The Scandal in Kissing an Heir

by Sophie Barnes

  It took a moment, but Laura eventually nodded. She had good reason to react the way she did, Rebecca realized, for not only was she not acquainted with Mr. Neville but, as she’d correctly said, having a gentleman of any kind visit an unmarried lady in her bedchamber was unseemly, and a rake was far worse, regardless of whether or not a chaperone was present. Of course, Rebecca’s circumstances were a bit more unusual than most, and Laura knew that. Rebecca was well aware that Laura would do whatever she could to protect her, but she also knew that Laura wanted her to be happy. “It’s all right,” Rebecca told her. “But now that the gentleman is here and with no means of leaving until his companions return with the ladder, perhaps I ought to introduce you. Laura, this is Mr. Neville.” Turning to her guest, Rebecca added, “Mr. Neville, I’d like for you to meet my maid, Laura. Had it not been for her, you and I would never have met.”

  With warmth in his eyes and an inviting smile, Mr. Neville stepped toward Laura. He reached for her hand, bowed over it and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. Straightening, he said, “It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Laura.”

  Rebecca hid a grin. She’d never seen her maid turn so red before. Of course, she couldn’t blame her for it. Mr. Neville was a striking man indeed. Swallowing hard as she fought to ignore the flutter in her stomach, Rebecca turned away from him and headed toward a small table with two chairs. This was ridiculous. She’d always considered herself the reasonable sort, but lately she’d been getting all flustered whenever Mr. Neville was near. Looking for a distraction, she started busying herself with the tea. “Was the front door too obvious a choice for you?” she asked, desperate for the stability a bit of light conversation might offer.

  He didn’t answer her immediately but came to stand beside her instead—a little closer than what most would consider appropriate. With a reprimanding cough from Laura, he distanced himself a little.

  Rebecca pressed her lips together to stop from laughing as she pushed one newly filled cup across the table before pouring the next. “I must admit that I’d begun to think you’d never return, yet here you are, stealing through my window in the dark.”

  “That is because there is something I must tell you,” he said.

  Rebecca tilted her face toward him, her hand still resting on the teacup. “Why do I get the feeling that things did not go as you had planned in London?”

  “Because your instinct isn’t wrong—as unfortunate as that is.”

  Pushing her cup slowly across the table, Rebecca lowered herself onto one of the empty seats, while Mr. Neville did the same. She took a sip of her tea. “I’m sorry,” she said, even though sorry didn’t come close to describing the way she presently felt. “I don’t know what you were hoping to achieve by going to Town, but I do hope you will tell me your reason for doing so.”

  Crossing his arms, Mr. Neville rested them on the table and leaned toward her. “I know I allowed you to believe that all would be well when we last spoke . . . but now . . .” He shook his head and sat back against his chair. “It isn’t going to be as simple as I had hoped.”

  Rebecca blinked—once, twice and then again. “I don’t . . .” she managed.

  “I paid a visit to your uncle this afternoon,” Mr. Neville said, his eyes never leaving Rebecca’s. “It appears the Duke of Grover is quite determined to have you.”

  “But when you were last here, you said you believed that everything would work out,” Rebecca said. She was doing her best to remain calm even though her heart was now fluttering wildly in her chest. “What’s changed?” The fear of knowing was there, creeping along her every nerve as it made her tremble. She wasn’t used to being afraid of anything, usually avoiding the state altogether by taking matters into her own hands, yet it had just become alarmingly clear that the hope of happiness she’d dared allow herself was being torn to pieces. “Tell me,” she said, bracing herself for the worst. As reluctant as she was to hear the truth, she needed to know precisely why her uncle had turned down Mr. Neville’s suit.

  With his jaw set in a firm line and his eyes boring into hers, Mr. Neville said, “They are, in effect, auctioning you off to the highest bidder.”

  “I’m sorry—what?” Surely her ears deceived her. Not even her aunt and uncle could be that callous.

