Unsuitable Wife

by Kruger, Mary

  “Your informants tell you this?” Justin asked quietly, his fingers toying with a pen, and Lawton, the Runner, shook his head.

  “Not in so many words, no, sir. Don’t know they’re talking to a Runner, neither,” he said. He had already detailed to Justin the places he had looked, the rough dives and kens of London’s underworld. “There’s them that admit they know Ott, that’s the one you shot, my lord, was up to something. Won’t admit to being in on it themselves, acourse, but will say they saw Ott talking with a sharp-featured man. Face like a ferret, they said. Bring anyone to mind, sir?”

  Justin frowned. “No. He is the leader?”

  “No, sir, I doubt it. From what I hear he didn’t look near prosperous enough. No, sir, there’s someone else behind him.” Lawton leaned back, folding his hands. “Who hates you enough to want you dead, my lord?”

  “Damned if I know.” Justin ran a hand through his hair. “All I know is there have been two attempts. And now you tell me there is a plot?”

  “Aye, sir. Weren’t no accident you were shot during the hunt.” Lawton watched him closely. “Sir, best you think of anyone you’ve quarreled with, anyone with any reason to want you killed.”

  “I have. The devil of it is, there’s nobody.”

  “No one, sir? No enemies?”

  “No, damn it, none I can think of.”

  “What about your heir?”

  “My brother? No. Besides, he’s in Spain.”

  “I see. Sir.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about your wife?”

  “Nonsense!” Justin burst out, starting up from his chair, and Lawton sat back, impassive. After a moment, Justin sat down. It was true that his relationship with Melissa had been strained lately; it was equally true that she had not wanted to marry him in the first place. She certainly had the money to finance such a plot. But, would she? “No, I will not believe that my wife is trying to kill me, Lawton, and I don’t like your saying so.”

  “Sorry, my lord,” Lawton said, imperturbably. “Maybe, though, she knows something.” Justin opened his mouth to refute this accusation as well, and then stopped. “You’ve thought of something, sir?”

  “Yes. Something that was said to my wife. Hard to believe, though.” Justin stroked his upper lip for a moment in silence, and Lawton watched. “There is someone,” he said, finally. “Someone who doesn’t want me to stay in politics, someone who’s been a rival of sorts for years.”

  “Who, sir?”

  “The Marquess of Edgewater.”

  Lawton whistled. “Money there all right, sir.”

  “Yes. Mind you, I’m not at all certain of this.” It was true they were rivals, but would Edgewater’s dislike and contempt actually extend to murder?

  “No, sir, but it will bear looking into.”

  “Yes.” Justin rose, tall and resolute. “If this is planned to keep me out of politics, I’m not giving into it.”

  “No, sir,” Lawton said. “But best you be careful.”

  “I intend to be.”

  “There, yes, those flowers should go there. Yes, like that.” Melissa watched the footmen critically as they placed a large basket of flowers just to the side of the door opening into the ballroom. “Yes, perfect! And that should be it. Well?” She turned to Augusta, who was leaning on her cane beside her. “What do you think?”

  “Hmph. Place looks like a damned hothouse,” she said.

  “That’s the idea. Thank you,” she said, smiling up at the footmen. The decor was perfect for her ball, to be held that night. White-latticed trellises climbed the walls between the French windows, and upon them were twined roses of red and white and yellow, perfuming the air with their scent. More roses climbed the archway that stood before the door that led to the supper room, and daffodils in tubs were set around the dais where the orchestra would be performing, bringing a welcome touch of spring to the room. Carnations in baskets lined the small area of chairs, white and gilt and rose velvet, where the chaperones would sit, and finally, an unexpected touch, a garland of greens and carnations in pink and white and red was draped over the door to the ballroom. It was almost like stepping into a garden.

  “I think it’s charming,” Melissa went on, “and it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen done. Really, I am amazed that more people don’t make use of flowers at times like this.”

