Free Any Wicked Thing by Margaret Rowe

winding stairs, Sebastian had a few inches of tepid water to wash some of his sins away. He was just drying himself with a threadbare towel when he heard a bloodcurdling shriek echoing against the castle walls. Freddie . He didn’t bother with his robe. There was a demoiselle in distress.

Chapter 7

    It was nothing—nothing—like the last time. It was worse.
    â€”FROM THE DIARY OF FREDERICA WELLS
    F reddie’s room was a floor below his, the door standing conveniently open so he wouldn’t need a battering ram. She, however, was nowhere to be seen. He called her name, but there was no reply. Feeling somewhat foolish and extremely naked, he looked behind curtains and under the untouched bed for her. A candle flickered on her desk, revealing that she had been laboring over their contract. Her handwriting was scrupulously legible, fitting for the daughter of a secretary. He noted June the first as the date Goddard Castle was to be transferred to her.
    â€œDevil take it,” he muttered. Was she playing a trick on him again? Did she think she’d somehow avoid his embrace by frightening him to death and running away? He was about to pick up the candle and expand his search when he heard a little gasp.
    â€œSebastian! What are you doing here? It’s not yet midnight.”
    Freddie stood on the threshold, arms folded over her chest, her long hair in the two neat schoolgirl braids he remembered. She wore a night rail with a thousand tiny buttons that marched right up to her chin. He couldn’t remember when he’d seen a more welcome or seductive sight.
    â€œDamn it, Freddie! I thought something happened to you. Why did you scream? I believe you must have taken a few years off my life.” He covered his heart, but Freddie’s eyes were elsewhere.
    â€œOh, that. I didn’t scream. You are not dressed,” she said as an afterthought.
    â€œI thought your life was in danger. It hardly seemed worthwhile to don my breeches if I was required to save you in a timely fashion.”
    â€œHow gallant. But I am perfectly fine. You really should . . . put some clothes on.” She stared at him for just another moment, causing his spine to straighten and his chest to swell slightly. He knew he was fit. Riding, fencing and long bouts of daytime and nocturnal sex kept him in excellent shape. He was somewhat disappointed when she raised her eyes and resolutely focused on the top of his head. She might be shy when it came to his body, but that bloodcurdling noise didn’t seem to disturb her at all.
    â€œWhat was that ghastly racket, then?”
    She flicked a braid over her shoulder and smiled. “You mean ghostly racket. Just one of the Archibald Walkers, I expect.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou know we have ghosts. Your father was rather proud of them.”
    â€œRubbish and rot.” Warren had alluded to the same thing, but Sebastian paid no attention. He didn’t believe people wouldn’t come to work here because of ghosts, but rather because of the likely chance they’d perish under falling debris. Sebastian certainly did not believe in ghosts himself. The only white drifty thing he wanted to see was Freddie’s night rail dropping to the floor.
    â€œI quite agree. I think if the wind kicks up a certain way through the arrow loops, the resulting sound is the noise you heard. It’s rather chilling, isn’t it? No wonder we can’t get the locals to work here—they’re a superstitious lot. They say the last earl is still wandering about the castle searching for his germinal francs. Or gold bars or jewels—whatever Napoleon paid him to betray his country.”
    Sebastian snorted. “If there’s any treasure to be found here, I’m the King of England.”
    She wagged a schoolmistressy finger. “More treason.”
    â€œWhere were you?”
    Freddie lowered her eyes. “The garderobe.”
    He looked at her