The Scandal in Kissing an Heir

by Sophie Barnes

  “Servants?”

  “The Wolvingtons forgave our decision to elope after realizing what Grover is truly like. Your uncle was particularly incensed at discovering Grover tried to murder you.” She slipped out of her gown and picked up her widow’s weeds, stepping into the black dress while Daniel watched with delicious appreciation in his eyes. She had to try and focus on the issue at hand. “He wants to make amends and even offered to make a deposit in your account. I asked that he speak with you first.”

  Daniel nodded and she turned her back on him, resuming her seat on the edge of the bed so he could button up her new gown. “You did the right thing,” he said, “for I should like to make an attempt at making a living on my own. If I fail, we can turn to my uncle, but I should like to at least try and manage without him first.”

  Chapter 25

  “The Griftons are here to see you, my lady,” Laura announced the following morning. Her dislike for the visitors was clear in every part of her being, including her voice, which dripped with distaste, as if she’d just bitten into a bad apple.

  Rebecca looked up and smiled. “Thank you. If you would please ask Molly to arrange for some tea, I’ll be right down.”

  When she stepped out of the bedroom, Laura was still there, waiting for her. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the master, but I was wondering if you would like me to join you in the parlor so you don’t have to be alone with them.”

  “Now that you mention it, Laura, I do believe I’d appreciate that. Do you have some embroidery with which to pass the time?”

  Laura nodded. “I’ll take the seat in the corner, but I’ll be there should you need me.”

  Rebecca felt awash with relief. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been dreading this encounter, for her last meeting with her aunt had not gone well. The woman was simply incapable of saying anything pleasant. On a deep breath, Rebecca descended the stairs and entered the parlor, where she greeted her aunt and uncle, who were already comfortably seated side by side on the sofa. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said, hating the good manners and proper upbringing that forced her to be polite and wishing she’d had the audacity to ask them to leave and stay away from her instead.

  “Well, we just had to come right over after seeing the announcement in the paper this morning,” her aunt said. There was a beat of silence, and then she asked, “Is it true? Well, I suppose it is, considering the way you’re dressed. Such a pity, really. Black never was your color, and especially not with that raven-colored hair—why, you look positively ghoulish! Never mind though. I’m sure you’ll marry again soon enough and then we can put this disaster of a marriage behind us. Why, it didn’t even last two weeks, but then again, I doubt anyone is surprised by that, considering Mr. Neville’s history. In fact, I’m surprised it took this long for someone to off him.” She heaved a big sigh that made her entire body shake. “If only you’d listened to us in the first place, this never would have happened. Thank goodness the duke is the forgiving sort though; a missive from him arrived just as we were heading out, informing us of his intentions to resume his courtship of you now that you are no longer attached. I hope that you will show him the gratitude he deserves this time.”

  Rebecca stood openmouthed, staring back at her aunt, who had finally come to a stop in her diatribe. Rebecca’s husband was supposed to be dead and her aunt was sitting there on a sofa that he or his parents had once purchased, cheerfully saying what a fortunate occurrence his sudden demise had been. It was abhorrent. And then, without stopping for breath, she’d gone on to push Rebecca back in the arms of Grover. It didn’t matter that this was exactly in line with Rebecca’s plan; her aunt’s attitude still disgusted her. Rebecca sat down in one of the armchairs and stared back at her relatives, wondering how the woman before her could possibly have been her father’s sister. Rebecca’s father had been nothing like this. He’d been kind and gentle. “I think it in poor taste to speak ill of the dead, Aunt, especially since I chose Mr. Neville for myself,” she said, proud of how steady her voice sounded.

  “And what a foolish thing that was,” her uncle said. “You jeopardized your chance with Grover when you ran off with that good for nothing. Your aunt is right—your husband meeting such an early end was the best thing that could happen to you. It will give you a chance of righting your mistake, of that I have no doubt.”

  What was going on? Did they think her an imbecilic child to imagine they could speak to her about Daniel in that way? The fact that he was still alive and well upstairs was inconsequential when it came to the anger that rushed through her. She clasped her hands in her lap and prayed for strength, but all that came to her was a vision of strangling both of the people in front of her. She smiled and was relieved from having to respond when Molly arrived with the tea. The butler, a man whom the Wolvingtons had sent over the day before, no doubt with the intent that he would double as bodyguard, given his massive size, arrived on Molly’s heels to announce the arrival of the Duke of Grover.

  “You see,” Rebecca’s aunt crooned. “I told you he’d come for you.”

  Rebecca hadn’t doubted it for a second, imagining that he’d probably consider her a trophy. And then the man in question arrived, strolling into the room and smiling happily when he set eyes on Rebecca. “Lady Rebecca,” he said, “you’re looking radiant as always, even under such strained circumstances. My sincerest condolences on the passing of your husband. How tragic that he should die so young.”

  “Thank you,” she said, laying her hand obediently in his outstretched one so he could bend over it and place a kiss upon her knuckles. She felt a subtle movement of air as he lingered for a brief second, and then realized to her horror that he was sniffing her. He looked up, their eyes met and she instinctively drew back, away from the greediness that lurched beneath the surface of his stare.

