Wedded for His Secret Child

by Helen Dickson

  ‘No, I don’t suppose they can.’

  A laughing Eliza and Melissa came to join then, ending any further conversation about Gerald Mortimer. It was a merry group that left the park. After promising to meet up at the Cranstans’ ball, they dispersed to their respective homes.

  Chapter Seven

  The day of the ball finally arrived. After making sure Violet was settled in the nursery Melissa gave herself up to Daisy’s capable hands. On entering her chamber she was surprised to see one of her favourite gowns freshly ironed and spread out across the bed.

  ‘Your husband instructed me to prepare something suitable for the ball. He said it had to be elegant and not too fussy. He also said the neckline was not to be too daring. I hope you approve the one I’ve chosen for you to wear.’

  It was a sumptuous gown in deep rose-pink—almost the same colour as the gown she had worn to attend the dinner at Beechwood House. Caught halfway between annoyance and amusement at Laurence’s high-handedness, Melissa laughed. ‘Absolutely, Daisy. It was the very gown I would have chosen myself. Did he suggest the colour also?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact he did. He said this particular colour would enhance your complexion and suit your shade of hair perfectly.’

  ‘I am indeed touched that my husband has taken such an interest in what I should wear. He has excellent taste.’

  As she prepared for the evening’s entertainment—her first London ball—excitement and trepidation caused her stomach to flutter. She was finding it harder and harder to retreat into cool reserve when she was near Laurence, especially when memories of the night they had lain together intruded and she remembered the joy of it, but she was happy and relieved that their relationship seemed to be on a better footing following their ride out in Hyde Park.

  There were times when she knew Laurence wanted her. She saw it in his eyes when he looked at her, in his expression, and she deeply regretted the harsh words they had exchanged when he had left her bed on their first night in London. Perhaps tonight would go some way to making their marriage happy and solid and in time help to heal the wounds of the terrible loss of his wife and son.

  Hopefully an evening at Cranston House would turn it around.

  * * *

  Returning home after a busy schedule of business appointments in the city, Laurence had just enough time to dress for the evening’s entertainment and toss back a large brandy. Striding into the hall, he paused. Melissa was just coming down the stairs. Nothing had prepared him for the first sight of his wife dressed for the ball.

  With a stunned smile of admiration, he took in the full impact of her ravishing deep rose gown, his bold eyes moving over her with unhidden masculine appreciation. The skirts fell from her waist into panels that clung gently to her graceful figure and ended in a swirl at her toes. The bodice was slightly off the shoulder, showing to perfection the creamy flesh of her throat and a tantalising hint of the gentle swell of her breasts. Her hair was drawn back in a sleek chignon, its lustrous simplicity providing an enticing contrast to the sophistication of the gown. The effect was regal and enchanting. His heart wrenched when he looked on her unforgettable face—so poised, so beautiful that he ached to take her in his arms. Never had he seen her look so provocatively lovely, so regal, so glamorous and bewitching.

  He had noticed the change in her that marriage and motherhood had brought about—she was not the charming innocent he had left behind at the Spring Gardens. The transformation both unnerved and enthralled him. The breathtaking woman who stood before him dressed so finely, her eyes alight with excitement for the evening ahead, was a lady fit to take her place in the most glittering houses in the land. Laurence had the odd sensation that Melissa had become someone else, but there was no mistaking those brilliant amber eyes or that entrancing face.

  As he moved towards her, the scent of her gentle perfume wafting over him, his decision to have her in his bed tonight no matter how many objections she raised became an unshakeable resolve. He was certain she wanted him; he had seen it in her eyes. Taking her hand, he helped her down the last steps, his gaze warming appreciatively.

  ‘You look enchanting. I see Daisy obeyed my instructions to the letter. The gown is beautiful—the colour suits you—but perfection can only be attained when one works with the best of raw materials. After tonight, you’ll take the shine out of all the London belles. You will be the envy of every woman there,’ he said softly.

