A Little Bit Wild Read online

"Perfect," Edward murmured. "I won't tell him until White has had time to pack and flee. Otherwise we might have a murder on our hands."

  "Murder!" their mother gasped, then slumped back into the chair, presumably unconscious, though not so unconscious that she couldn't eavesdrop, of course.

  Marissa glanced around to see if there was a chair close enough for her to faint into as well, but there was only the couch, and she'd had enough of that. There was nothing to be done but take a deep breath and live with the consequences of what she'd done.

  A moment later she realized there was one more thing she could do. The wine in her stomach began a war with the anxiety now coursing through her body. Head spinning, Marissa leaned over to peer closely at the gold-hued Oriental rug beneath her feet. And then she was sick all over it.

  "Did I thank you yet for the invitation?" Jude Bertrand asked half-jokingly as he followed Aidan York down the curved staircase.

  Aidan tossed a glance over his shoulder and said nothing, though he raised an amused eyebrow.

  Jude had, in fact, thanked him several times already. For some reason, being on the York estate filled Jude with buoyancy. The house was large and airy, the windows looking out onto wild meadows and swaths of forest. The land enchanted him, and the family... well, oddly enough, the family reminded him of his early childhood. Decidedly strange, as his early years had been spent in what had essentially been a French whorehouse.

  Chuckling at the odd comparison, Jude ran his hand down the banister, remembering his stay here last year and a certain strawberry-haired hoyden's slide down the wood. She'd thought no one else awake at that early hour, and Jude hadn't disabused her of the notion. He'd simply watched her slide down the banister, and then he'd continued on his way, marveling that no one else seemed able to see the wildness inside her.

  He was greatly anticipating seeing her again.

  When they reached the first floor, Aidan York nodded to a few of the guests but continued on toward his brother's study. Jude followed. The door was closed when they reached it. Raised voices could be heard vibrating through the wood, but Jude felt no surprise. The York family was surprisingly dramatic for such an established peerage.

  Aidan didn't seem surprised either. He simply gave a perfunctory knock and walked into chaos.

  The dowager baroness had draped herself across the settee and was weeping loudly into a lace handkerchief. The baron, Aidan's older brother, paced in front of the fireplace, his red face giving him away as the source of the shouting. A cousin was there too. Harry, maybe? He looked decidedly morose.

  Jude raised a hand in greeting to the mob.

  "Aidan," balkcd Edward. "Thank God you're here!"

  Then his gaze shifted to Jude. "Jude, you can't be here. I'm sorry."

  "Oh. All right then." He had spun halfway back toward the hall when Aidan's hand stopped him.

  "Don't be melodramatic, Edward." His dry voice was a direct contrast to his brother's. "Of course Jude can stay. Now, what seems to be the latest crisis?"

  Edward shook his head. "You don't understand. This is serious. And a very private matter."

  "Don't tell me you've fallen in love with the upstairs maid?"

  The baroness finally roused herself. "Aidan! Don't be disrespectful." She cocked her head toward Jude, and he offered her a small bow while she studied him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bertrand, but you'll have to ..." She stopped and frowned. "Then again, perhaps Mr. Bertrand could be of use to us. He does bring a certain ... perspective."

  Jude raised his eyebrows at that, wondering what she could mean.

  "Yes!" the cousin exclaimed. "His mother!"

  Ah. Jude nodded. His mother. Had Edward gotten a mistress pregnant? "If l can assist you in some way, I'd be happy to. And I was raised from the cradle not to tell tales, of course."

  But Edward was shaking his head. "The matter is too sensitive." He tossed a glare in his mother's direction. "As you well know."

  Aidan shook his head and crossed the room to the brandy decanter. "This is ridiculous. I'd trust Jude with my life. If he can help you, just spit it out, old man." He collapsed into a chair, so Jude wandered toward the sideboard and poured himself a drink as well. He should have excused himself', but he was more than a little curious now.

  He supposed Edward's whisper was meant to be discreet, but it easily filled the whole room. "It's about our sister!" he hissed.

  Jude froze and spun back to face the York family. "Marissa?" he asked.

