Unsuitable Wife

by Kruger, Mary

  “Hurt? I don’t think so.” He bent his head. “Did he hurt you, sweetheart?”

  “N-no, but he—”

  “I know. I know.”

  That made Melissa raise her head, and she saw in his eyes the knowledge that she had tried so hard to keep from him, that she had never wanted to see there. A hot wave of shame washed over her, and she shut her eyes trying to shut out reality.

  “I think she’s all right, Lawton, but she’ll have to be got back home. Damn, and I can’t take her up on Diablo.”

  “You can have my horse, sir, and I’ll lead Diablo,” Harry said.

  Justin nodded approvingly. “Good lad. And you can help Lawton keep an eye on our prisoner.”

  “Capital,” Harry said, with grim, adult satisfaction.

  Justin watched him for a moment and then looked back down at his wife, huddled and shivering in his arms. Good God, he thought again. “Melissa,” he said, softly, and she stirred. “We’re going home now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  A few hours later Justin stood at his study window, looking out at the drive and seeing nothing. He hadn’t slept since night before last, and he was tired, deep in his body, deep in his soul, with the long day still ahead. Melissa was safe, thank God, sleeping upstairs under the effects of the draught Dr. Porter had administered, but what he would do about her he hadn’t the slightest idea. The events of the past hours all crowded together in his mind, and he wanted nothing more than to give it all up and run, back to the army where life had been simpler and he’d known who he was. Now nothing was easy.

  There was a light tap on the door. Justin turned as Lawton came in, his hand firmly grasping Sir Stephen’s arm. Sir Stephen’s hands were securely bound behind his back, and there were bruises on his face that hadn’t been there earlier. Justin eyed him coldly.

  “Here he is, sir,” Lawton said. “Though what you wants with him—”

  “Thank you, Lawton. Leave us.”

  Lawton stared at him, and then nodded. “Very well, my lord. But I need him in good enough shape to travel to Bow Street.”

  “He will be. Unfortunately,” Justin added. Lawton nodded and went out, closing the door behind him.

  The silence lengthened. Justin lounged, apparently at ease, behind his desk, and Sir Stephen, as if fascinated, watched his fingers, toying with a silver pen knife. Finally, he could stand the silence no longer. “This is an outrage!” he burst out, and Justin’s eyebrows rose. “I demand my rights. Why should I be treated as a common criminal—”

  “When you are one?” Justin said. “Or would you prefer to be treated as you treated Melissa?”

  Sir Stephen’s face turned an ugly, mottled red. “I wouldn’t have harmed her! Damn it, man, she’s my daughter.”

  Justin leaned swiftly over the desk, stabbing at the air with the pen knife, and the other man pulled back. “And do you deny you would have asked ransom for her?”

  “Yes! My dear daughter, once she knew how much I needed money—”

  “Oh, cut line,” Justin said, wearily, and got up, perching on the corner of his desk, the pen knife still in his hand. “We both know what you had in mind for her.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. If she’s told you some nonsense—”

  “And I, for one, would like to see you hang for it.” Justin’s eyes were cold as they raked over Sir Stephen. “However, you will likely only be transported to the Antipodes, you and your friends. You did hire Jenkins, did you not?”

  “Yes, but—no more. I will not say another word.” His mouth set in a straight line, and he leaned back, glaring up at Justin with hate-filled eyes.

  “No matter. They’ve said enough. We know it was you planned everything, not them.” Justin prowled over to the window. “Don’t think you’ll like Australia. And, by the way, I intend to petition for Harry’s guardianship. Don’t think I’ll have any trouble getting it.”

  “Look, Chatleigh,” Sir Stephen said. “We’re both reasonable men.”

  “Not feeling particularly reasonable just now.”

  “Listen to me! I don’t deserve this.”

  “Ha!”

  “I’ll die in prison, Chatleigh. We aristocrats are not made for such a life. We are too fine for it.” Justin’s eyebrow rose, and Sir Stephen straightened. “Very well, then. If you will not relent, I will tell the magistrates all about Melissa. Every single, little thing.” Justin turned slowly and stared at him. “There, my lord, what say you to that?”