  Melissa met his gaze and her heart swelled. If she was envied tonight, it wouldn’t be due to her appearance but because she could claim this handsome man for her husband. Buoyed by confidence stemming from his warm compliment, she returned his smile, while deep inside she felt something tighten and harden with trepidation. Her cheeks were tinted a delicate shade of pink, her eyes alight and warm, her parted lips moist.

  ‘Thank you, Laurence. I’m glad you approve of what you see. It gives me confidence for what is to come. I think I am going to need it.’

  ‘I’m just relieved to see you have not taken to your bed with a fit of nerves.’

  Despite her dread of the evening before her, Melissa had to bite back a guilty smile over that remark. ‘I have to confess that I did consider it. Eliza and Daisy talked me out of it.’

  Laurence nodded his approval. She was brave, immensely so. ‘Everyone of importance will be at the ball. Hopefully, afterwards, when everyone has taken a good look at you with me, the gossip will die a swift death and you can get on with the business of being my wife.’ Taking her gloved hand and drawing it through the crook of his arm, he escorted her out to the waiting conveyance, his mind already drifting ahead to the moment when that glorious mantle of shining dark hair would be spilling over the pillows of his bed and his bare chest, and her supple, silken body would be writhing in sweet ecstasy beneath him.

  * * *

  Seated across from Laurence in his black town coach drawn by four fiercely black horses, Melissa’s face had reddened at his remark, reminding her of her duty which she had avoided of late—not for much longer, it seemed, for she was certain his words contained a deeper meaning. When she had met his eyes looking up at her from the hall, she had felt her heart slam into her ribs and her thoughts scattered. An increasing comforting warmth suffused her. A strange sensation of security, of knowing he was at hand and would be throughout the ball, pleased her. He had a certain flair in his mode of dress—a splash of claret in his waistcoat beneath the black coat, an artful twist to his pristine white cravat and a flourish to the ruffle at his sleeve.

  Arriving at Cranston House, a stately Georgian mansion which was an outstanding example of opulence on a grand scale in the heart of Bloomsbury, it seemed as if everyone in London had been invited. The streets were congested with carriages depositing the cream of London society outside the open doors. Footmen in powdered wigs and claret and gold livery met each vehicle and escorted the guests into the brilliance of the interior.

  Lord and Lady Cranston greeted them warmly. There was much fluttering of fans, bobbing of curtsies and bowing of elegant heads. Guests filled the large marble-pillared hall—debutantes in gorgeous pale-coloured gowns accompanied by their chaperons and young men dressed in black, with brightly coloured waistcoats and pristine white cravats.

  Laurence escorted Melissa up the grand curved staircase. Exotic blooms on marble pedestals adorned the rooms and passageways, their scent exquisite. Gaming tables had been set up in reception rooms for those who preferred to pass the evening in dice and cards, and another two reception rooms had tables arranged for the customary light supper served before midnight. They paused to gaze down on the scene in the brilliant ballroom with its highly polished parquet floor and Venetian mirrors. The light from hundreds of glittering candles in glittering crystal chandeliers lit the soaring space while delightful music lightened the drone of conversation.

  Melissa had never seen anything like it. Silks and satins in
bright colours paraded before her. Perfumes drifted and mingled into a heady haze as bejewelled ladies took to the dance floor with their partners. Slowly they made their way down to the ballroom. A sea of people seemed to press towards them and voices erupted as heads turned and fans fluttered and people craned their necks to observe the new arrivals. Although they wouldn’t dream of giving Laurence the cut, they looked at Melissa with raised brows and severe disapproval.

  Noting Melissa’s pallor, Laurence took a couple of glasses of sparkling wine from the tray of a footman. Handing one to his wife, he smiled at her. ‘Here, drink this. It will put some colour into your cheeks. It will also help you to relax and make you feel less like running away.’