  “The Griftons,” Mr. Neville said, “are eager to get as much out of your marriage as they possibly can. They know that Topperly and Grover are both quite desperate to have you, so they’re biding their time, I believe, until they’ve achieved the highest possible sum in your stead.” He leaned forward a little. “When I met with your uncle last, he explained that Topperly has offered him ten thousand pounds and Grover twelve thousand in exchange for your hand. Additionally, they are both willing to fund the renovations Roselyn Castle requires.”

  Rebecca gasped, astonished by the amounts and the audacity.

  “When I went to London, it was to procure the necessary funds required to ensure your hand. Doing so took a little time, and in the end my efforts were to no avail; Grover increased his offer to fifteen thousand this morning.” Mr. Neville clenched his jaw. He looked truly vexed. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I cannot compete with that, not without my uncle’s assistance, and he has refused to get involved.”

  In spite of everything, Rebecca couldn’t help but smile. Here was a man with no obligation toward her whatsoever, who had done as much as he possibly could to try and save her. “Thank you,” she said. “You have done more for me than most would have done had they been in your shoes. You are a true friend, and I will never forget your kindness.”

  Reaching across the table, Mr. Neville placed his hand upon hers—a startling gesture, since neither of them was wearing gloves. The spark that lit in her chest was instantaneous, bursting outward in hot little embers that raced across her skin until she felt herself trembling. Instinct told her to pull away, yet she couldn’t seem to move, his gaze holding hers with deep intensity. “Come to Gretna Green with me,” he whispered. “Let me save you from this nightmare.”

  It was tempting, especially when he looked at her in such a beseeching way—as if she was the most incredible woman he’d ever set eyes upon, as if he would love and cherish her forever . . . as if she stood apart from all the other women he’d ever been with. This, of course, was fantasy, and a distant voice warned her of it. He was not the sort of man who would ever be happy with one single woman, no matter what he might say, and though he’d been nothing but pleasant toward her, she feared he might be employing his skill with her right now in an attempt to manipulate her. She could not trust him, but she was still curious. “Why are you really so eager to marry me, Mr. Neville? I do not accept that it is merely because no other virtuous woman will go near you, for that is not a proper reason. It doesn’t explain your haste.”

  He released her hand and leaned back against his chair, leaving her with an unpleasant feeling of neglect. “To be perfectly honest, my aunt and uncle request that I abandon my rakish ways, all gambling included, and get myself married. It seems they believe that a wife would make me more responsible.”

  Rebecca stared back at him for a second. Realizing that he was indeed being quite serious, she started to laugh—the sort of laugh that made the stomach hurt and tears well in the eyes. He watched her with a look of befuddlement that only made her laugh even more. When she eventually got herself under some measure of control, she managed, “And you decided that I should be the one to help you accomplish that? A woman who has pretended to be mad for two years in order to avoid marriage? One who climbs hedges dressed in an evening gown so she can attend a ball uninvited? Forgive me, Mr. Neville, but surely you can see how unlikely that would be.” Pressing her lips together, she forced back her mirth.

  “I suppose you have a point there,” he admitted. “But as I’ve told you before, finding a wife isn’t so easy for me. Nobody wants to associate with me, let alone allow their daughte
r to bear my name.” He shook his head, a few stray locks brushing his forehead. “In hindsight, I should have behaved better in my younger years, but regrettably, I can’t undo all of that now.”

  There was so much remorse in the way he said it that Rebecca felt her heart swell for him. “I know that you’re not as bad as they say. What you did for Miss Brighton, for instance, and the way you refrained from attempting anything untoward with me at the ball when you had the opportunity to do so confirms that. It’s also possible that you think yourself capable of putting your rakehell ways behind you. I just don’t believe that your attempt to do so will last.”

  “You doubt my resolve. Why?” He sounded hurt. “If Kingsborough could do it, then why wouldn’t you think me capable?”

