by Liana Lefey
“I will post an announcement in the papers at the end of the week.”
“And when will the happy day be?” Pelham prodded, ignoring her venomous glare. He was obviously enjoying her discomfiture.
Alessandro smiled and answered for her. “Why not early autumn?”
Mélisande wondered if he had lost his mind, but he appeared quite serious. In fact, he seemed almost merry. Just then, he caught her eye and winked at her, as if to say, I’ve got everything under control.
Charlotte piped up at last, clearly unable to contain herself any longer. “Shall we not at least have a small party to celebrate?” she suggested.
Mélisande wanted to crawl beneath a rock. A large one with a deep hole beneath it. It was terrible to deceive Charlotte in this manner, but there was no other choice. She couldn’t tell her innocent young friend the truth. “I suppose we could,” she replied. “I’m already having a gathering this Thursday. Why not announce it then?”
Charlotte let out a tiny, rapturous squeal of joy, and David’s smile spread—a smirk that Mélisande’s hand itched to slap off. By contrast, Alessandro’s grin of delight seemed strangely genuine. Stepping up to the mark, she plastered a smile on her own face. Turning to her newly affianced, she placed her hand in his. “My friends will be so pleased to hear the news.”
Word of their “secret” engagement spread across town with a swiftness that would have been astonishing had it not been expected. From house to house it ran like wildfire, first among the servants, then among their mistresses, and lastly among the menfolk. By the next morning, the rumor was in all the London papers.
Wednesday morning, David finally brought her to see the house she’d purchased and to meet her new staff.
Jim Mackie was a giant of a man, quite formidable at over six feet four inches, with flaming hair, a barrel chest, and ham shanks for arms. He would serve as her new coachman and double as a personal guard. He bobbed a respectful bow to his new mistress.
“I thank ye fer the job, m’lady. I’ll guard ye as if ye was the Queen ’erself,” Mackie promised in an accent so thick Mélisande could barely understand him. “An me son’ll do right by ye as well, yer ladyship,” he added, nudging the child beside him. Jamie, who was ten, bobbed as well. He’d been hired along with his father to work as a serving boy with the promise of training as an under-butler. He would also serve as her runner when she wanted to have Jim pick her up or when she wanted to communicate with Alessandro.
Then there was Mrs. Wells, the housekeeper; Kate, her lady’s maid; a butler; a cook; and two footmen besides. Mélisande toured the house and found everything in order, with the exception of some missing furnishings that were to be delivered the following morning.
A little thrill of excitement ran through her. And fear. By Friday morning, she would be a virgin no more.
Thursday finally arrived—and dragged. To Mélisande, each hour seemed to last forever. Finally, at half past one, Alessandro arrived.
She watched from the parlor window as he stepped from his carriage, anticipation tightening her middle. It had been several days since she had seen him. He was still the same man she’d met in Versailles, but now she noticed a subtle difference. His walk was less of a swagger now and more of a stride, his manner less impertinent and more dignified.
As he entered the room, she noticed that he’d exchanged his somber black and grey for a rust-colored jacket trimmed with gold buttons and lace. The warm shade suited him very well, she thought. And more appropriate than black, considering they were about to celebrate a “joyous occasion.”
Without preamble, Alessandro reached into his pocket and withdrew a small wooden box.
Even though she knew this was a sham, the sight of that box in his hand made Mélisande tremble from top to toe-tip. Their clever ruse suddenly seemed fraught with pitfalls—the biggest one having to do with the nervous fluttering in her gut.
He opened the case to reveal a large emerald nestled in an ornate setting of heavy gold and bright diamonds. “Will you do me the honor?” he asked, presenting her with his offering.
He looked and sounded so perfectly grave that any other woman would have thought him quite serious. She knew better. Nonetheless, her foolish heart beat a little faster. “I will,” she responded, extending her left hand. The ring slid onto her finger as though it had been made for her.
