Wedded for His Secret Child

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Not happily—I assure you. I enjoyed watching you—although I found it difficult seeing you dance with one gentleman after another. I trust you behaved yourself before I thought it was time to claim you for myself. You have the most disconcerting ability to look like an enchanting ingenue one minute and an alluring, sophisticated woman the next.’

  ‘Oh! I’m not sure how to take that.’

  ‘It was intended as a compliment,’ he assured her, smiling slightly. ‘You must forgive me for not making it plain. I’m out of the habit of bestowing compliments on beautiful women.’

  ‘Then I can only hope you renew the habit. I rather enjoy being complimented.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

  When they arrived at the house, pleading tiredness, she declined Laurence’s suggestion that she stay and have a glass of wine and excused herself. Earlier she had told Daisy not to wait up for her, that the hour would be late and she could manage to undress herself. The bed was turned down and her nightdress laid out. Quickly she divested herself of her clothes and slipped beneath the sheets. She was drifting on the edge of sleep when she had a strange feeling of someone entering the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Melissa’s eyes snapped open. In the dim light from the lamp she had left burning, she was surprised to see Laurence. Having come through the connecting door, he was leaning against the door frame. He’d divested himself of his evening clothes and wore his robe, his arms crossed over his chest. With his tousled dark hair he unerringly drew her gaze as he stood motionless, his attention riveted on her.

  Her head fuddled with sleep, she struggled to sit up. ‘Laurence! What are you doing here?’ Her mind was in complete turmoil. ‘It’s very late. You really should be in bed.’

  Laurence’s expression didn’t change as he shrugged himself away from the door and slowly strode to a comfortable armchair close to the bed, one where there was no obstruction to the sight of her. Melissa watched him intently, unable to read his expression, but she sensed something was troubling him. She could smell brandy and his eyes were piercing bright.

  ‘Why are you here, Laurence?’ she repeated.

  ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘At this hour? Won’t it keep until morning?’

  ‘No. It has to be now—while it is on my mind.’

  ‘What—what is it?’

  ‘It’s about Alice—my first wife.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Making herself more comfortable, she resigned herself to listening to what he had to say. She had waited too long for him to do that—she wasn’t going to send him away. Perhaps after he’d told her, things would improve between them. ‘What was she really like? Please, tell me.’

  ‘I have no doubt Eliza has already told you something about her.’

  ‘A little, but I cannot form an opinion about someone I didn’t know.’

  ‘I would spare you the unsavoury details if I could, but I want there to be truth and honesty between us. The more you know of her the better you will understand.’

  ‘I understand she was very beautiful—I saw the evidence with my own eyes in the painting of her.’

  ‘Yes, she was. Coming from a family of moderate means, she enjoyed the trappings of my success, but she soon became bored—particularly when my business affairs sent me away for long periods and when she was at Winchcombe, away from the London social scene. We were overjoyed when Toby was born, but it soon soured and she began wanting more. Alice’s idea of marriage did not include the concept of fidelity. She was unfaithful and made no secret of the fact.’

  ‘I thought that in most aristocratic houses adultery was taken for granted, always provided, of course, the affair is conducted with discretion.’

  ‘Not in my house and not when the other party was known to me. Neither of them took the trouble to conceal the affair.’

  ‘And—Toby?’

  ‘He was mine. I am sure of that. You must have seen the likeness in the painting of him.’

  ‘Yes. He was the image of you—and he had that curious little birthmark which Violet has—almost in the same place.’

  He nodded. ‘Exactly. My father had it also. When I failed to provide Alice with the excitement she craved, she began her affair before Toby was out of the cradle.’

  ‘Would I be right in thinking her lover was Gerald Mortimer?’

  His lips twisted with bitterness. ‘You are very perceptive, Melissa. Yes, in answer to your question, it was.’

  ‘I suspected as much. That is the reason for the enmity between you.’