  Grover straightened, and when offered to take a seat, he claimed the one directly next to Rebecca’s, moving the chair closer to the table so his knee touched hers whenever he leaned forward to pick up his teacup or take a biscuit. He turned to Rebecca with an edge of determination about him that made the fine hairs at the back of her neck stand on edge. “It cannot be easy for you,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “to find yourself so suddenly alone and without protection.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Rebecca said, hedging. She had a part to play, but she was finding it incredibly difficult to do so: to be amicable in the company of such distasteful people required her to suppress her emotions and look otherwise pleasant. “The Wolvingtons—”

  “It is no secret that they didn’t support your husband’s behavior. Rumor has it that they turned their back on him and that he was forced to earn his own income, which I hear he did by gambling . . . little surprise there.” Grover smiled at her, his lips stretched wide and his eyes glistening the way a pirate’s might upon spotting a bounty of treasure.

  “Rebecca, it is quite clear that you cannot go on alone,” her aunt said very matter-of-factly. “This house is not a simple country cottage. There are expenses to be paid—excessive expenses, since it is in London—and then there’s the staff, of course. Eventually your dowry will be depleted and you will require the security of another marriage.”

  “I would be most happy to oblige,” Grover said as he turned in his seat, his knee touching hers as he leaned toward her and added, “you’ll want for nothing as my duchess, of that I can assure you.”

  The way he said my duchess made her skin crawl. She felt sick. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed that he was talking of so much more than marriage. He wanted to own her.

  She swallowed the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her at his closeness and said, “How kind you are after everything I did to you.” Would he notice that she hadn’t once apologized? She wasn’t about to begin now.

  Grover waved his hand, and the tips of his fingers brushed fleetingly against h
er shoulder. “Of no consequence, my dear. I do not blame you, for it is clear that you were influenced in your judgment, and since I have admired you for so many years now . . . well, I must confess that I am willing to do a great deal in order to win your hand.”

  No doubt about that!

  “Can’t you see that he adores you?” Rebecca’s aunt pressed. “His devotion to you is quite apparent.”

  “My dear, I am sure the duke is capable of making his own suit,” Lord Grifton told his wife as he bit into a biscuit and started to chew while crumbs sprinkled onto his lap.

  “Perhaps an outing would heighten your spirits,” Grover suggested. “We could go for a ride in the park together.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace, but we haven’t even had the funeral yet.” Rebecca turned her most imploring gaze on him, hoping it would do the trick. “I know that my situation is desperate and that I am in need of help. Please know that I am most grateful for your offer and that I should like to accept, but I was hoping that you would allow me to mourn my husband for at least a week before resuming your courtship.”

  Grover frowned as he considered Rebecca’s request. Her aunt started to say something, but Grover stopped her with a staying hand. “I think a week will be acceptable,” he said, his eyes trained on Rebecca’s, “but no more. And as for a courtship, it shall be brief, for I find myself quite eager to be wed.”

  A shiver traced the length of Rebecca’s spine, and when Grover took her hand and clasped it between his own, there was something so possessive about it that Rebecca had to struggle not to flinch or pull away. And then her aunt and uncle were scrambling to their feet and rushing to the door as they made their farewells, saying something to the effect that they ought to allow Rebecca and the duke a bit of privacy, thank you for the tea and they would see Rebecca soon enough to make the necessary arrangements for the wedding. The door closed behind them with a thud and Rebecca felt her skin prickle. Her hand was still being clutched by Grover, who appeared to have moved closer. Clenching her jaw, she looked toward Laura, who’d abandoned her embroidery and whose posture was suggestive of a cat preparing to pounce.

  “I must tell you,” Grover said, his voice a low whisper that only Rebecca would be able to hear, “that I’m a little disappointed knowing that you shan’t be coming to my bed an innocent.”

  His thumb stroked along her hand, the feel of a lizard caressing her skin, and she held still with every ounce of restraint she possessed and thought of her plan. She could not fail now, though her heart pounded wildly in her chest and she could feel herself begin to tremble with disgust.

  “I had hoped to rob you of that myself, but no matter. I’m sure there’s pleasure to be had in a woman with more experience.” His words were scandalous and they repelled her, but just when she thought it couldn’t get much worse than this—they were in her parlor, after all, and with a maid nearby as chaperone—Grover placed one hand against her knee and squeezed. Rebecca almost shot out of her chair, or would have done had he not held her firmly in place. “Yes, we shall do very well together, you and I. The way you react to my touch is most promising, and now that you have seen what a man looks like en déshabillé, you will be less shocked by what I have to offer.” He leaned closer still, so close that she could feel his breath against the side of her neck. It was sickening. “I have needs, Rebecca. Needs that I cannot wait for you to—”

  “If you will pardon my interference, Your Grace,” Laura said. She had come to stand next to Rebecca with a very disapproving glare trained on the duke. “My mistress has an appointment with the priest that she must keep.”

