While Melissa had been examining Dominic, Dominic had been doing a little surveying of his own, and what he saw still left him seeking a reason that this hostile, plain creature could cause him to act as he had. She definitely wasn't pretty, he finally concluded, having looked hard and long at her features, trying to imagine her without the spectacles, without the bun and without her mouth pursed in that depressingly prim manner, and he couldn't for the life of him picture her other than what she appeared to be—a dowdy spinster. So why did she hold such fascination for him? It was a question he couldn't answer, and Dominic intensely disliked unanswered questions.
The entire situation was ludicrous! he thought angrily. She wasn't pretty. He didn't like her. Yet he was prepared to spend an inordinate amount of money because he feared she was in some sort of trouble with Latimer. Inwardly Dominic snorted. What sort of fool was he? He wasn't altruistic. He had never been particularly obsessed with the plight of his fellow man, but this woman... this woman disturbed him and made him feel oddly protective. Hell! He'd bought only half a damned horse with his money! And that because he had seen how much she cared for Folly and hadn't had the heart to distress her further. Suddenly the unwelcome thought occurred to him that he'd had another motive: if he and Miss Seymour were partners, it would be only natural for them to spend a great deal of time in each other's company—and for some incomprehensible reason, Dominic discovered that he wanted to do just that.
Positive that he had entered his dotage, Dominic suggested several methods they could use to make the sharing of the animal easy for both of them. Melissa appeared to be reasonable about the subject, raising very few objections to his proposals. A bit suspicious of her meekness, Dominic wondered what was going on in her mind.
Struggling with the major problem of asking Dominic to pay her the entire amount within twenty-four hours, Melissa was only half attending to what he was saying. When he stopped talking, she suddenly blurted, "Could you pay me the money tomorrow? In gold?"
If Dominic had had any doubts that Latimer was behind her actions, this request settled it for him. Latimer must be demanding payment and must have set the first of July as the date the money should be paid or he would take some sort of action that Melissa could not countenance. Knowing Latimer, Dominic had a very good idea of what that action would be, although he simply could not understand why Latimer had designs on such an unattractive woman. Then he grimaced to himself. If she had him unwillingly fascinated, it stood to reason that she might have cast the same spell over Latimer.
Melissa's request for the money in gold by tomorrow created a problem, though. Dominic was a wealthy man, but laying his hands on that sort of cold, hard cash in the time given was damn near impossible. He hesitated and then said slowly, "I doubt very seriously that I could make arrangements that swiftly, but I can assure you that you will have your money before the end of the week." He shot her a keen look and, picking his words with care, added, "I'm certain that any, er, debtor who might be demanding payment from you would not be able to take any harmful action before you would have the money."
Melissa's eyes flew to his, her astonishment and fear obvious in the wide-eyed stare. She swallowed, then asked in a low voice, "How do you know I need the money for a... a... debtor?"
Carelessly, Dominic replied, "A mere guess, my dear; don't let it concern you." Driven by something he couldn't explain, he got up and stood in front of her. Bending forward, he picked up one of her hands as it lay in her lap, and holding it comfortingly in his, he murmured, "If there is some way I can serve you...?"
His words were so tempting that for one insane moment, Melissa actually considered telling him of Latimer's dishonorable offer, but she was far too conscious of Dominic's disturbing nearness to think clearly. His hand felt warm and strong around hers, and her fingers tingled from the mere touch of his, her heartbeat accelerating madly. Frightened that she might betray the tumult within her breast, she jerked her hand away and stammered, "Oh, th-th-thank y-y-you, but there is no n-n-need for th-th-that!"
He remained unconvinced, but he could not force her confidences, and with a shrug of his broad shoulders, he stepped away from her. Any chance for further private conversation ended when Zachary entered the room a moment later.
The three of them talked amicably for several minutes longer; then Dominic and Melissa signed an agreement stating the terms of the sale. With the paper safely tucked inside his waistcoat, Dominic took his leave. He was pleased with the morning's work, yet troubled, too. It went against his grain to know that Latimer was the one who would ultimately profit from the partnership between himself and Miss Seymour. If only there were a way, he mused idly, that he could put a spoke in Latimer's plans....
