The Wicked Wyckerly Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Author’s Note

  Teaser chapter

  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF PATRICIA RICE

  The Wicked Wyckerly

  “A heartwarming tale that kept me smiling all the way through. Every character entertains and satisfies, from the engaging scapegrace hero, whom I loved more and more through the book; his wild, insecure love child; and the loving, down-to-earth heroine, right down to the devious old butler and the dyslexic assassin. It’s a sweet, sexy, fun romp with so much heart. I can’t wait to read the next book in the series.”

  —Anne Gracie, author of To Catch a Bride

  “A delightful book from start to end.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Jillian Hunter

  The Mystic Isle Series

  Mystic Warrior

  “Rice combines an overview of the French Revolution, depths of emotion, mysticism, and great love into one passionate and fiery story.”

  —Romantic Times (Top Pick, 4½ Stars)

  “Definitely a good addition to any library.”

  —Once Upon a Romance

  Mystic Rider

  “With whimsical and subtle touches of humor and memorable characters, [Rice] cleverly blends the paranormal with the historical events of the French Revolution in this passionate, very sensual romance. Her powerful voice and talent as a great storyteller make this one another keeper.”

  —Romantic Times (Top Pick, 4½ Stars)

  “Filled with history, romance, and passion, a story that pulled me in and held me captive.”

  —Romance Reader at Heart

  Mystic Guardian

  “Extraordinary characters . . . subtle touches of humor and clever dialogue.”

  —Romantic Times (Top Pick, 4½ Stars)

  “Will enchant readers.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “A fine, fresh series kickoff, Rice’s latest is passionate, rich in historical detail, and peopled with enough captivating secondary characters to pique readers’ curiosity for many volumes to come.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  The Magic Series

  Magic Man

  “Never slows down until the final thread is magically resolved. Patricia Rice is clearly the Magic Woman with this superb tale and magnificent series.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Much Ado About Magic

  “The magical Rice takes Trev and Lucinda, along with her readers, on a passionate, sensual, and romantic adventure in this fast-paced, witty, poignant, and magical tale of love.”

  —Romantic Times (Top Pick, 4½ Stars)

  This Magic Moment

  “Charming and immensely entertaining.”

  —Library Journal

  “Rice has a magical touch for creating fascinating plots, delicious romance, and delightful characters, both flesh-and-blood and ectoplasmic.”

  —Booklist

  The Trouble with Magic

  “Rice’s third enchanting book about the Malcolm sisters is truly spellbinding.”

  —Booklist

  Must Be Magic

  “Very sensual.”

  —The Romance Reader

  “Rice has created a mystical masterpiece full of enchanting characters, a spellbinding plot, and the sweetest of romances.”

  —Booklist (Starred Review)

  “I love an impeccably researched, well-written tale, and Must Be Magic, which continues the saga of the Iveses and Malcolms, is about as good as it gets. I’m very pleased to give it a Perfect Ten, and I encourage everyone to pick up this terrific book.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  Merely Magic

  “Simply enchanting! Patricia Rice, a master storyteller, weaves a spellbinding tale that’s passionate and powerful.”

  —Teresa Medeiros

  “Like Julie Garwood, Patricia Rice employs wicked wit and sizzling sensuality to turn the battles of the sexes into a magical romp.”

  —Mary Jo Putney

  “One of those tales that you pick up and can’t put down. . . . Brava!”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Other Historical Romances by Patricia Rice

  The Mystic Isle Series

  Mystic Guardian

  Mystic Rider

  Mystic Warrior

  The Magic Series

  Merely Magic

  Must Be Magic

  The Trouble with Magic

  This Magic Moment

  Much Ado About Magic

  Magic Man

  Other Titles

  All a Woman Wants

  SIGNET ECLIPSE

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, July 2010

  Copyright © Rice Enterprises, Inc., 2010

  All rights reserved

  SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18868-2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business es
tablishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Dedicated to the late Edith Layton, one of this country’s greatest Regency writers, an even better friend and person, and guardian angel of all creatures large or small. Your smile is remembered in every ray of sunshine and glitter of amber.