  “You will regret it if you do,” Justin said, softly.

  “Oh, no, Chatleigh. Not as much as you. When news of it gets around town—”

  Justin crossed the room in two quick strides and leaned over the other man, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “Hear me on this, Barton. If you do such a thing, I will not forget. And I will find you,” he said. “I will find you, wherever you are, and then I will kill you. Slowly. It won’t be pleasant.” He straightened. “Learned some things on the Peninsula.”

  Sir Stephen glared up at him, and then a sly look appeared in his eyes. “She’s not worth it,” he said. “Little bitch used to come to me, asking for it, begging for it. And she’s not even that good—”

  Justin’s fist flew out and caught the other man squarely on the nose. Sir Stephen jerked back, his arms instinctively straining to protect his face, as the blood began to flow. “My nose!” he cried, his voice muffled. “You broke my nose.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all I broke,” Justin said, crossing the room to tug on the bell pull.

  “Why did you have to do that?”

  “I’m done with him,” Justin said as Lawton came in.

  “So I see, sir,” Lawton said, looking with raised eyebrows at Sir Stephen’s ravaged countenance.

  “A handkerchief, please let me have a handkerchief,” Sir Stephen begged, and Justin’s gaze was contemptuous.

  “Get him out of my sight, Lawton.”

  “Yes, my lord. Come on, you.” Lawton grasped Sir Stephen’s arm, hauling him roughly to his feet. “It’s Bow Street for you.”

  The door closed behind them, and Justin was at last alone, to deal with his own unruly emotions. God! He raked a hand through his hair. For all his calm demeanor before Sir Stephen, inside he was agitated and upset. The day had been a nightmare.

  Tired though he was, he couldn’t relax. Restless, he went to the book-room, planning to talk to Harry if he were there. Instead, to his surprise, he found Augusta. She looked up from her book as he opened the door, and he took an involuntary step back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Justin,” she called, in her most autocratic manner, and his heart sank. The last thing he needed just now was to be scolded by her.

  “Yes, aunt,” he said, tiredly, and went in. “What is it?”

  “What is going on around here? Harry told me some garbled story about Sir Stephen abducting Melissa.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, sit down, boy, you know I don’t like it when you tower over me. Now. What is this all about?”

  “Oh, God,” Justin said, and put his head in his hands.

  Augusta regarded him in surprise things. “What is it, boy?” she asked, her voice gruff as she touched his arm.

  Justin thrust his hand into his hair. “A mess. An unholy mess, and for the life of me, I don’t know how to straighten it out.”

  “Melissa is all right, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. Physically. But God, aunt…” He swallowed, and raised his head. And then, because he had to talk to someone, he told her of the abduction, and the reason behind it.

  “So,” Augusta said when he was finished, her voice thoughtful, “that was it. I wondered.”

  Justin looked at her in surprise. “You wondered? You mean—you guessed?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you?”

  “No! I knew she was afraid of him, but I never expected—this.” His face twisted, as if he would be sick. “This is ugly.”

  “Yes,
Justin, it is,” she agreed, watching him pace the room. “But Melissa is a fine girl. Whatever is in her stepfather, it didn’t touch her.”

  Justin stopped to stare at him. “You can’t know that.”

  “Of course I can, I know the gel! And she said, ‘this time,’ as if there’d never been another time.”

  “Then you think—”

  “I think that she managed to elude him before. I wonder if that was what she was running from when you met her?”

  “God, I don’t know.” He raked through his hair again. “It’s a mess.”

  “It doesn’t have to be, Justin.” Her eyes held a softness that few had ever seen there. “She loves you.” Justin looked at her, sharply. “And unless I’m much mistaken, you love her. A much overrated commodity, love,” she went on, her voice regaining its customary tartness. “People of our class don’t really need it. But it does make marriage easier.”

  “But, aunt, my God, how can we possibly have a marriage now?”

  “Are you saying you don’t want her?” she said, her eyes narrowed.

