To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses)

by Monajem, Barbara

  Her hopes and dreams tumbled down like a child’s building blocks. That shouldn’t be a surprise, she supposed—dreams were evanescent, without foundation, whilst life was crushingly real.

  So were obligations—doing what was required of one without hesitation or thought for oneself.

  “To think I almost married you,” Lord Bottleford said from the doorway. “Good God, what a mistake. You’re nothing but a little whore!”

  Miles drove his fist into Lord Bottleford’s chin. The dastard flew backwards, banging his head on the door frame, and fell insensate to the floor.

  Miles rubbed his knuckles. He had arrived to find an unfamiliar coach waiting outside, Mrs. Timms openly eavesdropping, and a maid and footman covertly doing the same. He had dismissed them all with a look just as Lord Bottleford offered to marry Melinda Starling.

  For a few seconds, Miles had wondered if he might not have to marry her after all. Bottleford was an idiot, but that would be Melinda’s problem, not his. A pity, really, that she should be reduced to marrying such a bore . . .

  But the more Miles listened, the more irate he became, and when Bottleford had the infernal gall to call sweet, innocent Melinda a whore, he lost his temper.

  He was still shaking with it. He shouted for a footman. “Put Lord Bottleford in his coach and send him home.” He stalked into the drawing room. Melinda stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “I refrained from interrupting for as long as I could, but my temper got the better of me.”

  “Thank you.” A tiny smile curled her lips. “You did precisely what I wished I could do myself.”

  “What a pompous ass,” Miles said, unable to resist smiling back. “Did he really offer for you before this?”

  She wrinkled her nose. What a beautiful girl she was, with such speaking blue eyes and glorious hair, and a sprinkling of freckles on that little nose. “Several times. Grandmama thought him an excellent choice.” Her face fell. “You don’t think . . . that perhaps what he said was true? That perhaps I misheard or misunderstood, and that she meant to let me in?”

  “No, I don’t.” He’d heard implacable hatred in the old lady’s voice. Again, he asked himself why. Bottleford had called her…what, overly familiar? Flirtatious? But he’d also spewed out a lot of utter bilge. Miles shrugged. “She may have regretted it afterward and is now trying to salvage your reputation.”

  “Not because she cares about me,” Melinda said. “The Starling name is all that matters to her. She wanted me to marry someone with an equally proud name. Some of them weren’t so bad, but I refused them all. I was waiting for love, you see.”

  Unexpectedly, his heart ached for her. He wished he could turn back time and send her safely back into Almack’s to wait for the love of her life. Not that he believed in love, but she might have found someone equally deluded. Someone with a reasonably good name, not one bespattered with dishonor.

  She took a deep breath and clasped her hands before her. “But I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “If your offer to marry me is still open, I should like to accept.”

  Chapter 4

  A few moments ago, he’d smiled at her, a charming, lop-sided smile, but now his face went completely blank. Melinda dropped her gaze, aghast. She knew he didn’t want this marriage, but he had never made it so obvious before. Unfair as it was, neither of them had a choice. Just as he’d been obliged to offer for her, she was now obliged to accept.

  “Excellent,” he said hoarsely, as if speaking took great effort. Perhaps, like Melinda, he’d hoped for a more palatable outcome. Another way of salvaging his reputation and assuring a bearable, even comfortable life.

  “I shall―” She took a deep breath. “I shall do my best to be a good wife to you, my lord.”

  “And I shall attempt to be a tolerable husband,” Lord Garrison said. She had the feeling she should laugh deprecatingly, but she couldn’t get anything out. This was so awkward!

  “We should be married as soon as possible,” he said. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the settlements immediately. With any luck, Sir Edward will arrive today and we can marry tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” Oh, she shouldn’t have blurted that!

  “The sooner the better, where repairing reputations is concerned.” Stiffly, he added, “Don’t look so tragic. It won’t be so very bad, I swear.”

  “No.” She raised her eyes. She wasn’t usually so gauche. “That’s not what I meant. I merely hoped for a little time to adjust to the idea.”

  “There will be plenty of time for adjusting afterward,” he said. “For both of us.”

  Her whole life, she thought. His whole life, too. She must bear in mind that the sacrifice went both ways.

  “You will be mistress of several establishments, but this one and my seat in Lancashire are where we will spend most of our time.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you take a fancy to one of my other estates.”

  She would almost rather he scolded her. She knew how to deal with that.

  A cheerful voice broke the strained silence. “In there, are they? I’ll show myself in, Mrs. Timms.”

  Melinda ran for the door and flung it open. “Colin, how lovely of you to come!” At least now she would be able to find something to say.

  “Had to see how you were doing,” Colin said, putting an arm around her and giving her a hearty buss on the cheek. “You’re looking as pretty as ever, my dear.” He released her. “How goes it, Garrison?”

  “Excellently, thank you,” Lord Garrison said, his voice cooler and flatter still. “Miss Starling has consented to become my wife.”

