When She Was Wicked

Chapter Twenty-five

Net: (1) An open, woven fabric that is transparent. (2) A device used to snare unsuspecting men into the institution of marriage.

Owen hadn’t really expected Anabelle to obey him. Would have been disappointed if she had. At least she hung back slightly.

The occupant of the cottage could be a woodcutter or poacher. If any sort of confrontation erupted, he didn’t want Anabelle in the middle of it.

Upon reaching the clearing, he approached the cottage from the side and peered into a window too clouded with dirt to let him see inside. The front door his only other option, he walked around the corner and knocked.

No one answered.

He rammed the door with his shoulder, but the heavy wooden planks didn’t budge. Banging harder, he called out, “Rose? It’s Owen.”

A scratching that might have been a sliding bolt sounded on the other side. He pushed on the door again; this time it slowly creaked open. “Rose?”

From the dark interior of the cottage, a shape emerged. Rose staggered toward him, wild-eyed, a huge iron skillet raised over her head.

Thank God.

If Winthrope had hurt her, so help him.

Holding out his palms, Owen soothed her. “It’s just me. Are you all right?”

The skillet clunked to the floor, and she crumpled into a heap, crying silently.

He scooped her up and carried her to a pallet on the floor by the fire. Although overwrought, she seemed to be in one piece. He took one of her small hands and laced his fingers through hers.

Anabelle rushed into the cottage. “Thank God.” She knelt beside them and placed her hands on Rose’s cheeks. “Let me see your face. Are you hurt?”

Rose shook her head and embraced Anabelle tightly. Although he felt rather entitled to the first hug, he overlooked the slight, much too relieved to mind.

“We were worried sick about you,” Anabelle said.

She lowered her gaze, remorseful.

“We know about Winthrope,” he said.

Rose snapped her head up and paled.

“I think I’ll wait outside,” Anabelle said, but Rose grasped her wrist. Anabelle’s gaze flicked to Owen’s as though seeking guidance.

“You may stay if you wish, Miss Honeycote.” He turned to Rose. “Winthrope gave us his version of events in the library last night. We were able to read between the lines. You defended yourself?”

She nodded.

“Did he…”

Choking on a sob, she shook her head.

Owen’s blood pounded, pulsing hot in his temples. “Regardless, he will pay. You won’t have to worry about him again.” Sighing, he considered how to broach the next topic and decided on directness. “I also know about his affair with our mother.”

Rose’s eyes widened.

“I only found out recently, but it all makes sense. You walked in on them—at our house party almost three years ago?”

Rose’s face contorted into a mask of pain.

He folded her into his arms and pressed her head against his chest.

“I wish I could have spared you that. And I wish you hadn’t been the one to find Father after…” No point in dredging up that memory. “I’m here now. You’re safe with me.”

He rocked her in his arms. When, at last, her trembling ceased, Anabelle inspected her feet, which were scratched and cut. “We need to clean and bandage these.”

Rose pointed to the pot hanging over the fire.

“Ah, you were about to do that,” Anabelle said. “You must be hungry also. Is there anything to eat here?”

Owen rummaged through the pantry and found a couple of mugs and some tea leaves but nothing else. Damn.

Darkness was quickly descending, and the other search parties, including Averill and Olivia, still looked for Rose. He needed to get her back to the house and call off the search, but with only one horse, he couldn’t take Rose and Anabelle at the same time.

Anabelle finished winding a strip of white fabric around Rose’s foot and sat back on her heels. Admiring her handiwork, she said, “I can’t help thinking how frantic Olivia must be.”

Owen murmured his agreement and knelt beside Rose. “I need to let her and the others know you’re safe. You must eat something and have a doctor tend to the cuts on your feet.”

Anabelle squeezed Rose’s hand. “The two of you should return to the house. I shall be perfectly fine here for the night. Someone can come fetch me in the morning.”

Rose shook her head vehemently.

