by Jane Goodger
He’d been surprised when he’d returned to his town house to learn that Charles was waiting for him in his study. He’d gotten out: “Charles, my God, I’m so sorr—” before his friend’s fist hit his jaw with such force, he slammed against the wall. He was momentarily stunned as Charles shook out his hand, looking quite pleased with himself.
“S’pose I deserved that,” John had said, gingerly touching his jaw.
“I suppose you did.”
“I want you to know I went to my father before I knew of your engagement with the intention of offering for her. That’s when my father told me of your plans. I love her.”
“And you don’t think I do?”
John had stepped away from the wall and walked to a side table where he poured two generous portions of brandy. “I know you do. She’s a difficult girl not to love.” He had offered Charles the snifter and been relieved when his friend took the drink.
“Hell, John,” was all Charles had said before tossing it back. Somehow that summed up how both felt about the situation. By the time Charles had left, they had come to an unspoken agreement to remain friends.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I think she’ll be happier with you,” Charles had said.
“I do hope so.” John had offered his hand, and Charles had taken it without hesitating.
It couldn’t have ended better, John thought, even though his jaw ached. Now he could marry Melissa with a freer conscience.
He stepped from the mirror with a sheepish grin on his face when he caught sight of his valet’s frown. “It couldn’t be helped, Walter. Do you think it’ll be gone by week’s end?”
Walter tilted his head and studied the bruise. “Hardly, sir.”
“Hmm. That’s too bad. I’m getting married in five days, and I wanted to look my best.”
Melissa had not seen John all day and was going mad with worry. It seemed so very long ago that she’d sat with Miss Stanhope in the parlor; it was as if she were in some awful state of limbo. It was nine o’clock at night, and no one had disturbed her since she’d removed herself to her rooms several hours ago pleading a headache. The house seemed unusually quiet, the only sounds the distant striking of a grandfather clock that chimed lightly on the quarter hour.
Having spent nearly her entire life confined to a set of rooms, Melissa found it difficult to keep herself cloistered now. She still wore the same dress she’d donned that morning, a mint-green creation that was far more cheerful than she was feeling at the moment. She remained dressed only because she was trying to garner the courage to speak to her uncle herself. If he wouldn’t listen to his son, perhaps he would listen to her.
What if her uncle had convinced John not to marry her? What if he simply could not endure hurting his father? She paced back and forth, chewing on her thumbnail, and stopped suddenly at her door. Staying in her room was solving nothing. She must know what had transpired between her uncle and John. Pulling open her door, she let out a small scream to see a tall man standing outside it.
“Oh, goodness, Uncle, you frightened me near to death,” Melissa said, gasping.
“I could say the same for you,” he said on a laugh. “I was just about to knock when you yanked the door open. I need to speak to you. If you wouldn’t mind coming with me to the library.”
He allowed her to precede him down the hall and stairway, and she used every bit of discipline she had not to ply him with a dozen questions. It was his stern countenance more than anything, however, that kept her silent. He did not seem to be in a jovial mood, and she feared she was about to learn there would be no marriage to John.
When they reached the library, he indicated a chair for her to take. To her surprise, John sat in a matching chair, looking as pensive as she felt. The expression on his face, a mixture of despair and dread, did nothing to make her feel better about this interview. She gave him a tentative smile, which he returned in a rather miserable way, as her uncle sat across from them.
Her uncle looked from one to the other, his eyes steady, his hands folded in front of him, resting lightly on his lap.
“You have my blessing.”
The two remained frozen for a moment, as if not quite believing the words that had just come from the older man’s mouth. Then John leaped up, an expression of complete joy on his face. “Father, do you mean it?”
“No,” her uncle growled. “I don’t. However, it has come to my attention that I may be mistaken. Or at least that I should allow you to find out for yourselves what I found out years ago. So while I am not pleased with this outcome, I give you leave to marry and make yourselves miserable in five years’ time. Or sooner.”
John walked over to his father, and Lord Braddock stood as the two men gave each other a hearty embrace. John grabbed his father’s head roughly and said in a jagged voice, “Thank you, Father.”
Then John turned to Melissa, a broad smile on his handsome face, and she flew into his arms with a squeal of pure joy. She kissed his cheek soundly, then pushed back, feeling happier than she could ever remember. Turning to her uncle, she smiled up at him, knowing he was struggling mightily not to smile. “Thank you, Uncle. I shall make it my life’s work to prove you wrong about love.”
“Hmph.”
“Oh, come now, Father. You cannot remain so cynical when proof of the existence of love is standing in front of you.”
“I simply see two fools,” he said with a grumpiness that seemed rather forced.
John reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a ring, showing it first to his father. “If I may, Father,” he said. George looked at the ring with a wistful smile.
“Of course,” he said gruffly.
And then John got down on bended knee, making Melissa laugh in delight. “Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
“I would,” she said with a firm nod.
“Father, turn away. I’m going to give my fiancée a rather improper kiss.”
