A Heart So Wicked (The Dark Regency Series Book 6) Read online

  A Heart So Wicked

  Dark Regency, Book Six

  Chasity Bowlin

  Contents

  Also by Chasity Bowlin

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Chasity Bowlin

  Copyright © 2017 by Chasity Bowlin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Chasity Bowlin

  The Dark Regency Series: Volume One

  The Haunting of a Duke

  The Redemption of a Rogue

  The Enticement of an Earl

  Standalone Novellas

  The Beast of Bath

  The Last Offer

  The Dark Regency Series: Volume Two

  A Love So Dark (September 2016)

  A Passion So Strong (December 2016)

  A Heart So Wicked (February 2017)

  And writing as Seraphina Donavan:

  The DuChamps’ Dynasty Series:

  Been Loving You Too Long

  Have A Little Faith In Me

  I’ll Take Care Of You

  Back To The Beginning: A Duet (with Laramie Briscoe)

  The Bourbon & Blood Series:

  Bennett

  Ciaran

  Clayton

  Carter

  Quentin (October 2016)

  For Jonathan,

  I simply cannot imagine what my life would be like without you in it. Thank you for proving to me that the kind of love I always dreamed of isn’t just a fairytale.

  Prologue

  The solicitor’s office was located on a busy street in Birmingham. Dodging carts and other pedestrians, Malcolm Bryant made his way across the street. He paused just long enough to remove as much of the mud from his boots as he possibly could before opening the door and entering the dark, gloomy set of rooms that comprised the offices of Mooney & Drake.

  “Your coat, my lord?”

  Malcolm looked back at the valet he’d hired during his brief stop in London. It had seemed the safest way to avoid any missteps. An ally, even a paid one, was a necessity on foreign soil. What he hadn’t counted on was that his valet would also be his social advisor and tutor on the rigid rules of etiquette for English society so that he’d avoid any social missteps. Well, he thought as he recalled his first day in London, any further social missteps.

  Thus far, Lytton had been a godsend, helping him to blend as much as possible. He’d spent his youth and formative years in America, but he’d spent the better part of two decades letting his own sense of adventure be his guide. From India, Africa, and beyond, he’d seen most of what the world had to offer. In the course of his travels, he’d amassed and lost a fortune, and now, apparently, he’d also inherited a title, an estate, and a hefty sum to go along with it. If there was one thing Malcolm had discovered in the course of his travels, money was no guarantee of happiness, but it certainly helped.

  Doffing his greatcoat, he allowed the valet to take it and his hat. The new togs were also part of his new life, but he had yet to become fully accustomed to looking the part of a titled gentleman. If it had been up to him, he’d be wearing the worn, rough work shirts and pants that he’d favored while on board ship.

  “What should I expect, Lytton?”

  The valet brushed lint and dust from the coat as he folded it carefully over his arms. “They will discuss the particulars of the inheritance, my lord.”

  “I’m not a lord yet,” Malcolm said. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be. He might yet tell them no and walk away from it all.

  “With all due respect, my lord, you’ve always been one. You simply didn’t know it,” Lytton continued. “If you agree to the terms and conditions of the inheritance, they will have you sign papers. Once everything has been filed with the courts, you will take possession of the property.”

  Malcolm sighed. “How is that you know these things, Lytton?”

  “I’ve been with the gentry or nobility all of my working life, my lord. I’ve learned a thing or two by keeping my mouth shut and my ears open,” the little man replied with a modest smile.

  There had to be more than that, Malcolm thought, but it wasn’t in his best interest to pursue the matter. Some things, it was best just to let lie. Before anything else could be said, one of the inner doors opened and a small man with a shock of white hair and spectacles emerged.

  The little man stopped short, his eyes widened. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Malcolm Bryant. You contacted me regarding the estate of Lord Hadley.”

  “The late Lord Hadley, my lord,” the little solicitor corrected. “You are the current Lord Hadley.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Malcolm replied caustically. “I am given to understand that there are some conditions that might impact my decision on whether or not to accept this inheritance.”

  “You misunderstand, my lord. The title is yours regardless of whether or not you wish to use it. As is the estate itself. The funds and associated investments managed by our firm are another matter altogether. So, accepted or not, you are the current Lord Hadley,” the little man insisted. “If you choose not to be confirmed by the House of Lords, well, that is entirely at your discretion.”

  “I am supposed to see Mr. Mooney,” Malcolm stated, not wanting to continue the debate.

  “I am Mr. Mooney, my lord,” the man stated, clearly enjoying the fact that he had Malcolm at the disadvantage, at least momentarily.

  Of course he was, Malcolm thought. He’d taken an instant dislike to the man and now he would be forced to continue dealing with him throughout the ordeal. His patience already strained, Malcolm snapped, “Then tell me about these conditions so I can make a decision and be done with it.”

