To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses)

by Monajem, Barbara

  He had to stop thinking about it. He mustn’t let it ruin his future with Melinda. Granted, one couldn’t guarantee the fidelity of one’s spouse, but there was no reason, none at all, for the same thing to happen again.

  Melinda was no fool. Lord Garrison had been far more than surprised. Just to make certain, she sneaked back out and tested the balustrade. It seemed perfectly firm.

  So what had she done to upset him? His regret at his outburst had been as plain on his face as the fury preceding it, and now he had reassumed his usual cool demeanor. Her father had never shown a sign of regretting his shouting matches with Mama, so Lord Garrison was an improvement. But still, she must strive to understand him, to know what set him off.

  Unnerved but determined, she hastened back to her bedchamber. Lord Garrison was nothing like Grandmama. He seemed kindly by nature and not ill-disposed toward her, and yet she knew white-hot anger when she saw it. Was it something to do with that bedchamber? The last person to occupy it must have been his mother. Had they been estranged? She would ask Mrs. Timms about Lord Garrison’s parents and see if she let anything pertinent slip out.

  She unwound her plait, brushed out her hair, and returned to the bed. She propped the pillows against the headboard and leaned back on them. In order to show a happy face to the world, she would need Lord Garrison’s cooperation. She was still wondering how to put it tactfully when he opened the door, carrying a tea tray with a plate of drop cakes. He didn’t smile, nor did he show a sign of his former fury.

  For a moment they eyed one another like two wary cats, and then he came inside and shut the door. “I escaped the kitchen just before Mrs. Timms was due to emerge from her rooms.” He set the tray on the table by the bed and poured for her. “Sugar?”

  She nodded, and he nipped a couple of lumps off a loaf of sugar and dropped them into her dish. He offered her a drop cake. “With any luck, she won’t come up to chastise me for bringing you a dish of tea.”

  “Or for entering my bedchamber unchaperoned.” She rolled her eyes. “It seems ridiculous to fuss about the proprieties when we shall be married in only a few hours.” She took a bite of the cake.

  “Yet I assure you Mrs. Timms will do so.” He poured his own tea, added some sugar, and took the chair by the bed. How domestic it felt, she in her nightdress and he unshaven.

  She sipped the tea. “Lord Garrison,” she said, and stopped to lick the crumbs off her upper lip. “I have a plan, but I will need your cooperation to carry it out.”

  His expression, if anything, was vaguely bemused. “Tell me.”

  “I cannot bear to let my grandmother see that this marriage is not what I wanted. She has always made such dire predictions about me that I must prove her wrong.” When he said nothing, she added, “I suppose it sounds childish, but I cannot let her win.” He still remained silent, and she suspected her own expression was descending into mulishness. “Say something!”

  He knit his brows a trifle. “I don’t want her to win either, but first, why did she predict such disaster for you?”

  Melinda wished she could tell him the whole truth, but that was impossible. Some secrets were not meant to see daylight. She would make sure, by word and deed, that his noble line showed no sign of being tainted by bastard blood.

  “Because as a child I was wild and disobedient, and because when I disagreed with her, I said so.” She grimaced. “I learned not to disobey or disagree, for fear of punishment, but it didn’t change how I felt or what I wanted to do.”

  His expression didn’t change. “Such as?”

  “Running and climbing trees. Riding in an unladylike manner.” She stopped, unsure. So far he remained inscrutable as ever, but their mutual understanding was so frail that she didn’t want to risk another outbreak of rage.

  “What else?” he asked. “I can tell by your expression that there is more.”

  Since she couldn’t read anything on his face, this was awfully unfair. “Do you promise not to be horrid if I tell you?”

  “Probably,” he said.

  “Probably you promise, or probably you won’t be horrid?”

  “Probably you should spit it out and get it over with.” This wasn’t the first time she’d detected that impatient note in his voice.

  “If you must know, I swam naked in the river.” Again, he said absolutely nothing. His reticence would drive her mad. “Not at Grandmama’s house, because there was no river close by, but swimming with Stephen and Colin was what got me sent to her in the first place.”

  At last his expression changed, and not for the better. The fractional narrowing of his eyes and the slight tightening of his mouth warned her.

  “I knew it,” she said. “You’re going to be all stiff and disapproving, but I was only nine years old.” Pause. “Very well, I was almost ten.” His cool silence made her more nervous by the second. “It was frightfully unjust, because Stephen and Colin only got birched, whilst I was sent away to Grandmama for three whole years to learn to become a proper lady. Stop looking at me like that!”

  “How am I looking at you?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

  “Thank God for that,” he said. “My mind is often an unpleasant place. You are far better off not knowing what goes on there.”

  “How can I be better off? I don’t know what you like or dislike, what you’ll approve or disapprove of, whether we’ll be constantly at odds . . .” An unsettling thought occurred. “You won’t make a fuss if I read novels, will you? Romantic novels, that is.”

  He snorted, derisive but not in an unfriendly way. “Not unless you expect me to read them, too.”

