To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses)

by Monajem, Barbara

  She couldn’t do it. She would have to confess her illegitimate status in front of her brother. As far as she was aware, Edward didn’t know. She couldn’t bear the thought that he might shun her as well. “She’ll say spiteful things a-and wish evil upon me. I don’t want her here.”

  “Nor do I, but I believe we should make this gesture for the sake of appearances. I shall invite my great-aunt, Lady Paulding, as well. Not only will she be ecstatic that I am marrying at last, but she will keep your grandmother so occupied that she won’t have time to scold you.” Miles smiled at her.

  Melinda doubted this. Her face must have shown it, for Lord Garrison added, “If she attempts to do so, I am perfectly capable of having her escorted to her carriage.”

  “I should like to see that,” Melinda said, unable to prevent the beginnings of a smile at the thought of her proud grandmother ushered protesting out the door. Perhaps with Lord Garrison by her side, Grandmama’s presence wouldn’t be quite so daunting. In fact, if she made sure to keep him literally by her side, Grandmama wouldn’t have a chance for any private conversation with him.

  Edward was not amused. “Don’t be foolish, Melinda. Grandmama wants to avoid scandal as much as we do.”

  “She wants to avoid embarrassment,” Melinda retorted. “It’s not the same at all.” Grandmama was perfectly happy to cause embarrassment and far worse. “You know how vengeful she can be if she feels one’s behavior reflects badly on her.” She knew Edward couldn’t deny that.

  “I suppose we shall have to set it about that you fell madly in love with Lord Garrison,” Edward said.”

  Must he say it in such a tone, as if the notion was absurd? Just because she didn’t love Lord Garrison, it didn’t mean he wasn’t a lovable man. “That’s an excellent idea. You may tell Grandmama that I ran away with him on purpose. She won’t have any problem believing that, because she always predicted I would come to a bad end.” She felt herself coloring and gave her future husband an apologetic glance. “I didn’t mean to suggest that marrying you was coming to a bad end, my lord, but Grandmama will see it that way.”

  “I’m accustomed to being thought of as a bad end,” Lord Garrison drawled. “Yet again, we have something in common.”

  Edward ignored him. “We shall say that since you knew the entire family would do their best to prevent the marriage, you decided to elope. Unfortunately, you became ill and at first tried to return home, but when no one heard your knocking, Lord Garrison brought you here instead.”

  “To ensure the success of my evil scheme,” Lord Garrison said. Nobly, Edward ignored this, too.

  “So Lord Garrison’s housekeeper could nurse me,” Melinda corrected. “His very correct housekeeper, who is a model of propriety.”

  “Nobody will care about that,” Edward said. “They will assume the housekeeper, like any other servant, will do or say what her master requires.” He cast a glance at Lord Garrison, one which Melinda couldn’t interpret. “However, it’s the best we can manage. I’ll send for my lawyer as well.”

  The men moved on to discussing the settlements, but with such mutual antagonism that by the time the lawyers arrived, Melinda’s headache had returned. Since she also had abdominal cramps, she retired to bed with a cup of peppermint tea and the rose gardening book.

  One advantage of this marriage occurred to her. Starting tomorrow, she would have a sizeable amount of pin money and no one telling her which books she was permitted to read. The first chance she got, she intended to go to Hatchard’s and buy a dozen new novels of the sort Grandmama despised.

  Not only that, she intended to make Grandmama—and the entire ton—believe she really had chosen to marry Lord Garrison. That she was delighted with her new husband. That the bad end she had come to wasn’t bad at all, but on the contrary, just what she’d always wished for.

  She hoped he didn’t have a mistress. She’d been on the verge of crying off, but he’d been so vigorous in his defense of her, forcing Edward to back down, that she’d been unable to do so. Nor did she dare bring up the topic again.

  Most men had mistresses, sooner or later. She shouldn’t make a fuss. As long as her husband was kind and considerate, she couldn’t expect more.

  Or so she tried to tell herself.

  She and her betrothed dined together, discussing such homely matters as redecorating the house and hiring more servants. “We’ll need a butler,” he said, “and a lady’s maid for you, and whatever other servants Mrs. Timms deems necessary. However, since the season will soon be over and we’ll go to the country for the summer, I suggest that we make do with the minimum for now.”

  “Very well, my lord,” she said.

  The number of servants didn’t matter when she was on the verge of taking such a momentous step. The mystery of Lord Garrison’s past lurked constantly at the edge of her thoughts. She didn’t doubt he’d once been a rake; that was common knowledge. As for Lord Bottleford’s prediction of abandonment, it was just another of his idiotic notions and nothing to do with the past. Lord Garrison could just as easily have left Melinda to her fate, if he’d been that sort of man.

  Perhaps he was reformed. That didn’t mean he had no mistress. Regardless, she’d made up her mind, and she wouldn’t back out and run to Edward—and Grandmama.

  They were in the drawing room, she drinking tea whilst he indulged in that horrid gentlemen’s drink, port, when he suddenly said, “Why did you ask whether I have a mistress?”

  She started, but pulled herself together. “Because you don’t care whether or not we consummate our marriage.”