  ‘Before she became acquainted with me—or perhaps I should say my wealth—it was assumed she would marry Mortimer. She used to come down to Surrey with Eliza and Antony, which was when I met her. When they resumed their affair it soon became common knowledge. I never could come to accept it.’

  ‘Did she expect you to?’

  ‘She told me I should be more open minded, otherwise my possessiveness would destroy our marriage.’ His mouth tightened. ‘I suppose I should feel pity for Mortimer, for he was a pitiful figure, but I don’t. I could never forgive him for what he did. I began to hate him, blaming him for everything that happened. That’s not very admirable of me, I’ll admit, but that’s the way I feel. I have good reason.’

  ‘It’s understandable.’

  ‘Alice told me to pursue my own interests without interference from her. We fought constantly—right up to her death. When she died she was leaving me for Mortimer—taking Toby with her.’

  He fell silent and Melissa dropped her eyes in remorse for making him feel that he had to open up to her, to speak about his wife and her lover, reopening old wounds. ‘I’m so sorry, Laurence,’ she said quietly, ‘but thank you for telling me.’

  She took a steadying breath. It was hard to believe how his disclosure wounded her, as if she were the one who had been betrayed. To discover that his wife had a lover while she was married to Laurence—she felt as if a knife had been thrust into her chest. She could not fail to be moved by his past. It was hard to resist wanting to hold this beautiful, tormented man to her breast and offer him comfort. All her own insecurities came rushing back with disturbing force. Laurence hadn’t wanted to marry her—certain he didn’t love her. It was clear he was still trying to bury the demons that tormented him, but what then? Would he do as his first wife suggested and feel free to pursue these other interests? How could she hope to hold on to the affection of a man who could no doubt have any woman who caught his eye?

  Standing up, Laurence moved to the bed, looking down at her. ‘Perhaps it was my fault that she sought companionship elsewhere.’

  Melissa smiled up at him, a smile that hid her uncertainties. ‘Don’t blame yourself. Would things have been different if you had stayed at home more?’

  ‘Perhaps not. Alice would never have been satisfied. When I first met you I was still in mourning. I was lost and angry. I didn’t know myself any more.’

  ‘You were grieving. You had lost your son. To grieve is a natural process when you have lost someone you love.’

  ‘Yes—that, too. I still am. The only thing I felt I had left in my life was work—it was at the beginning of the unrest in France. It’s how I coped.’

  Melissa knew this. Sometimes she heard him moving about his room in the night. Now she knew why. It was because he was unable to close his mind to the ghost of his son that invaded each night.

  ‘If I could give everything away to have Toby back, I would, in the blink of an eye, because for the first time in my life I wasn’t in control. The intense grief I suffered over Toby’s death has lessened with time—I no longer feel adrift without an anchor, in a sea of despair, but it still has the power to attack me now and then. Nothing meant anything at all in the face of what I’d lost. But now,’ he went on, ‘you have given me Violet—giving me what I needed without meaning to. Ju
st by existing she has taught me to love something beyond my son and I can’t stand the thought of losing what I have found.’

  ‘You won’t,’ she told him, wishing with all her heart that he had included her in his statement.

  ‘At that stage I had no idea how long term the devastation to my life would be.’

  ‘I understand,’ Melissa said. ‘And I know you must find it hard to trust any woman after what Alice did to you. I can see that the prospect of putting your faith in someone must seem daunting. You have to take it one day at a time. I’m sorry if I’ve made it difficult for you.’

  ‘You haven’t. I realise now that I have no desire to spend the rest of my life alone. For what it’s worth you are nothing like Alice.’

  ‘No, Laurence, I’m not at all like her. I have no intention of leaving you or having an affair with another man. I can see that you still carry your hurt and bitterness around with you.’

  Laurence’s smile was one of cynicism. ‘Does it show all that much?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it does.’

  ‘There are some things, Melissa, that cannot easily be put aside.’