  All eyes turned toward him.

  "Ah ... I mean Miss York, of course."

  When Aidan rose to his feet, the attention in the room shifted to him. "What about Marissa?" His mouth had stiffened to a thin line.

  "Now Aidan." his mother said.

  "What about Marissa?" Aidan shouted.

  Edward took a deep breath and quietly said, "She's been ruined."

  Silence fell over the room. Everyone held their breath and watched as the tips of Aidan's ears turned red. Not a good sign.

  The baron held up both hands. "The damage is done. We need to find her a husband, and quickly. Perhaps Jude can help—"

  "Who was it?" Aidan ground out. "Was she hurt?"

  Jude stepped forward, serious now, but Edward was already shaking his head.

  "No, she was drunk. And foolish. But not hurt. And the so-called gentleman is gone now."

  ”Who?” Aidan bellowed.

  Edward winced and swallowed hard. "Peter White."

  A flurry of muttered threats erupted from Aidan, and then the whole story was told in ills and starts, while Jude listened and thought ugly thoughts about Mr. White. A pretty, arrogant fellow. And apparently a scoundrel. "Cowardly ass," Jude muttered

  while Edward explained why Marissa could not marry Mr. White.

  "But," Edward rushed on, "she must marry somebody. The servants are talking already. And if that fellow has planted his seed ..."

  The baroness's hands fluttered. "This is horrible. Impossible. What if Mr. White insists? It would be his child, after all."

  Harry shook his head. "I can feel no sympathy for him there. He had a child by the carriage maker's daughter, and he harbors no tender feelings toward that babe. Cannot even be bothered to set up an income." Harry looked stricken at his own words. "I'm sorry. I should have known he could come to no good. I shouldn't have invited him."

  Edward shook his head. "That's not your burden. But now... we must all endeavor to find her a decent gentleman."

  "Oh, the torment!" the baroness wailed. "Our Marissa must go to someone kind and respectable. An established man who will treat her well and... and accept the child as his own."

  Aidan threw up his hands. "Well, who the hell would do that?"

  They all shook their heads sadly and stared at each other.

  Jude waited a moment, poking through the swirl of thoughts inside his head to be sure his first instinct was correct. He wasn't a man given to doubting himself, so it took only a few moments to find peace with his decision. Before chaos could begin to rumble through the room again, Jude stepped forward and inclined his head. "I would."

  For a moment, no one reacted. No one even looked at him. Then Aidan glanced toward him with a frown. "You would what, Jude?"

  "I would marry your sister."

  That got everyone's attention.

  "You?" the baroness snapped.

  "Yes, me."

  "But you're ..."

  Jude smiled. "A bastard?"

  "Well," she answered, "yes. Granted, I thought you might offer a perspective or perhaps advice, but... a natural-born husband ..."

  "Ah, but I'm the natural son of a duke. The acknowledged natural son of a duke. And how else would you land a duke's son in this situation? I don't have a title to protect, so I needn't worry about having an illegitimate heir. And I didn't receive my father's name, so I'm not even concerned about passing that on."

  He watched the wheels turning behind the baroness's eyes. "You make an interesting point," she conceded.


  Aidan shoved his hands into his pockets and glared. "Why would you want to marry my sister? Do you even know her?"

  "Of course I know her. I've been here for, what, four parties now? Then again, I'm not entirely sure she knows me."

  Aidan grunted in acknowledgement. They both knew that Jude was not the type to attract notice from gently bred young women. He was large and not elegantly made. His features were neither refined nor comforting. Sheltered young girls edged away from him.

  But certain types of women—those who'd been unhappily married for a dozen years, for example— those women eyed him with avid hunger in their eyes. He looked like a brute, and a brute was just what they wanted.

  "So," Aidan continued in a doubtful tone, "you may have sat across from her at dinner on occasion. That still doesn't answer my question. Why would you marry her?"

  "I like her."

  "Marissa?"

  Jude laughed at the doubt in his friend's voice. "Yes, Marissa."

  "She hardly seems your type."