  Melissa took a deep breath and did as she was told. After taking a gulp of her wine, she squared her shoulders. ‘I’ve never run away from anything in my life and I’m not about to start now. My reputation may have taken a public flogging, but if I have nothing else I still have my pride.’

  Laurence could not argue with that. She did have pride, lots of it, and he hoped she would face them all down with her head held high.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  Taking a deep breath Melissa nodded. ‘Yes—although I am sure pistols at dawn would be far less nerve-racking.’

  Laurence chuckled, taking her hand and tucking into the crook of his arm. ‘But not nearly as effective. Now come along. Before the night is over everyone will love you.’

  Melissa very much doubted it, but she let him lead her into the ballroom. She was dazzled and confused by this impeccable tonish company. Every influential head turned to the new arrivals and conversation became hushed as eyes strained to have a look at Lord Maxwell’s new wife. What they saw was a dark-haired beauty draped in an exotic, extravagantly expensive rose-pink gown that clung to her voluptuous body. Her thick, glossy hair was caught up in an array of curls entwined with a narrow ribbon matching her gown. The style emphasised her sculpted face and generous lips. No one looking at her would believe that her knees were trembling and her stomach churning with panic.

  Laurence gently squeezed Melissa’s hand, aware of her nervousness.

  She was aware how female eyes turned to her husband. His commanding presence was awesome, drawing the eye of every woman in the room. A group of people moved to speak to him and she noticed how everyone was hanging on his every word, doe-eyed young debutantes gazing at him dreamily, and that there was a tension about the group that seemed to begin and end with him.

  ‘What I see right now,’ he said quietly during a moment of privacy, nodding his head towards his right, ‘is at least a dozen besotted young bloods looking as if they would like to trample over me to get to you.’

  ‘Then I’m relieved you are here to protect me. I can’t see anything of Eliza and Antony,’ she said, her eyes doing a quick scan of the throng.

  ‘They’ll arrive soon, I’m sure of it. Eliza probably can’t decide what gown to wear.’

  ‘Yes, maybe you’re right.’ She smiled up at him. ‘When are you going to ask me to dance?’

  He pretended shock, stepping back. ‘Lady Maxwell. That is a shocking thing to ask. A lady never asks a gentleman to dance.’

  ‘No? Then I would like to set a precedent. Would you care to dance with me, Lord Maxwell, or should I really shock everyone and set the tongues wagging even harder and approach one of the gentlemen you referred to? I’m sure they would not refuse to dance with me.’

  Laurence gave her one of his lazy smiles. Pride of ownership was evident in his possessive gaze and Melissa’s heart soared when she saw it. He had never looked at her like this before—as if she were a tasty morsel he was planning to devour at his leisure.

  ‘Is that so?’ he said with an assessing smile as he studied her upturned face. ‘At least your brazen challenge has put some sparkle into your eyes. It’s unfortunate that my advances didn’t have the same effect.’

  Melissa made the mistake of looking at his lips. She studied them for a second, then shook off the awareness that suddenly gripped her. ‘How would you know that? The times when we have been... Well—if my memory is correct it was dark so how would you know if my eyes had a sparkle or not?’

  Leaning towards her, he laughed softly, his mouth only inches from her ear. ‘Then I think it is time we got to know each other better. The next time we find ourselves in bed together, I shall make sure the lamps are turned up—all the better to see you. But for now you win, Lady Maxwell. I would be honoured to dance with you.’

  Without more ado he headed for the dance floor.

  * * *

  Melissa felt light-headed even before Laurence began spinning her in the dance. He was different tonight. She was not used to him being all courtly and romantic—she might even begin thinking he truly cared for her, when it was only a façade to show society that they were in accord. He did not love her, but she knew from the hurt in her heart that she was in danger of falling deeply, irrevocably, in love with him.

  The group of young bloods with flirtatious grins raised their glasses in a salute as Melissa drew level with them and Laurence quietly fumed when he saw her acknowledge their homage with a bright smile.

  ‘Do you have to smile at them?’ he retorted sharply.

