Love and the Shameless Lady (Scandalous Kisses Book 3)

by Barbara Monajem

  “What the devil?” Tight lines bracketed his mouth.

  She backed away. “Don’t look at me like that!”

  “Like what?” he snapped. “As if I think you’ve gone mad?”

  “No, as if you really do wish I were dead.”

  “On the contrary, I refuse to even pretend you are dead.”

  “Why? It’s our only way out,” she said. “Divorce and annulment are impossible, since we’re not actually married, but you can easily say your wife died. No one need know that you weren’t married in the first place.”

  “Absolutely not. I don’t want a way out.” Slowly, the tension drained from his face. “Perhaps, if you give me a good enough reason why you don’t want to marry, I’ll cease and desist, and then we’ll consider our options. I don’t promise that, mind you, but it’s your only hope of getting rid of me.”

  Confess to him the most mortifying experience of her life? Never.

  “Whenever you’re ready, I shall listen,” he said. “In the meantime, Gloriana may well have ruined her own plans, for even if we remain silent, the servants are bound to gossip. The earl’s servants will find out the truth and tell their master.”

  That would solve her problem, Daisy thought mournfully.

  In the drawing room, they found Miles, Melinda, Gloriana, and the marquis.

  “We sent the earl upstairs to dress for dinner,” Melinda said. “Now we’re concocting a story.”

  “Don’t include me in your fabrications, Melinda,” Miles said. “I wash my hands of Gloriana.”

  “You mean to betray me?” Gloriana cried.

  “No, but only because Melinda doesn’t wish me to do so. I shall continue to keep my mouth shut and have asked the servants to do so, but that is as far as I am willing to go. I expect you will suffer miseries with that horrendous bore, and rightly so, although no doubt you will manipulate him as thoughtlessly as you have done us.”

  “It’s not that bad, Miles,” Melinda said predictably. “It will be rather fun fooling Lord Hythwick.”

  The corner of Lord Garrison’s mouth tipped up. That’s what besotted looks like, Daisy thought wistfully.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so annoyed, Miles.” Gloriana indicated Daisy and Julian with a jut of her chin. “Soon enough, they will be married.”

  “I dislike lies and deception,” Miles said. “Nor do I appreciate being obliged to require my servants’ participation in the same.”

  “Well, you won’t be burdened with me much longer,” Gloriana muttered, her cheeks a blotchy red.

  “You have a good imagination, Daisy,” Melinda said. “We must invent a story about who you are, your family, where you grew up, and so on, in case it comes up in conversation.”

  “It probably won’t,” Gloriana said. “Hythwick won’t care a jot about the wife of a mere baronet.”

  “By God, Gloriana, to speak so before our guest!” Miles said.

  Julian put up a hand. “Don’t let it bother you. I’m sure I have even less respect for Hythwick than he has for me.”

  “But unlike my sister’s, your manners are those of a well-bred individual.”

  “Where is Lord Hythwick’s principal seat?” Melinda interposed.

  “Melton Mowbray,” Gloriana said. “He hunts with the Quorn.”

  “And never ceases to boast about it,” muttered Miles.

  “With good reason,” Gloriana retorted. “He has estates elsewhere, too. I’m not sure where.”

  “You mean to say he hasn’t told you about each and every one of them in endless detail yet?” Miles said. “So many opportunities for tooting his own horn! Or were you too bored to listen?”

  Everyone laughed, except Gloriana. “Stop it! It’s none of your business, any of you!”

  “She’s right,” Daisy said. “Leave her be.”

  Melinda nodded. “Back to Daisy’s background. We must pick someplace he doesn’t know well.” She cast an inquiring glance at her husband.

  He sighed. “He has no property in Lancashire or Yorkshire, as far as I’m aware. We’ll say you’re a distant cousin on my mother’s side, from . . . oh, Harrogate, perhaps, or Leeds.”

