by Fascination
At the corner that would take him to the Delilah room, he paused. He hadn’t been here since the night ... not since then. Isabel had insisted she wanted that particular room, even though it was so far distant from his. The arrangement had been devilish difficult, particularly since she had declared that she detested Revelation and could not possibly spend nights there. He’d made more journeys across the castle to this wing than he would ever be able to remember.
He did not wish to remember any of them, especially the last one.
Arran turned the corner and collided with a hurrying figure in violet-striped white muslin.
“Oh!” Melony Pincham pressed a hand over her heart and clutched at him for support. “Oh, my lord! You have quite undone me.”
An interesting prospect, Arran decided whilst considering why the tempting jade was abroad at this time of night and in this particular wing, where he knew she could not possibly be housed.
“Pray, forgive me, Mrs. Pincham. I did not hear you coming.”
“Please call me Melony.” Her auburn hair had slipped free of its pins to hang in luxurious abandon about her pale shoulders. “Mrs. Pincham sounds so very formal, and I don’t think we are likely to remain so, do you?”
He raised his chin and looked down at her. “Possibly not.”
“I know we shall not. My lord, I am glad we have made this unexpected encounter. I was just with Grace, and I left wondering how I should approach you.”
“You were with Grace?”
“Yes indeed. I could not sleep and decided to walk about. My feet brought me here and I saw light beneath her door. I have frequently been told that I have an extraordinary ability to know when I am needed. That must be what led me to Grace tonight. But we should not speak here. If she were to hear us and know you were here, the awful stress of it might make her positively ill.”
Arran made to go around her. “Grace is feeling ill? How so?”
“Stay,” she told him, grabbing his hand. “She is not ill in that way, not ill in body. Please, come with me and we shall find somewhere private to talk.”
“I shall go to her.”
“That would be most unwise.”
“Thank you for your concern. Now, if you will excuse me.”
“If you go to Grace now, we shall all rue your decision.”
Arran looked directly into the woman’s large, glistening violet eyes. “What ... Don’t toy with me, madam. Make yourself plain.”
Releasing his hand, she slipped back in the direction from which he’d come. Reluctantly Arran followed and saw her trip rapidly along until she turned another corner. By the time he’d followed that far, she was running up a staircase toward the Adam Tower.
“Mrs. Pincham,” Arran whispered loudly. “Let us not continue this mystery.”
He gained her side, but she did not halt until she reached a suite of rooms he remembered from the long-ago days of house parties at Kirkcaldy.
She looked in each direction before opening a door and beckoning for him to follow her inside. “Hush,” she told him. “And call me Melony or I shall not speak to you at all.” Her smile was pure coquette.
Straightening his cuffs, Arran advanced.
“There.” She shut them inside a room decorated in shades of yellow in which the fire had burned low and where the light from guttering candles wavered over the walls. “We shall be completely private here.” With a triumphant smile, she turned the key in the lock.
“What is all this about Grace?” He remained not far from the door.
“In good time. Kindly be at ease by the fire. Do you care for chocolate?”
“I detest chocolate.”
“How unfortunate. There is something so comforting about hot chocolate when one is troubled. It always puts me in mind of nursery days when I was—”
“Grace. She is the only reason I am here, Mrs. Pincham.”
“Melony. I insist, or we shall simply end this conversation.”
“Melony.”
“There! Perfect! I have never particularly cared for my name, but when you say it, I find it has a most pleasing sound. Most pleasing. Sit down.”
“I prefer to stand.”
Melony turned and looked up at him over her shoulder. “But I like to sit.” She dropped to a low stool close to the fire and arranged her skirts—skirts that he realized for the first time were all but transparent. “If you insist upon standing over me like an elegant giant, I shall probably snap my neck. But at least come closer where I can see you properly.”
Arran strolled to stand beside her. “Can you see me now?”
“A little better.”
She tilted her head and openly studied that part of him most likely to betray any response to her femininity.
“The hour draws late, madam.”
“Melony.”
“Melony,” he said. How shallow and foolish women such as this could be. She did not guess how perilously close he was to losing his temper.
“Are you ...” Slowly her eyes traveled up to meet his. “Are you as tired as I, my lord?”
“Possibly.”
“Then why not allow me to help you rest?”
“Good night to you, Melony.” He made to turn away. “Perhaps we shall meet again before you leave Kirkcaldy—which will be soon, I presume?”
Her hand snaked out and she grasped a handful of his shirt where his waistcoat hung open. “You don’t want me to leave. You are a lonely man, and I would like to help you become less lonely.”
“I was on my way to visit my fiancée. If you’ll excuse me?”
“She doesn’t want to see you.” Melony dropped her hand and turned from him.
“Explain yourself.” Not that whatever she said mattered. The woman’s motives for approaching him were perfectly clear.
“I would rather not. Please accept what I’ve told you.”
“Accept and then help make the rest of the night more interesting for you?” he asked. “Is that what you had in mind?”
Her bare shoulders rose. From his vantage point over her, he had an almost unimpeded view of her breasts. More than ample, round and tipped with dark pink nipples that were already budded.
