For the moment, Melinda gave up on trying to understand him. She went to bed early and indulged herself by staying up half the night, wasting candles and reading to her heart’s content.
She slept late the next morning and rang for a maid to help her dress. Almost guiltily, she went downstairs to the dining parlor, but no one scolded her; on the contrary, Mrs. Timms cosseted her. “His lordship requested me to do all I can do ease your discomfort,” she said. “For a mere man, he is most understanding of a woman’s monthly indisposition.”
She made herself available for whenever her new mistress wished to go over the house. Miles had already eaten and gone into his library, so Melinda thanked Mrs. Timms and breakfasted slowly in blissful solitude, reading her novel as she ate.
What a pleasure to break Grandmama’s rules. What an absolute delight to be free of her forever.
Chapter 7
While Mrs. Timms conducted Melinda from attic to cellar, Miles went next door to visit his five-year-old daughter and her governess. He didn’t know for sure whether Rebecca was his child, but the girl’s parentage wasn’t her fault. If he had anything to do with it, she would not grow up to be like her mother.
Desiree’s death soon after giving birth had been a relief to all concerned. Her family had perforce stopped hounding him to marry her, and after a while he’d become slightly less of a social outcast with the gentlemen of his acquaintance, not that he cared by that point. He knew who his friends were, and be damned to the rest.
Despite the insistent pleas of both his aunt and housekeeper, he’d refused to foster the girl out. He’d found Mrs. Rawley, a reliable widow from one of his estates, to serve as Rebecca’s nursemaid, and had set them up in the house next door. He’d visited regularly and watched the girl grow. She resembled Desiree too much for comfort, and him not at all, as far as he could see, but he’d grown to care for her all the same.
Officially, she was the child of a fictitious cousin who lived in India but had left his daughter in England for the sake of her health. Someday, when Rebecca had reached the age of discretion, Miles would tell her he was her father. It might be a lie, but a necessary one; better him than a footman or some other, nameless man. He would provide her with a substantial dowry and find her a decent husband.
He had hired Miss Jenks, the governess, only a month before, because Mrs. Rawley had requested some leave to visit her daughter. In any event, it was high time Rebecca began to acquire the accomplishments of a lady. Miss Jenks was prim and proper, which he assumed was desirable in a governess, and agreed with everything he said, which he found more irritating every time he saw her. Surely she must have some opinions of her own.
But he was used to toad-eaters and those who stood in awe of his status, so he intended to give her a reasonable amount of time to adjust. Besides that, she was a cousin of Mrs. Timms and undoubtedly respectable. Perhaps she would be more at ease in a less exalted household—such as with the foster parents he was now obliged to choose for Rebecca.
Except that the more he thought about it, the less he liked the idea of fostering her out. He shouldn’t have to choose between his wife and daughter.
Miss Jenks curtseyed. “Good day, my lord,” she said in her tight-lipped way. “Curtsey to his lordship, Rebecca dear.”
With a frown of concentration, the child obeyed. Miles bowed solemnly. “Very ladylike, Rebecca-love,” he told her. He didn’t see much difference between this curtsey and what she’d learned from Mrs. Rawley, but evidently Rebecca did, for relief crossed her worried little brow. “Miss Jenks has taught you very well.”
Judging by the shadow that now entered her eyes, Rebecca wasn’t so pleased at that. She looked a little paler than usual, he thought; he should suggest that they take more walks in the nearby square.
“But then, you have always been a graceful child,” he added. Much like her mother, whose lithe grace had been one of her greatest charms—but while it was perfectly proper for Rebecca to grow up to be an attractive woman, she mustn’t abuse her feminine attributes as Desiree had. He would make certain she grew up to be a well-bred lady.
“Don’t you agree, Miss Jenks?” he asked, just for the fun of it. Better to be amused at her than annoyed.
Miss Jenks widened her eyes. She opened her pursed lips just enough to reply, “Why yes, of course, my lord. A most graceful child.”
Rebecca’s sullen look deepened. He didn’t understand why but judged it best to ignore this lapse from propriety.
With the slightest crease of her brows, Miss Jenks said, “Now, Rebecca dear, what were you to say to his lordship today? It was something particularly special.”
Rebecca pursed her mouth in unfortunate imitation of the governess and said, “Congratulations on your marriage, my lord. I wish you very happy.”
Miss Jenks nodded her prim approbation.
“Thank you, Rebecca,” Miles said. “You are most kind.” He smiled at her to end the oppressive formality. “Now tell me, what did you learn this week?”
Miss Jenks widened her eyes again, this time at Rebecca, who replied, “My ABCs and 123s.”
“Tsk,” Miss Jenks said. “Rebecca can do much better than that. She has learned to count to twenty in both French and Italian. Recite for his lordship, my dear.”
Rebecca clasped her hands at her chest and got through the French easily enough, but when it came to Italian, she screwed up her sweet little face and lost her way at cinque. The governess waited. Rebecca did her best not to burst into tears. Miss Jenks tsked again.
“I’m very, very sorry,” Rebecca said, her voice trembling. “I should have learned it better.”
