by Allison Lane
But there was nothing she could do to deflect him from his ruinous course. Their grandfather had been a high stickler who disdained any form of manual labor. His chief interest had been hunting, but an accident when Melissa was four had damaged his hip so he could no longer sit a horse. Thereafter, he’d spent wine-soaked days reliving his most exciting runs in rambling monologues. What a charming example of coping with adversity to lay before an impressionable eleven-year-old boy.
And there was nothing their mother could have done about it. Lady Drayton had believed in self-reliance and accomplishment, but her husband had not. Like the fifth earl, he’d been an indolent man who eschewed toiling for his bread and cared only for hunting. If his steward failed to produce what he considered a respectable income, the man was fired. Melissa could recall thirteen stewards before her father’s death. Lady Drayton had been appalled, but he accepted no interference in his affairs. So she’d stayed in her own world rather than fight his edicts, revealing her frustrations only in lengthy monologues poured over her daughter.
And that was something else Melissa had forgotten. Despite sharing the same parents, she and Toby had been raised very differently. Once he left the nursery, Toby rarely spent time with Lady Drayton. Instead, he lived in the stables with his grandfather and father, absorbing their interests and their views on his role in life. At age fourteen, he’d been packed off to school, where he made friends with people like Heflin. It was no wonder he had turned out as he had.
Charles arrived an hour later.
“Good morning, love.” In deference to Willis, he contented himself with kissing her fingers instead of drawing her into his arms.
“You are here early,” she smiled back.
“The jewelers finally finished cleaning the Rathbone ring. I am sorry it has taken so long. Every viscountess since the first has worn it, but none could possibly compare with you, love. I cannot shower you with jewels as you deserve, but my soul accompanies this ring and is now in your keeping.” He slid it onto her finger.
“Thank you, Charles. And mine goes with you.” She raised her eyes to catch his gaze, brushing his cheek with her other hand.
“Know that I love you, now and forever,” he murmured, crushing her close and kissing her until both shook. A cough from Willis intruded, and he pulled back.
“My solicitor will meet this afternoon with your grandmother’s man of business to arrange the settlements. He wants to speak with us briefly before then.”
“Why?” The bride was never involved in legal proceedings.
“I haven’t a clue. Will you be here?”
“Of course.”
“In the meantime, would you care to go driving?”
“I’d love to. Is Harper with you?”
“He is out front with my curricle.” As usual, her smile set his limbs trembling. Only two more weeks, he reminded himself.
“That will be all, Willis,” she ordered. “Tell Lady Castleton we will return shortly.”
* * * *
He eschewed the usual parks this day, instead turning north for Hampstead Heath, wanting nothing more than to be alone. He was tired of stopping every few minutes to exchange pointless gossip with friends and acquaintances.
The air was clear and pure, heavenly after the smoke and soot of London. The early June sunshine sparkled on grass, wildflowers, and the occasional streamlets that tumbled down verdant hillsides. Birds sang lustily from trees and shrubs, swelling their hearts with gladness.
Charles drove one-handed, the other draped around Melissa’s shoulders, his fingers caressing her arm as they conversed on impersonal topics.
“How well do you drive?” he asked when they were out on the heath.
“Uncle Howard lets me take out his chestnuts.”
He handed her the ribbons, freeing his other hand to brush lightly against her breast.
“Not now,” she objected with a laugh. “Do you wish me to make a cake of myself by overturning us?”
Sighing, he returned his hands to his lap. She was an excellent whip, he realized once his attention turned to her driving. His grays were spirited and still fresh. Though well into their bits, Melissa maintained perfect control, holding them to a brisk trot. Two squirrels chased across the road, but she corrected their shy almost before they reacted. Something nibbled at the edges of his memory, but it disappeared when her spicy perfume assailed his nostrils.
“Let us walk awhile,” he suggested as they approached a wooded stream. “Where did you learn to drive so well?”
She laughed without mirth. “My father’s passion was horses, you might recall. The stable was the last thing he let go as the money disappeared. His head groom was the finest I’ve ever encountered, and he taught me to ride and to drive. It broke his heart when the horses went. Papa kept him on with some tale of a temporary setback, though Jake knew quite well what was what. They died two days apart.”
“You were blessed with a good teacher,” he stated. “Rarely have I seen anyone with your skill.”
Leaving Harper to hold the horses, he turned upstream, his fingers entwined with hers. Sunlight filtered in bright shafts and curtains through the trees. A lark warbled somewhere across the water.
“Glorious day!" she exulted, dropping his hand and twirling around, her face raised to a shaft of sunshine. He reached out to grab her, but she darted out of reach to pick a cluster of primroses growing on a bank, threading them into his buttonhole, where they glowed against the green of his jacket.
“Thank you, love,” he smiled, hugging her. “They almost match your hair.”
“You’re being silly.” She giggled. “They are much lighter.”