  The solicitor stepped back and gestured toward the door he’d just exited. “Step into my office, my lord, and I will be happy to relay all the particulars.”

  Malcolm did so, but he couldn’t help but note the solicitor’s smile. It was quite clear to him that the man was enjoying his discomfiture. Half an hour later, Malcolm understood why.

  The title was his by virtue of birth and his father’s connection to the previous Lord Hadley as a cousin. But the title without the estate was utterly worthless, and the trustees of the estate, namely Mr. Mooney and his associate, had made inheriting said estate nearly impossible.

  “I have to live in a reportedly haunted house and I have to wed a woman of good birth and breeding who is local to the region who will consent to wed me in spite of my cohabitation with the spirit world,” Malcolm stated calmly.

  “And she must reside in the home with you, my lord, and your inherited spirits. There will be no marriages in name only. We at Mooney & Drake take the sanctity of marriage quite seriously,” Mooney replied evenly. “The house is in very ill repair at this time
, and I’m afraid that until the conditions set by the trustees are met, no funds will be released to bring it up to snuff.”

  In other words, he’d have to woo a bride while living in filth and squalor. Easy enough, Malcolm thought bitterly. What woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to marry a man who may or may not be impoverished and quite possibly has a host of spirits in his home? “And in the meantime, you earn a hefty commission for managing the estate, do you not, Mr. Mooney?”

  Mr. Mooney remained expressionless, though there was a wicked and calculating gleam in his eyes. “We are fairly compensated for our diligence, my lord.”

  It infuriated him. He’d always despised people who bent the law and molded it for the sake of their own profit without any thought to what was right or whom they might hurt in the process. It was that anger that prompted him to accept Mooney’s unspoken challenge. “Very well, sir. I shall remove myself to Lofton, take up residence in Rosedale Hall and set myself to finding a wife. I am to assume there is a time limit on how long I have to procure a wife?”

  Mooney frowned, made a note on a bit of paper on his desk, and answered, “You have a period of one year, my lord, to wed, and to provide the necessary proof that the marriage is in fact a legitimate union.”

  “And how exactly does one prove that?” Malcolm demanded.

  “By the presence or imminent arrival of an heir, my lord,” Mooney offered with a sly smile. “As a man of the world, I can’t imagine you need further explanation than that.”

  Malcolm was tempted to get up and walk out. He could return to America, go back to trapping furs and playing cards to earn a living. But he was bone-weary of that life, of never being settled in one place, or having a home of his own. And there was something about Mooney himself that set Malcolm’s teeth on edge. The man wanted him to turn tail and run and Malcolm would just as soon eat glass as give into that. “Where do I sign?”

  Eberhard Mooney watched the last of the Hadley line leave his office as a satisfied smirk played about his thin lips. When the outer door closed, a small hidden door connecting his office to that of his partner, Mr. Drake, opened. But it wasn’t Drake who stepped inside. The woman was beautiful, but cold to the bone.

  “You’re certain he’s the last of them?” she asked.

  Mooney nodded. “The very last. There are no other possible heirs to the estate after this.”

  “And if he finds a bride?

  “Pshaw!” Mooney dismissed. “The number of unmarried women in Lofton is negligible at best. The number who meet all the requirements set forth by us is nonexistent! When he has exhausted all options, and has no funds to keep that moldering estate afloat, he’ll be only too happy to follow my generously offered advice on seeking Common Recovery to break the entail and sell off the estate.”

  She settled into the chair recently vacated by the new lord. Her blonde hair was pale and striking, her complexion smooth as silk. “It should have been mine. All along, it should have been mine.”

  “So it should have, my lady. So it should have,” Mooney agreed enthusiastically. “And it will be.”

  The woman caressed a talisman hanging about her neck, a hideous piece of silver carved with ancient and intricate symbols. “The house will not welcome him. I’ve made certain of it.”

  Mooney swallowed convulsively. His greed was boundless, but he had a healthy fear of burning in hell. His benefactress dabbled in things that made his blood run cold.

  As if sensing his thoughts, she offered him a wicked smile, revealing perfect if smallish teeth that, in that moment, looked rather vicious to him. “Why, Mooney, you’re as pale as a ghost… one might think you’d seen one!”

  She laughed at her own jest, a maniacal and wicked sound.

  “I’ll bend the law from dawn till dark, my lady, but I’ll not truck with spirits,” he said.

  She slapped her palm down on the desk with enough force to make it rattle and to send several of his books crashing to the floor. “I own you, Mooney. Body and soul. You will do as I say and you will not utter a peep of complaint about it. Is that understood?”

  Mooney stared at her in horror. She was a beautiful woman, but for a split second, as she’d leaned over his desk and bared her teeth at him, he’d seen the truth. Her beauty was nothing but a thin veneer, and what lurked beneath it was foul and terrifying.

  “Yes, my lady,” he agreed with little more than a whisper.

