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Chapter no 12

When He Was Wicked (Bridgertons, #6)

โ€ฆ rather ridiculous writing to you, but I suppose after so many months in the East, my perspective on death and the afterlife has slid into something that would have sent Vicar MacLeish screaming for the hills. So far from England, it is almost possible to pretend that you are still alive and able to receive this note, just like the many I sent from France. But then someone calls out to me, and I am reminded that I am Kilmartin and you are in a place unreachable by the Royal Mail.

โ€”from the Earl of Kilmartin to his deceased cousin, the previous earl, one year and two months after his departure for India, written to completion and then burned slowly over a candle

It wasnโ€™t that heย enjoyedย feeling like an ass, Michael reflected as he swirled a glass of brandy at his club, but it seemed that lately, around Francesca at least, he couldnโ€™t quite avoid acting like one. There she had been at her motherโ€™s birthday party, so damnedย happyย for him, so delighted that he had uttered the wordย loveย in her presence, and he had simply snapped.

Because he knew how her mind worked, and he knew that she was already thinking madly ahead, trying to select the perfect woman for him, and the truth wasโ€ฆ

Well, the truth was just too pathetic for words.

But heโ€™d apologized, and although he could swear up and down that he wasnโ€™t going to behave like an idiot again, he would probably find himself apologizing again sometime in the future, and she would most likely just chalk it all up to a cranky nature on his part, never mind that heโ€™d been a model of good humor and equanimity when John had been alive.

He downed his brandy. Bugger it all.

Well, heโ€™d be done with this nonsense soon. Sheโ€™d find someone, marry the bloke, and move out of the house. They would remain friends, of courseโ€” Francesca wasnโ€™t the sort to allow otherwiseโ€”but he wouldnโ€™t see her every day over the breakfast table. He wouldnโ€™t even see her as often as he had before Johnโ€™s death. Her new husband would not permit her to spend so much time in his company, cousinly relationship or no.

โ€œStirling!โ€ he heard someone call out, followed by the usual slight cough which preceded, โ€œKilmartin, I mean. So sorry.โ€

Michael looked up to see Sir Geoffrey Fowler, an acquaintance of his from his days at Cambridge. โ€œNothing of it,โ€ he said, motioning to the chair across from him.

โ€œSplendid to see you,โ€ Sir Geoffrey said, taking a seat. โ€œI trust your journey home was uneventful.โ€

The pair exchanged the most basic of pleasantries until Sir Geoffrey got to the point. โ€œI understand that Lady Kilmartin is looking for a husband,โ€ he said.

Michael felt as if heโ€™d been punched. Never mind the atrocious floral display in his drawing room; it still sounded rather distasteful coming from someoneโ€™s lips.

Someone young, reasonably handsome, and obviously in the market for a wife.

โ€œEr, yes,โ€ he finally replied. โ€œI believe she is.โ€

โ€œExcellent.โ€ Sir Geoffrey rubbed his hands together in anticipation, leaving Michael with the overwhelming desire to smack his face.

โ€œShe will be quite choosy,โ€ Michael said peevishly.

Sir Geoffrey didnโ€™t seem to care. โ€œWill you dower her?โ€

โ€œWhat?โ€ Michael snapped. Good God, he was now her nearest male relative, wasnโ€™t he? Heโ€™d probably have to give her away at her wedding.

Hell.

โ€œWill you?โ€ Sir Geoffrey persisted. โ€œOf course,โ€ Michael bit off.

Sir Geoffrey sucked in his breath appreciatively. โ€œHer brother offered to do so as well.โ€

โ€œThe Stirlings will care for her,โ€ Michael said stiffly.

Sir Geoffrey shrugged. โ€œIt appears the Bridgertons will as well.โ€

Michael felt his teeth grinding to powder.

โ€œDonโ€™t look so dyspeptic,โ€ Sir Geoffrey said. โ€œWith a double dowry, sheโ€™ll be off your hands in no time. Iโ€™m sure youโ€™re eager to be rid of her.โ€

Michael cocked his head, trying to decide which side of Sir Geoffreyโ€™s nose could better take a punch.

โ€œSheโ€™s got to be a burden on you,โ€ Sir Geoffrey continued blithely. โ€œThe clothes alone must cost a fortune.โ€

Michael wondered what the legal ramifications were for strangling a knight of the realm. Surely nothing he couldnโ€™t live with.