“And nowhere near as rich.” He loosened his grip so they could continue upstream. But he could not relinquish all touch. Thereafter, they strolled with arms about each other’s waists, the warmth of the contact wrapping them in a cozy shell. The path turned away from the stream, but they continued onward, wandering idly through the copse until the trees opened into a flower-strewn dell.
“Beautiful,” she breathed.
Sun intensified the perfume of a lilac bush, bathing them in its heady scent. Several bees droned somnolently as they went about their business. Thick grass formed an emerald carpet, unusually vivid with its dots of blue, white, and yellow flowers. The brook murmured and chattered over rounded stones. It was a magical place, a fantasy world of their very own.
“Yes, you are,” he agreed, swallowing awkwardly. Her eyes sparkled, her face glowed, and her tongue ran across those irresistible lips. His mouth followed.
Her arms twined about his neck, drawing his head down as he deepened the kiss. He paid homage to her eyes, her ears, her throat. Excitement quickened as the passion they shared stirred to life.
She pushed his jacket aside to caress his shoulders and back.
Folding it into a pillow, he lowered her into the soft grass. The back of her gown opened easily, baring her breasts to his lips.
“Yes, Charles, yes,” she moaned as he drew a nipple into his mouth, suckling until she writhed beneath him.
He was lost in the wonder of her soft skin and instant response to every touch. The world receded to a dim corner of his mind. Nothing was real but the woman in his arms. Cool fingers left fiery trails across his chest, and he realized that she had untied his cravat and pulled his shirt free. Discarding them, he bent his head to another kiss, reveling in the difference love brought to an activity he’d thought he understood.
Melissa’s head swirled, the excitement he could always raise lifting her to heights she had never imagined. The silky hair on his chest produced new surges of desire as it brushed across her breasts. More. She needed more. She needed to discover what had so often disturbed her dreams. Her love expanded, swelling her heart until it threatened to tear her apart.
“Charles!” she cried, her words cut off as he plunged his tongue into her mouth.
Charles was teetering on the brink of dishonor. You must stop, a
voice urged. He had already pushed this too far. You are a gentleman. Return home, ordered his conscience. Patience. Only two more weeks...
But he was starving. He needed a little more, just one more kiss...
She traced the bulge that pressed against her thigh, and he was lost.
“I want you now,” he choked, his tongue lapping eagerly at her breast.
“Yes, Charles, please. Oh, please,” she begged, convention forgotten, nothing mattering but that he was here and could relieve her burning pain.
A quick thrust claimed her, and he reveled in her sweetness, in an excitement he had never before experienced. She was perfect, made just for him, and he whirled away in an agony of exhilaration.
Her gasp was gone in a moment. No dream could compare to the reality of his touch. Her eyes bore into his as they reached the crest, seeing clear to his soul and laying bare her own.
Then the world exploded, tumbling both into oblivion.
* * * *
When Charles arrived with his solicitor, his look brought a blush to Melissa’s cheeks. How had she allowed herself to lose control? How had he?
Repeated touch overwhelms reason...
Their morning drive had taken a turn that neither had expected. He had apologized, of course, but neither could honestly admit to shame. The next two weeks stretched interminably. Unless they were constantly attended, they were bound to succumb again. She had never imagined such ecstasy.
But his arrival also raised a spurt of fear. She recognized his solicitor – the same man who had attended Lady Lanyard.
“Why are we here?” asked Charles once they retired to the library.
“As you know, I was solicitor and financial adviser to your late grandmother, Lady Lanyard,” the ponderous voice began. “She left a codicil to her will that was to remain secret for nine months, or until such time as you announced a betrothal. In the second event, it was to be read with both of you present.”
Melissa exchanged a puzzled glance with Charles, noting that his breathing had quickened, as had hers. Perhaps Lady Lanyard had not cut him off after all. Nine months. She had ordered that he wed Harriet within twelve months. What would she say in nine? Lady Lanyard’s devious mind might have conceived another test. Would she offer some new disposition based upon his behavior in the interim? Perhaps the labor he had lavished on Swansea would earn him an inheritance after all.
She prayed.
“If I might continue,” stated the solicitor, drawing their eyes back to him. He broke the seal and read.
I have long believed that my grandson, Charles Henry Montrose, eleventh Viscount Rathbone, has the potential to become a responsible and productive contributor to the world, but so far he has fallen into all of society’s traps, exhibiting only selfishness and sloth. My son has reported numerous cases of unsound judgment, unethical behavior, and irresponsible living. I cannot allow my first husband’s hard-earned wealth to be dissipated on idle pleasure. Marriage to the right woman could steady him and give his life some purpose, but my life draws to a close, and he shows no sign of settling down.
To determine the extent of his selfishness, my son suggested informing Charles that his inheritance was contingent upon marriage. Charles succumbed to temptation, embracing even dishonorable deceit to obtain my fortune.
Charles blanched. Melissa gasped. The solicitor’s dry monotone continued unchecked.
However, whether by blind luck or good judgment, he produced a girl who will make him an excellent wife. To that end, I composed my last will and testament. That cannot be my final word on the subject, though. There is every possibility that he either cannot or will not pursue the marriage he claimed to be contemplating. I therefore address this codicil to other contingencies.
