Free Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) by Kathleen Ayers Page B

Tilda.  She took a step
forward.
    A warm
finger slid along her neck and inserted itself in the back of her gown. 
The finger tugged her back, towards Lord Reynolds.  She could not move
forward without risking a tear in her gown.
    “Stop
blustering for a moment, Badger. Even though it makes you quite delectable.” 
    The words
fell over her in a caress.  He’d called her delectable.  Something
dark and dangerous twisted through her.  Her skin tingled.  The hall
grew even warmer.  Surely this was only a game to him.
    “You are
unkind to toy with me in this fashion.”  She nearly wept the words. 
Every nerve in her body screamed. “Are you so jaded by life that you amuse
yourself by torturing your grandmother’s guests?” 
    The finger
slid out of the back of her neck and was joined by his whole hand as it trailed
down the length of her spine.  Her back exploded at the warmth of his
touch.  A gasp escaped her mouth.  She prayed he hadn’t
noticed.    
    “I would
enjoy torturing you endlessly .  In a most kind fashion.” 
    The dragon’s
tail wrapped around her middle, sensuously winding around her.
    “Alex.” His
breath, warm against the back of her neck, held a note of longing.
    An odd ache
filled her chest.  “I did not give you leave to call me by that
name.”  She tried to sound harsh, but instead her reprimand sounded seductive.
    “I did not
ask for it.” The words floated around her as he planted a kiss below her ear,
the skin sparking with flame at the touch of his lips.
    Alexandra
blinked, stunned that he would dare kiss her, here at Cambourne House, but did
not turn around to face him.  It was all she could do not to fall into a
puddle of adoration at his feet. She was a bookish, plain spinster from
Hampshire, more comfortable discussing the planting of crops than the
whispering seductive flirtations in the shadows. Notorious rakes did not desire
her.  Did they?
    She pivoted
round, determined to confront him with the logic of her thoughts, but he was
gone, the elegant hallway of Cambourne House, quiet.  Lord Reynolds disappeared
as if he had never been there at all.

SIX
    “My lord,
you have a guest awaiting you in your study.”  McMannish wrinkled his
enormous bushy black eyebrows and frowned as he saw the tear in Sutton’s jacket
and the scrape against Sutton’s cheek.  “My lord?  Have you been
teaching Viscount Lindley that Chinese fighting again?  Looks like he got
one off on you.” 
    Sutton
nodded to McMannish but didn’t answer.  The man who attempted to slit
Sutton’s throat as he left the solicitor’s office decided to have his windpipe
crushed rather than tell Sutton who employed him.  Sutton was sure that
even without the man’s confession he knew who employed the would-be assassin.
Two attempts on his life in such a short time span, one prior to his departure
from Macao, the other just after his return to London, left Sutton little doubt
as to the identity.  She was the only one with much to gain by his death
and everything to lose if Sutton continued to live.
    He shook his
shoulders, trying to force the dampness of London from his body.  He had
been back from Macao for nearly a year, but still he couldn’t get warm. 
Every fireplace in the townhouse was kept stoked day and night to banish the
cold.  Still Sutton shivered.  McMannish complained of slowly being
cooked to death and suggested his lordship wear wool undergarments.
    “Can you be
more specific as to the guest?”  The two giant, black caterpillars over
McMannish’s eyes attempted to climb into the man’s hairline.  A sure sign
of trouble.   McMannish was a large man of Scottish extraction and
made quite an imposing butler.  Sutton found McMannish, drunk and surly in
a tavern on the wharf one evening. The man bemoaned his fate.  He came to
London to escape the poverty of his Scottish village only to be unable to find
work.  His imposing size, stern countenance and Scottish burr