  Acknowledgments

  Hats off to Sherrie Holmes for her hilarious list of epithets, from which I’ve blatantly borrowed. (Check out the comments to http://patriciarice.blogspot.com/ under “Epitaph/epithet” for a chuckle.)

  And blessings to Connie Rinehold, who lifts my spirits while checking my grammar.

  As always, my gratitude to the Cauldron for turning my whines into hilarious plot twists and character foibles.

  I’m always amazed at how so many people are there when I need them. To all the usual suspects—I appreciate you more than you can ever know.

  1

  May 1807

  John Fitzhugh Wyckerly, newly styled seventh Earl of Danecroft, tilted back his late father’s wooden office chair and plopped his muddy boots on a towering stack of yellowed invoices. From that position, he contemplated the gun collection on the far wall, left to him by his freshly departed brother.

  If guns were the solution to his problems, he had a vast array from which to choose.

  Outside the estate office, a clamor arose among the creditors waiting there. With any luck, the hue and cry signaled the arrival of a servant with the coffee he’d ordered.

  Whiskey would have been preferable under the circumstances, but it was only noon, and drinking spirits so early in the day would be disrespectful to the brother who had just been laid to rest in the family vault. On second thought, the old boy would have encouraged a swallow of good malt, or two, or the whole bottle, regardless of the hour. George had arrived at the pearly gates in the same manner in which he’d lived—well pickled. Fitz understood the compulsion to reach for a bottle, but unlike his simpleminded brother, he wasn’t inclined to follow orders or urges.

  Until now, Fitz had supported himself with his skill for cards. As a younger son, he’d had no obligation to family or estate. His affable charm and a peculiar gift for numbers had provided financial freedom. Now—he rolled his eyes in disgust—as far as he could tell, his family’s general incompetence and selfish indulgence had dug a hole deeper than a king’s treasure house could fill.

  An earlier scan of the invoices and dunning notices scattered across the desk had produced the depressing calculation that if he could organize the meager family assets well enough to produce ten thousand pounds a year, the Danecroft estate would be out of debt in approximately a hundred years.

  The Wicked Wyckerlys had ridden the road to ruin to its inevitable cliff. At least, in previous generations, there had been a few branches dedicated to saving the estate, but that had ended when his grandfather and great-uncle had come to blows. Perhaps his grandfather shouldn’t have wagered his brother’s marriage settlement on a cheese-rolling race, but the rabbit hole that had broken the champion cheese-roller’s ankle couldn’t have been predicted.

  The younger branch of the family had gone on to amass a fortune in trade. Apparently all the earldom’s luck had gone with them.

  Bracing his hands behind his head, Fitz watched with admiration as Bibley maneuvered the door open and slipped through the narrow slot carrying a tray, effectively blocking any sight of the inner office from the angry hordes in the outer one.

  “You have perfected evasive action to a science, Bib,” Fitz complimented the aging family retainer. “I deduce you have had much experience in dodging creditors.”

  “Yes, my lord.” With palsied, spotted hands, the shrunken butler carefully lowered the wooden tray.

  The silver had been sold long ago, despite the entailment requiring that it remain with the estate. The earls of Danecroft generally believed themselves above the boring details of law, even when they protected the welfare of uninteresting and often odious offspring.

  “And bailiffs,” Bibley continued as if asking if he’d like sugar.

  “Bailiffs?”

  “Your brother’s debtors sued and won. They’re here to take him to Newgate.”

  Fitz returned his boots to the floor to reach for the steaming cup of coffee. “Did someone point out the cemetery to them?”

  “They weren’t amused, my lord.”

  “No, I suppose they wouldn’t be.” Fitz straightened the neckcloth knot that had suddenly tightened around his throat. “I don’t suppose there’s a groat to be found among the cushions or a bottle of wine in the cellar worth selling?”