  “Wonderful,” Colin said. “We shall soon be cousins, Melinda. Bye the bye, was that Bottleford I saw being stuffed into a coach outside your door?”

  “Yes,” Melinda said darkly and proceeded to tell Colin all about it. He whooped with laugher and Melinda giggled herself silly. The incident seemed much less serious now that she had someone to laugh with. “The best part was when Lord Garrison knocked him out.”

  “Wish I’d seen it,” Colin said. “Bottleford got what he deserved. I must say, though, it takes a great deal of effrontery to propose to a woman who is already betrothed. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

  Lord Garrison had been watching something in the street, but now he turned. “He assumes I will…what did he say? Drop Miss Starling like a hot coal.” The harsh note made Melinda shiver.

  “Stupid fellow,” Colin said. “He’ll probably spread his own version of the story. You’d better marry as soon as you can.”

  “With luck the wedding will take place tomorrow. I’m off to apply for the special license now.” Lord Garrison strode toward the door.

  “Colin, do stay and have tea with me,” Melinda said.

  “Yes, do,” Lord Garrison said coldly and left.

  “I shouldn’t.” He blinked. “Got something else to do.”

  “Please,” she begged, hurrying to ring the bell for Mrs. Timms, who appeared so quickly she must have been just outside.

  Disapproval was written all over her face. No doubt she knew all the gossip about Melinda by now; everyone in London did. Well, it didn’t matter; Melinda would soon be mistress here. As if nothing was out of the ordinary, she ordered cakes and tea.

  “It’ll have to be quick,” Colin said. “I’ve only got a few minutes. Stop pouting, Melinda. I said I would stay, didn’t I?”

  “Pouting used to work when you were thirteen and the most odious boy I had ever met.”

  “More odious than Stephen? Impossible.”

  “Equally odious, then.” Why did Mrs. Timms still hover, frowning? Melinda sharpened her tone. “Bring the tea in a hurry, please.”

  “You may be certain I shall,” the housekeeper said severely
and stalked away.

  “What in heaven’s name is the matter with her?” Melinda whispered, when she and Colin were seated in the drawing room. “I assume she’s heard all the gossip by now, but since I’m about to marry Lord Garrison, she has no reason to scowl like that.”

  “Doesn’t approve of you associating with me,” Colin said. “Single man, gossip about your reputation, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “She didn’t mind Lord Bottleford. Is it because you’re a rake? I don’t care about that. You’re like a brother to me.”

  “Aye, but the world won’t see it that way. Best to give the tattle-mongers as little ammunition as possible, love. Once you’re seen to be happily married, things will ease up somewhat.”

  Melinda’s heart plummeted. “I’ll try to make it seem happy,” she whispered, “but it won’t be. He doesn’t want to marry me.”

  “He doesn’t want to marry anyone,” said Colin frankly, “but I certainly shan’t carry on the name, so it’s up to him.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t like being the one who is forcing him to do it.”

  “If you ask me, he’s dashed lucky,” Colin said. “He’s not only getting a Starling, but a very pretty one.”

  Melinda wasn’t really a Starling at all. She had never been able to live up to the Starling standard of perfection, and never would.

  The rattle of crockery announced the arrival of Mrs. Timms. Once the housekeeper had gone away again, Colin said, “He’s a good fellow, Melinda. He’ll do his best to be a decent husband to you. Not only that, he’s generous to a fault, so you’ll have everything you could possibly want or need.”

  “Except love,” she said softly, but she’d already given up on that.

  Miles strode toward the hackney stand, more uneasy by the second. He hadn’t even married the chit yet, but she already preferred another man—and a rake at that. If that was the way her tastes ran . . .

  He reminded himself that she and Colin had known one another since childhood, but it didn’t help. Lord Bottleford’s words echoed in his mind. She’d certainly been overly familiar with Colin—no ceremony at all, accepting his kiss and laughing immoderately. That sort of ease of manner led quickly to the bedchamber where a man like Colin was concerned. That he hadn’t bedded her yet was only due to her grandmother’s strict chaperonage.

  If he hadn’t bedded her yet . . .

  He stormed back to the house.

  The drawing room door was ajar. Mrs. Timms hovered, eavesdropping again; she probably thought she was protecting his interests. He dismissed her with a jerk of the chin and went into the drawing room.

  They were together on the sofa, Colin’s arm around her. She was dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.

  “Sorry, love,” Colin was murmuring, “but that’s the one thing Miles can’t give you.”

  “What can’t I give her?” snapped Miles.

  Colin withdrew his arm in a hurry. “Love,” he said. “As I was about to explain, no one in our family believes in it.”

  “Melinda already knows I think love is a lot of damned hogwash,” Miles said. To his shame, he enjoyed watching her blanch at his bad language. “She knows better than to expect it of me.” He glared at the untouched tea.

  “You returned in a hurry.” Colin eyed him unpleasantly. “Forget something?”

  “Indeed. Do you plan on drinking any tea before you leave?”

  “Yes, do have some,” Melinda said immediately. How dare she so blatantly show her preference for Colin?