  “York,” Daisy said. “I know York better. We used to visit there from time to time. I can go into rhapsodies about attending services at York Minster, or mention visiting Mr. and Mrs. Field, or—” She broke off at a muffled snort from the marquis, lounging in the corner. “You are acquainted with them?”

  “A little. They are well known to some friends I visited recently in York.”

  “I fail to see in what way you find them amusing,” Gloriana said.

  “Only that they are the proud, puffed-up sort of persons you favor,” he drawled.

  Gloriana hunched a shoulder and turned back to Daisy. “I agree, claiming friendship with the Fields would underscore your respectability, should that be required, which I heartily hope it will not. Still, I’d best acquaint you with more recent events, such as the marriage of their daughter to an Irish peer last year, and the theft of a precious painting only a few weeks ago.”

  “A painting was stolen?” Daisy said. “How horrid.”

  “Yes, particularly so, as it was quite old and very pretty. An early still life of white roses by Chardin, rescued from the plundering canaille during the revolution in France and purchased by Mr. Field.”

  The marquis made another rude noise.

  She whirled on him. “What now?”

  “I doubt it was the noble rescue you imply.” A cynical smile curled his lips. “More likely, it was stolen for sale to the highest bidder.”

  She huffed. “Regardless, it was a tragic loss for the original owners, who then went on to the far greater loss of their heads. Lord Hythwick was particularly devastated to hear of it, for he, too, suffered a theft not long ago from his seat in Melton Mowbray, a bronze figurine of the goddess Athena.”

  A discreet tap sounded on the door, and Reams put his head around it. “My lady, the man Antoine wishes to know if he should show you the lace now or after dinner.”

  Melinda glanced at the clock. “It will have to be after dinner, as soon as the ladies have repaired to the drawing room.”

  “Very good, my lady.” Reams withdrew.

  Daisy recalled another beautiful work owned by the Fields. “I hope that lovely medieval psalter wasn’t stolen, too.”

  “The Matthew Paris? No, that wasn’t taken, thank heavens,” Gloriana said. “But I must say that the theft, so close to home, has unnerved me. I think, once I have married and left the Dower House, Miles should take the Book of Hours and keep it in the main house under lock and key.”

  Until now, Julian’s attention had been more on the participants and less on the conversation itself. This was the first non-antagonistic exchange he’d witnessed between Daisy and Gloriana. Obviously they shared not only memories but also interests. What a pity they couldn’t remain friends . . .

  And then it struck him.

  One of the charms in The Lady’s Ruin was a rose. Another a statue of a Greek goddess. A third, a book. This might be a coincidence—the world abounded with paintings of flowers, sculptures, and books—but Julian needed to know more. “A Book of Hours?”

  For the first time since they’d arrived, Gloriana smiled. She was quite a pleasant-looking woman when not sneering. “Yes, it’s absolutely glorious, and in my opinion, our most precious heirloom. We’ve had it for centuries.”

  “Then you should certainly keep it locked away,” Julian said.

  “You’re right, I should, but I’ll miss it greatly when I leave, so I want to keep it at the Dower House as long as possible.”

  “At least we needn’t worry that the mosaic will be stolen.” Daisy turned to Julian. “There’s a Roman mosaic under
the summerhouse. A garden designer, one of Capability Brown’s imitators, would have dug up that whole area to improve the prospect, and the mosaic would have been destroyed. Grandpapa used to tell us how he prevented the man just in time. Would you like to see it?”

  “I should love to,” he said, reveling even more in the eager interest on her face than in the prospect of a Roman mosaic.

  “We’ll go there tomorrow.” Daisy gave a reminiscent grin. “Gloriana and I used to play there. We pretended we were vestal virgins being starved to death for, er, disobeying the rules.”

  Everyone laughed except Gloriana, who scowled and raised an admonitory finger. “Hush! Here he comes.”

  Sure enough, self-important footsteps sounded in the Great Hall. No doubt Lord Hythwick habitually ensured that lesser beings noticed his approach.