He took her face between his hands and brushed his lips against her mouth.
The warmth of that gentle kiss sank all the way down into her bones. She drew a shaky breath, wondering why she suddenly felt like crying. There was no time to ponder it, however, for at that moment, her butler chose to appear in the doorway and announce that Miss Charlotte and Miss Winifred awaited her in the drawing room and that her other guests were beginning to arrive.
Reggie was the first, followed shortly by Stamma, Kesselman, and an eager Miss Doulton. After a quick round of chess to test Miss Doulton’s skill, Mélisande introduced her to Kesselman. When she glanced their way half an hour later, the two were completely absorbed with one another, the chessboard forgotten.
Another hour went by, and still David had not appeared. By the time Charlotte had asked her where he was for the tenth time, Mélisande was wroth. And when he finally showed up, she let him know it. “It’s nearly five o’ clock,” she scolded, drawing him aside so the others wouldn’t hear. “Where the devil have you been?”
“Anxious, are we?” A knowing brow lifted.
She glared. “You should have been here hours ago.”
“I had a bit of trouble on the way here.” His gaze dropped to the ring on her hand. “I see you’ve acquired an appropriate prop for the charade. I hope it wasn’t too costly. You’ve a mob of creditors to pay off—which, incidentally, is why I am late. One of them accosted me as I was leaving White’s to demand immediate payment for some furnishings I purchased for the house.”
“What? But that’s ridiculous.” She laughed. “You’ve never had money problems.”
“Yes, well, someone has been spreading rumors to the contrary. The man told me he’d heard that one of my major investments had taken a turn for the worse and that I was soon to be penniless. Actually threatened me with debtors’ prison if I didn’t pay him on the spot, if you can believe it. Me. If I ever discover who started such a lie, I shall ruin him and run him out of London.”
“Did you pay him?”
“Of course not.” He snorted. “Firstly, I don’t react well to threats. Secondly, I don’t typically carry hundreds of pounds on my person. I told him he’ll have to wait like all the others until I settle accounts at the end of the month. Fortunately for him, that’s only a few days away. I suspect he’s put a watch on my house to make certain I don’t take ship.” He laughed.
“Hopefully once he is paid, he’ll help discount the malicious rumor.”
“I’m not willing to wait for his beneficence,” said David. “I’ve already begun my campaign against it. I went to see the man who’d told him the falsehood, and then two more after him. None of them knew where the news had originated. I shall resume my search tomorrow.”
“My apologies for being sharp with you,” she said. “And thank you for seeing to everything. I’m sorry it has caused you trouble.”
“Again, don’t mention it,” he said wryly. “You’d best see to your guests,” he added, nodding at the door, where stood Lady Angelica Mallowby and her mother.
Mélisande’s palms began to sweat just a little. If Lady Mallowby, who’d openly disapproved of her on several occasions, had deigned to attend her party, then the whole of London must be waiting to hear her report. Nothing but the heaviest pressure from her most influential friends could have convinced that woman to enter the “lion’s den,” as she’d once dubbed Mélisande’s house. That she’d brought her daughter was even more surprising.
Leaving David behind, she went to welcome them. The next hour was spent making introductions and ushering people to tables.
&nbs
p; When everyone had at last arrived, she gave Alessandro the signal.
An expectant hush fell as he joined her at the front of the room. Mélisande nearly laughed aloud as she watched several people actually lean in. Any moment now, they’d begin slavering and licking their chops.
“Dear friends,” she began, scanning the eager faces, “I am so pleased to see each and every one of you. I invited you here to join me in celebrating the return of my good friend Mr. Stamma”—she gestured toward him with a smile—“but I am pleased to announce that this gathering now has another, very special purpose.”
She looked to Alessandro, giving him the floor.
His eyes were luminous as he ensnared her left hand, lifting it to his lips and showing off the jewel that now graced it. “I am delighted to announce that Lady Wilmington has agreed to become my duchess. The wedding will take place this autumn, and you are all invited!” he proclaimed.