  Yes, he had a known weakness for rather naughty women. Jude raised an eyebrow. "Apparently she is exactly my type."

  "Right," Aidan huffed, then rocked back on his heels to stare at the floor.

  Actually, Marissa had caught his attention the first time Jude had seen her. There was that brightness in her green eyes. Not merriment, but... transgression. It had always been disorienting, being surrounded by people who seemed to consider her the last bastion of calm and propriety in the York family. Yes, she was graceful and tall and lovely, but could no one else see the way her eyebrows twitched any time she overheard a double entendre? Did no one notice the way her eyes traveled over men's bodies when she watched them dance?

  The girl liked wine and dancing and pretty men. She rode her horse too hard and was constantly slipping free of her shoes to stroll barefoot on the grounds. Wildness lurked just beneath her skin, and Jude could feel it every time he passed too near.

  But because Marissa York raised her chin to a haughty angle when she walked, she was seen as proper. Because she did not faint or yell or laugh as loudly as the rest of her family, they considered her staid. In comparison to the other Yorks she might be a paragon of control, but it was the passion she was trying to keep contained that interested Jude.

  He glanced up from his thoughts to find the family exchanging meaningful glances. "Shall I leave you to discuss this?" he offered, and Edward slumped with relief.

  "Thank you, Jude," he said. "do have a drink. We need to talk. And I'd caution you to consider this more carefully."

  Shrugging, Jude turned and let himself out of the study. He didn't need to consider it further. If he could persuade her to give up her affection for pretty boys, Marissa York would make a fine and naughty wife. But pretty boys congregated in droves at these parties. Jude had set himself up for a serious challenge.

  Chapter 2

  Marissa waved her hands in helpless frustration as her maid pulled hard on the corset strings. The morning sun mocked her with its cheery brightness as it slanted past the window. Marissa glared at the light, her legs burning with the need to move, to pace, to run to the door and fling it open. "Oh, do hurry," she whispered, clasping her frantic hands together to stop their useless shaking.

  The night before, she'd thought she would never sleep. Terror and regret had fought a war for her attention after she'd been sent to her room, and the battle had left her restless. She'd tossed and turned, then paced miles across her chambers, trying to think of a way out of this horrid situation.

  No one had come to speak with her, and she'd been too mortified to request an audience. The waiting had been sheer torture.

  But in the end, she had slept, and she'd slept too late.

  This morning, she found that regret had won the night's battle, and now she felt sick with it.

  What had she done ?

  Edward's terse note glared white against the dark wood of the dressing table. The writing was spiked with anger, vastly unlike his normally careful hand.

  Marissa was wanted in his study immediately. Her fate awaited her. If only she'd been awake and dressed when the footman had delivered the note, she would be there already.

  The maid finally drew a dress over her head, and Marissa breathed a sigh of relief as she stared down at the somber shade of pale gray. Perhaps her brother was feeling regret too. Perhaps he'd changed his mind.

  My God, how stupid she'd been. How foolish and reckless. It must have been the wine. Yes, the wine. And the fine cut of Peter White's new coat. And as he'd danced, his trousers had tightened over his thighs, revealing every line of their ... elegance.

  Men's legs were just so lovely. Slim and strong and exposed in a way that ladies' legs never were. How could they expect that girls should not be affected by the sight? Gentlemen obviously intended to be admired, the way they flashed their thighs about, hardly covered at all in the tight cloth of their trousers.

  What hypocrites they were, showing off their bodies and expecting her not to look. Or touch.

  Still, she shouldn't have given in to temptation, for it hadn't been worth it. Not as it had been worth it before. Before, there had been much more than fumbling and regret. There had been . . .

  Marissa sighed even more deeply, certain she'd never experience such deliciousness again.

  "There you are, miss," the maid said. She was new, and betrayed her nervousness by giving one last tweak to the sleeve of the dress.

  Marissa nodded. She liked this new girl, but if her old maid hadn't run off two weeks before, Marissa would have someone to talk to. As it was, she felt like an island.

