Mr. Fellowes sneered, ensconced himself in a corner by a statue, and began sketching again, but every few seconds his eyes left the page to follow her progress across the room.
“Yet another reason to avoid balls,” Miles said. “If we want idiotic drama, we can go to the theatre.”
“Love isn’t idiotic,” Melinda said. “Poor Mr. Fellowes.”
“Nonsense. He should thank his stars that he escaped marrying a brainless fool by the skin of his teeth.”
Melinda glanced up at him, uncertainty shivering through her—for Miles hadn’t escaped marriage.
His almost-smile widened more than ever before. “And lucky me,” he said softly. “If it weren’t for Mr. Fellowes’s folly, we might never have met.”
Her heart thumped at the glint in those dark eyes. “True.”
“Dance with me again?”
“A third time? Isn’t that against the rules, even with one’s own husband?”
“Do you want to kowtow to all of society’s rules?”
She grinned. “When you put it that way . . .” But dancing would not be enjoyable while she needed to attend to the call of nature. “I must go to the ladies’ retiring room first.”
No one was in there, a blessing, because she didn’t want to have to explain why she was smiling so very much. Happiness in one’s marriage was one thing, but unconcealed joy was the sort of emotion that invited spite.
Miles was attracted to her. He wasn’t unhappy that he’d married her. Everything might work out well . . .
She was about to return to the ballroom when she realized she wasn’t alone after all. From behind a curtain came a despairing sob.
“I beg your pardon,” Melinda said, “but is there anything I can do to help?”
The sobbing ceased. “It’s nothing,” whispered the sufferer between a gasp and a heave.
Melinda recognized that whisper. “Lavinia, what’s wrong?”
Two fingers pressed aside the curtain, and Lavinia’s woeful countenance peeped around it. “Oh, Melinda,” she whimpered. “I don’t know what to do!” Her face crumpled, and she wept into her hands.
“What’s wrong?” Earlier, Lavinia had been dancing with Lord Andrews, a little pale perhaps but perfectly composed, and when she’d come in with him from the terrace, she’d seemed disconcerted—but nothing like this.
Lavinia shook her head, golden curls clinging limply to her wet cheeks. “It’s no matter. Please go away. You hate me now. I understand.” She blotted her eyes with her shawl.
“Why would I hate you?” Melinda queried.
“Because it’s my fault you had to marry that monster. How could I have known a ghastly fate awaited you in the mews? I’m sorry,” she wailed. “Terribly, agonizingly sorry!”
“Lavinia, you have it all wrong. I’m in love with Lord Garrison. I’m perfectly happy to be married to him.” What a relief that this, although not precisely true, was quite a bit closer to the truth than she’d imagined possible. “Now, what’s amiss?”
“I don’t believe you. You can’t possibly be happy with that monster.”
“He’s not a monster, and if you continue to speak of him that way, we won’t be friends any longer.”
“But, Melinda, he got an innocent woman with child and then abandoned her! That makes him a monster.”
Was that what Miles had done? If so, it was far, far worse than a mere seduction. Her heart beat faster, and she felt quite ill. “Who told you that?”
“Mama did,” Lavinia said. “The woman’s name was Desiree Sibley, and she was Mama’s cousin. Desiree was desperately in love with Lord Garrison. He took advantage and seduced her. Can you imagine anything more horrid? She believed he would marry her. She thought they were going to elope to Gretna Green, and that her baby would be the next viscount, but instead, he tired of her and threw her out of his house, and after that he held orgies with dozens of courtesans and other disgusting people. If that’s not monstrous, I don’t know what is.”
Melinda swallowed down the sick feeling. She had told Miles she would listen to gossip about him, but that didn’t mean she had to accept what people said. “I don’t believe it,” she said flatly. “He’s not that sort of man.”
“Mama knows. She was her cousin.”
Melinda didn’t know what to think. This certainly explained that look of loathing in the park, but between Lady Eudora and Miles Garrison, she knew whose story she would choose to believe.
Except that she didn’t know Miles’s story. She only knew that both Colin and Mr. Fellowes spoke highly of him. Colin was a rake, so he might not see a seduction as so very bad…but if the woman was unmarried and expecting a child, only an evil man—very well, a monster―would refuse to marry her. Surely Colin wouldn’t approve of that. She didn’t think Mr. Fellowes would dismiss it as nothing, either.
“There’s no point arguing about it. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
“My life is ruined, but nothing can be done about it.” Lavinia heaved a long, throbbing sigh. “What happened that night? Where did you go?”
Melinda had foreseen this kind of prying question. “I met Lord Garrison in the mews and fell straightaway in love.”