  She laughed, relieved. How strange that matters between them could go from vibrating tension to good humor in a second. “Of course not. Men don’t generally enjoy them, and you don’t believe in love, so you would find them even more distasteful.”

  “No doubt.” His features softened. “I shall be your husband, not your parent or grandparent. We should discuss our likes and dislikes and tolerate one another’s foibles.”

  “My parents didn’t. All their discussions ended up as massive arguments, and they refused to tolerate one another.”

  “My parents didn’t much care for one another either, although they expressed it mostly as indifference.” He paused. “Melinda, we don’t have to be like our parents. We can be whatever we choose.”

  This was the first time he had addressed her by her given name, and it distracted her, sounding excellent in his soothing voice. She bit her lip, studying him. “What shall I call you?”

  His mouth curled into something approaching a smile. “Whatever you like, but my Christian name is Miles.”

  “Miles.” She blushed at the intimacy of it. The only men of her own class she called by their Christian names were Edward and Stephen, as well as Colin, who was practically another brother. This was much different—disconcertingly so.

  She swallowed nervously. What had seemed such a simple subject a few minutes ago had become rather difficult to broach. “I hope—I trust we shall learn to get along.” What she was about to say seemed unworthy after he’d shown such willingness to be optimistic about their future.

  But that was for later; now, she had to deal with the present. “Returning to what I wished to discuss.” She cleared the lump in her throat. “In order to convince my grandmother that she was wrong, I shall have to pretend to be madly in love with you.”

  Immediately, that flat expression covered his face again, the one she couldn’t read. It was as if he closed the shutters of his mind.

  She put up a hand as if to fend off his next reaction, whatever it might be. “It will also fit with the story Edward is putting about, but you needn’t be alarmed. I won’t really mean it.”

  “I’m not alarmed,”
he said.

  “You’re definitely something,” she said darkly. If this was the sort of foible she would have to tolerate, she didn’t like it one bit. “I promise not to fawn all over you or heave idiotic sighs. In spite of being romantically inclined, I am a very practical person.”

  “Evidently so,” he said, still showing no reaction.

  “I shall merely act as if I like you a great deal. As if I find you particularly attractive.”

  “I can hardly object to that,” he said, but she got the feeling he did.

  “It will only be a pose to convince Grandmama and the rest of the world as well.” Surely this was what they both wanted, but if so, why did he grow colder by the second? “I know I’m not the woman you would have chosen, and I don’t expect you to pretend to love me.” She gave up and set down her dish with a clatter. “What is the matter with you? I’m not asking a great deal. I shall do most of the work. All you must do is seem to admire me.”

  “Melinda, you are beautiful and have never lacked for suitors. No one will have the slightest doubt that I find you extremely desirable.”

  A blush mounted her cheeks. He’d said as much last night, but in that case why was he so disapproving? “You are a good-looking man, so hopefully people will believe me, too. But since you won’t even have to pretend to desire me, what is wrong?”

  “Nothing at all. Your plan makes a great deal of sense.” He downed the rest of his tea and stood. “I dislike pretense, but in the interest of proving your grandmother wrong, I shall do my poor best to cooperate.”

  Bloody hell. People called him cold, but she was just as bad. Worse, because she believed in love and yet was entirely ready to counterfeit it. He didn’t know how he would put up with it.

  God only knew why he cared so very much. Perhaps it was because Desiree had only made a show of loving him, but that made no sense. He knew Melinda was just pretending, so he wasn’t being made a fool of.

  Perhaps it was nothing to do with Desiree. Perhaps it was because he had desired Melinda from the first. He didn’t care about love—didn’t even want to consider such folly—but he wasn’t immune to lust. He wanted to tangle his fingers through that glorious hair, hold her hard against him, and kiss her breathless. He wanted to feast on her fragrant skin, suckle her delicious breasts, and bury himself inside her. In a few days, he would do all that and more.

  And yet, weren’t his plans to seduce her just as cold-hearted as her pretense? She considered him good-looking, but he wanted more than that. He didn’t want her pretending to find him irresistible. He wanted her desire to be as real as his.

  The alternatives weren’t any better. He could take her without consideration for her pleasure and feel like a brute afterward. He could not take her at all, but that would likely prove more hurtful still.

  Oh, hell. He was making a mountain out of a molehill again. Melinda was only trying to prove her grandmother wrong, and damned if he would let the old besom cause her any more distress. As for the other matter, he fully intended to seduce his wife.

  He disliked pretense. Well, so did she, but she’d been stuck with it all her life. Why did he so often try to hide his true feelings? Every time she wanted to discuss something important, he clammed up. To Melinda, with a wealth of experience in concealing her thoughts, the answer was obvious—he was afraid.

  No, impossible! He was a man—a wealthy, powerful one. No one could order him about. He had no reason to fear being scolded or beaten.

  But there were other kinds of pain, she supposed. Loneliness, for example, or grief. Or wounded pride, men were particularly subject to that.

  He disliked the idea of pretending to be in love. Again, so did she, but that was because she believed in it, while he didn’t. Had he suffered from such pretense in the past? Was that perhaps why he didn’t believe?