Even though she knew it was all a pretense, happiness filled Mélisande as she watched her friends react to the news. Stamma grinned and boasted that he’d known they were a perfect match all along. Charlotte sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, sneaking a glance at David from beneath her lashes. David, she noted with satisfaction, had lost his mocking sneer.
Mélisande meandered about, accepting congratulations and answering inquiries about the anticipated nuptials. Though polite to a fault, her guests’ amazement at her hasty engagement was clear. By the time the party ended, she’d had enough of their speculative stares and hurriedly hushed conversations. Their doubts would be silenced in a few months’ time when she didn’t swell with child.
She glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece, and the fluttering in her midsection, which had begun to subside, now returned. It was almost time.
DOWN THE PRIMROSE PATH
ALESSANDRO’S CARRIAGE TRUNDLED through increasingly quiet streets, at last pulling up before a smart little house in a quiet part of London. Disembarking, he stood for a moment in the warm glow of the gate lamps.
Her instructions had been for him to arrive at midnight, and he was a bit early. An hour was considered “a bit” by some, he told himself. He hadn’t been this anxious to see a woman since he was a young buck. What was it about this one that made him feel so different?
His hand hesitated on the knocker. Perhaps he ought to come back at the appointed time. After all, it wouldn’t do to appear overly eager.
Oh, for pity’s sake, one would think I’d never bedded a woman before! He knocked.
The butler showed him into a small, well-appointed parlor and went to inform his mistress of her guest’s arrival. He returned shortly to say that Madam was currently indisposed, but would be down within the hour.
Alessandro politely declined the drink he was offered and sat watching the clock on the mantel, cooling his heels for approximately three whole minutes before heading upstairs. Much to his delight, he discovered “Madam” still in her bath. Her back was to the door, and she was giving her attendant instructions for her dress. She did not hear him enter.
He stood, hand frozen to the knob as he watched the girl rinsing the soap from her mistress’s shoulders. Mélisande’s dark hair had been pinned atop her head, and a few wet tendrils clung to her long, graceful neck.
The servant girl saw him out of the corner of her eye and made to announce him, but he stopped her, placing a quick finger across his lips.
An impudent grin was her only response. She puttered about the room a moment longer before making her exit, brushing past with an appreciative glance.
Alessandro closed the door and padded over until he was directly behind Mélisande. Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on one gleaming shoulder, flicking his tongue across her bare skin to catch a glittering droplet.
Water sloshed over the sides of the heavy wooden tub as she turned, squealing in alarm.
Laughing, he jumped back. “I know you told me midnight, but I simply couldn’t wait a moment longer.” He pulled off his now sodden jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. Reaching out, he pushed a rope of damp hair off her shoulder, watching, fascinated, as gooseflesh prickled across her skin.
Still chuckling, Alessandro cupped some of her warm bath-water in his hands, pouring it over her chilled skin.
She suddenly remembered her nakedness. Crossing her arms over herself with another squeak of dismay, Mélisande sank beneath the surface of the water, again sending much of it onto the rug below.
Having spied a drying sheet warming by the fire, Alessandro went over to fetch it. He brought it back and held it out for her to step into.
She looked up at him as if he were mad.
“For a woman prepared to make love on a rooftop beneath the stars, you are far more timid than I expected,” he said with a grin. “You realize that, as your lover, I will see all of you.”
“Of course,” Mélisande snipped. “I am not ignorant of the details of intimacy. I—you simply surprised me, that’s all.”
Quirking a brow, Alessandro shook the cloth meaningfully, waiting.
She hesitated only a moment before setting her jaw and rising.
His mouth went dry. Before him stood a naked goddess. Sparkling rivulets of water trickled down her lithe body. She reminded him of a statue he’d seen in Rome: Diana the Huntress. Tall and strong, yet graced with luscious feminine curves, she could have been the deity herself rising from a river bath.