“Why don’t I simply leave the room? For no more than five minutes,” he ended with a warning note.
Once his father had left, John pulled Melissa into his arms and gave her a deep kiss that made her legs go weak. “It was my grandmother’s ring,” he said. “And by all accounts, she loved my grandfather until the day she died.”
Melissa gazed down at the beautiful ring, a large oval emerald surrounded by diamonds. “I could tell it held great meaning for your father. Thank you.” She brought her head up for another kiss. “I want to make love with you,” she whispered against his lips, teasing him into another smile.
“As do I. Which is why I spent today obtaining a special license. Will five days be enough time to prepare?”
“Miss Stanhope will kill me,” she said, but she was grinning. She simply couldn’t stop it. “And if she doesn’t kill me then the modiste will. I don’t know if it’s possible to have a gown readied in time.”
“It will be ready,” he said firmly, pulling her to him for another staggering kiss. “I’m afraid if I have to wait any longer to have you, I will perish.”
Melissa let out a laugh. “You will not die, John.”
“I will. I can wait five days to have you, but no more.”
The door opened without warning, and George glared at the happy couple, who reluctantly stepped back from their embrace. “We’re to be wed in five days, Father.”
“Impossible,” Lord Braddock said.
“I’ve already obtained a special license,” John said, waving the document triumphantly. “Which, by the way, was no easy task.”
“Don’t you realize how much scandal is already attached to the two of you? I think it rather imprudent to marry so quickly. Perhaps in September when . . .”
“Let them marry when they choose. There will be no less scandal in September.” All three turned to see Miss Stanhope standing at the door.
Lord Braddock glared angrily at the interruption. “This is none of your concern,” he said, and Melissa was taken aback by the anger in
his tone. Diane turned pale but for two spots of pink on her cheeks.
“You are, of course, correct. However, given the volatility of Melissa’s true father, I would suggest a quick and quiet wedding. We do not know how the duke will react if the banns are posted ahead of time. If she were my daughter, I would want her safely married and under John’s protection as soon as possible.”
“She is not your daughter and, again, this is not your concern.”
“Father,” John said, looking at his father with disbelief. “Miss Stanhope makes a valid point. One that I’m certain was made with the best of intentions.”
Lord Braddock’s expression was stony. “It is only that this is a family matter, and Miss Stanhope is not part of this family.”
Melissa thought she heard a sharp intake of breath from Diane, but when she looked at her, Diane appeared calm. Almost too calm, given the fact that her uncle was being unaccountably rude to her. “Uncle,” she said softly. “Miss Stanhope has become a dear friend, and I value her opinion.”
“Only because it corresponds to your own opinion,” he grumbled.
“Lord Braddock is correct. I am not part of this family, nor will I ever be,” Diane said, her words frosty. “However, I’ve never been one to remain quiet when I believe my input will benefit the outcome of an event.” She softened as she looked at Melissa. “And I thank you for those kind words, Melissa.”
“If you are finished submitting your unsolicited opinions, I would bid you good evening,” Lord Braddock said, his tone just as frosty. John and Melissa looked at each other, clearly wondering why the older couple was sparring.
“I have not finished,” Diane said.
“Then would you do so? Please.”
“Father. Diane. Would you two stop bickering so that we may come to a decision about our wedding?”
“Five days is fine,” George shouted, making everyone else in the room jump slightly.
Melissa knew better than to express any kind of happiness over that pronouncement, but she squeezed John’s hand to let him know how pleased she was. She didn’t know what was going on between her uncle and Miss Stanhope, but she was thrilled Diane had managed to persuade him.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll be heading home now,” John said. “Wouldn’t do to stay here when we’re engaged.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Melissa said, suddenly fiercely wanting to remove herself from her uncle’s and Diane’s presence. They were casting a pall on what was a glorious ending to a trying day.
She didn’t notice John’s jaw until they were standing beneath a gas sconce by the door, and she let out a small sound of dismay. “However did you do that?” she asked.
“Not to worry, love.” He looked terribly guilty about something.
“It was Charles, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” he said, holding up his hand to stop her from expressing her dismay. “But we’re still friends. I figured I deserved something like this,” he said, touching his jaw. “And it could have been worse. He could have blackened my eye, and just how would that have looked on our wedding day?”
At the mention of the wedding, Melissa smiled. “Our wedding.”
“Our wedding,” he said, kissing her on the nose. He drew her into his arms, letting out a low sound that did all sorts of wonderful things to her insides. Then she felt him stiffen, and she drew back.
“What’s wrong?” He was staring at a thick envelope with a fancy seal upon it sitting on the silver platter that normally held the home’s correspondence.
“It’s likely nothing,” he said, and walked over to retrieve the envelope. Melissa wasn’t overly concerned until she heard him curse.
“Waltham,” he said, snapping the ducal seal. “It’s addressed to you, but I hope you don’t mind.”
Melissa didn’t mind at all, for just touching something her father had touched would certainly make her skin crawl. “What is it?”
