Melinda threw up her hands, watching him stomp away. Perhaps she should look about her for another suitor for her friend. All thoughts of Lavinia fled, however, when she climbed into the dark carriage with her husband again.
“When will you tell me about lovemaking?” she asked, as they moved slowly forward in the line of carriages leaving Lady Corington’s house.
Miles laughed and put an arm around her, pulling her close. “Tomorrow.”
“Why not now?”
He kissed her briefly—too briefly. “Because we can’t do anything about it until then.”
“We can kiss,” she said, snuggling close. She buried her nose against him and inhaled his unique aroma, enjoying the little quivers of desire it wrought.
“I never imagined kissing would be so wonderful,” she said. “I think it was your kiss that truly convinced me to marry you. If your kiss had been sloppy and horrid, I wouldn’t have been able to stomach marrying you, regardless of the consequences. Instead, it was . . . oh, so exciting I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” She paused. “Now I can’t stop thinking about what lovemaking will be like.” She paused again. “Shall we take off all our clothing?”
“Determined to torture me, are you?”
She giggled.
He sighed and pulled her onto his lap. “Strictly speaking, nakedness is not required.”
“Let’s not speak strictly, then,” she said, nuzzling his neck, inhaling his aroma again and savoring the tiny thrills. “I’m rather interested in seeing you naked.”
He held her tighter. “The feeling is mutual, but for example, if we were to do it here and now, we would likely leave most of our clothes on.”
“Do it in the coach?”
“Why not? At the rate we’re going, it will take forever to get home.” His voice was a lazy drawl. “What better way to pass the time?”
“On the other hand, it may take only five minutes to get home,” she said, for the horses had suddenly picked up speed. “We might be caught.”
“In flagrante delicto,” he murmured. “The possibility of discovery adds spice to an already intoxicating activity.”
Merely thinking about it did. Through the rags she still wore because her bleeding wasn’t quite over, she felt the swell of his member. A responsive pulse settled in her privates. She tried to stay still, but the rolling of the carriage made it impossible. His member grew harder, and her privates began to throb in earnest.
“Most of our clothing would remain on, but not all,” he said. “For instance, I would have to lower my breeches.”
The thought of his bare member touching her bare privates made her throb even more.
“Or, to take another example of the benefits of at least partial nakedness, I might like to peruse your breasts—as I mentioned earlier.”
Oh, God. Her nipples tingled. Gently, his hand came up to cup one of her breasts. “Oh,” she breathed. It seemed to swell in his hand. His thumb brushed her nipple through the layers of fabric.
“I might like to kiss them.” Suddenly his lips were on the bare skin above her décolleté. His lips roamed lower, and through the fabric he bit her nipple. She moaned.
He made a low, growling sound in his throat, and then they were kissing again, but it was different from before—feverish and wild. One large, hot hand caressed her thigh through the fabric, while the other feathered her breast. She squirmed in earnest now, yearning to press herself against him, to surrender to his passion and his heat. Intoxicating indeed . . .
Suddenly he pulled away and set her on the seat beside him. He was breathing heavily and so was she. Her heart thudded. Her whole body thrummed. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted more.
“The rest will have to wait,” he said.
Now she knew what he meant by torture, but once undressed and in bed, Melinda succumbed to fatigue. She woke to the cheerful crowing of the cock in the chicken yard below. A glance at the clock told her the servants must be up by now. She rang for her morning chocolate and got out of bed, stretching. Tonight, she and Miles . . .
Tonight was a long way ahead. For now, she would set those thoughts aside. She lay in bed, planning her day. There was a thorough inventory to be done—everything from silverware to linens—and refurbishing to plan. Also, a visit to Hatchard’s for some books and another ball that evening.
Soon one of the maids arrived. Melinda drank her chocolate and dressed in an old morning gown. She dismissed the maid and wandered across the room, threw open the curtains, and took a step onto the small balcony.
Far below, Rebecca was in the garden next door. Melinda watched as she dragged a crate to the wall between the two gardens, using it to reach the lower branches of a pear tree. With a jut of her determined little chin, she climbed from branch to branch until she managed to scramble onto the top of the wall. A twig had pulled her bonnet half off, so she sat on the wall and fumbled with the strings.
“Aren’t you a clever climber!” Melinda said.
Rebecca’s head jerked up, and the bonnet tumbled into the garden on Melinda’s side of the wall. The little girl’s face puckered.
“Don’t cry,” Melinda called down. “I shall come get it for you.” She hurried downstairs and into the kitchen, and exited past the startled gazes of Mrs. Timms and the scullery maid.
“My lady?” Mrs. Timms said.
“Carry on with your work,” Melinda said. She purloined a newly-baked macaroon and kept on going.