  How she wished she knew what had happened in his scandalous past. There, perhaps, was the key to understanding Lord Garrison. He wouldn’t discuss it, but others would. Once she was out in society again, she would root the story out.

  Chapter 6

  The first of their few guests had arrived. Melinda took Miles’s proffered arm and braced herself to greet them. There was no turning back now.

  “What a handsome couple you make! Miles, I’m so happy for you.” Lady Paulding came in on Colin’s arm, clasped her hands to her violet-encased bosom, and heaved a massive sigh. “How lovely to meet you, my dear Miss Starling. You resemble your mother greatly. I hear the war with France has stranded her in Italy or some such. What a pity, as she will be sad to have missed such an occasion. How very pretty you are, and of such a good family. Miles must consider himself extremely fortunate.”

  “Oh, I do.” Lord Garrison’s soothing voice sounded completely sincere.

  “Dearest Miles!” Lady Paulding smiled warmly at Melinda. “I feared that unfortunate business in the past had ruined dear Miles for love, but I see it is not so. His adoration of you shines in his eyes. And yours, too, my dear. You are deeply in love with him. I can see it.”

  Either they were playing their roles well, or Lady Paulding’s vision was poor. “How can I not be, ma’am?” Melinda said. “I waited for love to come my way, refusing to marry anyone but the perfect man. Now, at last, I have found him.” She caught Colin gaping at her and hurriedly dropped her gaze.

  “You overwhelm me, my love,” Miles said in his sardonic way.

  “Good. I want you to understand precisely how I feel.” She smiled apologetically up at him, biting her lip. “How dashing you are this morning.” This was the absolute truth. His cheeks were smooth-shaven now, his cravat a work of art, his waistcoat embroidered silk, his unmentionables…unmentionable. She’d been taught not to let her eyes drift below a man’s waistcoat.

  Lady Paulding chuckled. “A fine figure of a man, isn’t he? Don’t be shy, my dear. He likes it when you ogle his privates, just as you enjoy it when he looks down the bosom of your gown.”

  “Dearest aunt,” Miles said, doing exactly that. “You’re putting me to the blush.”

  When she’d suggested they pretend to be in love, Melinda hadn’t considered anything like this. Men had eyed her in that assessing way before, but when the attention came from Miles, it was much different—and undeniably pleasant. A vivid picture leapt into her mind of some mutual ogling, and heat rose up her cheeks.

  The old lady snorted. “It’s Miss Starling who is red as a cherry, but I shan’t apologize. Ah, to be young, scandalous, and in love again. I suppose you’ve anticipated your vows already, but if not, I’d be happy to have a little talk with you, my dear.”

  Melinda blushed even more. “Thank you, my lady, but that won’t be necessary.”

  “I suppose not, as your grandmother is in town,” Lady Paulding said. “It’s hard to believe, seeing how crotchety she is nowadays, but Maria Starling was once a passionate woman. She won’t feed you any nonsense about propriety in the bedchamber.”

  No, Grandmama was more likely to tell Melinda that passion would be her undoing. That she would prove to be as wanton as her mother. Speak of the devil: there was a bustle at the door. Grandmama had arrived.

  Melinda tucked her hand into Miles’s arm, and then froze. Would he object? She’d done it by instinct, seeking reassurance, not as part of the act. He squeezed her hand against his torso, and she sagged a little with relief.

  It might become difficult, she realized suddenly, to tell where pretense ended and reality began.

  Edward and Grandmama crossed the threshold. Melinda took a deep breath. “Here are my brother and grandmother.” She tried to ignore the knot in her stomach and strove for a smile. “Are you acquainted?” she began, but Lady Paulding surged forward.

  “My dear Maria,” she cried. “Welcome, welcome to this happy occasion.” She grinned broadly. “You must know, dear
child, that your grandmother and I are old cronies. We weathered scandals together in our giddy youth.”

  “Good day, Juliana.” Grandmama submitted stiffly to an embrace. She didn’t even glance at Melinda. “Still talking nonsense, I see.”

  “Still hiding your head in the sand, I see,” Lady Paulding retorted. “What’s the point of behaving badly if you don’t remember it loudly and to the embarrassment of those around you? You’re Sir Edward, are you? You have a great look of your father. I’ve met your wife, a lovely girl. Is she well?” She prattled on, linking arms with Grandmama and bearing her relentlessly toward the drawing room.

  Melinda let out a breath. Miles winked. “She’s like a river in full spate. The only way to survive is to flow with the current and hope to be tossed onto the bank.”

  “I’ve never met anyone so forthright,” Melinda said.

  His lip curled in a half-smile. Did he ever let himself really grin? “You’d best become accustomed. She’s my favorite relative.”

  “Thank you for inviting her.” An elderly baron and his wife arrived, close friends of Lady Paulding who had known Miles’s parents. Everyone assembled in the drawing room, where the rector waited.

  Melinda glanced at her grandmother, straight-backed and grim next to Edward. The old lady’s eyes glinted with malice. Melinda recognized that expression—Grandmama was planning something horrid. Was she about to speak up, to tell everyone that Melinda was a by-blow and no true Starling?