โ€œAnd then whenย youย marry,โ€ Sir Geoffrey continued, obviously unaware that Michael was flexing his fingers and measuring his neck, โ€œyour new countess wonโ€™t want her in the house. Canโ€™t have two hens in charge of the household, right?โ€

โ€œRight,โ€ Michael said tightly.

โ€œVery well, then,โ€ Sir Geoffrey said, standing up. โ€œGood to speak with you, Kilmartin. I must be off. Need to go tell Shively the news. Not that I want the competition, of course, but this isnโ€™t likely to stay a secret for very long, anyway. I might as well be the one to let it out.โ€

Michael frosted him with a glare, but Sir Geoffrey was too excited with his gossip to notice. Michael looked down at his glass. Right. Heโ€™d drunk it all. Damn.

He signaled to a waiter to bring him another, then sat back with every intention of reading the newspaper heโ€™d picked up on the way in, but before he could even scan the headlines, he heard his name yet again. He made the minimum effort required to hide his irritation and looked up.

Trevelstam. Of the yellow roses. Michael felt the newspaper crumple between his fingers.

โ€œKilmartin,โ€ the viscount said.

Michael nodded. โ€œTrevelstam.โ€ They knew each other; not closely, but well enough so that a friendly conversation was not unexpected. โ€œHave a seat,โ€ he said, motioning to the chair across from him.

Trevelstam sat, setting his half-sipped drink on the table. โ€œHow do you fare?โ€ he asked. โ€œHavenโ€™t seen you much since your return.โ€

โ€œWell enough,โ€ Michael grunted. Considering that he was being forced to sit with some ninny who wanted to marry Francescaโ€™s dowry. No, make that her double dowry. The way gossip spread, Trevelstam had probably already heard the news from Sir Geoffrey.

Trevelstam was slightly more sophisticated than Sir Geoffreyโ€”he managed to make small talk for a full three minutes, asking about Michaelโ€™s trip to India, the voyage back, et cetera et cetera et cetera. But then, of course, he got down to his true purpose.

โ€œI called upon Lady Kilmartin this afternoon,โ€ he said.

โ€œDid you?โ€ Michael murmured. He hadnโ€™t returned home since leaving that morning. The last thing he had wanted was to be present for Francescaโ€™s parade of suitors.

โ€œIndeed. Sheโ€™s a lovely woman.โ€

โ€œThat she is,โ€ Michael said, glad his drink had arrived.

Then not so glad when he realized it had arrived two minutes earlier and he had already drunk it.

Trevelstam cleared his throat. โ€œIโ€™m sure you are aware that I intend to court her.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m certainly aware of it now.โ€ Michael eyed his glass, trying to determine if there might be a few drops of brandy left after all.

โ€œI wasnโ€™t certain whether I should inform you or her brother of my intentions.โ€

Michael was quite certain that Anthony Bridgerton, Francescaโ€™s eldest brother, was quite capable of weeding out unsuitable marriage prospects, but nonetheless he said, โ€œI am quite sufficient.โ€

โ€œGood, good,โ€ Trevelstam murmured, taking another sip of his drink. โ€œIโ€”โ€ โ€œTrevelstam!โ€ came a booming voice. โ€œAnd Kilmartin, too!โ€

It was Lord Hardwick, big and beefy, and if not yet drunk, not exactly sober either.

โ€œHardwick,โ€ both men said, acknowledging his arrival.

Hardwick grabbed a chair, scraping it along the floor until it found a place at the table. โ€œGood to see you, good to see you,โ€ he huffed. โ€œCapital night, donโ€™t you think? Most excellent. Most excellent, indeed.โ€

Michael had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded, anyway. Better that than actually to ask him what he meant; Michael was quite certain he lacked the patience to listen to an explanation.

โ€œThistleswaiteโ€™s over there setting bets on the Queenโ€™s dogs, and, oh! Heard about Lady Kilmartin, too. Good talk tonight,โ€ he said, nodding approvingly. โ€œGood talk, indeed. Hate when itโ€™s quiet here.โ€

โ€œAnd how are the Queenโ€™s dogs faring?โ€ Michael inquired. โ€œOut of mourning, I understand.โ€

โ€œThe dogs?โ€

โ€œNo, Lady Kilmartin!โ€ Hardwick chortled. โ€œHeh heh heh. Good one, there, Kilmartin.โ€

Michael signaled for another drink. He was going to need it.

โ€œWore blue the other night, she did,โ€ Hardwick said. โ€œEveryone saw.โ€ โ€œShe looked quite lovely,โ€ Trevelstam added.