  “We shan’t mention your family background unless absolutely necessary,” Gloriana told Daisy. “It will be best if you remain quiet and prim.”

  Julian let out a crack of laughter, and across the room, the marquis grinned.

  “I’ll try,” Daisy said.

  In the event, Daisy felt she’d succeeded rather well. In part, this was due to the earl’s willingness to talk about himself.

  And in part, because she’d been thrown into utter confusion by Julian’s offer of marriage.

  It seemed a particularly cruel twist of fate. She’d managed to accept her status of persona non grata because although it meant exile from her own class, it also meant she needn’t risk the humiliation of bedding a man ever, ever again.

  Marrying Julian would restore to her a degree of respectability. The highest sticklers might shun her, but some also shunned Miles, even since his marriage to a woman from a highly respectable family. She would return to the environment in which she’d grown up. No more serving ale and singing obscene ballads, but she would be able to cook and bake as she chose in her own household.

  He sat next to her at dinner, combatting her common sense with his charming smiles, his warm glances, and the occasional touch. Something about his hands—their powerful, square-tipped fingers, their latent strength—stirred her desires. He smelled good, too, an elusive, masculine aroma that lured and enticed. Marry him, urged a voice inside her, a drugged, dreamy, stupid sort of voice.

  If she married Sir Julian, she would have to bed him. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but worse than that, he would find her boring.

  But by then, he would be stuck with her, and she would be stuck with him, and . . .

  It was a fortunate thing, she reminded herself again, that she couldn’t possibly say yes.

  But what if her yearning got the better of her? What if, in a moment of madness, she succumbed?

  She must think of a way to get rid of him once and for all. Unfortunately, every solution that came to mind involved behaving outrageously, which would ruin Gloriana’s plans, not to mention angering Miles and Melinda.

  Oh, and there was the other little matter—that someone wanted to kill her.

  The meal finally came to an end, and the ladies retired to the drawing room.

  “Gloriana dear, you really must see the exquisite lace that the marquis’s valet brought with him,” Melinda said. “Smuggled, of course, but that means the price is reasonable.”

  Gloriana sniffed. “Monsieur de Bellechasse should not permit his valet to trade in lace.”

  “Why not? Antoine seeks to better himself through trade. He has excellent taste. Even the starchiest ladies buy from him.”

  “He is a servant. A servant’s purpose is to serve his master.”

  “I believe the marquis encourages Antoine in his enterprise,” Daisy said.

  “What else can one expect of a man with such plebian views? By the way, you did very well at dinner,” Gloriana said, her patronizing tone reminiscent of the earl’s. “You scarcely spoke a word.”

  “It wasn’t difficult,” Daisy said. “Your earl jabbered enough for all of us.”

  Gloriana opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again.

  “I hesitate to raise the subject again, but are you quite sure you want to marry him?” Melinda asked. “He’ll drive you mad within a week.”

  “Not only that, have you seriously considered the fact that you will have to bed him?” Daisy asked.

  Gloriana turned strawberry red. “Daisy, how can you be so indelicate? I could have strangled you for mentioning that vestal virgin game.”

  “I didn’t do it in front of the earl, so why should you care?” Daisy said. “Miles and Julian don’t matter, and you don’t give a hoot what the marquis thinks.”

  “Insufferable man,” Gloriana muttered.

  “It sounded to me like a fabulous game,” Melinda said. “I’ll bet Daisy invented some handsome Romans with whom you broke the rules.”

  Daisy grinned. “They were many and varied. Gladiators, soldiers, senators, poets . . .”

  “The poet was the worst,” Gloriana said. “He wanted to recite his poems rather than get on with despoiling us.” An almost wistful expression flickered across her face and was gone. “Enough nonsense. We were foolish children then.”

  “Foolish children may become foolish adults,” Melinda said sternly. “You don’t love him. I bet you don’t even like him.”

  Gloriana’s expression turned mulish.

  “Intimacy with him will be bearable at best,” Melinda said.