Rebecca had moved along the wall to just above where her hat had fallen. Melinda smiled at her, swept the hat off the ground and brushed it off, and handed it up to Rebecca. “There you go. Can you tie it yourself?”
She nodded, her smile tentative as she glanced furtively toward the house. “Thank you,” she whispered, clutching the bonnet in one hand whilst scrambling back along the wall to the pear tree. A thought crossed Melinda’s mind that something about the child’s smile, or perhaps it was her chin, was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“I have a macaroon for you,” Melinda said, handing it to the girl. The girl beamed and took a bite.
A door opened and slammed shut. “Rebecca!” a stern voice cried. The girl started, teetered, and almost fell off the wall. “What are you doing up there, you wicked girl! Why did you take off your bonnet? And where did you get that macaroon? You stole it! Oh, you evil child!”
“I gave her the macaroon,” Melinda said, wishing she could see over the wall. “Not only that, her bonnet fell off and I retrieved it for her.”
“Where—who is that speaking?” the voice demanded.
“Your neighbor across the wall.” Melinda spied an overturned barrel, climbed onto it, and peered over the wall. She already disliked the woman—this must be the one who had deprived Rebecca of her supper—but she would accomplish nothing by being unpleasant.
She offered the scowling woman a friendly smile. “I’m Lady Garrison. Good day to you.”
A spasm of dismay crossed the woman’s prim face. She dipped into a curtsey. “Good day, my lady. I’m dreadfully sorry Rebecca caused you annoyance.” She grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her roughly off the wall. Still clutching the macaroon, Rebecca burst into tears. The woman shook her and then let go. “She will be severely punished, I promise.”
“Oh, no,” Melinda said. “Please don’t punish her. She didn’t bother me in the least.”
“That is most kind of you, my lady, but Rebecca’s naughtiness must not be indulged.”
“Oh, come now. She’s a lovely little girl, and she hasn’t done any harm.”
“Lovely is as lovely does,” the woman said. “Climbing on walls and soiling her dress and bonnet!” She rounded on the little girl, who was cramming the macaroon into her mouth as if she feared it would be snatched from her, while frant
ically trying to brush debris from her skirts. “Whatever will become of you, Rebecca? Your guardian will be furious. Get into the house this instant.”
Rebecca hung her head and slowly plodded toward the door.
“Truly, you mustn’t worry about her,” Melinda said. “She’ll be perfectly fine. I used to climb walls and trees as well, and I turned out well enough.”
“Yes, my lady, but this poor child is not ladylike by nature. She has been spoiled by her nursemaid, and if her inherent evil is not rooted out now, she will come to a bad end.”
Inherent evil. Bad end. Those were the sort of words that made Melinda’s blood boil. But again, nothing would be gained by rudeness.
“I am Miss Jenks, the governess, and this poor child’s only hope of salvation.”
Melinda began to feel rather sick. This woman reminded her all too well of Grandmama, except for the reference to salvation. Grandmama had no patience for what she called religious pap, but she believed in bad ends as much as Miss Jenks.
“I don’t think you need worry,” Melinda said. “Rebecca was polite and respectful to me. I was most impressed by her good manners.”
“My lady? My lady, where are you?” Mrs. Timms appeared, evidently unable to contain her curiosity.
“Thank you kindly, my lady,” Miss Jenks said hurriedly, dipping another curtsey and backing away. “I shall bid you good-day.”
Melinda sighed. She would have to see if anything could be done for poor Rebecca, but in the meantime other duties called.
“Who were you talking to, my lady?” Mrs. Timms asked. Why did she seem so agitated?
“The little girl next door and her governess. She’s a sweet child. Is something wrong?”
“No, my lady. No, nothing at all,” Mrs. Timms said. “Shall we start on the inventory now, or did you wish to have breakfast first?”
Melinda wanted breakfast, but all through it she thought about the little girl next door and wondered what her punishment would be—because she hadn’t the slightest doubt that her words had had no effect on Miss Jenks. She knew that sort of person, single-minded and sure of her own rightness.
Mrs. Timms pounced on Miles the moment he returned to the house from his morning ride. “My lord, I must speak to you straightaway!” She glanced about and lowered her voice. “You must do something immediately about next door.”
He sighed. He didn’t want to think about Rebecca just now, but he’d been doing so in spite of himself. “I shall, Mrs. Timms, when I’m ready.”
“Her ladyship met Miss Rebecca and Miss Jenks this morning,” Mrs. Timms said.
Inconvenient, but Melinda didn’t know who Rebecca really was.
Mrs. Timms wrung her hands. “I knew this would happen!”
“I fail to see what is so very urgent. When Mrs. Rawley returns, I will discuss the matter with her. For the moment, everything remains as it is.”
“But what if her ladyship finds out? She will be upset and offended—rightly so.”
