To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses)

by Monajem, Barbara

  “I don’t know what to do!” Lavinia moaned. “Mr. Fellowes must marry soon. What if he finds another heiress?” Her lip trembled again. “I’m going to lose him. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Melinda said. “We must find the money for the elopement.”

  “Why, that would involve a coach-and-four, and meals and lodging for at least two weeks—all the way to Scotland and back. I don’t have that much money even on quarter-day. Oh, here comes Mama!”

  “I’ll go now,” Melinda said, “but listen. You must continue to refuse Lord Andrews. Oh, and you should pretend to have lost interest in Mr. Fellowes as well, so she won’t suspect anything. And ignore me at Lady Winslow’s ball tonight, so she will think you are obeying her about not being friends with me. I’ll think of a way to get the money.”

  Lavinia’s thank you was dubious at best. Melinda slipped behind the shelves and hurried down the stairs once Lady Eudora’s back was turned. She purchased her books, arranged for some to be sent to the book binder’s, and walked slowly home, pondering.

  Lord Garrison wouldn’t approve of her helping Lavinia and Mr. Fellowes. Melinda had quite a bit of pin money, but not enough for an elopement, and in any event, it wouldn’t be right to use Miles’s money for something of which he disapproved. On the other hand . . .

  A plan slowly formed. She would still have to deceive her husband. She hated the idea, but she couldn’t leave Lavinia to the mercy of her mother and a marriage she didn’t want.

  That evening at Lady Winslow’s ball, Melinda put her plan into action. For the first few hours, she did what one always did at a party. She chatted with whichever of her friends were speaking to her again. She ignored whoever wasn’t. She kept an ear open for gossip about Miles, but heard none. She spent a while with her brother Edward, who meant to leave for Sussex in the morning. She tried to act breezy and unconcerned. It wasn’t easy, when she was keeping a monumental secret and executing a plan of which Miles wouldn’t approve. Perhaps he would attribute her nervousness to the coming night, when they would consummate their marriage.

  She danced with Miles, but it wasn’t as much fun as the day before. She wanted to flirt, but how could she do it wholeheartedly when she was going behind his back? She wasn’t even able to smile properly. “Is anything wrong, sweetheart?” Miles asked when the dance was over.

  “No,” she lied. Something was definitely wrong with her; she’d never before had a problem deceiving someone, as long as she knew that whatever she was doing or planning was right.

  “If you’re worried about tonight, don’t be,” he said.

  “I’m not,” she said, trying not to sound miserable.

  “I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he said, with such kindness that, if she’d been the sort of person to give in to such weakness, she would have burst into tears.

  “I know you will.” She sighed, went in to supper on his arm, tried her best to be herself with him, and waited for her chance to put the plan in motion. Perhaps if she succeeded in the first part of her plan tonight, she would be able to enjoy Miles once again.

  There! Miles was safely chatting with a couple of other men, whilst Mr. Fellowes glowered against the wall. She followed his line of vision. No wonder; Lord Andrews was bowing over Lavinia’s hand, asking for the next dance. Mr. Fellowes stalked out of the ballroom. Melinda slipped away from the group and went in pursuit. She hurried through the doorway and collided with him.

  “Beg pardon,” he said, and made as if to pass her.

  She grabbed his coat sleeve. “Mr. Fellowes, you’re just the man I wanted to see.”

  Politely, he inclined his head. “Yes, Lady Garrison?”

  “My feet hurt from dancing, and I’m dying to play piquet.” Her grandmother had forbidden it, but Miles hadn’t—so far. “Will you play with me?”

  “Terribly sorry,” Mr. Fellowes said, “but if I’m to pay my landlady, I can’t afford to play.”

  “Oh, please do,” she said. “We’ll play for penny points.”

  “That’s most kind of you, but no.” He bowed again and headed for the ballroom.

  Drat. Perhaps she should have explained her plan to him. But if he knew her real reason, he might refuse to play his allotted role. She hurried along beside him. “Or farthing points. Or for nothing at all.”

  “No one plays for nothing except children. I shall look a fool.”

  She began to be irritated; she hadn’t expected such resistance. “Not if we’re playing for penny points,” she coaxed. ”If anyone remarks upon it, you’re humoring me, because I’m afraid of losing too much. And you needn’t worry, because regardless, you’ll win. I’m a terrible player, but I absolutely adore piquet anyway.”

  They reached the ballroom doorway just in time to see Lavinia going down the dance with Lord Andrews. Mr. Fellowes swiveled, muttering under his breath.

  Melinda tucked her hand in his arm and steered him toward the card room. “Look at it this way. If you act like a dog in the manger about Lavinia, you may arouse suspicion, while if you play with me, you’ll go away tonight a few guineas to the good.”

  “I don’t see what difference it makes, since I can’t marry her anyway.”