Returning to his room at the tavern, Dominic found Royce waiting for him and, resigned to the teasing he was sure to receive, he told his friend what he had done. The knowing smile that quirked Royce's lips made Dominic's fists clench, but a reluctant grin crossed his own face. "I have gone mad," he admitted. "And I do not need you to tell me so!"
Royce's nod of complete accord did nothing for Dominic's self-esteem, but during the next few minutes he good-naturedly listened to Royce's mirthful comments about "addled wits" and "muttonheaded decisions." Eventually, though, Royce left off his mocking remarks and mentioned the reason for his visit. "My father invites you to partake of supper with us this evening." Giving his friend a rueful smile, Royce added, "He was not pleased that you preferred a public place to Oak Hollow, but I think if you come for supper, it will soothe his ruffled pride."
Dominic accepted the invitation, and shortly thereafter the two friends prepared to leave. They had just mounted their horses when Dominic got a brief glimpse of a gentleman entering the tavern. Frowning, he stared at the doorway, and Royce, noticing his expression, asked, "What is it? Something wrong?"
"I don't know," Dominic answered slowly, "but I could have sworn that I just saw Latimer go inside."
Royce shrugged. "And if you did? What are you going to do about it? The man has the right to go into a bloody tavern, for God's sake."
Dominic grimaced, well aware of the truth of Royce's words. Without further conversation, he turned his horse away and headed in the direction of Oak Hollow. But he could not put the man he had seen from his mind. Was it Latimer? But even more importantly, was Latimer going to see Melissa tonight?
* * *
The answers to both questions was yes. It had been Latimer whom Dominic had seen entering the tavern, and he wouldn't have been pleased to learn that Latimer would be staying in a room just five doors up the hall from him, in room number three. Dominic would have been even more displeased to discover that once Latimer had procured his night's lodging, he had sat down and written a note to be delivered that very evening to Miss Melissa Seymour.
With relish and anticipation, Latimer penned the words informing Melissa that he was in Baton Rouge and was looking forward to meeting with her. A malicious smile on his lips, he scrawled hurriedly that before they settled the terms for payment, he wished to see her to make final arrangements. He would be staying at the tavern tonight, he wrote in a barely decipherable hand, in room number three, and it would be to her advantage to see him this evening to make certain that they were in perfect accord concerning the "terms of their bargain."
It was an insulting missive, and reading it later that evening, Melissa shivered with revulsion. She had been expecting some word from him, so the receipt of his note was almost anticlimactic for her. Sitting on a small chair in her bedroom, she reread his letter, unbearably grateful that Mr. Slade had come to call today and that, thanks to his generosity, Latimer was no longer a threat to either her virtue or her peace of mind. If Slade had ignored her letter or had been tardy in answering it or unwilling to pay her exorbitant price... Melissa's mouth went dry as she thought of how she would feel if she had received Latimer's note without the comforting knowledge that she would be able to pay him off in gold coin by the end of the we
ek.
She sat alone in her room for a long time, staring at Latimer's note, realizing sickly how close to ruin she had come, how she might very well have been forced to accept Latimer's terms, if Dominic had not been willing to meet her price for Folly. A soft smile suddenly curved her mouth as she thought of Dominic and his generosity. For several moments she was lost in a dreamy haze, remembering the way Dominic smiled and the way his clear gray eyes had twinkled with teasing laughter. With a regretful sigh she jerked herself away from silly reflections, bringing her thoughts back to the matter at hand.
She read again the part where Latimer had written that he wished to see her tonight. Why? she wondered. What was he up to? Mistrustful of him, Melissa considered different reasons that would make it imperative for him to see her tonight, but she could think of no satisfactory explanation for his request... except that he might wish to gloat at what he assumed was her predicament. Her eyes flashed with an angry golden fire and she considered letting him sit up all night waiting for her, but then her lips twisted. She dared not ignore his request—what if he should grow tired of waiting and show up here at Willowglen demanding to see her? A shudder went through her. If Zachary's suspicions were aroused... She glanced again at the letter, trying to decipher from Latimer's scrawl if it was number three or number eight. After careful scrutiny, she decided it was an eight.
