My Lady Smuggler

by Margaret Bennett

  “Is that all it is?” asked Egremont, taking his wife’s arm and giving her a loving smile. “Here, I thought I’d married the Queen herself.”

  “I’m glad you decided to come to Town,” Melvyrn said. As Rosalind met his deep blue eyes, she wanted to believe he genuinely was happy to see her. But she knew better, for each night in her dreams she encountered his melancholy eyes as they registered the despairing acceptance of their betrothal.

  Dinner was announced, and Melvyrn took Rosalind’s arm and led her into a dinning room with a table set for thirty. Leaning his head down to hers, Melvyrn said, “My brother-in-law is a very active member of the House of Lords and prefers politicking over several removes when his guests’ mouths are full and less likely to argue with him.”

  They were seated together, much to her dismay. Her other dinner partner was Lord Brentwood who, she learned, had recently come into his vicountcy. He was slightly older than her, with cropped red hair, a freckled face, and blue eyes. He entertained her with his impressions of sitting with the House of Lords for the first time, and she all but ignored Melvyrn--which didn’t seem to bother him.

  A very attractive brunette, wearing a primrose satin gown with a shockingly low bodice, diverted Melvyrn’s attention. But when finally dessert was served, Melvyrn leaned toward her and, his warm breath tickling her ear, whispered, “I should warn you, Egremont will likely toast our engagement later.”

  ~~~~~

  If anything, Rosalind’s reaction to his words told Melvyrn that she was far from resigned to the marriage. Her large slate blue eyes widened, her smile slowly vanished. “Is there no way you can stop him?”

  Her reply puzzled him, until he remembered Lady Stainthrope’s note included her hope that, given time, Rosalind would come to accept the engagement. “Have you seen a newspaper recently?” he asked. When she shook her head, he groaned inwardly. Minutes later, Mattie gave the signal for the ladies to withdraw to the drawing room while the gentlemen indulged in their cigars and port. As he watched Rosalind’s rigid back retreat, he decided a tête-à-tête would be in order when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies.

  Melvyrn’s attention was drawn back to his host as Egremont asked, gesturing to his still discolored jaw, “Did you forget to duck going a round with Gentleman Jackson, Melvyrn?”

  At Denholm’s low chuckle from across the table, Melvyrn suspected it was his friend who’d pointed out the bruise to Egremont. “A mishap of sorts,” Melvyrn replied and then quickly asked, “Have you an idea on how to raise corn prices?”

  Half listening to the heated discussion that followed over imported corn lowering domestic farmers’ prices, Melvyrn’s thoughts drifted as he remembered Rosalind’s warm response to his kisses, and he contemplated how he could elicit such emotions again.

  When the men entered the drawing room, Melvyrn noticed Rosalind was talking with his dinner partner, Lady Rhys, and couldn’t help comparing them. Though only a few years older than Rosalind, Lady Rhys’s elaborate gown and lightly rouged cheeks appeared overblown to Rosalind’s elegantly simple gown and fresh countenance with her remarkable slate blue eyes. Looking about, he saw several other gentlemen eyeing the two women and wondered if Rosalind realized what a stunningly beauty she was. Somehow, he doubted it, as she had so willingly donned the shabby breeches and worn coat of a youth, even blackened her face with soot.

  Walking over to Lady Rhys, he smiled. “Would you mind if I borrowed Miss Wensley for a moment, Lady Rhys?”

  The older woman playfully tapped his arm with her fan. “You claimed my company at dinner. And now, my lord, you are too eager to trade me in,” she said, smiling back at him and fluttering her long, dark eyelashes. “I should be offended, but as you are engaged . . . well, I see my husband has returned.”

  Just as Lady Rhys turned to join her spouse, Lady Stainthrope came up beside Rosalind. “Ah, there you are. Do forgive me, Melvyrn, but I want my niece to meet a dear friend of mine.” Then, without further ado, she looped her arm with Rosalind’s and led her away.

  Then the guests for the ball began arriving, and Melvyrn found he was unable to get anywhere near his betrothed.

  *** Chapter 18 ***

  Over the last several years, Rosalind had wondered if she’d had a Season if she’d have been a success. She certainly didn’t see herself as a diamond of the first water. However, she had passably good looks and enjoyed dancing and often ruminated over what her life might have been if Edward and her father had lived.

  Then tonight, while in the ladies’ room repairing a small tear in the hem of her gown, she learned that being engaged to an earl also made one successful.

  “La, Rosalind,” cooed Sylvia, “aren’t you the sly puss?”

  “Hello, Sylvia,” Rosalind answered. “Are you enjoying your stay with your aunt, Lady Willis-Altson?”

  “Don’t be coy,” replied Sylvia viciously. “Everyone knows the Earl is quite the catch. And Mama was very hurt when she’d heard how you treated us.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rosalind said.

  “Really, Rosalind, after the many times we have invited you to balls and dinners and picnic, and . . . and then you have Melvyrn over to the Hall and never invite us,” huffed Sylvia.

  “It was not like that.” Rosalind shook her head. “I never invited anyone. He--”

  “Oh, say what you like,” Sylvia hissed at her, just as two other girls entered. “But I will not forget this.” With one last glaring look, she turned on her heel and flounced out.

  With only half an ear, Rosalind listened to the other girls congratulate her on her upcoming wedding to the Earl while she finished pinning up her hem. Though she’d never been close to Sylvia, it was demoralizing to learn that the silly girl believed Rosalind had actually set out to snare Melvyrn. Especially when she considered that were it not for circumstances there would be no engagement.

  When she entered the ballroom, the orchestra was playing the opening strains of a waltz. Except for the waltz, Rosalind didn’t have a single dance open on her dance card. She headed for the row of chairs designated for the chaperones and dowagers.

  “There you are, my dear,” Lady Stainthrope greeted her with a beatific smile. “And here’s Melvyrn, who has been asking for you to dance.”

  “But I have not been given permission to waltz,” Rosalind said.