  Melinda took stock of the people in the card room. Several dowagers, friends of Grandmama’s, were playing whist. Two of the old bats raised their brows, and one of a group of men idly casting dice eyed her rudely up and down. She ignored him and chose a table across the room, as far from Grandmama’s friends as possible.

  She settled herself at the table. “But you would if you had the money, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t have the money.”

  “But if suddenly you find you have the money, you’d elope with her?”

  “Of course,” he said, exasperated, and cut for the deal.

  Three London seasons had accustomed Melinda to pretending to be someone she wasn’t, but this role proved harder than she’d anticipated, as she had to assess her opponent’s skill while acting completely cork-brained. Mr. Fellowes wasn’t such a bad player, but nowhere nearly as skilled as she. She accidentally won a few rounds, but as the play progressed, she discarded foolishly and made the worst of what she kept, helped by a couple of rather poor hands. He had won the promised couple of guineas by the time several parties were over.

  Time to find a victim, so she laid out some more bait. “I have a terrible time with discards and can never deduce which cards my opponent holds,” she said with a titter. “But I do love this game so. Shall we have another go?”

  “Better not,” Mr. Fellowes said. “Lord Garrison might not like me winning money from you.”

  She pouted. “When we’re playing for practically nothing? Why ever not?”

  “Why not indeed?” A tall, thin man approached their table. It was the dice player who had eyed her so odiously. “Fellowes, introduce me to the lovely new Lady Garrison. Since you’re afraid of her husband, perhaps the lady would like to play with me.”

  Ordinarily, not in the least. Now, however . . . he just might do.

  Mr. Fellowes glowered. “Not on your life. Go away, Toup.”

  “Why should he go way?” Melinda smiled at the tall man and said in a sprightly voice, “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Toup.” His name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she’d heard it. “I’d love to play with you, if you don’t mind humoring a beginner.”

  “Not when she is possessed of both charm and beauty,” Mr. Toup said.

  Mr. Fellowes scowled. “You don’t want to play with this fellow. Lord Garrison wouldn’t permit it.”

  “Nonsense.” Mr. Toup shoved Mr. Fellowes neatly off the chair and took his place. “Garrison can afford it even if she dips a bit too deep.”

  “Oh, but we’re barely married!” She put on an air of h
esitation. “I shouldn’t like to upset him.”

  “Pooh! Why should he mind?” His grin was positively lecherous.

  Lord Garrison’s lust never turned her stomach like this. On the contrary, she had begun to crave it.

  “It’s only money,” Mr. Toup said. “And why should you lose? Your natural skill is obvious. You just need to get warmed up.”

  A man at the next table snorted. Melinda knew enough about innuendo to recognize it, but she played the innocent. “Do you really think so, sir? I do try very hard to play my best possible game.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Mr. Toup purred. “A guinea a point?”

  Now, that was going too far. She knew herself to be an excellent player, but Mr. Toup might be her equal, and she wasn’t about to risk more than a few guineas of her pin money until she had taken her opponent’s measure. “Sixpence a point. I can’t afford to go higher.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Toup said gaily. “Go away, Fellowes. Even if I win, I’ll hardly bankrupt Lord Garrison.”

  Mr. Fellowes hovered, glowering, and once again Melinda set about assessing her opponent. Much better than Mr. Fellowes, she decided, and once again played with apparent haste and weak judgment. Very quickly, she ran through much of her pin money . . . and Mr. Toup still seemed eager to play.

  Excellent, but if Miles really would disapprove of her playing with Mr. Toup, she had to hurry before he found out. Time to put into action the most critical part of her plan.

  Miles felt rather proud of himself. For more than an hour and a half, he’d managed to avoid looking for Melinda. He would have to go find her eventually, but he was determined to control himself as long as possible. How much mischief could she possibly get up to at a ball?

  He shouldn’t let himself think about that. He absolutely must trust his wife. The longer he put off his uneasiness and feigned unconcern, the better.

  He suppressed a wish that she would come in search of him, for that was too much to hope for. Sometimes she seemed to like him, and she’d certainly enjoyed kissing him, but perhaps the enormity of what she’d committed to had finally dawned on her. She’d wanted to marry for love, wanted to bed a husband she loved—and she didn’t love him.

  And he hadn’t wanted her to, he reminded himself.

  He was having a desultory but surprisingly pleasant chat with Edward Starling on the terrace when Fellowes came up, his gestures indicating a need for private conversation. Miles tried to ignore the silent pleas. Fellowes should stop moping about Miss Darwin and look about him for another likely heiress. Eventually, Miles had no choice but to pay attention to him. A pity, since he’d been enjoying Edward’s company. Once Starling overcame his mistrust of Miles, he would make a tolerable sort of brother-in-law.

  “Must talk to you, old man,” Fellowes said. “It’s urgent.”

  “Get on with it then,” Miles snapped.

  Fellowes sucked in an unhappy breath and rolled an eye toward Edward, who glowered suspiciously and didn’t move. Fellowes gave up and whispered, “It’s about Lady Garrison.”