  “Because he has incentive,” she said, trying to be honest in spite of how guilty she felt as she looked back into his wounded eyes. “His entire family depends on him doing what is right, of him behaving properly. What incentive do you have other than that your aunt and uncle wish it?”

  Mr. Neville clenched his jaw. His eyes grew dark, and when he spoke again, there was deep resentment in his voice. “Because they’ll cut me off without a penny if I don’t come up to scratch.”

  Rebecca’s jaw dropped. Finally, it all made sense. She sank back against her seat. “Just as I feared, you were going to use me to your own advantage.”

  “As if it’s any worse than what you’ve been contemplating—marriage to a man of your own choosing so you can escape the suitors your aunt and uncle have in mind for you.”

  “Of course it’s worse,” she said, both stunned and disappointed at discovering that he hadn’t been sincere in his pursuit of her, although deep inside she’d known he would never have considered her an option if he’d had a choice. “I am not attempting to marry for material gain, Mr. Neville, but to avoid a life that I would not be able to bear living. Money will be of no consequence to me if I am unhappily wed and forced to suffer the marriage bed with a man old enough to be my grandfather.” She caught herself, realizing that her voice had risen in frustration. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to speak calmly. “But by marrying you instead . . .” Dear Lord, she dared not contemplate the heartache that marrying Mr. Neville might bring. With the effect that he was having on her this early on, she feared it would only be a matter of time before she fell in love with him, a man whom she doubted would ever accept the affections of only one woman. Eventually he would stray, and once he did, it would break her heart. “You will have accomplished the task set for you by your aunt and uncle, while I will have exchanged one predicament for another.”

  “How so?”

  Was he serious?

  “Because the only reason you wish to marry me is for financial gain.”

  “And the only reason you wish to marry me is so you do not have to marry Topperly or Grover,” Mr. Neville insisted. “You may wish to pretend that one reason is more noble than the other, but I disagree.”

  She would not argue with him, for in a sense he had a point. Furthermore, he did not have the advantage of knowing her heart’s desire or the pain she was currently feeling at being equated with a bag of gold. She’d allowed herself to imagine that he looked at her with appreciation and some measure of desire, but all it had been was greed—not for her but for the allowance that she would secure for him if they married. Worst of all was the fact that she still wanted him as desperately as a woman lost in a desert longed for water.

  Feigning indifference, she said, “I will elope with you on one condition,” she said.

  His eyes widened with expectancy; they were dark, so dark she felt sure she’d be able to stare into their depths indefinitely without growing tired. She licked her lips as she pondered her decision and then finally said, “You must convince me that I will never look back on doing so with regret. You are young and healthy, Mr. Neville, so I have every reason to believe that our marriage will be a lengthy one—one I won’t escape anytime soon should I accept your offer.” She paused for a moment, unwilling to give away too much of her concerns, as she feared doing so would suggest deeper feelings than she was willing to admit. But she had to know if he cared enough about her to at least try to have a marriage based on trust and loyalty, so she said, “Can you assure me that we will be happy together?”

  He looked perplexed. “You are asking me to promise you the impossible when I have no inkling of what the future may hold for us.”

  “No,” she said, all seriousness. “I am asking you to stop being Mr. Neville the rake in favor of just being yourself. I believe I’ve glimpsed that man a few times already, and I have decided that I rather enjoy his company. So if you can bring him to the surface more, then I believe our marriage will stand a chance.”

  He frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. Being a rake and being myself are one and the same thing.”

  “Are you certain about that?” she asked. She had little evidence to the contrary other than that he’d confessed to embellishing the truth where his past exploits were concerned. But then of course there was the extent to which he’d gone in order to marry her. Yes, he stood to gain from their union, but instinct told her that he’d done it just as much to save her. Squaring him with a steady gaze, she added, “I realize that I have few choices available to me, Mr. Neville, but be that as it may, I have always hoped to marry a man who would remain faithful to me. To be sure, I have no reason to expect such loyalty from you . . . indeed, I imagine the task may prove difficult, but I would like to know that the risk I’d be taking in accepting your offer—the risk of discovery as we make our escape would be worth it and that you’ll at least try.”