Arran stirred, took a deep breath, but did not look away. “Answer me, Melony. Did I arrive before you in time to present a possible entertainment on a night when you didn’t wish to sleep alone?”
“I prefer not to lie. Yes, my lord, you did.”
He raised his brows. “I cannot fault your honesty.”
“Lying to you would be pointless. A man such as you is not seduced by flattery and falsehood.”
“A pretty speech. Explain what you meant about Grace.”
She crossed her arms and plucked aimlessly at gauzy little sleeves. “I ... No, I cannot. Please leave me.”
Arran narrowed his eyes. “What manner of game is this?”
“One I should not have begun. I should simply have told you Grace was exhausted and had fallen asleep, then allowed her to find a way to tell you herself.”
“Tell me what?”
Melony slowly lifted her face. Her small mouth trembled and turned down. “Very well, but you will be angry, and I fear I shall be the one to bear that anger.”
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he told her shortly.
She toyed with the sleeves, and they slipped farther down her arms. “Very well. I tried to persuade her that she should attempt to make the best of your arrangement. She told me something about having made up a story to convince you that she cares for you after all.”
Arran tugged his loose cravat from his neck. “Go on.”
“She said you did not believe her. Grace is angry because you are a hard man who does not, mm, play the game.”
“What game would that be?” he asked evenly.
“I’ve said too much. She is resigned to the marriage and to bearing your children. Then she intends to continue in the manner to which you both agreed at the beginning. She will find a suitable ...
” Melony contrived to draw her bodice almost down to her elbows. “She will find a way to amuse herself. I think we both know that she is a woman of considerable ... shall we say, considerable energy?”
“Shall we?” His gaze slipped downward. Grace had told this woman everything that had passed between them; of that, he was now certain.
“She described your meetings.” Her breasts were completely revealed, a fact they both knew. “You were not pleased to discover that Grace intended to marry for position and wealth, and afterward to find her pleasure elsewhere.”
“What man would be pleased with such a discovery?”
Her pointed tongue slid over her lips. “Perhaps you should have accepted her story about having decided she wanted you—you, the man she thought you were at the first meetings. Her descriptions of your encounters sounded ... satisfying. People of a certain station in life are accustomed to compromise, are they not, my lord?”
“As you say.”
“Then surely you should not be averse to more of what you have already enjoyed with Grace—for as long as it pleases you—before the two of you turn to other diversions?”
“She told you that was what she proposed?”
“I hope I have not made things more complicated for you and Grace.”
When he did not respond, she stood, gathering her dress to her bosom and pretending to be flustered. “I have managed this badly. Grace asked me to be her friend, and I agreed. Now I have made things more difficult for her—for both of you.”
“I’ll take my leave of you.” Grace had actually confided everything in this creature.
“Please don’t go until I am assured you are not angry with Grace.”
“My feelings toward my future wife are no concern of yours.”
“But they are!” Her fingers abandoned the slipping bodice to descend upon his arms. “I shall not rest again until you listen to me. You must have noted that Mrs. Wren is ... She is not a sympathetic parent.”
“Agreed,” he said vehemently.
“Yes, well, Grace is alone. And she does not entirely understand her, um, urges. Some women are bemused by the strength of their carnal desires, and Grace may be one of those. That is why one man will never be enough—” She paused, her mouth forming a horrified “oh.” “I mean she is very, very energetic.”
Arran looked at her breasts.
“Oh, dear. I am doing this so abominably. I’m certain that given time, Grace may come to appreciate you as she should.”
“As she should?” His gaze didn’t waver. “You mean that if I wait for her approval, I may, in time, gain something close to constancy from my wife.”
Melony tossed her head. “Do not muddle me, my lord. I mean that eventually it is inevitable that Grace should come to appreciate you as much as I already do.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “You have befuddled me. I am speaking as I had no intention of doing. But since I have, I shall finish. I consider it a crime for a man with such obvious ... talents to be less than adored by any woman he chooses to honor with his attentions.”
“Do you indeed?”
“Yes, my lord.” With one fingertip, she made a line down his chest all the way to the waist of his breeches. “Let me show you how your needs should be ministered to. I assure you I am very sensitive to your needs.”
“You do not know me at all.” Yet he knew her—in the way men of the world knew all such women.
She flattened her palms over his shirtfront, spread her fingers, stroked him. “Should we go to my bed?”
“I think not.”
“Quite so.” Her breasts rose and fell, large, white-skinned, and traversed with the palest of blue veins, the nipples distended. “Here before the fire will be better. I can make you forget Grace. That, I promise you.”
Slowly Arran threaded his silk cravat around her neck.
For an instant there was a flicker of anxiety in her eyes. It faded when he smiled. Winding the ends of the cloth about his fingers, he shortened it, drawing her closer.
Melony giggled and slipped her fingers inside his breeches. “Oh, yes, I will make you forget.” Her head fell back and her moist lips parted. “You need a woman who understands the requirements of a man such as you. A woman who can perform for you in Society ... and elsewhere.”
Arran transferred both ends of the cravat to his left hand and smoothed his right down over her shoulder.
“Yes,” she whispered urgently, arching her back. “Oh, yes.”
