Wicked Wyckerly Read Online Free PDF Page B

you,” a small voice whispered.
    Abigail smiled in relief that the child wasn’t totally untutored. “You’re welcome, Penelope. Have a nice rest.”
    She walked out—smack into a worn twill shirt and open waistcoat that she recognized as her father’s. Except her father didn’t have muscles so hard that she nearly bounced off them.
    Flustered by her encounter with such overt masculinity, she stepped sideways while pulling the nursery door closed. “She should be asleep within minutes.”
    “Are you a professional nanny?” Mr. Wyckerly asked. He hadn’t bothered fastening the worn leather waistcoat, as if he’d hurried to watch how she dealt with his daughter.
    She would have smiled at his question had she not been so skittish at having a tall gentleman standing so close. “Four younger siblings,” she murmured, trying to think of a polite way of maneuvering around his intimidating figure to reach the stairs. She could take the back steps to the kitchen, she supposed.
    “When will they be coming home?”
    A perfectly normal question, although his tone hinted at an unusual level of consternation that Abigail chose to ignore, just as she brushed off a reply that would only make her weep. “They’re with their guardian now. Come along, the strawberry bed needs tending, and my tenant needs help with hoeing. I’ll introduce you around.”
    She bustled down the hall, expecting him to follow.
    He seemed to hesitate, but his long strides broke the silence of the upper hall as he hurried after her.
    She wondered if Mr. Wyckerly might know any wealthy, unmarried solicitors who wouldn’t mind acquiring an instant family.

4
    “And this is the rhubarb bed,” Miss Merriweather announced.
    Bored, and uncomfortable in his uncouth attire, Fitz gazed at rows of thick, wrinkled leaves and tried to link them with his hostess’s tone of admiration. “You grow weeds on purpose?” he asked, just to produce a reaction from the placid female. He’d offered smiles and charm and flattery during this tour of duty, and she’d yet to flap a flirtatious lash in his direction. Must be the clothes.
    How daunting to think women admired him only for his dashing attire.
    “Weeds?” Finally, she looked at him, but not with delight. “Have you never had rhubarb jelly? Or strawberry-rhubarb tarts? Or rhubarb relish? Or—”
    He hastily interrupted the list of atrocious delicacies. “My pardon. I jested. I promise not to do that again.”
    She narrowed her eyes, possibly aware that he was having fun at her expense.
    “Did you know that you have twelve freckles across your nose?” he asked, to distract her. “If you acquired a new one every two years, I could guess your age.” They were adorable freckles, and if he were a true scoundrel, he’d wonder how many more he could count if he removed a few articles of her clothing. But he tried not to reveal that lascivious interest.
    She covered her nose with her hand as if he might steal her freckles, then gave a huff of exasperation as she recognized his ploy. “I will leave you to tend the strawberry bed.” She nodded at the neat rows of healthy plants on the far side of the fence. “I must walk into town, but Cook and the maids will keep an eye on your daughter.”
    He would rather walk to town than hoe a field. Fitz fiendishly sought any excuse to exchange tasks. “Is there a stationery shop? I have correspondence to keep up. I could walk into town after I’m done hoeing and save you a trip,” he declared blithely, as if he weren’t aware the shops would close before he could perform such feats of magic as hoe a field.
    She glanced at what appeared to him to be pristine rows, then threaded her fingers in the nervous manner-ism he’d noted earlier. She seemed to have two modes of speech—bossy or tongue-tied. She was an intriguing combination of conflicting traits that he would enjoy unraveling. A pity she was the rural sort. And not wealthy.
    “It is late,” she finally