โ€œIndeed, indeed,โ€ Hardwick said. โ€œGood woman. Iโ€™d go after her myself if I werenโ€™t already shackled to Lady Hardwick.โ€

Small favors and all that, Michael decided.

โ€œShe mourned the old earl for how long?โ€ Hardwick asked. โ€œSix years?โ€

As the โ€œold earlโ€ had been but twenty-eight at the time of his death, Michael found the comment somewhat offensive, but there seemed little point in attempting to change Lord Hardwickโ€™s customary bad judgment and behavior at this late stage in his lifeโ€”and from the size and ruddiness of him, he was clearly going to keel over at any time. Right now, in fact, if Michael was lucky.

He glanced across the table. Still alive. Damn.

โ€œFour years,โ€ he said succinctly. โ€œMy cousin died four years ago.โ€

โ€œFour, six, whatever,โ€ Hardwick said with a shrug. โ€œItโ€™s still a bloody long time to black the windows.โ€

โ€œI believe she was in half-mourning for some time,โ€ Trevelstam put in.

โ€œEh? Really?โ€ Hardwick took a swig of his drink, then wiped his mouth rather sloppily with a handkerchief. โ€œAll the same for the rest of us when you think about it. She wasnโ€™t looking for a husband โ€˜til now.โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ Michael said, mostly because Hardwick had actually stopped talking for a few seconds.

โ€œThe men are going to be after her like bees to honey,โ€ Hardwick predicted, drawing out theย beesย until it sounded like it ended with four Zs. โ€œBees to honey, I tell you. Everyone knows she was devoted to the old earl. Everyone.โ€

Michaelโ€™s drink arrived. Thank God.

โ€œAnd thereโ€™s been no whiff of scandal attached to her name since he died,โ€ Hardwick added.

โ€œI should say not,โ€ Trevelstam said.

โ€œNot like some of the widows out and about,โ€ Hardwick continued, taking another swig of his liquor. He chuckled lewdly and elbowed Michael. โ€œIf you know what I mean.โ€

Michael just drank.

โ€œItโ€™s likeโ€ฆโ€ Hardwick leaned in, his jowls jiggling as his expression grew salacious. โ€œItโ€™s likeโ€ฆโ€

โ€œFor Godโ€™s sake, man, just spit it out,โ€ Michael muttered. โ€œEh?โ€ Hardwick said.

Michael just scowled.

โ€œIโ€™ll tell you what itโ€™s like,โ€ Hardwick said with a leer. โ€œItโ€™s like youโ€™re getting a virgin who knows what to do.โ€

Michael stared at him. โ€œWhat did you just say?โ€ he asked, very quietly. โ€œI saidโ€”โ€

โ€œIโ€™d take care not to repeat that if I were you,โ€ Trevel-stam quickly interjected, casting an apprehensive glance at Michaelโ€™s darkening visage.

โ€œEh? Itโ€™s no insult,โ€ Hardwick grunted, gulping down the rest of his drink. โ€œSheโ€™s been married, so you know she ainโ€™t untouched, but she hasnโ€™t gone andโ€”โ€

โ€œStopย now,โ€ Michael ground out. โ€œEh? Everyone is saying it.โ€

โ€œNot in my presence,โ€ Michael bit off. โ€œNot if they value their health.โ€

โ€œWell, itโ€™s better than saying she ainโ€™t like a virgin.โ€ Hardwick chortled. โ€œIf you know what I mean.โ€

Michael lunged.

โ€œGood God, man,โ€ Hardwick yelped, falling back onto the floor. โ€œWhat the hell is wrong with you?โ€

Michael wasnโ€™t certain how his hands had come to be around Hardwickโ€™s neck, but he realized he rather liked them there. โ€œYou will never,โ€ he hissed, โ€œutter her name again. Do you understand me?โ€

Hardwick nodded frantically, but the motion cut off his air even further, and his cheeks began to purple.

Michael let go and stood up, wiping his hands against each other as if attempting to rub away something foul. โ€œI will not countenance Lady Kilmartin being spoken of in such disrespectful terms,โ€ he bit off. โ€œIs that clear?โ€

Hardwick nodded. And so did a number of the onlookers.

โ€œGood,โ€ Michael grunted, deciding now was a good time to get the hell out. Hopefully Francesca would already be in bed when he got home. Either that or out. Anything as long as he didnโ€™t have to see her.

He walked toward the exit, but as he stepped out of the room and into the hall, he heard his name being uttered yet again. He turned around,

wondering what man was idiot enough to pester him in such a state. Colin Bridgerton. Francescaโ€™s brother. Damn.