  Daisy had no problem believing that. Intimacy was horrid anyway, but would doubtless be far worse if one disliked the man.

  “Then I will bear it,” Gloriana said. “It only takes once to produce a child. We need have no more than two. Boys, needless to say.”

  Melinda stared. “Surely you’re not that innocent. Not only does it often take a while for a couple to conceive a child, which may or may not prove to be a son, but Lord Hythwick wants to marry you to satisfy his lust. I, for one, have noticed the eagerness with which he gazes upon you.”

  “During the occasional pauses in his monologues about himself,” Daisy said.

  Melinda snickered. “He will expect to bed you frequently. Bear that in mind when you make your decision.”

  Gloriana’s mulish expression deepened. “I’ve already decided.”

  “Not only that, if you wed a man you find physically repugnant, you will be deprived of a most enjoyable aspect of marriage. Sensual activity can be truly delightful, a means of expressing love between husband and wife.”

  Sally had said much the same about her betrothed. Daisy had found it hard to believe then and still did, but she refrained from saying so. Well, maybe not all sensual activity was horrid. She liked kissing very much. And some kinds of touching . . .

  “But if there is no love, no real attraction . . .” Melinda shook her head.

  “It’s none of your business,” Gloriana snapped. “Leave me be.”

  Melinda shrugged. “Very well. I did my best, and that will have to suffice.” She made a rueful face at Daisy. “I’m so glad you’re marrying a man you care for.”

  I wish I were. Daisy managed to smile and picked up the embroidery Melinda had found for her. She set a few messy stitches, all the while going over Melinda’s words. Truly delightful, she’d said. A means of expressing love.

  Sir Julian had said he loved her. Could she love him in return?

  Stop it, she ordered herself. He doesn’t really love you. He’s merely being honorable, and that’s all there is to it.

  Which meant she needn’t fret about marital intimacy. Ever.

  Reams came in with the tea tray, followed by Antoine. While Melinda poured for the other ladies, the valet spread various samples of lace on the table, and draped silks over a couple of chairs. Even Gloriana allowed herself to show interest.

  Then the gentlemen arrive
d. Hastily, she drew back and sipped her tea with a supercilious air. Antoine scowled. He was not as adept as most servants at concealing his emotions. Understandably so, as he was a son of the Revolution and believed himself equal or better than any aristocrat. Daisy rolled her eyes sympathetically, and Antoine winked in return.

  Needless to say, the earl was prosing on as they entered. “Ah yes, such a loss,” he said with a windy sigh. “As a matter of fact, Garrison, your father and I bought items at the same auction, at the time of the revolution in France. The items were plundered from several chateaus and smuggled to England by a fellow of the name of Breton. A rough sort of man, stank to high heaven, but he delivered the goods. I bought that Greek figurine, and your father purchased . . . a silver reliquary, perhaps?”

  “Not that I am aware.” Miles sounded bored.

  “Gather your wares and take them away, Antoine,” the marquis said sharply. “You may conclude your business with the ladies in the morning.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” he said sullenly. Most likely, he wasn’t accustomed to such a peremptory tone from his egalitarian master.

  Carefully, or maybe slowly to annoy the marquis, Antoine folded the silks and laces.

  “Now that I think about it, the reliquary went to a fellow called Hunt, who had come down from Northumberland,” the earl said. “It contained a bone of some saint or other.”

  “I’m acquainted with Mr. Hunt,” Julian said, coming to sit next to Daisy on the sofa. “Spent a couple of days walking with him, as his property runs along Hadrian’s Wall.”

  The earl turned his head to stare, as if affronted by Julian’s interruption. “And what, may I ask, is Hadrian’s Wall?”

  “A wall built by the Romans,” Julian said, “about seventeen hundred years ago.”

  The earl yawned. “How tedious, but unsurprising. Hunt is an insignificant fellow, the sort who would pride himself in a wall. I can’t imagine what he intended to do with a disgusting old bone, although the reliquary itself was of some value.”