“Don’t be silly, Rose. I am a grown woman, perfectly capable of spending the night in a cottage. You’ve had a harrowing experience, and Olivia is no doubt sick with worry. No matter how many reassurances Owen gives her, she won’t rest easy until she sees you with her own eyes.”

Although grateful for Anabelle’s convincing speech, Owen saw the flicker of fear on her face when she mentioned spending the night alone.

“We should set out soon, before it becomes too dark to find our way out of the woods,” he said to Rose. Then to Anabelle, “There’s some tea in the can on the shelf, and the trunk in the corner contains a blanket, a lantern, and some matches. I’ll come back at dawn.”

“No need to rush back; I’ll be fine,” she assured. The cozy cottage would shelter her from the elements, but the straw pallet and dusty, pitted floor were a far cry from her plush bedchamber at Harsby’s house.

Although still hesitant, Rose hugged Anabelle good-bye and allowed Owen to pick her up. There was just enough light left that, with a little luck, he and Rose should be able to make it out of the forest before night fell.

Before leaving, he looked over his shoulder at Anabelle. The mud that covered her dress had dried a light tan. Her hair was tarred and feathered with mire and bits of leaves. Raising her chin, she gave a slight smile.

Never had he seen a more beautiful woman.

Pity he couldn’t trust her.


After Owen and Rose left, Anabelle had nothing to do but think. There were no dresses to sew, no chores to do, no books to read. Being alone with one’s thoughts was disconcerting—especially when one wasn’t very proud of one’s actions.

Oh, she was a horrid person.

Thank heaven they’d found Rose safe, but what if they hadn’t? What if Rose had tripped, hit her head on a rock, and perished in the woods? Or been discovered by gypsies and kidnapped?

Suppressing a shudder, Anabelle checked that the door was securely bolted.

Perhaps she should attempt to wash her dress in the bucket of water she’d retrieved from the stream. No, there wouldn’t be time for it to dry. Instead, she stripped down to her chemise and scrubbed her skin clean before turning her attention to her hair. Not nearly as soothing as lingering in a steaming bath, but at least the mud was gone. The best thing for her to do now was sleep.

After stirring the logs in the fire, she pulled the quilt from the chest. It couldn’t rival the velvet counterpane on the bed where she’d slept the past week, but it smelled clean. Suddenly quite homesick, she wrapped it around her shoulders and lay down on the pallet. Closing her eyes, she imagined how happy Mama and Daph would be to have her back.

She’d missed talking with Daph into the wee hours of the morning and reading to Mama. By now, Mama would be sufficiently recovered to take walks in the park and carry on real conversations. How Anabelle longed to hear her laugh again.

For so long, she’d dreamed of Mama getting well. But now that she was better, Anabelle was forced to face other unfortunate realities. Her family couldn’t afford to continue living in the apartment they rented. Unless she returned to her life of crime.

And after getting to know her most recent victims—Owen, Olivia, and Rose—she couldn’t resort to extortion again. She wasn’t the same person she’d been before.

The fire flickered for hours, leaving glowing embers, lulling her to sleep, when—

Bam. Pounding at the cottage door. She bolted upright.

“Anabelle?”

Owen. Disoriented, she looked around the cottage, where it was still dark. Could he and Rose have gotten lost and circled back?

Grabbing her spectacles, she sprang to her feet, slid the bolt aside, and opened the door.

Moonlight shone on the hard planes of his face and outlined his broad shoulders against the inky sky. Her breath hitched in her throat.

He was quite alone.

“What are you doing back so soon?”

“May I come in?”

She glanced down at her chemise and hesitated. However, social strictures governing middle of the night meetings in woodcutters’ cottages were murky at best. “Of course. I thought the plan was for you to return in the morning.”

He set a drawstring sack on the floor, stirred the fire, and added a log. Flames danced once more, illuminating the harsh contours of his face. “I didn’t like the idea of leaving you here alone.”

Her heart leapt at his admission. Of course, he probably would have come back for a stranded puppy, too, but it was something. When she considered the consequences, however, she placed a hand on her chest. “Oh my.”

In an instant he stood beside her, cupping her elbow. “What is it?”