Deftly he pulled the flimsy sleeves, first one, then the other, up her arms and tweaked her bodice into place.
“What—?”
A sharp little yank on the cravat silenced her before Arran retrieved the length of silk and stepped away.
“Why ...? You can’t do this.”
“Can’t I? Watch me, Mrs. Pincham.”
“I will not stand for it, I tell you!”
He unlocked and opened the door. “I don’t believe I ever heard how Mr. Pincham died. Can disgust kill, do we know? Good night, madam.”
Chapter 19
“I do believe he’s in love with me.” Grace regarded Mairi with serious intensity. “I have finally identified the reason for my own distress. There are feelings that can make one very disturbed.”
“Aye?” Mairi waited expectantly.
“As a female I have felt so happy, I thought I might pop. And so sad, I thought I might die. In the end all I could do was cry.”
Mairi watched Grace closely. “Aye, miss?”
“Men do not cry,” Grace said. “They get angry. Which explains everything. The marquess is completely, painfully, and hopelessly in love with me.”
“Och, I’m sure I dinna understand the ways o’ the gentry,” Mairi said, her round blue eyes brilliant with anxiety. “How could ye decide his lordship loves ye when he’s not seen ye, or spoken a word t’ye, for days? And ye’d only set eyes on him the two times anyway.”
Grace inspected the white lace falling collar Mairi held. “I’ve just explained all that. It’s as plain as your nose, Mairi. This will do very well.”
Mairi draped the collar about Grace’s neck and shoulders on top of an already high-cut dress in emerald green faille piped with white. “Like one o’ them governesses,” Mairi said, frowning and swiping at the ever loose wisps of fine brown hair about her face. “Not a bit o’ your pretty skin t’be seen.”
“No,” Grace agreed lightly. “Skin is a very dangerous thing, Mairi. You would do well to ensure that your own is well covered. I have given all this much thought, and I cannot think why it took me so long to see the truth.”
Mairi blushed a bright pink. “I’m sure I dinna know what ye could be talkin’ about. There’s none t’look at me, Miss Grace. But ye’re different.”
“You’ll find a wonderful husband in due course. He’ll be perfectly charming and very good to you. Meanwhile, I intend to ensure that there is nothing about me that may cause the marquess to feel compromised.”
Mairi stared. “What’s that, miss?”
“Compromised?” Grace laughed. “It means endangered. At risk.”
“An’ how would a great, bad-tempered man be en—en—put in danger by a wee slip o’ a lassie like ye?”
Grace gave Mairi an arch look. “By causing him to have thoughts that might lead to his wishing to ... Mairi, I would not speak so plainly if I did not think this was for your own good. I have noted that there are events—situations—certain touches, that lead a man to want to Sit With a Woman.” She watched Mairi’s wholesome face and waited.
“I see,” Mairi said at length. “Sittin’ wi’ ye?”
“Hush.” Grace dropped her voice. “In a man as principled as the marquess, such urges may cause grave disquiet.”
“I’ve no idea what t’say t’ye, miss. I thought ye were actin’ strange. Ye said ye’d seen the marquess himself? On your own?”
“Of course,” Grace said irritably. “I told you he summoned me and we have discussed the wedding.”
If being told when the event would take place could be counted as a discussion. “And although I would not wish you to mention this to anyone else, I had met with the marquess on several previous occasions.”
“Ye had?”
“I had.”
“They’ll not speak any good o’ him belowstairs. They say he was at dinner! Himself at dinner!”
“Certainly,” Grace said, pretending that there should be no cause for surprise over the event.
“But he’s not been seen around the castle in many a year, so I’m told. Are ye afeared o’ him?”
“Not at all,” Grace said with more conviction than she felt. “He is a charming man.” A slight exaggeration. He was a pigheaded ogre, but she was—with the help of Melony’s insights into masculine behavior—in the process of working out a cure for that condition.
“Is he ... What does he look like, then? Is he all twisted up wi’ great long arms and a mouth like a gash made wi’ a dirk?”
Grace tutted and went to sit before the glass to ensure that her hair was suitably restrained. “He is the most handsome man I have ever seen.”
“Ah. What a ninny I am. That explains that, then.”
At Mairi’s distant-sounding comment, Grace turned on her stool. “What does it explain?”
“I’m not supposed to tell ye.” Mairi smoothed her apron and plunked her hands on her hips. She began to pace, muttering under her breath as she went.
“But you will tell me,” Grace said in a wheedling tone.
“Aye, I will on account o’ ye bein’ a gentle, carin’ soul. Ye’ve been bewitched by a fair face and form. The devil himself in pretty garments. Och, miss, ye shouldna put yoursel’ in the way of such danger as marryin’ with the Savage. There, I’ve said it.”
“Oh, come, now. Because of all the silly old stories about him eating babies? Mairi, surely you see how foolish that is.”
“They’re talkin’ about him belowstairs. He was fair ragin’ at dinner, they said. An’ he sent them all packin’ .”
Grace had no wish to remember the event in detail. “His lordship had good reason to become agitated. There was a great deal of—er—discussion. Everybody wanted to tell him what he should and should not do.”