His body’s instant reaction rivaled that of another statue he’d once seen in a Venetian garden. Slowly, his unblinking gaze journeyed over her, taking in every inch of smooth, creamy skin. It took all his willpower to speak past the knot in his throat, and when he did, his voice twanged like that of an untried youth. “You possess the most beautiful female form I have ever seen.”
At his hoarse admission, Mélisande’s shy smile transformed into one of womanly triumph, and she stood a little taller.
The motion, though subtle, sent a shower of droplets into the pool at her thighs. Extending his arms wide, he wrapped her in the sheet, guiding her as she stepped from the tub.
The feel of her warm body through the thin, wet cloth nearly unseated his reason. Releasing her, he stepped back, struggling for self-control as she gave him her back and began drying herself.
He could not stop himself from reaching out. As each swath of pearly skin was gradually exposed, he ran worshipping hands across it, feeling the softness and warmth of her against his palms, the firm muscle and the gentle roundness of her curves. He traced the swanlike column of her neck, down her shoulder and across her back, following the bend of her waist as it flowed into a slim hip and thigh.
Mélisande stood, quivering, as she allowed him to stroke her. She blushed fiercely when his palms slid down to cup her bottom, resting there for a moment before moving back up and around to caress the tender sides of her breasts.
Looking over her shoulder, she gazed at him, her chosen lover, for a long moment. Something in her eyes slowly changed. Turning fully, she faced him, the damp sheet slipping to the floor.
Alessandro breathed a silent prayer for self-discipline as his gaze drifted down to rest upon perfect, rose-tipped breasts. As it dropped lower, past the shallow dip of her navel, he had to close his eyes and wait through the violent tremor that wracked his body.
“Mélisande...”
In answer to his hoarse plea, she moved closer, wrapping her arms about his neck.
Alessandro enfolded her in his arms, smoothing the curve of her spine, pressing her close. He shuddered as she leaned into him, his arms tightening as he gave in to desire. Crushing her close, his mouth slanted across hers, his tongue gently demanding entrance. Her lips parted obediently and he played in the velvet darkness between them, drinking deeply.
After a moment, he broke away and swooped down, knocking her long legs out from under her and catching her up in his strong arms. He carried her over to the bed and set her gently on its edge.
Mélisande watched with avid curiosity
as he disrobed.
He had no reason to be ashamed. Though he was neither broad nor heavily muscled, many women had found his form quite pleasing, for he had a swordsman’s physique: lean, with long, rippling muscles hardened to whipcord strength. There was hardly an ounce of fat anywhere to be found on him, unlike most English lords, who proudly boasted of their beef-fed bellies. Crisp hair lightly peppered his chest, and dueling scars twisted across his skin here and there, the older ones faded to a pale pinkish white, the newer ones still dark and angry.
Her eyes dropped, fascinated, to the trail of dark hair disappearing into his breeches. When he reached down to unbutton them, she blushed and quickly looked away.
Smiling to himself, Alessandro waited. When she finally gathered the courage to look at him again, he bent and pulled them off quickly, his rod springing back to stand proudly erect as he straightened.
Mélisande gasped, scrambling toward the middle of the huge bed.
Laughing, Alessandro grabbed her ankle and pulled her back, barely avoiding a nasty blow in a very tender place. After a brief struggle, he managed to capture a flailing wrist and haul her up into a sitting position beside him.
She was shaking all over. Compassion filled him, as well as a little fear, fear she would change her mind about their arrangement. “Mélisande, my love,” he said raggedly, “do not tell me you are afraid? Is this not what you want?”
“I didn’t think it would be so...” She trailed off, her gaze sliding down to the source of her apprehension. Her wide eyes were filled with fear.
“Your concerns are needless,” he assured her. “I know how to make you ready so that our fit will be perfection,” he promised, his voice turning warm and gravelly as he began to nuzzle her neck.