Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) by Kathleen Ayers Read Free Book Online Page B

uncle waited.
     

FIVE
    “I don’t
suppose the devil takes tea, so I should have nothing to fear.” Alexandra
smoothed the pleated folds of her yellow-sprigged gown and tried not to think
about the fact that she was about to be entertained by Lord Reynolds’s sister
and elderly grandmother.  Alexandra wondered again at the odd
coincidence.  Certainly, God must have a sense of humor.
    A note
arrived that morning, written in a spidery, elegant hand.  The note
instructed Alexandra of the Dowager’s expectation that Alexandra join the
elderly woman for tea today.   She tossed the note at her uncle and
flew up the stairs to find something suitable in her wardrobe.  The
thought of escaping her uncle’s townhome, if only for an afternoon, filled her
with delight and an odd sense of expectation.  But what if she saw him ?
    Alexandra’s
fingers fluttered nervously until the digits found a curl lying across her
shoulder.  Her bottom wiggled against the settee as she tried to control
her agitation.  She twisted the curl round and round her finger, while she
imagined what she would do if Lord Reynolds appeared.   He won’t
remember me, Alexandra told herself for the tenth time.  I am fairly
plain, and he was toying with me.  Besides, if she would regain her
independence and save Helmsby Abbey, she didn’t need her meeting with the
biggest rake in London to become knowledge. 
    Her face
grew warm in the cool air of the Dowager’s parlor.  Last night she had
dreamt of Lord Reynolds and the infamous dragon tattoo. Lord Reynolds had kissed
her and the dragon’s tail unwound from his torso to wrap around her.  Her
hands wove through the dark strands of his hair.  She awoke this morning
with her nightgown around her waist and a painful throb between her
thighs.  She could still smell the scent of cinnamon coming off his skin,
the sound of his voice whispering, “ Alex .”
    The clock
struck the hour and she jumped, her gaze flying to the door.  The dark
paneled walnut remained shut.  She had been waiting nearly thirty minutes
– giving her far too much time to dwell on fantasy.   Her aunt
had warned her about men and marriage long ago, using the examples of
Grandfather Dunforth and Lord Burke.  Men were trouble, Aunt Eloise
instructed her, titled men more so because they felt they deserved
everything .  Alexandra plucked at her sleeve.  Lord Reynolds was
nothing more than an adventure, something for her to remember in the autumn of her
life. 
    She leaned
back into the couch and allowed her eyes to roam over the comfortable sitting
room that belonged to the Dowager Marchioness.  The walls were a muted
cranberry color with a motif of leaves drawn in a pattern around the edges of
the ceiling.  A large, plush Persian carpet in soft tones of brown and
green covered the floor.  The carpet’s weave was so deep that her heels
sunk into it when she walked to the settee.  She had never seen any room
so elegant.  Certainly nothing in her uncle’s garish townhome compared to
this.  A light breeze blew through the open window and Alexandra could
smell a combination of aromas, likely from the Dowager’s garden, waft
through.  The comfort of the room made her homesick for her study at
Helmsby Abbey.
    She had
written out yet another note to Mr. Meechum, the family solicitor, the third in
as many days.  She wondered at his lack of reply, thinking that he
possibly was out of town.  Not trusting Tilda, the lady’s maid her uncle
hired to wait on her, Alexandra asked one of the stable boys to take the note
to Meechum and Sons.  The young lad tugged his forelock and went running
down the mews from her, in what she hoped was the right direction.  
Upon her return to the house, Tilda, her bulldog like countenance twisted into
a snarl, asked her what she’d been up to.  Alexandra ignored her. 
Tilda was more jailor than lady’s maid.  Alexandra did not owe the woman
an explanation.
    Where on
earth was the