by Allison Lane
“Do you honestly think that any well-bred female could accept the charade you were demanding?” she asked. “No one not three sheets to the wind would even have suggested it. How did I know I could trust you? My reputation would be in shreds if it came out. Lady Melissa would have starved in a ditch before agreeing, but Harriet Sharpe could do it, for afterward she would disappear like the myth she always was.”
“I had not considered it in that light,” he admitted with chagrin.
“Your only consideration was money,” she reminded him.
He sighed. “I was a fool.”
“Yes, you were. Your grandmother would have gladly advanced you enough to set Swansea to rights had you asked her. And she would have thought better of you if you had.”
He stared. “Dear Lord. I never even considered it. The only reason I ignored the estate was because there was nothing I could do for it. I had always planned to renovate it when she passed on.”
“Surely you knew what store she set by accomplishment. Even I know that, and I only met her during those few days at Lanyard Manor.”
“All right. I’m a bigger fool than I thought. I had too much pride to beg. But why did you hide your identity in London? Do you hate me so much?”
It was her turn to stare. “What ever gave you that idea?”
“It was the only explanation I could devise, Melissa. You knew how much I needed the money, yet you hid the one fact that could have helped me.”
“As I thought. It always comes back to money, doesn’t it, Charles? I remain what I have been from the first night in that inn, a means to acquire a fortune. I cannot live like that.” She rose as if to push him out.
“Please, my love,” he pleaded. “Why? The money means nothing. It is you that I want, but I cannot understand your continued deceit.”
She made the mistake of looking at him. Pain twisted his face, filling his eyes with tears. She shuddered.
“I never meant to deceive you, Charles,” she said, sighing as she returned to the bunk. “When Grandmama insisted on bringing me out, I was terrified. I had never considered the possibility, you must understand, for I thought she was as poor as we were. It was another thing that would have stopped me from helping you. But I had no choice. The thought of seeing Heflin again made me ill, but I hoped to avoid him, as he was not received. Then there was you. You could destroy me with a word, and after the way we parted, I saw no reason to doubt you would. It was a relief to find you from town. Thinking you were in mourning, I had relaxed, so when you turned up at Castleton House that day, I nearly died of fright. But you refrained from mentioning the past. I decided you were going to be gentlemanly about it and let the subject drop. It wasn’t until some time later that I realized you didn’t recognize me.”
“How could I, Melissa? You had changed so much I still have trouble believing you are Harriet.”
“It is a family trait,” she shrugged. “Your grandmother was exactly the same. That is probably how she discovered my identity. She had a picture painted when she was eighteen in which she looked remarkably like me – I was eighteen when you found me.”
He grimaced, remembering his remark about nobody believing she could be eighteen.
“The painting in the gallery was done when she was nineteen.”
“It also looks like you. But I never saw the earlier portrait. And I never got a good look at you that entire fortnight. When I started searching for you after Grandmama died, I sketched a likeness to show to coachmen and innkeepers. Your cousin was easy, but I could not capture you. I would have been hard pressed to recognize you even if you had not changed. Between illness and fever, I was half out of my mind at Lanyard. Besides, that horrible bonnet hid your face outdoors, and inside you seemed enamored of darkened rooms.”
She shuddered. “I had to be. Betsy dyed my hair before we left Drayton, but the coloring was so dull and lifeless – to say nothing of unevenly applied – that it would have been obvious in good light.”
He burst out laughing, and she joined in. “Another thing I had never considered,” he admitted when he caught his breath. “How did black-haired Harriet evolve so rapidly into golden Melissa? But why did you continue the charade after you learned that I had to find Harriet?”
“Again we return to money,” she snorted, but resumed her tale. “I did not know the provisions of Lady Lanyard’s will,” she reminded him. “I thought you already had the inheritance. As I mentioned before, I had no interest in tying myself to a wastrel like my father and brother. I still don’t. When I mentioned your supposed betrothal to keep you at a distance, I was then forced to account for how I knew of it. I could hardly use it as a weapon while admitting that I was she.”
“You gave me a shock that day. I had never considered that Grandmama might tell others.”
“I doubt she did. Lady Beatrice knows nothing of it. Lies breed more lies, as we have both discovered.” She sighed. “I was forced into several more, as I am sure you recall. I was horrified to discover that you had to marry Harriet.”
“Because you thought I recognized you?” he asked.