  “What about her?” Miles shot out, at the same instant as Edward said, “What about my sister?”

  “She’s playing piquet with that fellow Toup,” Fellowes said. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “Hell and damnation,” Miles said, making straight for the card room. “What possessed her to play with that scoundrel?”

  Fellowes bustled along beside him. “He was coaxing her up to ten-shilling points by the time I left, and if I know him, he’ll have her up to a guinea before long. He’s a better player than I, and I bested her easily.”

  “Really?” Edward said from behind them, sounding surprised.

  “She can’t play worth beans,” Fellowes said. They went through the terrace doors into the ballroom. “She ran through her pin money but means to keep playing. Most alarming.”

  Toup was a dastardly sort of fellow. He might be looking to bleed Miles, but more likely was angling for something else entirely. “Thank you,” Miles said, “I’ll handle it from here.”

  Fellowes dropped gratefully away.

  Next to him now, Edward said, “He’s got it all wrong. Melinda’s a dab hand at piquet. Perfect memory and deduction, precise judgment, and flawless instinct for when to sink. Unless she’s dealt atrocious hands and picks up worse after her discards, she always wins.”

  Now, that was interesting, but Miles had no idea what it might mean. “Nevertheless, she shouldn’t be playing with that loose fish.”

  “True, but Melinda’s no fool.” An uneasy expression crossed Edward’s face. “Oh, hell.”

  “What?”

  “Damn it, I thought she was done with her hoydenish tricks. Will the chit never grow up?” Edward heaved an exasperated sigh. “Let’s slip in quietly and see what she’s up to.”

  They managed it, but only because a hush hung over the entire room. All eyes were on Melinda, flushed and gorgeous, across the table from a leering Toup.

  “Come now, Lady Garrison,” he coaxed, his voice low and ingratiating. “You can’t lose forever. Let’s play again.”

  “I should love to,” she said, in a piteous voice like nothing Miles had ever heard from her. “I simply adore piquet, but I’ve run out of pin money and therefore can’t bet anymore.”

  “Perhaps you can stake something else, dear lady,” Toup said. “You must possess something of value to me.”

  A growl of rage rose into Miles’s throat. Toup would pay for this.

  “Don’t,” Edward whispered. “Not yet.” Miles gaped at him. What had happened to the Edward he’d known in school, who plunged in, fists flying?

  “Something of which I dearly desire to partake,” Toup said.

  Miles clenched his fists.

  “Wait,” Edward said, abominably calm. “This isn’t the real Melinda, I promise you. She’s up to something.”

  “So is he,” Miles snarled, but Edward knew Melinda while he didn’t, and if Edward wasn’t ready to break heads…

  Toup’s gaze moved leisurely from Melinda’s face to Miles’s, across the room. A smug smile crossed his features as his gaze slid away again. He said easily, as if he’d never intended anything else, “How about that bracelet you’re wearing? Those sapphires must be worth a pretty penny. We could even double the stakes.”

  “Oh, no, I mustn’t,” Melinda said, fingering the bracelet. “Lord Garrison gave it to me as a wedding gift.”

  “Tell him you misplaced it, and he’ll give you another,” Toup said.

  “I couldn’t do that. It would be lying!” She paused, pouting, and fingered the bracelet nervously. “But I’m enjoying myself so very much . . .”

  “Damn it, she can’t be so lost to proper feeling as to stake that bracelet,” Edward whispered. “Not that she would be likely to lose it.”

  But why stake it at all, and against such a low creature? “You’re sure she’s a match for him?”

  “She’ll fleece him,” Edward said. “I’d lay a monkey on it.”

  “Very well then,” Miles said, and stepped forward.

  Chapter 11

  “Don’t stake your bracelet, darling.”

  Melinda started. Miles had come at entirely the wrong moment! She’d been poised to win enough from Mr. Toup to replenish her stake and send Lavinia and Fellowes to Gretna Green. Now she was down several guineas and would have to start over another day.

  Miles came up to the table, the corners of his mouth curling slightly, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I’ll back you for whatever stake you like. Evening, Toup. What is it, guinea points? How about if we raise it to two?”

  “Two guineas!” Melinda blinked up at him, then gazed about in dismay; she’d been so intent on her role that she hadn’t noticed that the
entire room was watching.

  Including Edward, who stood by the door with crossed arms and an implacable expression. He must have told Miles just how well she played piquet.

  “Why not?” Miles said. “It’s only money. Maybe Toup is right, and your luck will suddenly be in.”

  This was her only chance. She had to play and must win.

  Two hours later she gathered up her winnings, feeling a little sorry for Mr. Toup. He’d won the occasional round, but she had steadily come out ahead, and the spread of points in the last partie had proven truly disastrous for his purse. She now had enough money in her reticule to repay Miles his stake and send Lavinia and Mr. Fellowes to Gretna Green and back three times, and that didn’t even include Mr. Toup’s vowels.