Lavinia’s brows drew together as if trying to puzzle this out. Before she could start demanding details, Melinda said, “Someone is sure to come in here before long. Hurry up and tell me why you’re upset. Is it because Lord Andrews hasn’t offered for you yet?”
“No, it’s because he’s going to!” She burst into gusty sobs once again.
This made no sense at all. Melinda took a handkerchief from her reticule and handed it to her friend. She waited while Lavinia composed herself and blew her nose. “So why are you crying?”
“Because I don’t like him at all. Last year he seemed so handsome and wonderful, and he’s still handsome, I suppose, but something about him makes me uneasy. I don’t feel comfortable or safe with him. I don’t like the way he looks at me, and as for when he kissed me . . .”
“Yes?”
Lavinia shuddered eloquently. “It was absolutely, positively dreadful. It was all I could do not to be sick then and there.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Has that mon—has Lord Garrison kissed you?”
Melinda rolled her eyes.
“How silly of me. Of course he must have kissed you, and more,” Lavinia said, a gleam of interest in her red-rimmed eyes. “What was . . . it like?”
Even if she’d known the answer to this question, Melinda wouldn’t have given it.
Lavinia sniffled and blew her nose. “Mama says it’s disgusting, but one’s duty is to lie there and put up with it.”
That sounded both tedious and unlikely, but again, Melinda didn’t place much credence in anything Lady Eudora said. “You really must stop believing everything your mother says, and no, I’m not going to tell you about it. It’s too personal, and I expect everyone’s experience is different. Why are you so overset? All you have to do is refuse Lord Andrews.”
“Mama will be furious if I do.” Lavinia swallowed convulsively. “I don’t know how I came to think he was preferable to Mr. Fellowes. I feel comfortable with Mr. Fellowes. He would never make me feel frightened, but Lord Andrews does. Also, he has mistresses, but Mama says all men do, and that we should be thankful because it means our husbands will leave us alone most of the time.”
What a melancholy thought, having to share Miles with another woman. Melinda couldn’t imagine wanting to be left alone.
“Does Lord Garrison have a mistress?”
“No,” Melinda said immediately, by now almost certain it was true, but there was no guarantee that he would never have one. In this instance, she was inclined to believe Lady Eudora, as she’d seen many examples—Papa, her brother Stephen, Colin Warren, an
d other men she’d heard about through gossip.
Lavinia sighed. “I tried to stave Lord Andrews off, but he came today to ask for my hand. I said I was too ill to see him. I tried to convince Mama I was too ill to attend the ball, too, but she made me come, and she made me let Lord Andrews take me onto the terrace, and his kiss was wet and sloppy and disgusting, and it was all I could do not to run away!”
“Then why didn’t you? Actually, you should have slapped him first and then run away,” Melinda said.
“Oh, but think of the talk it would cause! Oh, Melinda, I’m trying to be a dutiful daughter, but when I imagine being subjected to that every day of my life . . .”
Melinda snorted. “That’s the way I felt every time Lord Bottleford proposed to me.”
“You kissed him?”
“God, no,” Melinda said. “I imagined that stupid lock of hair flopping over his face across the breakfast table for the rest of my life and practically ran from the room in horror.”
Lavinia giggled, dabbing at her eyes. “Melinda, if I refuse to marry him, Mama will kill me.”
“Don’t exaggerate. What about your guardian? Surely he will not force you to marry a man you dislike!”
“My guardian lives a hundred miles away, and he lets Mama make all the decisions. She will send me to the country forever, where I shall die a shriveled old maid.” Her tears burst forth anew. “I wish I had eloped with Mr. Fellowes.”
Melinda wished that too, except that . . . it meant she never would have been forced into wedding Miles. She pondered her life before their marriage . . . tedious assemblies, Grandmama bossing her about, and like a shining glow on the horizon, the prospect of falling in love.
The horizon didn’t glow quite the same way anymore. Marriage with Miles had changed that—but perhaps not as much for the worse as she’d expected.
“Mr. Fellowes kisses very nicely,” Lavinia said, “and I think he would have been kind to me, in spite of only pretending to be in love.”
“You believed he didn’t love you, and you still meant to run off with him?” Melinda began to be annoyed. If she’d known that, she never would have assisted with the elopement, never would have gone into the mews, never would have met Lord Garrison.
Once again, a vision of her old life wavered before her mind. She would still be with Grandmama, trying her best to be a perfect lady. She didn’t want that old life back.
Lavinia slumped. “I knew he wanted my money. They all do. But I liked him, and I think he liked me.”
“As a matter of fact, he loves you,” Melinda said. “Since you jilted him, he talks of nothing else.”
“He loves me?”
“He’s utterly miserable with unrequited love. Instead of his usual romantic drawings, he sketches gloomy scenes by the River Styx.”
