This Wicked Gift by Courtney Milan Read Free Book Online Page A

quiet—not unemotional, William realized, but so suffused with
emotion that only that flat, invariant tone could contain his disdain. “I
appreciate your telling the carriage drivers not to take me to Hampshire. I
applaud your decision to bribe—how many was it? It must have been every owner
of a private conveyance in London, so that they would not take me, either. But
it took real genius on your part to outright purchase the Hampshire coach lines
in their entirety, five days before Christmas.”
    “Well.” The old Lord Blakely preened and
examined   his nails. Of course,
the man did not find anything so uncouth as dirt near
his fingers, but he nonetheless brushed away an imagined speck. “How lovely of you to admit my intelligence. Now do you
believe that I was serious when I told you that if you did not give up your
foolish scientific pursuits, you would not see that woman?”
    William might have drowned in the sea of
their exchanged sarcasm. Neither man seemed to care that he was in the room. He
was invisible—a servant, a hired man. He might have been etched on the curling
wallpaper, for all the attention that they paid him.
    The young viscount lifted his chin. “That
woman,” he said carefully, “is my   mother.”
    William felt a twinge of satisfaction. He
ought not to have reveled in the other man’s pain, but it was delicious to know
that even money could not buy freedom.
    “I’m leaving,” Lord Wyndleton continued.
    “No, you are not. What you are doing is
throwing a tantrum, like a child demanding a boiled sweet. It is long past time
that you gave up that natural philosophy nonsense and learned to manage an
estate like a lord.”
    “I can read a damned account book.”
    “Yes, but can you manage seventeen separate
properties? Can you keep a host of useless and unmotivated servitors bent to
their tasks?”
    The young viscount’s gaze cut briefly
toward William. William felt himself analyzed, cataloged—and then, just as
swiftly, dismissed, an obstacle as irrelevant and underwhelming as a dead black
beetle lying in the middle of a thoroughfare.
    “How difficult can it be?”
    “Bill Blight, why don’t you explain to my
grandson what I had planned for you?”
    “You were, I believe, going to look
through my work until you found an error. My lord.”   And then you
were going to turn me off .
    “Blight, tell him what I really intended.”
    William pressed his lips together. “You
were going to sack me to induce terror in your staff.”
    That sort of sentence—bald and
unforgiving—ought to have gotten him tossed out on his ear.
    Instead, the marquess smiled. “Precisely so. Wyndleton, how do you suppose I managed to
thwart your ill-fated flight this morning? I assure you, I did not need to
bribe every driver in London. I keep my staff in line—and that means they do as
I say, what I say, no matter the cost.”
    The young viscount’s nostrils flared.
    “You think you can be a marquess? Like
that?” The marquess snapped his fingers. “Get your valise. Spend these two days
with me—do as I say—and you’ll start to learn how it’s done. Someday you might
even get to thwart me. Or you would, if you had the money to do it.”
    Still Lord Wyndleton did not move. He
stood next to William, his arms rigid, his fingers curving into the desk like
claws.
    “Come along,” the marquess said. “I
shouldn’t have to spoon-feed you these lessons. If you’ll listen to me, I’ll
have the carriage take you over late Christmas Eve.” The old man stood up and
walked to the door. He didn’t look back.
    After all, William thought bitterly, what
else could mere mortals do but jump to perform his bidding? The thought almost
put him in charity with the man standing nearby. The viscount slowly
straightened.
    “What I don’t understand,” William said
quietly, “is why you don’t buy your own carriage.”
    Lord Wyndleton turned to him. This close,
William could see the golden brown of his