“In part. But it went beyond that. If I then admitted to being Harriet, it was tantamount to throwing myself at you. Even hoydens like me have been taught from birth that no lady would do such a thing. I remained uncertain whether I wanted to wed you. Admitting I was Harriet and then turning you down would have been the worst sort of taunting. And there was another problem. I could easily convince you that I was Harriet, but she does not exist. How could I convince a solicitor? I had changed so much that no one at Lanyard would recognize me. Few people spent time with me, and none in good light except your grandmother. I had no idea she had identified me. It seemed better to refuse your hand and allow you to make your own way in the world. The frustration of losing the fortune would destroy us both.”
“So why did you ultimately accept me?” he asked softly.
“You know why,” she challenged him, but the look in his eye forced her to continue. “Because I love you, of course. I am accustomed to living on nothing. You finally convinced me that you were content. You believed that Harriet existed, yet you chose me.” She shrugged.
“I still choose you, my darling,” he murmured, rising to go to her, but her hand stayed him. “I want only you, Melissa. We will give the money to charity as Grandmama directed.”
She stared. “What game are you playing now, Charles?”
“No game, my love. If the only way to convince you that you are essential to my life is to live in poverty, then we shall live in poverty.” He reached into his jacket and drew out a letter. “Here, my love. This is no sudden decision. It is something I have been trying to tell you for weeks. This is the first letter I sent you. The others are but variations on it.”
She hesitantly broke the seal and read.
He had spoken truly. The words leaped from the page – you may have returned my ring but you still hold my soul … would gladly live in a ditch if you were at my side … Let her treasure help others. We can help ourselves… “You feel that strongly?” she breathed.
“Always.” Hesitantly, he moved closer.
The look in his eyes ignited her desire. Her nipples hardened into taut nubs, pushing against the bodice of her gown. His eyes gleamed at that telltale sign, his heart soaring in gladness. She held out her hand to his.
“Dear Lord, Melissa,” he sobbed, pulling her into his arms at last. Starved for the sweet taste of her mouth, his lips crushed against hers, his tongue reveling in her velvety depths.
“Oh, Charles, I have missed you so,” she cried when he bent his head to nuzzle her shoulder. This was where she belonged, where she would have been weeks ago if stubborn pride had not interfered. Her longing increased, building tension, concentrating it.
“We will marry immediately,” he choked.
“Arrogant toad—”
The ship lurched, twisting her stomach with it. She pushed him away and dropped heavily to the bunk.
“Leave me for a while, Charles,” she begged, paling to chalk white. “I fear I am about to be sick.”
“My poor darling,” he murmured, grabbing the basin and sitting beside her.
She had no time to repeat her request. He held her head, whispering soothing words in her ears and holding her shaking, clammy body close when she was through.
Melissa drifted in a hazy sea, unwilling to return to awareness where she would have to cope with the scene he had just witnessed.
“Drink this,” Charles commanded, pulling her back to consciousness by thrusting a glass into her hand. It contained a generous dollop of brandy, and she realized he had been to his own cabin while her senses floated. The basin was gone, replaced by another.
“No!” she protested as the boat again lurched.
“I guarantee you’ll feel better,” he insisted, holding the glass to her lips.
She gagged on the first swallow, nausea again attacking, but she fought it down and drank. Warmth exploded through her body. “I am so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be, my love,” he murmured. “This was nothing compared to what I put you through that first day. Now let me back away from arrogance and do this right. Will you marry me?”
“Not yet, Charles. There are other things we need to discuss first.” Her face paled.
He sighed. “In that case, you had better rest, Melissa. You’re looking worse again. Lie down. It’s at least another eight hours to France so there’s no rush.”
She tried to protest but he stretched her out on the bed, first opening the tapes of her gown. She shivered as he slid it off – and not with cold.
She was not the only one. He had to exert rigid control on himself. She was weak, exhausted, and needed sleep. But he could not resist smoothing her shift before drawing a coverlet over her.
“Oh, God,” he breathed as his hand encountered the slight swelling of her abdomen. “It wasn’t just mal de mer, was it, love?”
She turned her face to the wall, tears glittering even as new sobs tore from her throat. The brandy’s heat had turned to ice.
He pulled her gently into his arms, sitting beside her on the bunk and holding her in a tender, protective embrace. “No wonder you decided to flee to America.” He sighed. “You must have been terrified. And that explains Mrs. Sharpe. Did you believe I would hate you?”
“No, but you would have felt obligated to offer for me.”