  ‘I was only being polite.’

  ‘Forward to the point of being fast is how I would describe it. I do not want my wife smiling and fluttering her lashes like an accomplished flirt.’

  ‘And here was I thinking that smiling and flirting is an accepted, highly desirable mode of social behaviour,’ Melissa teased quietly.

  ‘For an unattached debutante I grant you, but not when the lady doing the flirting is my wife.’

  Melissa suppressed a wry smile. If she did not know better she’d think he was jealous. She abandoned her waist to his encircling arm. It was steady and firm as a rock. Afraid that she would stumble over his feet, she looked down.

  ‘Look at me, Melissa. Not at the floor.’

  ‘I am trying not to tread on your feet.’

  Laurence was not unaware of the attention they had initially created. ‘I am certain I shall survive it. Focus your eyes on me and follow my lead. We have an audience. Hold your head up, look into my eyes and smile. Let them see that we are a devoted couple.’

  She compromised, focusing her gaze on his cravat, trying not to think of all the people staring at them. After looking at them attentively, the couples on the dance floor renewed their interest in the music.

  ‘See,’ he said, his palm firm against the small of her back, his breath warm and smelling pleasantly of brandy on her cheek. ‘You have fed everyone’s curiosity and now they are getting on with enjoying themselves.’

  ‘I am glad of the opportunity to show them I’m no maid fresh from the country with mud on my boots and straw in my hair,’ she responded, smiling broadly with a light-hearted toss of her head.

  ‘Don’t get carried away, Melissa,’ Laurence murmured with a note of caution, smiling nevertheless. ‘It’s true there have been rumours drifting about town about my new wife. Most people who have not had the opportunity of seeing you have imagined a rather plain young woman who set out to capture herself a rich husband. Nothing has prepared them for how you look tonight.’ His eyes rested warmly on her face.

  ‘Then I can only assume that the trouble I took to present myself at my best has been worth it.’

  Melissa’s fear of making a mistake on the dance floor proved unfounded, for Laurence was a superb dancer and her body soon remembered all the steps she had been taught. Of their own volition her feet followed where he led and her mind opened to the sensations of the music. His eyes shone with a purposeful light and, like the man himself, his movements were bold and sweeping, with none of the mincing steps of many of the other gentlemen participating in the dance. She was aware of the subtle play of her skirts about her legs and the hardness of her husb
and’s thighs against hers. As he whirled her about in wide, graceful circles she seemed to soar with the melody. It was as if they were one being, their movements perfectly in tune.

  The closeness of Laurence’s body lent Melissa’s nostrils a scent of his cologne, fleeting, inoffensive, a clean masculine smell. Her heart began pounding in her chest as if she had been running. Laurence had not touched her since their first night in London and she was not used to it, she told herself, that was all. But she remembered the times when he had and the unbelievable pleasure of it always took her by surprise. She did not look at him, but she could feel him watching her. With her hand resting on his shoulder, she could feel the hard muscles beneath the superfine of his coat, his strength, his power. She knew every chiselled contour of his chest, for had it not pressed against her own when they had lain naked together in bed? Heat pooled in the centre of her stomach at the memory and she forced herself to focus on the dance.

  They made an uncommonly handsome couple. Whispers were exchanged between onlookers and further questions and conjectures made. Between the pair, however, so involved were they with each other that anything other than the music and their combined thoughts and sensations each aroused in the other went unheeded.

  Laurence looked down at her, at her flushed cheeks and shining eyes. Suddenly his arm tightened about her waist, forcing her into even closer proximity. ‘You are very quiet, Melissa. Have you nothing to say?’

  Tilting her head back, she met his gaze. ‘Do I have to say something?’

  ‘It is customary to engage in some form of conversation with your partner.’

  She smiled teasingly. ‘Very well. I will say that you dance divinely.’

  Laughing softly, he swept her into another dizzying swirl. ‘That is what I am supposed to say to you—and you do, by the way—dance divinely.’