โ€œKilmartin,โ€ Colin said, his handsome face decorated with his customary half smile.

โ€œBridgerton.โ€

Colin motioned lightly to the now overturned table. โ€œThat was quite a show in there.โ€

Michael said nothing. Colin Bridgerton had always unnerved him. They shared the same sort of reputationโ€” that of the devil-may-care rogue. But whereas Colin was the darling of the society mamas, who cooed over his charming demeanor, Michael had always been (or at least until heโ€™d come into the title) treated with a bit more caution.

But Michael had long suspected there was quite a bit of substance under Colinโ€™s ever-jovial surface, and perhaps it was because they were alike in so many ways, but Michael had always feared that if anyone were to sense the truth of his feelings for Francesca, it would be this brother.

โ€œI was having a quiet drink when I heard the commotion,โ€ Colin said, motioning to a private salon. โ€œCome join me.โ€

Michael wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of the club, but Colin was Francescaโ€™s brother, which made them relations of a sort, requiring at least the pretense of politeness. And so he gritted his teeth and walked into the private salon, fully intending to take his drink and leave in under ten minutes.

โ€œPleasant night, donโ€™t you think?โ€ Colin said, once Michael was pretending to be comfortable. โ€œAside from Hardwick and all that.โ€ He sat back in his chair with careless grace. โ€œHeโ€™s an ass.โ€

Michael gave him a terse nod, trying not to notice that Francescaโ€™s brother was watching him as he always did, his shrewd gaze carefully overlaid with

an air of charming innocence. Colin cocked his head slightly to the side, rather as if, Michael thought acerbically, he were angling for a better look into his soul.

โ€œDamn it all,โ€ Michael muttered under his breath, and he rang for a waiter. โ€œWhat was that?โ€ Colin asked.

Michael turned slowly back to face him. โ€œDo you want another drink?โ€ he asked, his words as clear as he could manage, considering they had to squeeze through his clenched teeth.

โ€œI believe I will,โ€ Colin replied, all friendliness and good cheer. Michael didnโ€™t believe his facade for a moment.

โ€œDo you have any plans for the remainder of the evening?โ€ Colin asked. โ€œNone.โ€

โ€œNeither do I, as it happens,โ€ Colin murmured.

Damn. Again. Was it really too much to wish for one bloody hour of solitude?

โ€œThank you for defending Francescaโ€™s honor,โ€ Colin said quietly.

Michaelโ€™s first impulse was to growl that he didnโ€™t need to be thanked; it was his place as well as any Bridgertonโ€™s to defend Francescaโ€™s honor, but Colinโ€™s green eyes seemed uncommonly sharp that evening, so he just nodded instead. โ€œYour sister deserves to be treated with respect,โ€ he finally said, making sure that his voice was smooth and even.

โ€œOf course,โ€ Colin said, inclining his head.

Their drinks arrived. Michael fought the urge to down his in one gulp, but he did take a large enough sip for it to burn down his throat.

Colin, on the other hand, let out an appreciative sigh and sat back. โ€œExcellent whisky,โ€ he said with great appreciation. โ€œBest thing about Britain, really. Or one of them at least. One just canโ€™t get anything like it in Cyprus.โ€

Michael just grunted a response. It was all that seemed necessary.

Colin took another drink, clearly savoring the brew. โ€œAhhh,โ€ he said, setting his glass down. โ€œAlmost as good as a woman.โ€

Michael grunted again, raising his glass to his lips.

And then Colin said, โ€œYou should just marry her, you know.โ€ Michael nearly choked. โ€œI beg your pardon?โ€

โ€œMarry her,โ€ Colin said with a shrug. โ€œIt seems simple enough.โ€

It was probably too much to hope that Colin was speaking of anyone but Francesca, but Michael took one desperate stab, anyway, and said, in quite the chilliest tone he could muster, โ€œTo whom, might I ask, do you refer?โ€

Colin lifted his eyebrows. โ€œDo we really need to play this game?โ€ โ€œI canโ€™t marry Francesca,โ€ Michael sputtered.

โ€œWhy not?โ€

โ€œBecauseโ€”โ€ He cut himself off. Because there were a hundred reasons he couldnโ€™t marry her, none of which he could speak aloud. So he just said, โ€œShe was married to my cousin.โ€

โ€œLast I checked, there was nothing illegal in that.โ€

No, but there was everything immoral. Heโ€™d wanted Francesca for so long, loved her for what felt like an eternityโ€”even when John had been living. He had deceived his cousin in the basest way possible; he would not compound the betrayal by stealing his wife.