  ‘I know that and I wouldn’t expect you to. But your marriage to Alice and what happened between you two is in the past and belongs there. Just like our own encounter at the Spring Gardens is now in the past. But at least one good thing came out of it: Violet. She isn’t going anywhere, Laurence. I promise you that.’

  He moved closer to her, reaching out and touching her cheek with the tips of his fingers. ‘You are right and I adore her unashamedly.’ He smiled softly. ‘You had everyone eating out of your hand tonight. Be prepared to be inundated with invitations to attend this and that by every notable family in London.’

  Melissa grimaced. ‘Really? I don’t think I’m ready for that.’

  ‘That’s good because they will be disappointed.’

  ‘On? Why is that?’

  ‘It’s necessary for me to leave for Plymouth shortly—I’m expecting one of my ships coming into port so I must be there. I’m going to whisk you and Violet down to Winchcombe in a day or so. I think it’s time you went down to Surrey. You will enjoy getting to know your new home while I’m away.’

  ‘I would like that,’ she said, although she would miss him when he had to leave. ‘How long do you expect to be away?’

  ‘A week—possibly more.’

  Melissa watched him. All her thoughts suddenly fled as he took her hand and carried it to his lips, kissing her fingers lingeringly. She understood the sudden heated look of desire in his silver-grey eyes. He wanted her.

  ‘I have no wish to return to my room, Melissa.’ His gaze shifted to the empty space beside her before settling on her lovely face. Whenever he thought of his wife his thoughts had a habit of turning to lust. ‘I often think about the couple of times we have made love. I am impatient to repeat what we did.’

  The suggestiveness of his husky tone made Melissa’s heartbeat quicken. He couldn’t be so disenchanted by her if he was talking about what would happen when he climbed into bed with her. Unconscious of the vision she presented leaning against the pillows with her hair tumbling over her shoulders in loose disarray, Melissa’s cheeks flamed, but at the same time her heart missed a beat.

  ‘I fear the nearness of you might soon destroy my good intentions—although if that should happen, I hope you would not object to any actions that follow.’

  Melissa’s colour deepened. The quiet emotion in his voice startled her and she averted her eyes. It was a challenge, softly said, and she found herself clasping her hands in front of her in an attempt to keep them from trembling. For the time they had been in London, his intention was to put on a grand front and she had done the same. But how easy it would be to let appearances slip into reality and for her to allow him back into her bed. Even if none of the gentler emotions such as love were present, could they not still have a good marriage?

  Aware of her confusion, he took a step back. ‘When you have need of my services, feel free to knock on the connecting door. You will find your husband more than willing to share your bed.’ He chuckled softly. ‘Your cheeks are flushed, Melissa. Are you unwell?’

  ‘I am perfectly well—although I find myself at a disadvantage. Since I am in bed and you are not, is it your intention to batter my defences and when I am so weakened climb into my bed?’

  Laurence smiled inwardly. ‘I believe I have got the measure of you, my lovely wife. I know that your outward demeanour is no indication of how you feel inside. You are a clever woman, granted, but you have not yet learned that resistance, or indeed any kind of opposition, only turns me in the other direction from the one which you might want me to take. The night we met, I remember you telling me it was your birthday.’

  Surprised by the question, she glanced at him warily, wondering where the conversation was heading. ‘Yes. My eighteenth.’

  ‘A naive and virginal eighteen,’ Laurence murmured, his gaze on her still-flushed face.

  ‘Yes, I was—until I set eyes on a certain gentleman.’

  ‘And you suddenly thought you were in love.’

  She looked at him in helpless consternation. ‘Yes, I did—I was sure of it—even though I was sexually illiterate.’

  He laughed softly. ‘I imagine passion is supposed to be the characteristic of most eighteen-year-old girls. Aren’t all young ladies supposed to be in love at that age?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can only speak for myself.’

  An explicable, lazy smile swept over his face. ‘And when I came along and gave you your first lesson, was I a good teacher, do you think?’