  And the traitor, who should have slinked away with his tail between his legs, thanked her and helped himself to a rout drop-cake, as if he intended to stay as long as he bloody well pleased. Melinda poured a dish of tea and passed it to him, her hand trembling a little. Served her right.

  Ha! So that pause when he’d asked about how she knew Colin had indeed meant something, and her explanation—Stephen’s boyhood friend, school holidays, and so on― was the best she’d been able to come up with in a hurry.

  Miles stomped to the door and called for pencil and paper and a footman. He took a chair across from the two lovebirds and crossed his arms. A minute later, Mrs. Timms scurried in with the pencil and paper, as well as another dish and saucer. Miles scrawled a quick note and gave it to the footman with instructions to deliver it. The family lawyer could arrange for the special license; it seemed Miles had to stay home and guard his wife-to-be.

  Melinda poured more tea and offered it to Miles, and although he was tempted to refuse, something in her expression gave him pause. Oh, come now! Surely she didn’t think he was fooled by that air of innocent confusion…

  Unless she really was as bewildered as she seemed. He took the tea with a mumbled word of thanks. If she had told the truth—easily verified, by the way―why shouldn’t she be on easy terms with Colin? They were old friends. Childhood friends, and surely she could be forgiven for seeking comfort in the familiar, when everything in her life had suddenly changed. There was nothing in it, and he trusted Colin—or at least he’d thought he did until now.

  How sickening not to have faith in the cousin who had stood firmly behind him in his darkest hour. He didn’t want to be the sort of man to put such a jealous guard about his wife that she couldn’t even laugh with another man. He didn’t even have the excuse of being stupidly in love. What was wrong with him?

  Fear, that’s what it was.

  Fear of being made a fool of. Fear of being cuckolded again. Fear that he might be about to marry a woman who’d taken flirtatious ways too far and was carrying another man’s child—although he had no reason to suppose that, save for some nonsense from that idiot Bottleford. Damn, he was truly becoming unhinged.

  Colin finally finished his tea and stood. “A word with you, Miles, before I go.”

  Miles scowled at his cousin, but he could hardly refuse. He waited while Colin said far too sympathetic adieux to Melinda and then led him upstairs to the library. He shut the door. “What the devil do you want?”

  Colin glared. “How dare you imagine that I would dally with your betrothed behind your back?”

  “You dally with many women,” Miles retorted. “You’re far too familiar with her. What else am I to think?”

  “That she’s like a sister to me. If you make her unhappy, you’ll have to answer not only to Edward and Stephen Starling, but to me as well.”

  Miles said nothing, hating being such a fool.

  “You’re comparing her to Desiree, aren’t you? Well, stop it, or you’ll ruin any chance you have of a tolerable marriage.”

  I know, thought Miles miserably.

  “She’s nothing like Desiree and she doesn’t deserve to be stuck with you.”

  Miles had had enough. “And I don’t deserve to have to marry her,” he retorted. “Go away, Colin. Innocent or not, keep your hands off my wife.”

  He saw Colin out and returned to the drawing room where Melinda sat before a dish of untouched tea, reading a book about rose gardening. She startled when she saw him and watched his approach with wide, troubled eyes.

  He’d frightened her. He was a cur to have done so, but he didn’t intend to apologize, because that would involve explanations he wasn’t prepared to give. He would simply have to start afresh. “Shall I ask Mrs. Timms to bring more tea?”

  “Oh.” Surprise lit her face; she must have expected him to scold. “Why, yes. Thank you.”

  He rang for Mrs. Timms and they sat across from one another in uneasy silence.

  “Do you enjoy gardening?” he asked at last.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I have planted bulbs in pots, but I’ve never tended a real garden.”

  “There is a beautiful rose garden at Garrison House,” he said. “My estate in Lancashire.”

  “How
lovely,” she said without enthusiasm.

  “My gardener will be happy to teach you anything you like.” The gardener was as old as Methuselah and therefore not a threat. Miles cursed himself for a fool. Next he’d be dismissing any footman under the age of fifty.

  “How very kind,” she said. Evidently she didn’t wish to talk to him, and he couldn’t blame her.

  He picked up the Morning Post and pretended to read it. She resumed her perusal of the gardening book. At last the tea was brought. She poured for both of them, and her hand no longer trembled.

  “I asked my lawyer to take care of getting the special license,” he said.

  “As to that,” she said, “I must speak to you privately.”

  This sounded ominous. Had she changed her mind? He wouldn’t be surprised. He should be relieved at the prospect, but anger surged up instead. He closed the drawing room door and returned to his chair. “What is it?”

  She blenched. He must mend his tone. Even in his tortured state of mind, he recognized the wisdom of Colin’s warning. She had described him as kind and considerate to Lord Bottleford, but he was proving to be just the opposite. No wonder she didn’t want him.

  She bit her lip. “I really don’t think we should marry tomorrow.”

  Maybe she and Colin had already arranged an assignation. Maybe she wanted a last dalliance before being tied down—not that Colin ever balked at sleeping with a married woman.