  ~~~~~

  Taking Rosalind’s arm, Melvyrn tucked it in his and place his hand over hers when she made to pull away. “Then take a turn around the room with me, please?” he said affably, guiding her away from Lady Stainthrope. He slowly ambled his way toward the French doors that stood open to a wide veranda. Once outside, he led her over to the stone steps which led down to a small topiary garden lit by strategically placed flambeaux. He started for the back of the garden, where there was less light, when she tugged on his arm and dug in her heels.

  “Just a few more steps,” he insisted and practically dragged her toward the back wall where there was less light.

  They could still hear the strains of the waltz, so he drew her into his arms and began to dance. She resisted at first, before letting him lead her around the geometric shapes of balls, cubes and tapering spirals. When the music stopped, he drew her into the shadow of a towering obelisk, and immediately she protested.

  “I should return to Lady Stainthrope. She will be looking for me.”

  “In a moment.” Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her closer. As she drew her palms up against his chest, he rested his chin on the top of her head. He was encouraged when she did not push away. “There is something I must tell you, Rosalind.” He reveled in the feel of her curves pressed against his body and closed his eyes. Breathing in her light lavender scent, he was suddenly struck by a thought. “Do you like me?” he asked softly. Rather than answer, she squirmed in his arms, making him even more aware of her curves, and he tightened his hold on her. “Do you?”

  He heard her sigh as she rested her cheek on his lapel. Surely, she
heard his heart pounding. “Yes, my lord, I do like you. I believe you are courageous and strong and noble. And you saved my life, for I surely would have drowned that night we swam to shore.”

  “You make me sound like a heroic knight?”

  There was a long pause before she said softly, “You are my heroic knight.”

  “Rosalind?” Dare he hope . . . . He took her small chin in his hand, lifting her face. “Look at me,” he said when she wouldn’t meet his eye. She did, and he said, ““We are to marry, Rosalind. I want to be your husband.” She started to protest, and he dipped his head down, covering her lips with his own. She tasted so sweet and quickly he deepened his kiss. When a small groan escaped her, he forgot their surroundings and completely gave himself over to the feel of her.

  ~~~~~

  Despite the overwhelming need she felt for him, sanity told Rosalind that she had to stop Melvyrn’s advances. She pushed her hands against his broad chest, but he tightened his arms around her even more. She turned her head to the side, breaking the kiss, and said, “Melvyrn, we are in a public garden.”

  He was panting, as though he were trying to control himself. “I’m sorry, my love,” he said, drawing in a deep breath. “Your scent, your sweetness, your very touch . . . I’m sorry I crave for more.”

  They were quiet for a few moments, standing in each others arms. She kept thinking that he’d called her his love. She wanted it to be true, for she knew she loved him, though she’d tried to deny it. She’d been trying to push him away from the very first moment they’d met, yet she could no longer ignore her feelings for him. “Melvyrn--”

  “Call me Martin,” he said.

  “Martin, do you love me?” she asked boldly.

  “More than life itself.” She smiled at him, and he pulled her to him again. “I hope that you’ll come to love me,” he said, gazing into her eyes.

  Still smiling, she said, “I already do.”

  His soft smile turned slowly to a wicked grin. As he bent his head to kiss her, Lord Denholm’s voice called out, “Melvyrn?”

  Melvyrn groaned, then whispered in her ear, “We can be married by week’s end?”

  She pulled away enough to see his wicked smile had turned serious as his eyes devoured her with desire.

  “Melvyrn?” Denholm’s voice was much closer.

  “What of the scandal?” she asked, but not truly caring about what people would think. Or of having a London Season as she’d led her aunt to believe.

  He shrugged. “A nine day wonder, but never say my lady smuggler is worried about scandal?”

  With her heart singing with joy, Rosalind laughed and, putting her hand behind his head, drew it down to meet her lips for a scandalous kiss.