Setting aside the letter, she got up and went to stand before the cheval glass, absentmindedly brushing her long, wavy hair. She had washed it after Dominic had left and now it swirled about her shoulders in shiny honey-colored curls, the silky strands gleaming with a life of their own. The brush felt good as she pulled it through the tawny mass, her mind occupied with Latimer's note.
Why shouldn't she see him tonight? she mused. It would be such a pleasure to watch his face when she threw his disgusting offer back at him! The more she considered it, the fonder she became of the idea. Why not? He had humiliated her, forced her to listen to his sordid plans, so why shouldn't she have the enjoyment of forcing him to listen to what she had to say? Why wait until tomorrow?
She smiled, her first in many days, as she pictured Latimer's chagrin and—she hoped—disappointment when he discovered that she wasn't going to become his mistress.
Her mind made up, she spent several more moments planning how to get into town undetected and into Latimer's room without causing a scandal. It wouldn't do to contemplate what would happen if it were revealed that she had gone alone at night to a tavern and, even more shocking, had actually been in a man's room alone with him.
Latimer had not stated a particular time this evening, and so she could retire early to her room, slip out of the house and ride into town without anyone being the wiser. That part of her plan didn't worry her—it was getting into his room that gave her pause. She could hardly walk through the main area of the tavern. Then her face brightened as she remembered the outside staircase of the tavern. It had been constructed for precisely the reason Melissa needed it—to provide private access to the eight small rooms upstairs that were let out to boarders. She should have no trouble in coming and going unseen.
A smile on her face, she looked inside the old mahogany armoire that sat in one corner of her room. There were few gowns in it and none of those were striking. Her smile faded. She wanted to look her best when she faced Latimer, wanted him to understand what he had lost. It wasn't very nice of her, but she not unnaturally wanted him to suffer a bit after all the anguish he had inflicted upon her. If she looked desirable when she told him just what she thought of his offer, well, so much the better.
Her hand brushed across an older gown of amber-colored silk, and with interest she drew it from the armoire. Trying it on, she glanced at herself in the cheval glass. It would do, she thought as she took in the way the snug fit of the bodice forced her breasts to nearly spill out of the soft material. She had owned the gown for a long time—her father had brought it back from England—and though it was almost too small for her, she could not bring herself to discard it. The gown flattered her, drawing attention to her creamy shoulders and high bosom, the amber shade of silk giving her hair the look of warm honey and deepening the topaz glow of her eyes. She twirled before the cheval glass, enjoying the way the silken material flared out from the high waist, the full skirt billowing out around her. It might be old, it might be a bit tight, but this was the most attractive garment she owned and she would wear it tonight.
Her plan proved easy, and her conscience pricked her at how concerned everyone had been when she had claimed a headache and retired early. With shaking fingers she had laid aside the ugly garment she had worn during the day and swiftly put on the amber silk gown. She gave her hair one last brush, and then, putting on a worn hooded cloak of brown velvet, she opened her door and peeked down the long hallway. It was deserted.
Her heart beating fast, she made her way downstairs and outside. It took her a moment to reach the stables and saddle one of the mares. Once she reached the main road, her heartbeat slowed and she took a deep breath of relief. She had done it! No one had seen her. Now for Latimer....
Arriving in Baton Rouge, she kept to the shadows, terrified that someone might see her and recognize her. Fortunately, the tavern was set near the edge of town, and Melissa quickly guided her horse deeper into the darkness at the rear of the rambling, two-storied wooden building. Sliding from the mare, she tied the animal to a nearby oak sapling and with nervous steps approached the tavern.