  He set his wineglass down. “Whatever gave you that idea?

  She felt herself reddening. “When I told you about my courses, you didn’t look disappointed or even interested. If anything, you seemed relieved.”

  His skin darkened, as if he too was embarrassed.

  “I thought you found me attractive,” she said, “but if you don’t . . .”

  “My dear girl, I wouldn’t have kissed you in the coach if I didn’t find you well-nigh irresistible.”

  A hot blush flooded her. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “But I’m a civilized man, and I have the patience to wait.”

  Abashed and inordinately pleased, all she could say was, “Oh.”

  Two of Edward’s footmen arrived with Melinda’s trunks, bandboxes, and other personal belongings. Sadly, she bade the footmen farewell; she had known them for years and would miss them. She tried to ignore a feeling of being cast off by her own family and dealt with her anxiety by unpacking most of her possessions herself. What a relief to find that Grandmama hadn’t gone through her belongings! The old lady might easily have taken spiteful pleasure in disposing of anything of which she disapproved, or which she thought Melinda cared about. Perhaps she was grimly ignoring Melinda’s existence. Melinda hoped so.

  Even Stephen’s old coat, shirt, and breeches, which Melinda used when stealing out for a midnight ride at home, were still at the bottom of the sewing basket. She had never found a use for them in London, but she’d brought them with her anyway, because the housekeeper in Sussex might have found them and given them away during spring cleaning.

  For the moment Melinda was to remain in her present bedchamber, because the room usually allotted to the lady of the house was in desperate need of refurbishing, or so Mrs. Timms had told her. Something about the way the housekeeper said it made Melinda curious, even suspicious. Perhaps Lord Garrison didn’t want her in a bedchamber that connected with his, although she didn’t understand why. If he truly found her irresistible, wouldn’t he rather have her close at hand?

  Melinda slept fitfully and woke shortly after sunrise. The enormity of the coming day washed over her. She was about to wed a man she scarcely knew, a man with a dreadful reputation. She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but it w
as useless. Round and round went her thoughts from one worry to another, until she threw off the coverlet and got out of bed.

  Her stomach grumbled, but the maid wouldn’t bring her morning chocolate for another hour or two. She donned her wrapper and slippers and tiptoed downstairs through the dim, silent house to the kitchen. She chose two muffins from a basket on the deal table. She took a satisfying bite and headed back up the stairs. When she reached the second floor, she hesitated. Why not take a look at the mistress’s suite herself, before Mrs. Timms did her best to make Melinda’s decisions for her?

  The rooms allotted to the lady of the house were on the same side as Lord Garrison’s, but while his bedchamber faced the street, hers faced the garden. Melinda crept along the passageway, thankful for the runner which muffled her footsteps. Not that she had any reason to fear reprisals if she were caught; in a few hours she would become mistress of the household. Still, sneaking a peek at her future bedroom felt strangely clandestine.

  She reached the door, turned the handle, and went in. The musty air told of a room seldom used. Melinda strode purposefully to the window and opened the curtains wide. The room was twice as large as the one she occupied now. The bed had been stripped of mattress and curtains. A bookcase, a gilt-wood writing table and chair adorned one wall, the dressing table another, while a sofa and two chairs stood before the fireplace, swathed in Holland covers. A door to one side led, she assumed, to a dressing room, and thence to Lord Garrison’s bedchamber.

  Apart from the lack of a mattress, Melinda didn’t see anything truly unacceptable. The rose-bedecked wallpaper was not to Melinda’s taste, and the bare floor needed a carpet. New curtains must be ordered for the bed and perhaps the windows as well. She savored the muffin, considering. None of this would take long to remedy, but perhaps Mrs. Timms was prone to exaggeration.

  In the meantime, the room could do with airing out. As in the bedchamber she now occupied, a door led onto a small balcony. At first the door resisted her attempts to open it, but she worked the handle up and down, tugged hard, and it came free. She stepped out into the foggy morning air. Ivy crawled up the wall, curling onto the balustrade and the hinges, threatening the windows; she had broken a stem of it loose while tugging on the door.

  An unexpected sound disturbed her musings. Someone was weeping—but no sooner had Melinda registered this strange fact than the sound was muffled. She looked about her, wondering . . .

  Only a few feet away, on a similar balcony on the house next door, a small copper-haired girl huddled against the wall amongst a mass of ivy leaves, wide-eyed and tear-stained.

  “Good morning,” Melinda said softly. “I’m Melinda. What’s your name?”

  The child’s eyes flicked towards the interior of the house, then back to Melinda. She put her finger to her lips and whispered, “Rebecca.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, Rebecca,” Melinda said. “You seem upset. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  The child assessed her with wide, wary eyes. Melinda took the last bite of the first muffin and waited. Sometimes children were shy and needed time to decide what to say, and this girl couldn’t be more than four or five years old.

  “I’d love to help, but you’ll have to tell me what’s wrong first,” Melinda coaxed.

  The girl glanced indoors again. “Miss Jenks sent me to bed without supper.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “My belly hurts.”