  Silence settled upon them for what seemed like an eternity. Their eyes locked unflinchingly on each other, but Mr. Neville was the first to look away. Pushing back from the table, he stood up. “Thank you for the tea, my lady. You’ve given me a great deal to think about.” He looked at her for a long moment before saying, “I will call on you again tomorrow if that is agreeable with you.”

  Rebecca nodded, a slight smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t betray any of the overwhelming feelings that were building inside her as she rose from her own chair and walked across to the window with him, then simply said, “Yes, I would like that.”

  Chapter 8

  I will elope with you on one condition.

  The words resonated inside Daniel’s head as he lay in bed later that night, picturing Lady Rebecca in his mind’s eye. What a lovely creature she was, and not the least bit shy about speaking her mind. She’d told him honestly about the reservations she had about becoming his wife, but she’d also shown awareness for his true nature—a gentler, more considerate side that he kept hidden from most behind his roguish façade.

  When his mother had cuckolded his father and fled to America, the devastation her selfish wrongdoing had wrought had awarded Daniel with a front-row seat to the more negative aspects of love. The day after she’d left, his father had enlisted in the army without further thought for his son and had been killed in action shortly thereafter.

  That was what love had done to Daniel. It had destroyed his family and taken away both of his parents. He’d have been a fool to fall victim to it, so he’d resolved to live a life of reckless abandon instead, enjoying life’s pleasures without emotional attachment, choosing to live from one day to the next on the allowance that his aunt and uncle had provided for him.

  He didn’t want to lose that comfortable lifestyle. If he could only convince Lady Rebecca to marry him, then he was sure they could live happily together. She’d made it clear that she wanted a respectable marriage with a husband who would remain loyal to her. She’d also made it clear that she didn’t think Daniel capable of being that man, but she was wrong about that. Lady Rebecca was exactly the sort of woman who would be able to hold his interest. She was smart and funny, engaging to talk to . . . exceedingly beautiful. If there was any wo
man of whom he wouldn’t tire, then it was her. He would not be able to offer her love, since that would mean letting down his guard and becoming vulnerable, but he would be able to make her smile. And with time, he’d prove himself worthy of her by doing precisely what she didn’t think him capable of—staying faithful to her, and her alone.

  Happy with his plan, Daniel climbed the rungs of the ladder as it bowed to his weight the following evening. Reaching the window, he tapped three times and waited. From within, he could see a blurry figure moving through a yellow glow of light toward him. A click sounded, the window opened and Lady Rebecca’s smiling face came into view. God, she was beautiful.

  “Right on time,” she said as he climbed over the windowsill.

  “Like thieves, we rakes are well aware of the importance of punctuality. As much as a second too late or too early could lead to unpleasant consequences.” Seeing Laura, he nodded his head in her direction. “Good evening.”

  “And like thieves, rakes take great pleasure in stealing that which does not belong to them,” the maid said, her eyes locking with his in a silent acknowledgement of the danger he posed to her mistress.

  So she hadn’t warmed to him yet. Ah well. She would come around sooner or later, but for now, he decided to shock her instead. Without looking away, he told her seriously, “I can assure you, Laura, that when it comes to me, the lady takes equal pleasure in giving me what I desire.”

  Laura’s jaw dropped. “You . . . you . . . cad!” she stammered, her hands waving about in a mad gesture, as if she hoped to somehow shoo him from the room.

  Rebecca, on the other hand, was giggling wildly. “You mustn’t tease her like that, Mr. Neville. It’s terribly inconsiderate of you.”

  Whoever said anything about teasing?

  “My apologies,” he said with a slight bow in Laura’s direction. “I meant no harm—truly. You have my word that I will be on my best behavior, but what you said led to the possibility of a rejoinder too tempting to be ignored. Can you forgive me?”