  A fresh blush stained her smooth cheeks. ‘I don’t know. I had nothing to compare you with.’

  ‘Of course you hadn’t. My motives weren’t noble—although they were adult and perfectly natural,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t like it that you keep yourself from me, Melissa. The situation cannot continue.’

  ‘You would force me?’ she retorted crossly.

  Laurence threw up his hands impatiently. Her attitude had suddenly turned to defiance and that head-held-high hauteur she flaunted whenever she thought she was in the right. ‘You know I would never do that. But four weeks we have been married. How much longer do you need? I consider myself a married man, not a monk. You are my wife and one day you will—I hope—bear me more children. Resisting the inevitable is like swimming against the tide. Perhaps if you were to itemise your grievances as to why you prefer to sleep alone, we could discuss them and come to an understanding.’

  ‘I have no grievances to speak of. When we married, you were a virtual stranger to me and I knew very little about marriage—even less about being a wife. All I asked was that you give me time to get used to the situation.’

  ‘For how long?’ he retorted sarcastically. ‘A month—six?’

  Melissa sighed and shook her head slowly. ‘You’re angry, Laurence. I’m sorry if I’ve made you so.’

  ‘Angry, no—frustrated, yes,’ he uttered, striving to keep his raw hungry need for her at bay. ‘In the beginning I wronged you, true, so wreak your vengeance on me if you must, but then be done with it and let me hear no more about it.’

  ‘If you think that, then you could not be further from the truth. I do not wreak vengeance on you, Laurence. It has never entered my head. I have no cause to do that.’

  ‘Then for what reason do you still hold me off?’

  She sat up straight. ‘I’m just cautious. I am a woman—my own woman, Laurence—and it’s difficult sharing a man whose mind is filled with thoughts of another woman.’

  ‘Another woman? And who might that be?’

  ‘Alice.’

  His lips twisted in a semblance of a smile. ‘Careful, Melissa. You are beginning to sound unpleasantly like a jealous wife.’

  ‘No, Laurence. I am not jealous of a dead woman.
But I feel she will always be there—between us.’

  He stood and looked at her, seeming bemused by her reply and unable to understand the logic of what she said. ‘If you think that, then you are very much mistaken. It is now nearly three years since Alice died. You must not think of her as an impediment to our marriage. She will not be a shadow who will step upon your heels unless you let her. What do I have to do to convince you that you have a special place here, in this house and in my life?’ On that note he disappeared into his own room, closing the door firmly behind him.

  Melissa stared at the closed door, wondering what he was doing on the other side. Suddenly it came to her that she wanted to know, that she wanted to be with him, to sample the delights they could share in his own bed. The intimacy of their last coming together blazed across her mind and she found she had no control over her own thoughts.

  Closing her eyes tightly, she was determined to sleep, but she had tasted the sweetness of his seduction—she knew the long, sleek length of his body, the firmness of his thighs pressed to her own and she desperately wanted to experience all that again. With a sense of urgency and without further thought, throwing back the covers she swung her slender legs over the side of the bed and strode towards the door her husband had disappeared through just moments ago.

  * * *

  Pouring himself a large brandy, Laurence stood by the window looking out, hoping to quell the familiar burning need for Melissa which had risen in his loins. It was easy to forget he hadn’t wanted to marry her. What was difficult was controlling his physical reactions to her nearness. An exercise in fortitude, he thought wryly, that he had found exceedingly trying. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand this living arrangement.

  She was possessed of a strong determination, was waywardly confident and showed a capacity to think for herself. He admired her sweetness and her honesty and she made him laugh. He stared into the deep purple-blackness of the night, drinking deep of the brandy as he began to marshal his thoughts with a precision taught him by years of doing business with gentlemen and rogues alike. He had a choice to make. Either he could go on living in the past, or give in to the ever-strengthening bond between him and Melissa.