Miles remembered being forced to recite at school, and his own struggles with Latin and Greek. “Nonsense, my love. One language at a time is plenty.” He hoped. Usually, this sort of decision was the province of one’s wife . . . but not when it came to one’s illegitimate children. “Forget the Italian for now. You may try again in a couple of years.”
Miss Jenks allowed a tinge of disapproval to cross her face, but needless to say, she didn’t attempt to disagree. A maid brought in cakes and tea. His daughter had an excellent appetite. So did Miss Jenks, so Miles appropriated the last cake and offered it to Rebecca. Then he asked Miss Jenks to give him some time alone with the girl. Reluctantly, he thought, the governess left, shutting the door softly behind her.
“You’re missing Mrs. Rawley, aren’t you, love?” Miles asked.
Rebecca nodded. “When is she coming back?”
“Soon,” he said. “But you’re growing up now. You can’t have a nursemaid forever.”
Rebecca’s lip wobbled. “I don’t like Miss Jenks,” she whispered.
Miles didn’t like her much either, but she was all they had at the moment. Under other circumstances, he might have dismissed Miss Jenks and put Rebecca under the temporary care of Mrs. Timms, but that was impossible now.
“And she doesn’t like me,” Rebecca went on.
“I don’t think that’s true,” Miles said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “She’s trying to get used to you, just as you’re trying to get used to her. Sometimes that takes a while. You’ll have to try harder, love.”
Rebecca slumped. “Yes, my lord.” What a pity she couldn’t say, Yes, Papa. How strange; he’d never had such a thought before. It must have to do with being married now, and expecting to father more children, legitimate this time.
“Obey Miss Jenks, do your best, and you’ll make me proud of you.” He kissed her and left.
Did what he felt for Rebecca amount to love? He certainly cared for her. If that was love, he might be willing to believe in it.
But that didn’t mean he would believe in love when it came to his new wife. He desired her, needless to say. But he was also, he realized with surprise, looking forward to
their visit to the fabric warehouses and a drive in the park the next day. He wanted her beside him. He wanted to show her off to the world. He also wanted her to see him as a cooperative, supportive husband. If he persisted in kindness and consideration, perhaps she would cleave unto him as she had sworn the day before.
In spite of only pretending she loved him, in spite of shuddering at the prospect of their marriage, she’d sounded as if she meant her vows. He had certainly meant his—or wanted to. Quite desperately longed to, as a matter of annoying fact. He didn’t relish either the longing or the desperation. He had avoided such stupid emotions for years and didn’t intend to burden himself with them now. Loving a child was one thing—perhaps necessary to ensure her the best of care. Loving a woman was sheer folly.
As it chanced, Melinda wasn’t up to a trip to the fabric warehouses. It seemed her courses sometimes caused her intense fatigue. Guilt gnawed at Miles, not so much for having suspected that she might be pregnant by another man, but for verifying her condition with Mrs. Timms. He’d done it slyly by asking the housekeeper to take particular care of Melinda under the circumstances, knowing the woman would let him know immediately if Melinda had lied…which she hadn’t. To atone, he made a trip to Rundell and Bridge, where he purchased a bracelet of sapphires in a silver setting.
“Miles, how lovely!” Melinda cried when he presented it to her. Her blushes and obvious pleasure didn’t quite kill the gnawing of his conscience, but it encouraged him to think she didn’t dislike him quite as much as he’d feared. That she might welcome his advances when the time came.
He knew how to seduce a woman—and how to satisfy one, too. He’d been a careless sort of rake at first, but after Desiree, he’d made a point of learning such skills via a series of actresses and opera dancers. It hadn’t helped him understand why, or even whether he’d gone wrong with Desiree, but at least he was less ignorant now.
At five minutes past five the next day, Miles and Melinda trotted down the street in his new black-and-silver curricle pulled by a pair of matched greys. Now that she had her own clothing, Melinda had donned a highly fashionable blue walking dress and bonnet.
Miles’s valet, who foresaw a more interesting future where sartorial matters were concerned, had dressed him with particular care in a green coat and tan pantaloons that not only were the latest in fashion, but drew Melinda’s repeated gaze.
“This equipage is meant to impress,” she said. “It looks splendid and so do we, I think.”
“You certainly do. That gown and bonnet are the perfect match for your eyes.”
She flushed gratifyingly. “I heard your valet fussing as you left your bedchamber.” Her eyes flitted to the juncture of his thighs and away again—how encouraging.
He chuckled. “He rarely gets to show off his skill. I didn’t object to being fussed over, since we are driving out expressly to be noticed, and to show ourselves to be a splendidly happy couple.”
Melinda grimaced. “I don’t think I convinced my grandmother of anything.”
“Forget about her,” Miles said, having decided to do so himself. “Today our goal is to show the rest of the world. It will give our friends a chance to congratulate us, and the gossips can stare and speculate all they like.”
“It will take a while to get past the scandal,” Melinda sighed. “Many people may snub us.”