Her throat dry, her pulse jumping, she rounded the building and found the narrow staircase that led upstairs. It was one thing to contemplate confronting Latimer from the safety of her own home, and another to march into his room. She hesitated, suddenly beset by the danger of what she was doing, as well as the impropriety. She nearly turned back, but remembering the threat to Zack should Latimer come to Willowglen in an ugly mood, she moved forward. No one would discover her, and it wouldn't be to Latimer's advantage for her presence here to become known. He would be labeled a blackguard of the worst kind, and she suspected rightly that he would prefer everyone to continue to think of him as "the charming Englishman."
Bolstering her waning courage, she sped up the stairs before she could change her mind. Her face hidden by the hood of her cloak, Melissa opened the door and slipped into the dimly lit, narrow hallway. To her relief, room number eight was the first doorway she came to, and whatever reservations she had, vanished. Righteous indignation surged through her when she considered what Latimer had tried to do to her, and with golden eyes flashing, she opened the door and sallied forth to do battle.
To her dismay, the room was dark and empty. Taken aback, she stumbled inside, searching several minutes before she found a candle and lit it. In the flickering light she glanced around. It was a very small room, as were all the rooms at the tavern, these private chambers more resembling broom closets than actual bedrooms. But the bed was neatly made, a gaily colored quilt of yellow-and-green covering it, and a rudely constructed pine chair and tiny candlestand had been added for some extra comfort.
Deflated that her quarry was not in sight, Melissa set down the candle, wondering at her next move. Now that she was here, some of her nervousness disappeared and her anger at Latimer's designs upon her virtue grew. She paced the tiny confines of the room, going over the scathing words she would fling at Mr. Julius Latimer the moment he opened the door. But as time passed and there was no sign of him, she grew weary of her pacing, and she sat down on the pine chair, her hands clenched into fists in her lap as she continued to wait. She had no way of telling what time it was, but she realized that she had been here for quite a while and she began to wonder if she had misread Latimer's note. She had not brought it with her, but after mulling it over in her mind, she was positive she had not misunderstood him.
The initial rage that had prompted her actions faded as the hour grew late and Latimer still did not appear. A mighty yawn overtook her and she glanced at the bed with longing. How much later would L
atimer be? It occurred to her that he was doing this deliberately—hoping, no doubt, that the long wait would be nerve-racking and intimidating for her. She straightened her drooping shoulders. By Heaven! She'd show him that such petty tricks didn't affect her!
But after another yawn escaped her, she decided it wouldn't hurt if she lay down upon the bed. She wouldn't fall asleep—she was too nervous and angry for that—but she could just rest her head for a few minutes. Convinced of the soundness of her thinking, using her cloak as a blanket, she lay down stiffly upon the bed. Without her even being aware of it, her eyelids closed and within minutes she was deeply asleep, her golden-brown hair splaying out from her head, the old cloak slipping down around her waist, revealing the sweet curve of her breasts as they surged up from the amber silk gown.
* * *
Downstairs, in the main room of the tavern, Dominic, Royce and Josh were cozily seated at a rough oak table, enjoying the latest of several snifters of brandy that they had consumed this evening. After dinner at Oak Hollow, the three men had returned to the tavern to celebrate Dominic's purchase of Folly. Josh had been most pleased by this turn of events, even more so when it was revealed that Dominic would share the ownership with Melissa—anything that bound Dominic to Melissa was fine with Josh! Of course, Dominic had had to bear a great many jocular comments from both of the Manchesters, as well as teasing about his "intentions" toward Melissa.
Dominic had taken it all with his usual aplomb, but some of the remarks bit deep, making him wonder what his intentions toward the baffling Miss Seymour really were. But as the evening waned and he became mellow from the numerous snifters of brandy, he didn't care that he might be marching down a road that he had sworn to avoid at all costs. Melissa fascinated him, he could not deny it, but why she fascinated him was almost more engrossing than the fact that she did. He could not explain his actions even to himself, and with a sigh, he pushed that particular puzzling aspect of the situation away, turning his wandering attention to what Royce was saying.
Midnight Masquerade Page 15