  She eased back and settled herself once again on the chair. With a flick of her wrist and a loud snap, the fan she carried opened with a flourish. “I find I’m quite parched, Mooney. I’ll have some tea if you please.”

  He didn’t hesitate, but scurried to do her bidding.

  Chapter 1

  The winter sun was sinking beyond the horizon and the air had grown more chilled. Shivering inside her worn coat, a coat that was not at all up to standard for the weather they were experiencing, Kit Wexford sighed. It wasn't the first time she’d been cold and it would hardly be the last. Still, it wasn’t only herself she had to think of. Her younger brother was too fond of running wild through the fields and skipping rocks on the nearly frozen surface of the pond to care overly much for the temperature.

  In another life, they’d enjoyed the parks while living in London, but Lofton was different. While it had been her family’s home for generations, she and her brother were unwelcome there. That was made evident with every foray into the village. So rather than risk another row or dressing down from shopkeepers about a woman of her ilk, they’d taken to walking to the abandoned Rosedale Hall near her cousin’s home. It was their refuge.

  Of course, it wasn’t simply the lack of villagers that drew her there. There was something about the house and the land that surrounded which compelled her. She felt inexplicably drawn to it in spite of its present state of decay. It had been almost a week since she’d been able to sneak away there, a week since she’d had the peace and quiet of being able to walk those grounds without her cousin or her cousin’s viperous servants breathing down her neck. It wasn’t the house that preoccupied her thoughts that afternoon. It was her brother and how she was possibly going to see to his welfare while residing in her cousin’s home.

  Patrice would never pay for a tutor or to send him to school, though it was the best possible means of ensuring his future. He couldn’t attend the local school because Patrice worked him like a field hand, and even if he did go, he’d only fight every boy on the premises in defense of her honor. She hated Ned Cavendish in that moment, more than she’d ever hated anyone else in her life. Selfish, self-serving men had ruined everything for her.

  As she walked, her skirt caught on a briar and Kit stopped to carefully extract the fabric without further tears. It happened often while she was wandering the neglected grounds of the estate. It was wild and untamed in many ways, and even she was not unmoved by its natural beauty. Of course, beautiful or not, after hours in the cold, she was ready to be inside by a warm fire. Thinking of the little grate in their small room, she grimaced. It might warm her toes if she stuck her feet right into the hearth, otherwise she’d just shiver in front of the stingiest blaze ever known to man. But at least they’d be inside and Joseph could dry his clothes. They could not afford to have him take ill.

  Living as meanly as they did, they hadn’t the coin to hire a doctor or pay for medicine. Nearly everything they had of value had already been claimed by the moneylenders before they’d been tossed unceremoniously into the streets. The few items they had managed to escape with, save for a few very dear things she hoped never to part with, had been sold in the interim just to make ends meet. Her cousin’s charity extended only so far, after all.

  It could be worse, of course, she reminded herself. Patrice had taken them in, and given her sullied reputation and the precarious position that they held in Patrice’s household, that was a great generosity in and of itself. Of course, she also worked them both like dogs, but then it was only right that they pay their way. It wasn’t so
right that the paid servants actually had better lodgings and more coal to keep them warm than they did, but complaining would smack of ingratitude and she wouldn’t risk being turned out for it. “Joseph! Come along,” Kit called out. “It’s grown too dark to see anyway!”

  As they prepared to depart for their erstwhile home, Kit gave one last lingering glance at the manor house. It truly was her only refuge. It was one of the few places that they knew they’d be left alone entirely. All of the villagers avoided the house, certain that it was haunted at best, cursed at worst. Beyond question, the house had witnessed its fair share of tragedy and then some; but then, Kit reflected, so had she. Perhaps that was why she liked to come there. She felt a certain kinship with the crumbling manor. It was much a pariah as she was.

  The house was falling into ruin but the grounds had been so meticulously cared for by the past gardener that, even now in their overgrown state, they retained much of their beauty. Kit couldn’t help but wonder, and not for the first time, what it had looked like in its former glory. Eyeing the overgrown rose bushes that still held a few blooms even in the dead of winter, she fervently wished she could have seen it and said as much to Joseph.

  “It doesn’t matter if you can see it, Kit,” he replied with a cheeky grin. “You can hear it.” To prove his point, he sent another stone sailing over the nearly frozen surface of the pond, skipping at least three times before sinking with a plop.

  “That’s very good, but I have to get back and help prepare supper. And I’m sure you’ll be needed in the stables. Afterward, if there is time, we’ll work on your reading. We’ve been far too lax with it!” Of course, they only had a few books, which were old and incredibly familiar having been read cover to cover more than a dozen times each. There were books in her cousin’s library but they were forbidden to seek them out. Why that was, Kit couldn’t possibly say, but in her darkest and meanest moments she thought perhaps it was just another way for Patrice to lord it over them just how far they’d fallen.