  Though Marissa was free to descend to the study, she stared at the door. Aidan must know by now. He hadn't come to her room last night, which likely meant he was too furious to talk. Edward never frightened her, but Aidan ... he was a different sort of man these days, and she worried that she would burst into tears the moment he turned his disappointed glare on her.

  He'd once been joyful and charming, but then he'd suffered his own private scandal. The girl he'd loved and meant to marry had died. His anger and guilt over the wretched circumstances had changed him. Now her handsome brother was as cold as he'd once been charming. Marissa did not want to face him.

  But it was time to pay the piper, so she gave herself a somber nod and set off for the study.

  She expected to find Edward there, of course. And she feared she'd find Aidan as well. But she did not expect a whole room full of gentlemen, all looking toward her as she stood frozen in the doorway.

  To be fair, there were only four of them, her brothers and her cousin and another man who looked vaguely familiar. She had the brief impression that perhaps he was a groundskceper, but she could not puzzle that out now, for Edward was walking toward her with a grim set to his mouth.

  Her eyes rolled with a touch of panic, and she caught sight or her mother in a corner chair, but her mother would offer no refuge. Her eyes were closed, and she'd pressed a cold compress to her head.

  Marissa would face the men of her family alone.

  "Marissa." Edward kissed her cheek and took her hands as if she were made of the thinnest glass. "Are you well?"

  "Yes, quite."

  "You're sure? You do not feel... injured?"

  "Not at all." She pushed up on her toes to whisper in his ear. "Is Aidan very angry with me?"

  "I believe he's angrier with that scoundrel White."

  She snuck a peek over his shoulder to find Aidan staring out the window, his jaw clenched so hard that the muscle jumped in a secret rhythm. "He won't even look at me. Edward, I'm so sorry. Have you... surely you have reconsidered your proposal? I'm certain there's no reason to worry."

  "On the contrary, I have found a likely husband for you."

  "Pardon?" She stepped back in shock, her heels crossing the threshold so that she stood half in the hallway, as if stepping the last six inches into the study would be an acceptance of this mad plan. "Where could y
ou possibly have found a man who'd marry me?"

  "Right here, as it turns out."

  "Here? In the district?"

  "Here, in our house."

  "But who?"

  He gestured toward the room. "Mr. Jude Bertrand."

  "Mr. Bertrand?" she repeated too loudly. Panic-was beginning to set in. Edward hadn't changed his mind at all. He was moving matters forward at a dizzying pace. "Who is Mr. Bertrand?"

  A figure moved from Aidan's side. It was that groundskeeper fellow, stepping toward her, his wide mouth crooked in a half smile as he approached. He stopped a few paces away and made a passably elegant bow. "I am Jude Bertrand," he said, turning the surname into something French and exotic.

  "Should you not present him?" she snapped at her brother, meaning to insult the presumptuousness of this man who looked like a servant dressed in gentleman's clothes.

  "Miss York, my apologies," the man said, rising now to meet her gaze. "But we have already been introduced. Twice."

  "Oh." She pressed her hand to her chest, briefly mortified by her own rudeness. "I apologize, Mr. Bertrand. I must have . .." The words trailed off as she realized how meaningless all these pleasantries were. She slid her eyes toward Edward, trying to convey her alarm.

  This man was not suitable. Not at all. He was big and rough looking, built for mucking out stables or loading freight onto a ship. He was not a gentleman. Not by far.

  "I ..." She gave up subtlety and raised her eyebrows at her brother.

  He smiled. "Marissa, Mr. Bertrand is a good friend of Aidan's, and he has generously offered to... be your escort for the next few weeks. Would you allow him to accompany you to the breakfast room this morning?"

  Had she driven her brother to madness? Marissa gave her head a frantic shake. "I would rather a moment to speak with you in private!"

  Mr. Bertrand offered another bow. "Of course, Miss York. I'll excuse myself." Again, it was a perfectly elegant bow, but each time he rose, he seemed to grow bigger. He was taller than either of her brothers, and his shoulders looked to fill the whole doorway when she stepped aside to let him pass. Not a groundskeepcr then, but a blacksmith. Yes, she could picture him perfectly in a leather apron, hand grasping a great hammer.