  “Thank you for reminding me,” Rebecca said, pulling away from Grover and rising to her feet with a slowness that belied her desire to race out of the room. Placing an entire continent between them would not be enough as long as she knew that they still inhabited the same planet. “And thank you for calling on me, Your Grace. I will look forward to seeing you again in a week’s time.”

  With a scowl at Laura, Grover bid Rebecca farewell and departed Avern House while Rebecca stood by the window and watched him go. When he was finally out of sight, she allowed herself a sigh of relief, then turned to Laura and said, “I believe I am in desperate need of a bath.”

  With the Wolvingtons’, Chiltons’ and Landboroughs’ help, Rebecca managed to make the necessary arrangements for a fake funeral. Three days later, they all watched solemnly and with tears in their eyes as an empty coffin was lowered into the ground at St. James’s. She invited them back to Avern House for tea afterward, remaining in the parlor with her guests while Lord Wolvington was shown upstairs to visit with Daniel.

  “You love him very much, don’t you?” Lady Wolvington asked Rebecca quietly as she sat down next to her.

  Rebecca nodded. “It’s impossible not to,” she said. Pouring each of them a cup of tea, she considered her next words carefully, wondering how much she ought to say and deciding that since Lady Wolvington obviously cared for Daniel, she needed to say something. “I know that he hasn’t exactly behaved the way you might have wanted in the past, my lady, but that doesn’t mean that you failed him in any way. It was very difficult for him to lose his parents the way he did. He felt abandoned and betrayed, and the hurt made him lash out the only way he knew how.”

  “Until he met you,” Lady Wolvington said. She was watching Rebecca with a measure of wisdom in her aging eyes. “You made him want to do better.”

  Rebecca gave a little shrug and smiled. “I don’t believe anyone could make Daniel do anything, but because he liked me and because that like turned to love, he decided that he wanted to make me happy and proud.”

  “And are you?” Lady Wolvington asked. “Happy and proud?”

  “Immensely, my lady, though I believe I’ll be more happy once this business with Grover has been settled.”

  Lady Wolvington nodded, took a sip of her tea and said, “I just hope that the plan works.”

  “It will,” Rebecca said, not so much for Lady Wolvington’s benefit but to reassure herself. Failure wasn’t an option. The plan had to work. Four more days—that was all they had before Grover returned.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked Daniel later that day when they were once again alone in their bedroom.

  “Much better, thank you,” he said, and he sounded it. The color had returned to his face and he was sitting up in bed more.

  “Did you have a nice chat with your uncle earlier?” He’d given no indication of how his conversation with Lord Wolvington had gone, but he didn’t appear angry or worried, which was a good sign.

  He regarded her thoughtfully and with a distant look in his eyes, eventually saying, “He says he’s proud of me.”

  Rebecca could feel her lips stretching wide in a foolish smile. What a relief. “And he has every reason to be.”

  “I refused his offer to renew my allowance, and I think he was quite impressed with the sacrifices I was willing to make in order to support you. I told him that they weren’t really sacrifices at all and that when given the choice between you and the phaeton and my love of gambling, the decision was easy. I pick you above all else, Rebecca, and I always will.” The smile that graced his lips was different than usual. More shy and self-conscious, perhaps? Whatever the case, Rebecca found it utterly charming. She went to him, seated herself on the edge of the bed and kissed him with everything she had in her, robbing them both of breath. “Did I have a nice funeral?” he asked as she nuzzled her cheek against his.

  She chuckled. How typical of him to ask such a question. “Yes,” she said. “It was quite lovely.”

  “Did you cry a lot?”

  “We all did,” she said.

  “But you especially?”

  “Yes.”

  She heard him take a deep breath and then exhale it. “Good,” he said.

  Good?

  She leaned back and star
ed down at him in dismay. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my account of the tears I shed as I watched an empty coffin sink into the ground just made you really happy.”

  He gave her a cheeky smile. “I confess that I’m rather pleased to know that my wife would be sad to see me depart this earth.”

  “You’re a beast,” she said as she swatted him playfully with her hand.

  “I know,” he grinned, pulling her back for another kiss, a longer one that left no doubt in her mind about the love he felt for her. It was overwhelming.

  “Do you think you will be ready to get back on your feet in four days?” she asked a while later as they ate the supper that Laura and Molly had brought up to their room.

  “And if I’m not? What will you do then?” he asked, pinning her with his dark brown eyes.

  “I don’t know . . . manage without you somehow.” It would lessen their chance of success, but she also didn’t want Daniel staggering about London if he didn’t feel as though he could manage it. He’d been through a lot, but she’d only been able to buy him a week in which to recover, unless of course she wished to prolong Grover’s advances. They had both agreed that doing so was out of the question.

  “No. I will be fine. We will proceed as we have discussed.”

  She nodded, but she sensed that he was pulling himself together for her sake and worried if it wasn’t a mistake for him to venture out of bed so soon after sustaining his injuries. “I just don’t want you to be worse off because of this.”

  “I won’t be. I promise, Becky.” He took her hand in his and looked at her more seriously than ever before as he said, “But we must put an end to this so he cannot harm us again. We’ve a better chance of seeing him charged with attempted murder if I do my part to help.”