  Fury roiled up within Melinda. Her grandmother had inflicted that very punishment upon her, too. Fortunately, Melinda had been older than this girl and very resourceful, so she hadn’t gone many nights without food, although she’d had to pretend she had.

  “Here,” she said, holding up the remaining muffin. “Spread out your nightdress like a basket, and I’ll throw the muffin in.”

  The girl’s eyes grew even wider, but she hesitated, her gaze traveling once again toward the interior of the house.

  “I shan’t tell on you,” Melinda said.

  Rebecca gave a half-smile that hinted of mischief, jumped up, and made a creditable basket of her nightdress. Fortunately, playing with her brothers had taught Melinda to throw accurately, and soon Rebecca was devouring the muffin—but that wasn’t enough for a child who’d done without supper. Melinda considered going down to the kitchen for some cheese.

  A squeak sounded from the balcony next door. The child’s frantic eyes fixed on someone below. Swift as light, she whipped into the house and softly shut the door behind her.

  Melinda leaned over the balustrade. It was only Lord Garrison. Rebecca must be terrified of being caught, if she feared that even the gentleman who lived next door would tattle on her. In Melinda’s experience, gentlemen hardly noticed young children. Once the wedding was over and she was settled, she would make the acquaintance of the next-door neighbor. There might be something she could say, or do, to help Rebecca . . .

  She pondered her husband-to-be. He wasn’t doing anything, merely standing there, thinking perhaps. Was he an early riser, or had he, like Melinda, suffered a disturbed night and come home betimes from the coffee house? Was he, too, pondering what face to show the world?

  The cock crowed in the chicken yard. Impulsively, she said, “Good morning, my lord.”

  He whirled, his head jerking up as if on a puppeteer’s string. Pure fury suffused his features. “What the devil are you doing up there?”

  Her face fell.

  Miles struggled to change his expression. Idiot! he chastised himself. That moment of déjà vu—of glorious red hair framing a smiling face—had entirely unmanned him. This was Melinda, not Desiree calling down to him.

  He wasn’t ready to see Melinda in that room yet, although not because of Mrs. Timms’s concern that Rebecca sometimes played on the balcony next door. Mrs. Timms wished to keep Melinda in complete and permanent ignorance of Rebecca’s existence. As usual, when it came to his illegitimate daughter, Miles disagreed. Out of respect for his wife, he should move his daughter elsewhere as soon as possible. He didn’t want Melinda to learn about the child from some malicious gossip or other. He had to be the one to inform her of Rebecca’s existence—once he had fostered her out.

  But no, his reason for keeping Melinda in her current bedchamber was because the memory of a day almost six years ago—the day he’d found Desiree in bed with the three footmen—still rattled him. He’d had a few mistresses in the years since, but those pleasant liaisons hadn’t wiped the bitter, soul-deep anger away.

  He’d been annoyed by Melinda’s friendly relations with Edward Starling’s footmen when they’d brought her clothing the night before. He’d even been suspicious when she’d crept downstairs to the kitchen just now; he had arrived only moments before and watched her from the shadows by the front door to realize that she’d only gone to fetch a couple of muffins.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “You surprised me.” He sought a reasonable explanation for his outburst. “I’m not entirely sure that balustrade is secure.”

  She backed away from the edge. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said, brushing nervously at a curl that had escaped her nighttime plait. “So I—so I thought I might inspect the rooms I am to occupy later, once they are redecorated.”

  “Of course.” He turned abruptly, pacing to the entrance to the mews.

  Damn, he shouldn’t just stalk away, but what could he possibly say to mend matters? He faced her again. She hovered in the doorway, tendrils of her flaming glory whispering about her face, and gazed down at him with an expression of such sadness and confusion that it broke his heart.

  She didn’t believe his excuse; he had frightened her yet again. He must do better.

  Maybe she was hungry. Why else would she take those muffins? “Shall I bring you something to eat? I was about to make myself a pot of tea—your morning chocolate being beyond my meagre talents—and
I’d be happy to bring something up to you.”

  After a pause, she said, “Tea would be lovely, thank you.” She disappeared into the house, and he let out a breath of relief.

  Which was all very well, but he couldn’t afford to turn into an angry bear over nothing. She didn’t want him, but hopefully she would grow to like him and welcome him to her bed. He’d spent the night pondering, among other things, how to approach her sexually. She deserved better than a husband who rampaged in and took what was his due without considering his wife’s enjoyment. He looked forward to getting to know her over the next few days, to seducing her little by little, so that she would welcome him by the time her courses were over.

  There wasn’t much chance of that if she developed a fear of him. There were many ways to drive a woman away, and a hasty temper was one of them. He still didn’t know what had happened with Desiree. She had never, by word or sign, indicated that she didn’t want him anymore. She’d been hungry for passion and he’d been happy to oblige. Unsurprisingly, she’d conceived a child. She’d fled her home to come to him in London, and they had planned a flight to Gretna Green.

  He’d gone out to make preparations for the journey, blowing kisses to her as she stood on the balcony, and had returned to find her naked in that very bedchamber with all three of his footmen.

  One footman would have been bad enough. Three put her utterly beyond the pale, the worse sort of degraded, amoral, whorish―