  “Hmph.” Augusta shifted her weight. “Most people can’t afford roses in March, miss.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Melissa said, her good humor unimpaired by this reference to her money. “Are you tired, ma’am? Perhaps you should rest a while before this evening.”

  “Not a bit of it. Puny things, you girls are today, always fainting and resting. Why, in my time we danced all night, and we didn’t sleep the day away.”

  Melissa’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sure, ma’am. Nevertheless, I think I will lie down for a time. There’ll be much to do tonight.”

  “Hmph,” Augusta said again, but she did allow Melissa to lead her to the bedroom she would be occupying tonight. Melissa smiled as the door closed behind the old lady and then went along to her own room. She doubted she would rest, however. She was much too excited and nervous about tonight, her debut as a London hostess.

  Some hours later Melissa turned towards her pier glass and gave her reflection a long, unsmiling look. The woman who looked back at her was almost a stranger, with her hair caught atop her head in a Clytie knot and the modish, sophisticated gown of emerald silk, with its brief bodice, hugging her curves. A net overskirt embroidered with gold thread sparkled over the slip, and a plume of feathers attached to a jeweled band made up her headdress. Against the brilliant color her skin glowed a milky white and her hair blazed, but it was her eyes, faintly green, which caught her attention. They were not the eyes of a girl, but of a woman. She had seen a thing or two over the past months. She had grown.

  “You look beautiful, my lady,” Liza said, and Melissa came out of her thoughts. Tonight was not a night for reflecting about the past, or worrying about the future. Tonight was a night to be lived, and to hope that Justin would at least waltz with her.

  She frowned as she descended the stairs to the ballroom. The last weeks, since the fiasco in her bedchamber, had been difficult. Justin acted much as he always had; it was her own feelings that confused her. There had been times when she had never wanted a man to touch her; there had been times, just recently, when she hadn’t wanted ever to be touched by Justin. But her emotions apparently, ran deep. In spite of everything she wanted to be near him. She wanted to share his life in every way, though he didn’t seem to want the same thing. At night in her lonely bed, she speculated endlessly on what it was about her that repelled him; by day, she stared for hours in the mirror, seeking some flaw, some reason for his rejection. And though she could find none, she knew it was there. There was something wrong in her, and Justin could see it.

  “Don’t frown, girl, it gives you wrinkles,” Augusta said tartly, and Melissa looked up to see her and Justin already standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for their guests to arrive. “Worried about tonight?”

  “No. Well, maybe a little.” She looked past Augusta at her husband, and he smiled at her. “You look fine, Chatleigh.”

  “So do you, m’dear. Daresay we’ll brush through this tolerably enough,” he said.

  “Daresay we will,” she replied, and after a startled glance Justin smiled again.

  The door knocker sounded below, and there was no more time for speech. Their guests arrived, slowly at first, and then in a veritable flood. By ten o’clock the ballroom was filled. The cream of the aristocracy was present, Whig and Tory alike: the Bainbridges, with Sabrina looking lovely in a gown of rose watered silk; Sally Jersey, talking constantly, as usual; and many of Justin’s political acquaintances. It was even rumored that the Prince Regent might make his appearance, which, as Augusta said, would be quite a feather in their caps. Her nephew was doing well, she thought. Better than she�
��d dared to hope, but that, she was certain, was due to Melissa. The little countess was shaping up very nicely indeed.

  The flood of guests slowed to a trickle, and Justin took Melissa’s arm, leading her into the ballroom to open the dancing. The first dance was a quadrille, with four couples to a set and little chance for private conversation, and as Melissa went through the steps her mind ranged over the preparations that had led to this moment. The decor was fine, though some of the flowers already appeared to be wilting in the heat; the supper, to be served later, was varied and interesting enough to tempt even the most jaded appetite, consisting as it did not only of the usual lobster patties and champagne, but also various platters of entrees volantes, quennelles of chicken, and an intricate confection of cake and icing in the shape of a fairy tale castle; and enough people that she had invited had decided to attend. Thank heavens, the ball was a success.