“An invitation. One I believe you will not accept. I hope you don’t mind if I go in your stead,” he said with deadly calm. He tucked the envelope into his jacket.
“Just throw it in the fire, John. Let’s pretend we didn’t see it.” She’d never seen John look so coldly determined, and she feared he would do something rash.
“This ends now.”
“Please, John. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t. He cannot hurt me once we are married.”
John laughed. “I’m not going to kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Though I wish I was the sort of man who could. No. Don’t worry,” he said, his eyes warm. He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, but his body was rigid.
Melissa let him go without another word, but she was worried. It was almost as if that invitation was an evil presence that should be destroyed, not held onto. When John held it, she saw a man she did not recognize—a man who could kill for something he loved.
“If my presence here so offends you, I will leave tonight,” Diane said, anger coursing through her. She often felt angry, but she rarely showed it. She was showing it now.
“I will not stop you. It’s obvious to me that your ability to properly chaperone a young girl is suspect at best.”
Diane knew that if thoughts could make a man burst into flame, Lord Braddock would explode in a dazzling inferno. “How dare you criticize me when it was I who warned you about your son. You have the audacity to blame me when it was you, and only you,” she pointed out with triumph, “who fostered this state of affairs. Which, by the way, I believe to be a wonderful conclusion to an otherwise difficult situation.”
“You would,” he said with disgust.
“What is your meaning?”
“My meaning is that I asked you to chaperone Melissa only because I believed you to be a practical woman who would not succumb to the romance of this catastrophe and would realize this is perhaps the worst possible outcome. I asked you and only you because you appeared to be a woman who no longer believed in fairy tales and had her mind settled on the sensible, not the sensational.”
If Diane had been a different woman, she would have burst into tears then and there. “Just because a woman is not married does not mean her heart has turned to stone. How dare you assume such a thing about me? If I acted seriously, if I rarely smiled, it was only because my heart has been broken so many times. . . .” She stopped abruptly and turned away, using all her strength not to cry. He did not deserve the tears she longed to shed. He was a mean, despicable cad, and she didn’t know how she’d allowed herself to feel even affection for the man, never mind being stupid enough to fall in love with him. Good God, how could she have been so foolish?
All was silent behind her. No doubt he was looking at her with pity. Or disgust. Either was untenable. Without looking back at him, she began walking steadily toward the door, telling herself she would never walk back in. She was done. Well and forever done with allowing herself to love any man who didn’t love her in return. She would pack this very night and stay at a hotel. She would leave London tomorrow and return to her gentle and quiet home in Flintwood. She would . . .
“I’m sorry.”
He sounded wretched, but Diane didn’t care. Didn’t. Care. She had nearly reached the door when she felt his hand on her arm.
“You cannot leave,” he said, his mouth so near her ear she could feel his warm breath.
“I can and I will,” Diane said, suddenly not meaning a syllable. If he were to turn her around, if he were to kiss her, she would melt into his arms and give him that romp he so wanted. She would, and then she’d spend the rest of her life trying not to regret it.
“What if . . .” His arms came around her, a warm band of steel holding her stiff body in place. “What if you stayed?”
She shook her head, staring at the door, hating the fact her vision had blurred with unshed tears. Damn him.
He turned her slowly in his arms, and she did not resist, even though she stiffened even more. “Why are you
crying?” He sounded unabashedly terrified by those tears. She couldn’t speak, so she simply stared at his shirt, wishing he would let her go and wishing he would draw her more tightly into his arms.
“Do you realize how difficult this is for me?” he said, sounding almost angry.
She looked up at him then, with a glare that would have made another man flinch.
“Do you realize how absolutely terrifying it is for a man such as me to come to the ridiculous conclusion that he’s in love? Do you? And you were going to walk out that door and leave me without allowing me to tell you. Are you trying to drive me mad?”
Diane allowed herself a sharp intake of breath. “Beg pardon?”
“I asked if you were trying to drive me mad,” he repeated gently, with the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips.
Diane closed her eyes briefly. “Yes,” she said. “I am. How am I doing?”
With a groan, he pulled her close and kissed her, his strong hands pressing her against him, nearly knocking the breath from her. “I’m very angry with you, you know,” he said, dragging his mouth to her neck.
“I know.”
“I suppose you won’t settle for a romp.”
“No. I don’t suppose I will.”
He stepped back and looked at her, agony warring with pure happiness. “I do love you.”
“I thought you might.” She was trying not to lose control, but it was so very difficult in the face of his love. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to laugh and dance around the room, arms outstretched, until she collapsed in a puddle of pure joy. Instead, she kissed his cheek and said, “I love you, too.”
“And you’ll marry me?”
She gave him a level look, then smiled. “I will.”
And so, when Melissa, curious about why it was so quiet in the library, chanced to peek through the door to make certain all was well, she found herself rather surprised to see two people, who’d just been fighting, kissing each other rather enthusiastically.