“My reputation—though not much, it’s all I have. And it will be destroyed once the other guests learn that we…”

“Spent the night together? No one knows.” He guided her to the pallet, and they both sank onto the quilt. “All the search parties had returned to the house shortly after dusk. When Olivia saw me ride up with Rose, she burst into tears. Everyone was delighted to see Rose, but concerned about you. I told them that you’d bravely offered to stay at the cottage ’til morning.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “You said that?”

“You are very brave. I suspect you’ve done many courageous things in the course of your life.”

True, if one counted disguising herself as a lad and delivering extortion notes in the dead of night. “Perhaps. But I’m not proud of all of them.”

“The truth is, I knew you’d manage just fine by yourself. But I still didn’t like the thought of it. If you don’t object, I’ll stay with you for the rest of the night and return to the house just before dawn, with no one the wiser. I’ll bring Averill and Olivia with me tomorrow morning to return you to the house.”

She disliked being the center of such a fuss, but that’s what she got for being unable to do something as simple as riding a horse. “Thank you.”

“I almost forgot.” He reached for the canvas sack he’d dropped earlier, pulled out a small parcel wrapped in cloth, and handed it to her.

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted around her. She hadn’t realized how ravenous she was. Her stomach growled as she broke off a crusty piece and ate it. “Mmm. It’s wonderful.”

“I brought some cheese and berries, too. I wish I had something more substantial to offer you.”

“This is perfect. Here,” she said, handing him some of the loaf. They finished off everything Owen brought and washed it down with water from his canteen.

Sated, Anabelle leaned back on the heels of her hands and stared into the fire. She had a few things to say to Owen, and this might be the last time she ever had the opportunity to speak with him—alone.

“I’m almost finished with the last two gowns—the ones for Rose’s debut ball—and will soon return home.”

“That’s good,” he said flatly. His ready acceptance stung a little.

“Yes. I’m inordinately fond of your sisters, as you know, but they shall be better off without me. I’m responsible for what happened to Rose last night. While I thank God she’s safe and sound, I can’t help thinking what might have happened.”

“Don’t. It’s over.” He poked idly at the charred log on the fire. “In spite of everything, they like you.”

“They wouldn’t if they knew all the facts.”

“I don’t intend to tell them all the facts.”

“I appreciate that. But even if I weren’t guilty of extortion and withholding secrets, I’m not the kind of friend they need. I don’t come from your world, and certainly I don’t understand all the rules. Rose and Olivia are the sisters of a duke. They don’t need a seamstress for their friend. They need someone who’s had a proper upbringing and who has the proper credentials.” The food she’d just eaten settled uncomfortably in her stomach. “Someone like Miss Starling.”

“Maybe. But they could also use a friend like you.”

She arched a brow. “A friend who threatened to ruin their good name? And left them defenseless against an evil earl?”

He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. Delicious shivers rushed up her arm. “They need a friend who’s loyal and brave. Who loves them just as they are.”

Warmth flooded her chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Lord Winthrope earlier. I should have the moment I realized the connection between him and the drastic change in Rose. You have every right to be angry.”

“I was hard on you before—harder than I should have been—because I was worried about Rose.” He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I know you’ll miss my sisters when you’re gone. Do you think you might miss me, too?”

Anabelle blinked. Of course she’d miss him. She’d miss his rakish smile and his tender looks and his quiet strength. But most of all she’d miss how alive—how complete—she felt when she was with him. “A little.”

The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. “I didn’t come here to try and seduce you.”

She believed it—after the day they’d had, she must look a fright.

“If you want to lie down here and sleep until the morning, I’ll sit and keep watch on the other side of the room.”

She shrugged as though her heart wasn’t beating out of her chest. “Just out of curiosity, what do you want?”

He leaned closer, his breath hot and moist on her neck. “I want to make love to you. Like I’ve dreamt—a hundred times over.”

The decision was not nearly as hard as it should have been. Dizzy with desire, she speared her fingers through his hair and kissed him full on the lips. “That’s what I want, too.”