“Never obligation, my love,” he swore, tilting her face until she met his eyes. “I hope you know that now. And while there will be a few raised brows, I could not be more pleased.” His face reflected the truth of his words, shining with love and awe.
Her fear faded, leaving only love in her eyes.
“Will you marry me, my dearest Melissa? Not for money. Not because a moment of weakness produced consequences. But because we love each other. I am only half a man without you.”
“And I am merely half a woman. Yes, Charles, I will.”
“Thank God,” he breathed, cradling her gently and stroking her hair as her arms moved around his waist. “Sleep now, my love,” he urged.
“In a moment. I need to savor the wonder. I feel as though heaven has suddenly wrested me from the bowels of hell.” She reached up to touch his face.
“It does feel like that.” His arms tightened and he laid his cheek against her forehead.
“I wasn’t really terrified,” she murmured softly into his cravat. “Just thankful that I would still have part of you to love and cherish.”
His arms tightened. “I have a special license – I prepared for all possible contingencies, you see.”
She smiled. “Excellent. We will seek out a vicar as soon as possible.” She snuggled closer into his arms.
“As soon as possible. Don’t tempt me, love,” he added as her hand slid under his jacket. “This time we are doing everything right. I am trying to become a pattern card of responsible, respectable behavior.”
“Yes, Charles,” she agreed, planting one soft kiss on his cheek before sliding beneath the coverlet. “See? I’m practicing to be a conformable wife.”
“Don’t change.” He dragged the chair close to the bunk. “I love you just the way you are, sharp tongue and all. Now go to sleep before I forget myself. I need you desperately, but I am determined to wait.”
“No more lies, Charles,” she admonished him. “There are enough ladies panting for your body to keep even the most lecherous gentleman satisfied.”
He turned her face to his, holding her eyes squarely with his own. “Never another lie,” he swore seriously. “There will be no more deceit. And there has been no one else since I first proposed. The thought of making love to another makes me sick.”
Her tongue ran across suddenly dry lips as Beatrice’s words returned. He really did love her. She smiled.
“Oh, God,” he groaned, running frustrated fingers through his hair. Several deep breaths restored his composure.
“I’m sorry, Charles.” And she truly was. “But you needn’t give up your grandmother’s fortune,” she added as he tucked the coverlet more securely around her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been terribly childish over that. Your tenants should not have to pay for my insecurities. It was never the money, you know, but a question of your motives.”
“Perhaps half,” he suggested. “It is what she designated for marrying someone else, and I had already renounced Harriet.”
“As you wish.”
“Never doubt my love, Melissa. And I cannot blame you for your fears. I have learned more about your home and family in recent weeks. There has been no one you could trust.”
“I trust you, Charles,” she murmured softly, turning to kiss his hand before slipping into a deep sleep, the first she had had in weeks.
He remained at her bedside, his heart at peace, his mind already planning their future.
* * * *
“Did you really borrow Heflin’s coach to escape his clutches?” Charles laughed as he fastened her gown. They would be landing at Le Havre within minutes.
She giggled. “We did indeed. He never suspected a thing. I don’t know how they thought we had escaped with a trunk and three valises. Toby had naught but a dogcart left in the stable.”
His hands rested on her shoulders, their two images gazing back from the mirror. “I still don’t know why Grandmama put us through this. Why did she not expose us both at Lanyard?”
“Do you not, my love?” She smiled at his reflection. “Your grandmother was quite a matchmaker. She decided we would suit and took steps to see that we did.”
“By attaching her fortune to you?”
“In part. But she also delayed telling you where to find me until I had finished growing up. That’s what the codicil was for, of course.”
“The old witch.” He chuckled. “And I suppose she ordered me to town for the Season so you wouldn’t marry someone else in the meantime.”
“It worked. If you hadn’t kissed me at the Wharburton masquerade, I’d have accepted George.” They both shuddered.
“I hope you don’t mind immediately recrossing,” he said, changing the subject. “I’ve booked passage back tonight. Willis has your luggage ready. We’ve an appointment with the vicar in the morning.” He gave her a quick squeeze.
“And what names are we using this time?”
“Lord and Lady Rathbone, of course. I knew if we ever sat down to talk calmly, your intelligence and good sense would prevail. Or my charm and seduction.” He leered suggestively.
“Arrogance, Charles,” she chided him, turning to smile directly into his eyes. “We must do something about that. Later,” she added, pulling his head down for a searing kiss.
Copyright © 1996 by Susan Ann Pace
Originally published by Signet Regency (0451186818)
Electronically published in 2005 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.