  The music wound to a halt and Melissa found herself standing among a group of people, with no memory of having danced, though she was warm and her heart was pounding. Justin came over to her side. “Looks to be a success, m’dear.”

  “I hope so,” she replied, and looked up at him. Something in his eyes caught her, and for the life of her, she could not look away.

  Justin pressed her hand. “Save a waltz for me,” he said, and, smiling, turned as an acquaintance hailed him, leaving Melissa staring after him in amazement.

  Happiness and expectancy lent a special sparkle to her as she circulated among her guests, joining various conversations and occasionally dancing. From time to time she caught a glimpse of Justin, and she was pleased to see the respect with which he was received. Even the Prince Regent, when he arrived sometime after midnight, was seen in conversation with him. Melissa’s heart swelled with pride. If this evening were any indication, her husband would be a man to be reckoned with.

  Melissa was smiling as she sank down on a chair near the chaperones and older ladies, next to the Duchess of Bainbridge. “Heavens, I’ve hardly been off my feet all evening,” she said.

  Sabrina smiled. “It’s a lovely ball. I particularly like what you did with all these flowers.”

  “Thank you. But you’re not dancing, Sabrina?”

  Sabrina grimaced slightly. “No, Bainbridge doesn’t want me to. He’s become so overprotective! He’s even talking about returning to the Abbey, and all because I am a trifle unwell in the mornings.”

  “Men can be a trial,” Melissa said, patting Sabrina’s hand, and looked up to see Justin, across the room, watching her. A peculiar warmth filled her, and any envy she felt for the Bainbridges’ marriage faded. Tonight she would not trade places with anyone.

  As if her glance had drawn him to her, Justin crossed the room, just as the orchestra struck up a waltz. “My dance, I believe, m’dear,” he said, and Melissa, her eyes sparkling, rose.

  “Of course. Sabrina, you don’t mind?”

  “No, of course not, and there is Oliver, at any event.”

  Melissa had a glimpse of the Bainbridges joining the swirling group of people on the floor, and then Justin’s arm came around her, blotting everything from her mind but the nearness of him. His hand was warm at her waist, and his shoulder under her hand felt firm and strong. She suddenly felt very warm and rather dizzy, as he whirled her around. “Justin!”

  “What, m’dear?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head, and looked up to see him watching her with an unnerving regard. He had never looked at her like that before, with such intentness and warmth. It made her feel curiously lightheaded and weak, and yet more alive than she had ever felt before. The sounds of the orchestra and conversation faded, the floor seemed to drop away from her feet, and she saw nothing, nobody, but the man who held her, closer than was proper for a waltz. Their footsteps, their quickened breathing, even their very heartbeats seemed to be in unison. Only gradually did they become aware that the music had stopped. Their waltz had ended.

  For just a moment they stood, gazing at each other, Justin’s arm still about her waist. Then he stepped back, bowing. “We will continue this—conversation—later,” he said.

  “Yes,” Melissa said, dazed. “Later.”

  He bowed again as her next partner came to claim her. She went through the steps of the country dance in a haze. Later! Later? After all the guests had gone, she supposed he meant. Oh, how could she wait that long? she wailed, inwardly. Tonight. It would be tonight. At long last, all the strains, all the tension, were gone. She was going to be his wife.

  Time seemed to pass with agonizing slowness after that, and though Melissa chatted and danced, though she seemed normal on the outside, she melted inside each time she caught Justin’s eyes on her. Would this evening never end? It seemed that the ball she had earlier delighted in was now an ordeal. She was grateful for the distraction of slipping down to the kitchen to make sure everything was in readiness for supper. The French chef they had recently hired met her questions with his usual Gallic tirade, convincing her that all was well, and she went back upstairs tingling with excitement and anticipation. The sooner the guests were fed, the sooner they would leave, and host and hostess could be alone.

  She was nearing the ballroom when she saw a man standing near the door, looking in as if searching for someone. He was tall and thin, dressed in ill-fitting evening clothes, and for a moment Melissa didn’t recognize him. Then he turned, and her gasp was loud in the silence created by a pause in the music.