“Most likely. Some will never unbend, but we should consider that their problem, not ours.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It may not be, but since it’s too late to avoid being scandalous, we may as well enjoy it.”
She smiled. “You sound just like Lady Paulding.”
Something about Melinda made him want to smile, too, and to enjoy life. “She’s something, isn’t she? If we told her the truth, she would advise us to prove the naysayers wrong, the ones who whisper behind their hands and gleefully predict every kind of disaster.”
“I have never understood why some people enjoy wishing others ill,” Melinda said. “I expect that from Grandmama, for she hates me, but not from others. What have we done to harm them?”
“We didn’t go through the usual procedures of courtship. We didn’t follow society’s rules.”
“I have tried to follow the rules all my life and I am sick and tired of it,” she said roundly. “And yet one can’t ignore them completely, or life becomes awfully uncomfortable.”
He guided the greys between two wagons. “Precisely, which reminds me . . . putting on an act worked well enough in a pinch, but now that we’re married, we should take a different approach.”
“Which is?”
“We should get to know one another,” he said.
She huffed. “Obviously we’ll do that.”
“By means of flirtation.”
That delicate flush arose in her cheeks again. “I beg your pardon?”
“Think about it. If I were courting you, we would flirt.” He paused to let her absorb the notion. “Wouldn’t we? You must have flirted with many men.” His heart beat painfully at the thought that she might continue to do so.
“Only if I knew they weren’t serious,” she said. “The moment they got that intent expression in their eyes, as if they wanted to steal a-a kiss . . .” Her eyes widened. For a hushed second, her gaze hovered on his lips. Abruptly, she looked away. “I wouldn’t let them.”
“Ah.” He suppressed a smile. “That privilege fell to me, and I seized it most unfairly.”
She took a deep breath. Did she realize how it made her bosom rise and fall? “And if it seemed they were on the verge of making an offer, I stopped flirting straightaway.”
“But that was then and this is now, and you’re already married to me. Think of the next few days as our courtship. We’ll drive in the Park, we’ll perhaps have ices at Gunter’s, we may even get invited to a ball or two, and . . .”
“We’ll flirt.” She glanced at him from under her lashes—at his mouth again—and away.
“But it will be much different from before. Instead of stopping at the first sign of serious intent, you’ll carry on as if your interest is as genuine as mine.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. She toyed with the fingertips of her glove.
“As if it’s leading somewhere,” he said.
Melinda knew perfectly well that he meant the consummation of their marriage, but why must she blush so easily? She’d mentioned that kiss, and all of a sudden she couldn’t keep her eyes away from his mouth. “Which it is,” she said gruffly. There wasn’t much room on the seat of the curricle—enough for the two of them, but very little space between. She’d never flirted with a man in such close proximity before. It certainly added spice to the experience.
As did the undeniable fact that they would only get closer. The unexpected thing was that she genuinely wanted it. Something had happened during, or perhaps since the marriage ceremony. She was Miles’s wife. Nothing could change that, and a feeling of peace and acceptance had come over her, shoving her anxiety to a less important corner of her mind. She was ready to move forward with her new life, and that included bedding her husband.
“So there’s no reason to shy away or give me the cold shoulder or whatever you did to those fellows,” he said. “You may indulge your natural enjoyment of flirtation as much as you like.”
She bristled at that. “Who told you I enjoy flirting?” Then she remembered. “Is it something Lord Bottleford said? He was forever reprimanding me for being too friendly, and saying a lady should maintain a proper distance at all times. To him, that meant ignoring everyone else and listening enraptured while he prosed on and on. And on.” She rolled her eyes. “And on.”
His lips twitched. His eyes gleamed. Something inside her did a strange little flip.
She pulled herself together. He disconcerte
d her without even saying a word. “Who, then? My grandmother?”
“No, I didn’t mean you in particular, but rather one’s natural tendency to flirt with members of the opposite sex. It’s quite primitive, I think—rather like mating rituals of birds or beasts.”
Primitive. What an odd word to use of flirting, which had always seemed a highly civilized behavior until now. And yet . . . how very enticing.
She wanted him to kiss her again.
How fortunate, she thought, that she found his appearance pleasing. That nothing about him, absolutely nothing repulsed her, as most other men had in one way or another. She liked the heat of his large body close beside her and his now-familiar aroma, a mixture of soap and sweat and something indefinably, simply, Miles. She loved his soothing voice . . .
At the moment, his voice didn’t sound soothing at all. It struck a chord deep within her, full of dark, hidden promises. What would bedding him be like?
Pleasurable, she hoped. Adriana enjoyed bedding Edward; from what her sister-in-law let fall, Melinda knew that much. Besides, how complicated could it be? Perhaps she should plan to just lie back and enjoy it.
Delicious quivers traveled through her, settling in her private parts.
“Here we are,” said Miles.
The quivers dissipated as reality set in. She stiffened her spine and looked about her. If people were going to be unkind, she would just have to put up with it.
As usual on a bright spring day during the season, carriages crowded the park. They had barely cleared the entrance when they came to a halt behind a dowager’s barouche.
To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses) Page 11