  “Mice ate the cushions, and the late earl was brewing ale in the washtub,” Bibley said with all the dignity of his exalted position, despite the fact that his frock coat was shiny with age and his linen threadbare from laundering.

  “Which late earl, Georgie or Pops?” Fitz spun his chair to look out upon the estate’s neglected weed field. Lawn was much too refined a word for the overgrown pasture beyond the terrace. But what did he know? He was a product of the beau monde, not a farmer. He thrived on London’s society. He would sell the land and return to the city if he could. But he couldn’t, or his ancestors would have already done so. Selling land no doubt required lawyers who understood the niceties of entailments.

  He ought to feel sorrow at the recent losses of his only family in drunken accidents. He supposed, once he recovered from the shock of their sudden deaths, he would dig out a pleasant memory or two to mourn. But in truth, he hadn’t seen either his brother or father in what? Five years? Six? Along with being above the law, the Wicked Wyckerlys lacked family instincts. Or was that family affection and nesting instincts? Anyway, cuckoos would fare better.

  “Viscount Wyckerly experimented in brewing,” Bibley replied, reverting to the sixth earl’s former title. George had managed to break his neck tumbling down inn stairs only a few months after inheriting the title—hardly time to be remembered as an earl.

  “Enterprising of the old boy,” Fitz said absently, turning back to regard the piles of unpaid—and previously unopened—bills. “Don’t suppose he planned to sell the results of his ale experiments to pay your wages, did he?”

  “Unlikely, my lord,” the butler said stiffly, pinching his wrinkled lips in disapproval.

  “No, I thought not.” Pensively, Fitz drained his cup and regarded the gun collection. “Despite the family differences, Cousin Geoff really would be a better earl, wouldn’t he?”

  Bibley took the empty cup and refilled it, a certain sign that he approved of the conversation’s direction. “Mr. Geoffrey Wyckerly runs his family’s woolen industry and has experience in managing accounts,” he agreed.

  “My experience makes me a damned fine gambler.” Fitz spoke his thoughts aloud. It wasn’t as if anyone else knew his dissolute family’s affairs better than Bibley. “I won a Thoroughbred stud the night before last. I was on my way to Cheltenham to claim him when word reached me.”

  “Very fortunate the solicitors found you, my lord.”

  “Is it?” Fitz sipped the second cup. The uproar outside the office subsided to an angry buzz. He had a suspicion the estate office teeming with bailiffs and creditors wasn’t the best place for him to contemplate his future. “It might have been more fortunate if I had seen fit to be hit by a mail coach while on my way to claim my prize. Cousin Geoff would have been most grateful, as would all those angry men out there.”

  “Your cousin is a wealthy man who would like
to be earl,” Bibley agreed, polishing the gold watch he’d no doubt appropriated in lieu of wages at some earlier date.

  He was surrounded by scoundrels, Fitz mused. A fitting environment for the likes of him. A deep and abiding respect for mathematics, and a fascinating but wholly useless knowledge of insects, did not qualify him to be an earl. “A stud as valuable as the one I won can provide a handsome return,” was all he revealed aloud. “I could have lived comfortably off the stud fees alone. I could have gambled the race prizes into greater wealth.”

  “Not as great as Mr. Wyckerly’s,” Bibley said in the same agreeable tone as earlier.

  “True.” Fitz listened for any indication that the estate’s creditors might be preparing to batter down the office door. “Geoff’s father married a wealthy Cit. His blood isn’t as blue as mine. He works for a living. In mills. And warehouses. And sundry other filthy holes.”

  Bibley pursed his wrinkled lips and said nothing. A master manipulator was Bibley. Having lived on his wits and the cards for years, Fitz possessed a strong understanding of human nature. He recognized the butler’s mannerisms well enough.

  “I sympathize with your plight, Bib.” He sat back and sipped his coffee, still eyeing the impressive gun collection. “And like you, I agree that while Geoff is no doubt as wicked as any Wyckerly, he might be a better earl, one who could make some inroads in paying the estate’s debts, anyway. The bailiffs are unlikely to haul him off to Newgate.”