  “There you are, daughter,” Sir Stephen said, walking towards her. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “But—what are you doing here?” she said, her voice high and thin. “I didn’t invite you.”

  Sir Stephen pursed his lips. “No, most unfilial of you, child. Perhaps you believed I had gone back to the country? But I have been here, you see, watching you. And your husband.”

  There was something vaguely menacing in his words, so that she shivered. “I wish you would leave. Now. Or do I have to call someone to throw you out?”

  “You won’t want to do that, daughter.” He shook his head, sadly. “Think of the scandal.”

  “I don’t care—”

  “But you do, child. Or shall I go in there and tell everyone what you are?”

  Melissa turned white, with anger as well as fear. Damn him for coming here tonight, of all nights, when matters were finally working out between her and Justin. She would have to speak to whoever had admitted him, she thought, distractedly, and then turned. “Come. We can’t talk here.”

  She led him to a small anteroom, mercifully empty of any guests. Melissa went to the fire and stood before it, trying to warm herself, though her chill was of the soul. “Well?” she said, when the silence had stretched between them, and turned to see him sitting in a chair, regarding her unblinkingly, like a cat. “What do you want?”

  “You know what I want, Melissa.”

  Melissa shivered at the note in his voice. “I’ll not give you anything!”

  “Oh, but I think you will, you know.” He made a steeple of his fingers and gazed at it. “I grow tired of this, daughter. Therefore, I have taken steps to ensure your cooperation.”

  “They won’t work.”

  “Ah, but they will. You care too much for your husband.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that for the sake of his health, you will go along with my wishes. Or…” He let the word hang, tantalizingly.

  “Or?” she said, impatiently.

  “I may have to arrange another little incident. Another accident on the hunting field, perhaps, or—”

  “What!” She spun around. “That was you?”

  He inclined his head. “Or perhaps another attack on the road. Ah, I see he didn’t tell you about that?” He rose and walked to her, leisurely. “Trying to spare you, I suppose. Both attempts failed, my dear. But the next one may not. If…”

  “If?”

  “If you will give me what I want.”

  Melissa swall
owed, hard. “If it’s money, it will take a few days, but I’ll get what you need, just tell me how much—”

  “Not money, Melissa.” His gaze, as hypnotic as a snake’s, held hers. “You know what I want.”

  “No.” She licked lips suddenly gone dry, and backed away. “No!”

  “Oh, yes. What I’ve always wanted.” He smiled, a terrible sight, predatory and feral. “You.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “No!” Melissa spun and ran for the door, but Sir Stephen was quicker, reaching out to grab her arm.

  “You will, Melissa,” he said, softly. “You will give in to me.”

  “No,” she whimpered, and at that moment the door to the anteroom opened. Two man came in, so deep in conversation that neither noticed the others for a moment. Melissa wrenched her arm free, heedless of the bruises she was certain to have, and nearly ran from the room, heading for the ballroom and safety. She would never give into him, never! But if she didn’t—

  She stopped dead on the threshold to the ballroom, not seeing the whirling dancers, the myriad of colors, the profusion of flowers. If she didn’t, then Justin would suffer for it. Oh, God, she thought, her heart heavy as she finally walked into the room, pasting on a smile. Oh, God, what am I going to do?

  The last guest had finally left. The orchestra had packed up their instruments and gone, the maids had cleared away the remaining food from the supper room, and the footmen, yawning, had sleepily made their way to bed. Outside, false dawn was lightening the sky. Inside, Melissa sat in a chair in her room, wearing her dressing gown and staring straight ahead. The evening was over, and so was the need to pretend that all was well. What was she going to do?

  There was a light tap on the door and then Justin came in from his bedroom, wearing a burgundy silk dressing gown, carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. She continued to stare, hardly acknowledging his presence, and he glanced at her curiously as he crossed the room. “Evening,” he said, popping the cork from the bottle. “Or should I say, morning?”