  “No. But how can she want me? How can she possibly want any man?” No wonder she hadn’t wanted him to touch her, he thought, dropping into a chair. “I don’t blame her for what happened, I can’t, it’s Barton’s sickness, not hers. But it touched her, aunt, she had to feel it. How can she bear to be with any man, after that?”

  Augusta’s face softened. “It may take time, Justin, and patience. But the love is there.”

  “Yes. But what do I do in the meantime, to let her know I care? I’ve never loved anyone before.”

  Augusta bit back a smile at the plaintive note in his voice. “Comfort her when she needs it, and she will, Justin. Love her when she needs it. It will work out.”

  “But—”

  “When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

  Justin didn’t answer for a moment. “Do you think so?”

  “I know so. I have great faith in you, boy.”

  He stared at her, and then, to his own surprise, yawned so hugely that his jaw cracked. “Well. Think I’ll get some sleep.” He rose and went around the table. “Thank you, aunt,” he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. Her face glowed with pleased color as he walked out.

  The long spring twilight was fading when Justin walked into his wife’s room. Her maid, sitting in a chair by the bed, started up, and he put a finger to his lips. “How is she?” he whispered.

  “Sleeping, my lord,” Liza answered, “but she’s restless. I think she’s having bad dreams.”

  “Not surprising.” Justin glanced towards the bed. “Have you eaten, girl?”

  “No, my lord, but Mrs. Barnes will send up a tray.”

  Justin shook his head. “Never mind that. Go on and get your dinner, now, and then get some rest.”

  “But Mrs. Barnes told me to stay with her, sir—”

  “I’ll sit with her. Go on, now.”

  Liza gave him one more glance and then, curtsying, left the room. Justin stood with his hands on his hips until the door had closed behind her, and then turned, the maid already forgotten. All his attention was focused on the girl lying still in the bed.

  The bruises stood out dark on her face and the circles under her eyes were deep. Again rage against Sir Stephen welled up in him, but he forced it down. Sir Stephen had been dealt with. It was Melissa he had to face now, and he felt no more able to deal with the situation now than he had earlier in the day. He still wasn’t certain how he felt about what she had gone through, but, as he gazed down at her, he realized he shared Augusta’s conviction. Sir Stephen’s sickness had not touched her.

  Walking with amazing quietness for a man of his size, he crossed to his room, retrieving a book and a glass of wine. Then, taking the chair Liza had vacated, he settled down. It was likely to be a long night.

  The arms reached for her, slimy and dripping wet, smelling dankly of mold, of long-dead things, and when she looked down, the hand that clutched at her was bony, it was a skeleton—

  “No! No, no, no, no, no!”

  “Melissa.” Hands on her shoulders, lifting her, shaking her gently. “Melissa, sweetheart, wake up, it’s just a dream.”

  “No,” she moaned, and opened her eyes. The nightmare scene of the millpond dissolved. She was in her own room, lit only by the light of a single taper. A man was holding her; she could hear his steady heartbeat under her ear, feel his hands smoothing her hair and her shoulders. Not Sir Stephen, certainly. She raised her face, puzzled, and saw Justin.

  “Justin?” she said, her voice quizzical.

  “Yes, princess?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Sitting with you.”

  “But, Liza—”

  “I sent your maid to bed. It’s late.”

  “Oh.” She looked away, and the shame washed over her again, for what had happened, for what he knew of her. “How can you even bear to touch me?” she said in a low voice.

  “Why shouldn’t I want to touch you?”

  “Because of what I am—”

  “What? What are you?” He took her shoulders in a firm grasp, and she flinched. Instantly his grip gentled, his fingers massaging her arms.

  “You know!” she cried. “Oh, please don’t make me say it. Justin, there’s something wrong in me.”

  “No, dearest.” He shook his head.

  “But there is. Sir Stephen saw it—”

  “No.” He laid his finger on her lips. “Sir Stephen saw his own sickness. And that is what it was, dear. What he wanted was wrong, but it was his wrongness, not yours.”

  “But something about me attracted him, it had to.”

