Practically Wicked Read online

  Practically Wicked Johnson

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  Practically Wicked Johnson, Alissa Penguin Group (2012)

  Praise for

  An Unexpected Gentleman

  “Johnson returns to her Scottish Society setting to delight readers once again with gentle wit, graceful writing, and a sensible and spirited heroine.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “I loved the story and the characters in An Unexpected Gentleman. This was an emotional roller-coaster of a story with a sigh-worthy ending.”

  —Rakehell

  “There’s a merging of humor with poignancy, a delightful cast of characters, and just enough sensuality and emotional intensity to bring the story out of the ordinary, something Johnson does quite well.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Alissa Johnson takes some historical romance tropes and gives them new life, delivering a satisfying romance.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “I loved this book…Very touching and romantic.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Great characters, believable and engrossing conflict, a powerful and tender romance, a stunning transformation and redemption of the hero, an easy-to-read pace, and overall just a really good story.”

  —TwoLips Reviews

  “Alissa Johnson brings wit, romance, sexy and charming characters, and laugh-out-loud humor to the reader…I would highly recommend the read.”

  —The Season

  Praise for

  Nearly a Lady

  “A delightfully witty gem…A courageous, hilarious heroine, laugh-out-loud humor, and a true hero who will steal your heart.”

  —Jennifer Ashley, USA Today bestselling author

  “High on believable, witty characters and emotional honesty.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “This book was perfect for me. Seriously, perfect.”

  —Fiction Vixen

  “Nearly a Lady is a fun and utterly charming book.”

  —Rakehell

  “Highly recommended!”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Johnson beautifully tells a rags-to-riches tale.”

  —Booklist

  “I plan to revisit this story for years to come.”

  —All About Romance

  More praise for

  the novels of Alissa Johnson

  “Alissa Johnson strikes the perfect tone between romantic humor, suspense, drama, and just good old-fashioned hijinks between two charismatic characters.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Spiced with razor-sharp wit with a perfect touch of comic jest, Alissa Johnson has served up a hot and passionate Regency romance like a seasoned pro.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “[This book] has everything that I look for in a romance novel! I cannot wait to pick up another of her books.”

  —Romance Reader at Heart

  “If you’re a lover of historical romance—even if you aren’t—and you haven’t read Ms. Johnson’s books yet, you should remedy that immediately.”

  —The Good, The Bad and The Unread

  “With wit and whimsy, Johnson crafts tales filled with charming original characters, captivating readers seeking the unusual, the imperfect, and the most endearing heroines since Jill Barnett.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Funny, charming, heart-wrenching, majorly romantic, and sexy as hell…Destined to become a keeper.”

  —Rakehell

  Berkley Sensation titles by Alissa Johnson

  NEARLY A LADY

  AN UNEXPECTED GENTLEMAN

  PRACTICALLY WICKED

  Practically

  Wicked

  Alissa Johnson

  BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  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.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  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 establishments, 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 websites or their content.

  PRACTICALLY WICKED

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / October 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Alissa Johnson.

  Cover art by Judy York.

  Cover design by George Long.

  Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-61149-4

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  For Bryan and Hillery Johnson, with love.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Life was best experie
nced through a thick layer of fine drink.

  Inferior drink might do in a pinch, but Maximilian Dane was certain that nothing accompanied an evening of debauchery with the demimonde quite so well as several goblets of excellent wine at dinner, followed by a glass, or two, of expensive port in the billiards room, followed by a liberal tasting of superb brandy in the card room, followed by any number of flutes of champagne in Mrs. Wrayburn’s ballroom, followed by…whatever it was he had poured in the library. He recalled an amber hue and delicate bite. He also recalled forgoing the actual pour and drinking straight from the bottle.

  In hindsight, that may have been a mistake.

  Because at some point following that final drink, he left the library in search of…something or other, and rather than finding his way back to the ballroom where this something was most likely to be found, he had landed here—in a quiet, unfamiliar room illuminated by only a spattering of candles, and seated in a plain wooden chair before a plain wooden table, which had both initially appeared to be adequately sized for a man of five-and-twenty, but upon his sitting, had proved to be entirely too near to the floor. His legs were bent at an angle he suspected would be impossible were it not for the limbering quality of all those glasses.

  “What in God’s name is the matter with this furniture?”

  “Lord Highsup cut the legs off for me when I was six,” a woman’s voice explained. He liked the sound of it, lower than one expected from a woman and warm like the fine drink from the library.

  He looked up from the golden wood grain of the table and squinted until the form sitting across from him came into focus. His companion wore a night rail and wrap. They were white, ruffled, and provided a sharply contrasting background to the dark braid of hair that fell over her shoulder and ended just below a well-formed breast.

  “You’re not six.”

  “Indeed, I am not. How astute of you to ascertain.”

  “Plenty tart, though, I see. Who are you?” He threw up a hand, narrowly avoiding a thumb to the eye. “No…No, wait. I know. I never forget a lady.” Leaning closer, he took in the young woman’s pale gray eyes and delicate features, along with her rigid posture and indifferent expression. “You…are Miss Anna Rees, The Ice Maiden of Anover House.”

  There was a slight pause before she spoke. “And you are Mr. Maximilian Dane, the Disappointment of McMullin Hall.”

  “Ah…Not,” he informed her with a quick jab of his finger at the ceiling, “anymore. At half past seven this morning, or somewhere…thereabouts, I became Viscount Dane…the Disappointment of McMullin Hall.”

  “Oh.” Her tone softened as the meaning of his words set in. “Oh, I am sorry.”

  “’S neither here nor there,” he assured her with a clumsy sweep of his hand. “Speaking of which…Where is here, love?”