It would complete the ugly circle that had led to his being the Earl of Kilmartin, a title that was never supposed to have been his.ย Noneย of it was supposed to be his. And except for those damned boots heโ€™d forced Reivers to toss in a wardrobe, Francesca was the only thing left of Johnโ€™s that heย hadnโ€™tย made his own.

Johnโ€™s death had given him fabulous wealth. It had given him power, prestige, and the title of earl.

If it gave him Francesca as well, how could he possibly hang onto the thread of hope that he hadnโ€™t somehow, even if only in his dreams, wished for this to happen?

How could he live with himself then? โ€œShe has to marry someone,โ€ Colin said.

Michael looked up, aware that heโ€™d been silent with his thoughts for some time. And that Colin had been watching him closely all the while. He shrugged, trying to maintain a cavalier mien, even though he suspected it wouldnโ€™t fool the man across the table. โ€œSheโ€™ll do what she wants,โ€ he said. โ€œShe always does.โ€

โ€œShe might marry hastily,โ€ Colin murmured. โ€œShe wants to have children before sheโ€™s too old.โ€

โ€œSheโ€™s not too old.โ€

โ€œNo, but she might think she is. And she might worry that others will think she is, as well. She didnโ€™t conceive with your cousin, after all. Well, not successfully.โ€

Michael had to clutch the end of the table to keep from rising. He could have had Shakespeare at his side to translate, and still not have been able to explain why Colinโ€™s remark infuriated him so.

โ€œIf she chooses too hastily,โ€ Colin added, almost offhandedly, โ€œshe might choose someone who would be cruel to her.โ€

โ€œFrancesca?โ€ Michael asked derisively. Maybe some other woman would be that foolish, but not his Francesca.

Colin shrugged. โ€œIt could happen.โ€

โ€œEven if it did,โ€ Michael countered, โ€œshe would never remain in such a marriage.โ€

โ€œWhat choice would she have?โ€

โ€œThis isย Francescaโ€ย Michael said. Which really should have explained it all.

โ€œI suppose youโ€™re right,โ€ Colin acceded, sipping at his drink. โ€œShe could always take refuge with the Bridger-tons. We would certainly never force her to return to a cruel spouse.โ€ He set his glass down on the table and sat back. โ€œBesides, the point is moot, anyway, is it not?โ€

There was something strange in Colinโ€™s tone, something hidden and provoking. Michael looked up sharply, unable to resist the impulse to search the other manโ€™s face for clues to his agenda. โ€œAnd why is that?โ€ he asked.

Colin took another sip of his drink. Michael noticed that the volume of liquid in the glass never seemed to go down.

Colin toyed with his glass for several moments before looking up, his gaze settling on Michaelโ€™s face. To anyone else, it might have seemed a bland expression, but there was something in Colinโ€™s eyes that made Michael want to squirm in his seat. They were sharp and piercing, and although different in color, shaped precisely like Francescaโ€™s.

It was damned eerie, that.

โ€œWhy is the point moot?โ€ Colin murmured thoughtfully. โ€œWell, because you so clearly donโ€™t wish to marry her.โ€

Michael opened his mouth for a quick retort, then slammed it shut when he realizedโ€”with more than considerable shockโ€”that heโ€™d been about to say, โ€œOf course I do.โ€

And he did.

He wanted to marry her.

He just didnโ€™t think he could live with his conscience if he did. โ€œAre you quite all right?โ€ Colin asked.

Michael blinked. โ€œPerfectly so, why?โ€

Colinโ€™s head tilted slightly to the side. โ€œFor a moment there, you lookedโ€ฆโ€ He gave his head a shake. โ€œItโ€™s nothing.โ€

โ€œWhat, Bridgerton?โ€ Michael nearly snapped.

โ€œSurprised,โ€ Colin said. โ€œYou looked rather surprised. Bit odd, I thought.โ€

Dear God, one more moment with Colin Bridgerton, and the bloody bastard would have all of Michaelโ€™s secrets laid open and bare. Michael pushed his chair back. โ€œI need to be going,โ€ he said abruptly.

โ€œOf course,โ€ Colin said genially, as if their entire conversation had consisted of horses and the weather.

Michael stood, then gave a curt nod. It wasnโ€™t a terribly warm farewell, considering that they were relations of a sort, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

โ€œThink about what I said,โ€ Colin murmured, just when Michael had reached the door.

Michael let out a harsh laugh as he pushed through the door and into the hall. As if heโ€™d be able to think about anything else.

For the rest of his life.

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