  It suddenly dawned on him what she was trying to say. “Melissa, are you saying you invited him?” She didn’t answer, and so he tipped her chin up, to see her eyes looking bleak and lost. “But how? You didn’t flirt with him, did you? Encourage him?”

  “No, no!” Her head shook wildly from side to side. “I wouldn’t, I told him to leave me alone, but he was always after me—”

  “That was him, Lissa,” he repeated, “not you. Him. Going after a little girl—how old were you?”

  “Fifteen,” she whispered.

  “There. See? A little girl.”

  “But, don’t you see, that makes it worse? If it was there, then—”

  “Melissa.” Again he grasped her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Listen to me. You know he was wrong in how he treated your mother, don’t you? And Harry?”

  “Y-yes.” Melissa wiped at her eyes.

  “Then why can’t you accept that he was wrong about you?”

  “I—do you really think he was?” she asked, looking up at him, her eyes shining with a new, and fragile, hope.

  “Yes, my darling, I do.”

  “My darling?”

  “Hm?”

  “Am I your darling?”

  “Don’t you know?” he said, and bent to kiss her, lightly, on the lips. She neither flinched nor pulled back, and after a moment, he kissed her again, longer this time, while the familiar desire rose within him. Damn, this wasn’t the time, he thought, and reluctantly pulled away.

  “No,” she said, and caught at his arms. Her eyes were clear, and if she had any lingering doubts, they were well hidden. “He never touched me, you know. He wanted to, but he never did.”

  Relief surged through him, and he pulled her close again, his hand on her hair. Thank God. “I’m glad,” he said, simply.

  “I never wanted him to. But, you—no, don’t go,” she said, clutching at him again as he started to pull away. “Stay with me.”

  He looked down at her in surprise. He wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her. In her prim cotton nightgown she looked wholesome and sweet and tumbled, and her beauty caught at his soul. But to use her like that, after what she had gone through, wasn’t right. “Best not tonight, Melissa.”

  She caught at his arm. “Yes. Tonight. Please.”

  The light in her eyes nea
rly took his breath away. “Melissa. Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “But—”

  “Justin,” she said, quite clearly and with more than a touch of annoyance, “do I have to beg?”

  He chuckled, in spite of himself. “No, princess, you don’t.” He reached out and touched her cheek, wonderingly. “I’ll be gentle with you. I promise.”

  “I know you will be. Now are you ever going to kiss me?”

  “Yes, darling,” he said, softly, and brought his lips to hers.

  She had no chance to regret her decision as he gathered her close, his hands stroking her gently, everywhere. For just a moment, as he loomed above her in the bed, she panicked, but then he kissed her again, and the fear eased. This was Justin, her love, loving her. Everywhere he touched her glowed with fire, and soon all the bad memories burned away. There was only now, only Justin, his lips caressing her throat, her ears, her breasts; his shoulders broad and reassuringly strong under her hands, his hands removing her night rail. And then, at last, there were no barriers between them, and his hard, calloused fingertips were stroking her with an amazing gentleness that made her writhe and reach out for him. He was above her, then, he was within her, and the moment of their joining, though slightly painful, was so beautiful that it brought tears to her eyes. “Oh, Justin,” she whispered, clinging to him as they moved together. “Justin,” and then the firestorm overwhelmed her, and she was born anew.

  Afterwards she nestled in his arms, feeling safe and secure and at peace, for the first time in a very long time. “Mm,” she said, rubbing her head against his shoulder, and he turned to kiss her forehead.

  “No more nightmares, mind,” he said, softly.

  “No,” she agreed, her voice sleepy. “No more nightmares.”

  “Good.” Justin tightened his hold just a little, holding her more securely against him. He could not recall ever feeling so content in his life. Aunt Augusta had been right, he thought, as sleep overtook him. When the time came, he had known what to do.

  Morning sunlight was streaming into the room when Melissa awoke for good. She felt pleasantly relaxed and lazy, and she stretched luxuriously, wincing a little as muscles that had been ill-treated yesterday protested. But it didn’t matter. For the first time in much too long, she felt cleansed, whole, safe. She was herself again, and she had Justin to thank for it.