  “Anover House.”

  “Yes, I know. Lovely party. Where in Anover House?”

  “The nursery.”

  “Ah. That would explain the miniature furniture, wouldn’t it?” He shifted a bit and grimaced when he caught the side of his ankle on the table leg. “Bit long in the tooth for the nursery, aren’t you?”

  “It was the nearest room, my lord. You—”

  “Don’t,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t call me that. I’ve hours yet.”

  “Hours?”

  “Until everyone hears, until everyone knows I am Lord Dane.” He curled his lip in disgust. “Until I have to be a bloody viscount.”

  “Very well. Mr. Dane, then. If you would—”

  Something about the way she said his name sparked a memory.

  “Mrs. Carring,” he said suddenly and made a failed effort at snapping his fingers. “That’s why I came upstairs.” The reasonably attractive and exceptionally accommodating widow Carring had invited him to her guest chambers. He’d stopped in the library for that last drink, something to further blur the face of his brother, and then…He’d become a bit turned around. He gave Miss Rees a quizzical look. “Came down the wrong hall, did I?”

  “If you were after Mrs. Carring, yes. She is a floor below.”

  “I climbed an extra set of steps?” Strange, he’d not have thought himself capable. His legs felt like pudding. “Huh. And how is it I came to be in your company?”

  “I was in the hallway. You waved, tripped, and landed at my feet.”

  He closed his eyes in thought, found it made the room spin unpleasantly, and let his gaze drift over Miss Rees’s face instead. He recalled now, smiling at the pretty lady, losing his feet, and finding them again with the lady’s assistance. She smelled sweet and flowery, like sugar biscuits and roses. “So, I did. What the devil did I trip on?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Miss Rees replied and rose smoothly from her chair.

  In a display of coordination that surprised him, he reached forward and took hold of her wrist without falling out of his seat. “Where are you going?”

  “To ring for assistance.” She tugged at her wrist, but he held on with a gentle grasp. He liked the way the heat of her skin seeped through the cotton and warmed his palm.

  “Don’t. I don’t want help. I don’t need it.” And the moment she rang for it, she’d leave. He wanted that least of all. The ballroom below was filled with ladies like the widow Carring—worldly women clad in silk, rubies, and the promise of sin-filled nights. But it was the prim little creature before him now who intrigued him. “You’ve a different sort of promise.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He shook his head, lightly so as not to lose it entirely. “Never mind. Don’t ring for help.”

  “You cannot stay here in the nursery, my lord, and—”

  “Mr. Dane,” he reminded her. “Why not? Are there children about?”

  Surely not. Surely no one, not even the most depraved of Mrs. Wrayburn’s friends, would be so ridiculous as to bring a child to one of the woman’s parties.

  “No, but—”

  “Then we’ll stay. Sit,” he pressed again. He considered and rejected the idea of tugging her back onto her seat. His current level of coordination was unpredictable at best. He wasn’t looking to do the woman an injury. “Talk with me.”

  “I can’t. It isn’t proper.”

  He snorted a little in response. As far as good society was concerned, the words “proper” and “Anover House” were mutually exclusive. “What do we care for proper, you and I?”

  “I care,” she replied, and he watched with fascination as her already rigid back straightened just a hair further. “My mother would most assuredly care.”

  “Then she ought to have had the sense to move you out of the house by now.”

  If he remembered correctly, rumor had it Mrs. Wrayburn had, in fact, tried to marry her daughter off on more than one occasion, but Miss Rees was content to stay as she was—a reclusive and spoiled young woman, and a burden on her overindulgent mother.

  Well, the little darling could indulge someone else for a change.

  “I want you to stay,” he informed her. “And now that I’m a viscount, I’m fairly certain you have to do as I say. Sit. Talk.”

  Unless he was very much mistaken, her lips twitched with amusement. “No.”

  This time, when she pulled at her wrist he had no choice but to grant her freedom or risk being yanked from his seat.

  He squinted at her willowy arms. “Stronger than you look.”

  That dubious compliment earned him a bland expression. “I daresay a kitten would give you trouble in your current condition, which is why I need to ring—”

  “That’s insulting.” Quite possibly true, but nonetheless insulting. “Unless you are referring to one of those giant breeds of cats? Tigers and such? They have exceptionally large kittens.”

  “Cubs, Mr. Dane. And no, I was not.”

  “Then I’m insulted.” He made a show of slumping in his chair, but when that failed to lure out a smile, he tried another tack. “Before passing along your next barb, you might consider taking into a
ccount the sad, sad nature of events that has led to my weakened state.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He wondered if he was, perhaps, not expressing himself as clearly as he imagined. “There’s been a death in the family, you’ll recall.”

  It was unforgivable to make mention of his brother’s passing in such a careless manner, and he might have felt a little guilty for it, were he not so damnably angry with his brother just now. And so gratified to see Miss Rees’s expression soften once again. And so stupendously drunk.

  But softened or not, Miss Rees appeared implacable in her resolve to leave. “Please understand, Mr. Dane, I am most sorry for the loss of your father. However—”

  Baffled, he straightened in his chair. “My father?”

  “The gentleman from whom you’ve inherited the viscounty.”

  “Ah, no. My elder brother, Reginald. My father shuffled off the mortal coil years ago.” He gave that additional thought. “Maybe only two. Strange, seems longer. And not long enough.” The viscount’s baritone voice had grown happily dim in his memory.

  “I am truly sorry for the loss of your brother,” Miss Rees corrected patiently. “However, I cannot continue to keep company with you in here, like this. I may not come from good ton, but I am an unmarried young woman, and as a gentleman, you—”