The fact that Mrs. Timms was correct annoyed him all the more. “I said, everything remains as it is.” What did she expect him to do? Send Rebecca away, he had no idea where, with a governess she scarcely knew? A governess neither of them liked, too—for whatever encouraging words he’d said to Rebecca, he’d only half believed them. “I shall of course inform her ladyship, but only after suitable arrangements have been made.”
He wished he weren’t finding it so hard to decide what those suitable arrangements should be. He intended to spend the morning going through the information on the various couples his man of business recommended as foster parents, but the more he thought about it, the less he liked the idea. He didn’t want to send Rebecca away to people he didn’t know. He wanted to continue supervising her upbringing himself.
A few hours later, Melinda put her head around the library door. “I’m going to Hatchard’s,” she said. “Would you like to come with me?”
He was sorely tempted. Anything but looking for places to get rid of Rebecca, for that’s what it felt like, but what choice did he have? Something akin to shame gnawed at him and made him testy. “No,” he said shortly, and then, softening his tone, “I have too much business to take care of today.”
“Very well,” she said promptly. “I’ll have one of the footmen accompany me.”
This made him even testier. Must she sound so cheerful about being deprived of his company? But he couldn’t change his mind now. He had made his decision, no more jealousy. If only for his own sense of worth, he must appear to have confidence in his wife. “Take Hubert,” he said. “He’s the biggest and strongest of my footmen. I want to feel certain that you are safe.”
He went back to the unpleasant work of seeking a new home for Rebecca, feeling slightly better about himself. He had controlled his fears about his wife. It would only get better from now on.
Chapter 10
Hubert was indeed a strapping fellow and quite good-looking. Melinda had often gone shopping accompanied only by her maid, so she didn’t feel the need of such an impressive guard, but it warmed her heart that Miles cared about her.
The day was brisk and sunny, and the walk invigorating. At Hatchard’s, Melinda made her way to the shelves containing romantic novels. Hmm . . . She would love to re-read The Mysteries of Udolpho—except for the poetry, which she didn’t enjoy in the least; in her opinion, Mrs. Radcliff should have stuck to prose. And . . . perhaps Mrs. Edgeworth’s Castle Rackrent and Belinda. She took several volumes off the shelves, gave them to Hubert, and continued browsing.
“My, my,” came a whisper from the far side of the shelves. “What a handsome footman. I wonder if he’s for hire. My husband always chooses ugly ones.”
This evoked a snigger. “Don’t you know who he works for? Lord Garrison!”
“Oh, my Lord, is that so?” the first one said. “He has such a pretty new wife.”
Another snigger. “Indeed he does. Oh, good heavens!”
“What?”
“Did you ever hear his side of the story? My husband told me; it’s dreadfully scandalous. Oh, my dear, what if his side of the story was true? What if it happens again?”
Aha! Melinda might learn something from this conversation. The voices faded, and she scurried around the bookshelves, hoping to pursue the whisperers. She bumped into Lavinia instead.
“Quiet!” Lavinia put a hand to her lips. “My mother doesn’t know you are here. She must not see us together.”
“If she does, you can blame it on me,” Melinda said, reluctantly giving up on the gossips. “Your mother can’t stop me from accosting you in a bookshop.” She eyed Lavinia’s wan face. “What’s wrong?”
Lavinia’s lower lip trembled. “She insists I must marry Lord Andrews.”
“Did you mention that you would prefer Mr. Fellowes?”
Lavinia shuddered. “I didn’t have to. She guessed! After you left the ball, Mr. Fellowes asked me to dance. He told me that he despaired of marrying me because he has no money even for an elopement and that I should choose someone else.”
At least he’d gone and spoken to poor Lavinia. “He has a bad attitude,” Melinda said.
“He does not! He is the handsomest, the noblest, the most wonderful man I have ever met.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “He said he loves me and always will.”
If he loved her he would do something about it, Melinda thought, but refrained from saying so.
“I must have looked happy after that dance—how could I help it, knowing he loves me—for Mama immediately began to suspect. The instant we arrived home she asked if I was such a fool as to prefer a penniless nobody like Mr. Fellowes to Lord Andrews. When I said yes, her face went bright red and her eyes bulged. I thought she would have an apoplectic fit.”
Instead of saying, what a pity she di
dn’t, Melinda took a handkerchief from her reticule and passed it to her friend.
“She slapped me and the red mark on my cheek didn’t go away for hours.” Lavinia blew her nose. “If we were in medieval times, she would beat me and throw me into an oubliette until I consented to her will.”
“Perhaps, but we’re not in medieval times.”
“Where I would waste away, shivering and in rags, chained to the wall until I died.”
It occurred to Melinda that Lavinia and Mr. Fellowes would suit rather well. She could certainly provide him with vivid ideas for his drawings.
To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses) Page 15