All dispositions set forth in my last will and testament are to remain in effect, excepting that amount designated for my grandson Charles Montrose.
In the event that he does not wed within twelve months of my death, the money will be divided among my designated charities.
In the event he marries someone other than Harriet Sharpe, my solicitor, Mr. Andrews, will determine his reasons. If he weds to obtain a large dowry, he will receive one quarter of my estate. If the union arises from mutual regard, he will receive one half, the remainder going to the above charities.
Charles heaved a sigh of relief, a broad smile breaking out on his face as the words registered. Half was all he really needed. Even a quarter was enough to set Swansea to rights with money to spare. He exchanged a sparkling glance with Melissa.
The solicitor droned on, “In the event he marries Harriet Sharpe, also known as Lady Melissa Stapleton, he will receive the entire amount.”
Mr. Andrews continued to read, but no one was listening. Charles turned furious eyes on Melissa, whose face had blanched.
“Excuse us,” he growled, grabbing her arm and jerking her across the hall to the morning room.
“You lying, deceitful harpy!” he stormed, slamming the door behind him and thrusting her brutally aside.
“Me!” she exploded in return. “You’ve done nothing else since first we met.”
“You lied before I ever raised the issue,” he charged. “Miss Harriet Sharpe! And who the hell was your supposed aunt?”
“You don’t understand—”
But he cut her off, fury engulfing him until he could barely think. “Don’t try to excuse your deceit. You devised this whole trick in revenge, didn’t you? You would have let me starve rather than reveal yourself. How you must have gloated over my discomfort. Did you plan it together? All those private talks. Sweet little Harriet, doing her best to help me retain what was mine. Sweet little Harriet, who is nothing but a scheming, vindictive jade!”
“All you care about is money, isn’t it?” Melissa countered, glaring in white-faced fury. "All your sweet words mean nothing. You are wrong right down the line, but what do you care? Babbling on about work and accomplishment just to disarm me when all you wanted from the beginning was a fortune so you could continue your indolent way of life."
“Wrong, am I!” he glared. “I should have listened to your protests in that damnable inn. You planned this from the start. When did you tell her? The first day? The second?” He smashed a lamp to the floor.
“Arrogant toad! I told her nothing. Lady Lanyard had your measure from the beginning. I could see it in her eyes that first afternoon. She was furious that her own flesh and blood could stoop so low!” His words barely registered. The suspicion was back. Had he known who she was? Tears clouded her eyes, a lump pressing into her throat until she could hardly breathe.
Charles’s face was livid, his hands clenched into shaking fists. “Lies! Always lies! Who can believe a word you say? Claiming you despise deceit when you were already embarked on one and readily agreed to another. Continuing them long after they served any purpose. I saw no such signs. And neither did you.”
“You were too sick to see anything, and too stupid to understand it if you had,” she charged. “Your only thought was how to keep from vomiting all over her.”
“Whatever happened last summer has no bearing today, Miss Harriet Sharpe,” he countered furiously. “How dare you excuse your own behavior, yet expect others to behave as paragons? You are as pompous as my uncle, and twice as venal. Why else would you condemn me to a life of poverty, when a single word would have released me? What have I done to earn such spite?”
“Don’t you dare blame me!” she hissed through gritted teeth. “If you were not so selfish a schemer, this would never have happened. You alone are at fault. You make a fine play at innocence, my lord, but I know you now. You will say anything that furthers your own interests. I never really believed that you could fail to recognize me, and now I am proved right. It’s been an act from the start. You care nothing for me. I am merely the means to line your pockets. That’s all I’ve ever been to you. Well you can forget it. I despise fortune hunters. And I despise you.” Twisting the Rathbone ring from her finge
r, she threw it in his face, escaping in a swirl of skirts and barely making it to her room before tears engulfed her.
Charles remained in the morning room, frozen by shock. What had happened? It was long before he could move.
Chapter Seventeen
Charles stalked furiously into his room, slamming the door so hard the brandy decanter fell off the adjacent table. Damn the wench! She had been playing him for a fool from the start, tricking him completely. But why? Surely she could not hate him enough that she must revenge herself this way.
Had he misjudged her? Was she nothing but a fortune hunter out to snare a rich husband? She had steadfastly refused to marry him until he revealed Lady Lanyard’s will. The timing of her acceptance now seemed deucedly suspicious. He revealed that marrying him would reap a fortune. She had spent a lifetime living in poverty. And so she overcame all objections and agreed to a betrothal.
He shivered.
No! A fist smashed into the wall. It was not possible. And that was an exaggeration, anyway. She had turned him down that day. It had been weeks before she accepted him. If she wanted the money, she would have revealed herself earlier. Perhaps she had feared his reaction, planning to wait until it was too late for him to renege.
Yet he still could not believe it. After years of studying human nature, his judgment was better than that. Money was not her goal in life. Which left hatred for plunging her into so dishonorable a deception – and it had been dishonorable.