper of discomfort wanting to crawl up her throat. He chuckled and pulled his hand away, turning to face her as he stretched his long legs out until his feet rested under her skirts.

  She had to clear her throat before speaking. "Very well. If the weather is fine, I might ride our neighbor's gelding or tend my garden. If it is not, I plan menus and other activities necessary for maintaining a household." She folded her hands in her lap and looked outside at the passing landscape. "You see, it is quite boring. Even for me," she added under her breath.

  She didn't want to mention that her favored activities were anything that kept her out of the house when Sir James was in residence. When he was away, she painted or read. Sometimes she went to the Vicar's cottage to play the pianoforte.

  His laughter surprised her. "If you enjoy riding, I have several fine horses in my stable. You may choose one that pleases you at your convenience. I would also like you to take the household in hand. It needs a woman's touch."

  "Of course. I shall do as you ask, my lord." She wondered why he'd thought it necessary to say that. It was a wife's duty to maintain the household in a comfortable and tidy fashion, and she looked forward to managing a peaceful and productive home. She had done the same tasks in her father's home, of course, but the ability to manage a household in which there was enough money to pay the servants' wages without going hungry would be a novel and welcome experience.

  He poured another glass of wine and leaned back against the squabs next to her, sipping contemplatively. It was all rather forward behavior, but she didn't move away from the heat of his body. She shivered despite his warmth and put a hand on her abdomen to still the butterflies tumbling in her stomach.

  Indeed, she wished he would be still! He fidgeted like an overly excited child. Did he do such things to make her nervous, or was it simply his way? Did he become restless in the close confines of a carriage? Surely, such a large, physical male would rather be engaged in more strenuous pursuits.

  The skin around his eyes crinkled as if he laughed at her. Elizabeth didn't understand his mocking attitude. Despite his unorthodox behavior, he'd been nothing but kind. Perhaps she was seeing things that weren't there. She did not move her leg, though. It would not do to let him know he made her uncomfortable.

  "Tell me something nobody knows about you."

  "Why?" The question surprised her, but she kept her face impassive as she turned to face him.

  "Should a husband not know his wife?"

  "We are only just married, my lord."

  Laughing, he pressed his thigh more firmly against hers. "Touché, my dear Elizabeth. Tell me something, and I shall tell you one of my secrets in return." He leaned forward. "I'll even give you an easy one," he whispered, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. "Tell me the title of the book you put away so quickly. Novels are rarely so weighty. What is it?"

  God save her from clever men. She cursed herself for pulling it out in the first place and hid her scowl. "Very well, my lord. It is Mr. Darwin's treatise on plants and animals."

  He leaned back, tapping his long fingers under his chin. "Indeed. You are not as sheltered as y
ou want me to think, are you?"

  "Are you always tardy to your appointments, my lord? Vicar Reynolds was quite put out at your lateness to our wedding." The question sprang from her lips, and she cursed herself for opening her mouth. Intemperate things always fell from it.

  He chuckled. "Quite often, my dear. It is one of the benefits of being an earl that no one complains."

  She watched his face as he spoke. He was relaxed and jovial, the smile on his lips crinkling his eyes in quite a charming fashion.

  He drained his glass and dropped it carelessly into the basket. "As you so kindly shared your secret, I will share one of mine. I am quite fascinated by the work of Mr. Darwin. Would you share your conclusions?"

  "As you wish, my lord. Mr. Darwin's work is interesting, but I don't think it was researched nearly well enough. Perhaps someone should have introduced him to the work of Gregor Mendel. He conducted some fascinating studies on flowers and recorded more details about his experiments."

  "That is an astute observation, my dear, but I wish to hear what you think. Do you agree with his conclusions?"

  "I believe those thoughts would make Vicar Reynolds quite unhappy with me."

  His lips twitched up into a smirk, but she couldn't understand why he would be laughing at her. "Ah, I see. We shall keep that bit of naughtiness between us, then. What made you decide to agree with his findings?"

  "It was the combination of his research along with Friar Mendel's, really. Darwin's work is more famous, but both have value."

  "I find you entertaining and in another day, I might have called you a bluestocking." He winked, utterly charming her despite her reservations.

  "My father told me that gentlemen do not like women who read. You seem to be a more modern sort."

  "Your father is wrong. You won't be permitted to study medicine or attend Oxford, of course, but I rather think I'll enjoy a wife who has the ability to converse with some degree of intelligence."

  She risked a peek at his blue eyes and found them filled with gentle amusement. "Thank you, my lord. Do you have a library I might be permitted to use?"