“Then why won’t he speak to me? I’ve tried to catch his eye. I’ve smiled at him in the most fetching way I know, but he turns away.”
“Because he believes you’re in love with Lord Andrews. Not only that, he thinks you’re flighty and will make a bad wife.”
“I’m not flighty. I just didn’t realize what mattered until it was too late.” She sighed. “Kisses are very important, I think. And kindness, too. I don’t think Lord Andrews is a kindly sort of man, but Mr. Fellowes is.”
Melinda couldn’t argue with any of that that.
“So what should I do?” Pause. “Oh, Melinda, would you tell him I’ve changed my mind? Please?”
“He would much rather hear it from you,” Melinda said.
“But he won’t even speak to me. All you must do is to persuade him to listen to me, if only for a minute or two.”
Melinda pondered. “Very well, but I don’t think he has the money for another elopement. You’ll have to tell your mother you wish to marry Mr. Fellowes instead of Lord Andrews.”
Lavinia moaned. “It’s no use. Mama will forbid me to even think of him.”
“Perhaps she will change her mind if you persist.” Even as she said it, Melinda knew this wasn’t likely.
Lady Eudora was far too ambitious to settle for a mere mister. She had taken a step down in marrying the now-deceased Mr. Darwin—which she had done solely for his money—and she was adamant that her daughter would marry into the peerage.
“She will never change her mind,” Lavinia said. “She won’t let me be friends with you anymore, either. She says I must acknowledge you in public for the sake of appearances, but that no daughter of hers may associate with the wife of that mon—man.” Tears sprang afresh. “I shall miss you, Melinda.”
“Not if you marry Mr. Fellowes. He won’t forbid you to be my friend.”
Melinda helped Lavinia put herself to rights, promised to seek out Mr. Fellowes, and left the retiring room. Oh, heavens! By the sound of it, the dance was just finishing. She scurried toward the ballroom and almost bumped into Colin.
“Whoa there,” he said, steadying her. “What’s the hurry?”
“I was supposed to dance with Miles, and now the dance is over. Colin, do most men have mistresses?”
“Dash it all, Melinda, you should know better than to ask me a question like that.” Colin eyed her grimly. “And if you mean Miles, no, he hasn’t.”
“I know that—he told me so—but I was asking about gentlemen in general, particularly the married ones.”
Colin looked more uneasy by the second. “How should I know? I don’t keep tabs on them all, and I shouldn’t even talk to you about this sort of thing.” Which to Melinda meant that yes, most of them did. How horrid.
He tugged at his cravat. “I’m leaving. Dashed tedious affairs, these balls.”
“Then why did you come?” she asked.
“Wanted to see how things were going. You’ll be pleased to know that your spotless reputation has made all the difference.”
“My reputation?”
“They all think Miles seduced or abducted you. The gossip is running about even, but as long as you seem in good spirits, they’ll put up with him.”
Melinda pondered this annoying revelation. Not that she minded having a spotless reputation; she’d worked hard to maintain it. “That’s so unjust,” she hissed. “He has been an angel. There must be a way to make people understand.”
“Trust me, there isn’t. All you would do is destroy your own credibility, and for what? Miles doesn’t care what they think.”
“Yes, he does. He pretends not to, but I don’t believe him.” She frowned up at Colin, wondering if might tell her the truth about Miles.
“No,” he said, before she could even frame a question. “My lips are sealed.”
She said darkly, “Miles thought I would ask you, so he got to you first.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference if he hadn’t. If Miles wants to tell you about it, he will, and if he doesn’t, he won’t, and that’s all there is to it.” He paused. “Let it be, Melinda-love.”
“I can’t just let it be.”
“Yes, you can. Truly, it doesn’t matter. He’s a first-rate fellow. Go forward with that.”
Colin was probably right, but she’d never been good at leaving things be. She looked up to see Miles watching her from the doorway to the ballroom. He raised a sardonic brow, and her cheeks burned. “Oh, no!” How much had he heard?
“What?” Colin glanced up. “Dash it all, he can’t be jealous again! I’ve spoken to you for all of two minutes. If he continues to behave in this medieval fashion, I shall―”
Did Colin truly think Miles was jealous? She couldn’t help but smile inwardly, but she put up a hand. “No, no, it’s not that. You’d better go.” Colin shrugged and ambled off, and she hurried up to Miles. “You don’t understand.”
He took her hand and marched her away from the ballroom into a de
serted corridor. “Then pray enlighten me.”
She took in her husband’s icy expression and swallowed. “I didn’t ask him, although he thought I would, because he said no before I even opened my mouth.”
“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I didn’t break a promise! I merely would have listened if he’d volunteered to explain. He’s not one of those mean cats who gossip about you. I thought he might tell me the truth.”
To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses) Page 13
