To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses)

by Monajem, Barbara

  Could she give them to Miles to collect on her behalf? He’d spent the entire time lounging at the next table, watching her with almost no expression on his face.

  “You’re a dashed lucky player.” Mr. Toup almost spat the words as he scribbled his last vowel. Under his breath, he added, “Or a damned cheat.”

  Miles stood slowly, menace in his voice. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I wish you luck in your marriage, Garrison. You’d best remember that one sort of cheating often leads to another.”

  Miles lunged, looming over Mr. Toup with fists clenched, a terrifying grimace on his face. “Unsay those words.”

  Mr. Toup sprang up, knocking over his chair. Melinda crammed the last vowel into her bulging reticule and stood, backing away.

  “Why should I?” Mr. Toup said. “Got something against the truth?”

  “Hey there, now!” someone said. “Pretending to be a poor player isn’t cheating.”

  “Lady Garrison fleeced you fair and square,” said another man. “She’s a dashed impressive player.”

  “A good actress, too,” said a third. “Had us all fooled.”

  Miles shoved Mr. Toup with one powerful hand. “Apologize. Now.”

  Mr. Toup shoved back. “To you? Never.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you say about me. Apologize to my wife.”

  Their host, Lord Winslow, bustled forward. “Come now, no brawling in my house. She won fair and square, Toup. Be a good fellow and admit as much.”

  Mr. Toup stiffened and composed himself. “So sorry, Lady Garrison. In the throes of disappointment, I misspoke.”

  “Don’t let it trouble you any longer, Mr. Toup,” Melinda said grandly.

  Mr. Toup shot her a malevolent look and stalked out of the room. Melinda glanced up at Miles’s still-grim face and placed a nervous hand on his proffered arm. Surely he wasn’t angry at her?

  Of course he was. Without a word, he escorted her out of the card room, and the roar of voices as they left told her she was the subject of gossip once again. She looked about for Edward, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “He left an hour ago,” Miles said flatly, “saying he intends to leave town at the crack of dawn rather than listen to your grandmother’s scolding when she hears about this.”

  Mr. Fellowes sidled up. “Congratulations on your win,” he said, “and thank you for not fleecing me.” His glance at her reticule told her that he not only understood what she had accomplished, but was grateful. If only she could give him the money here and now and get it over with.

  But she didn’t dare, not with Miles in this mood and all London gossiping in her wake. “I would never do that to a friend.” She sent him a meaningful glance and said, “I shall go to Hatchard’s tomorrow and spend a little of it on some books I’ve coveted for ages. Perhaps I shall see you there. You said you need some books about Ancient Greece, did you not?”

  “Er, yes, I believe I did,” Fellowes said awkwardly and took his leave; he wasn’t much good as a co-conspirator.

  Luckily, Miles showed no more interest in him than in anyone else—most likely because he was entirely taken up with being furious at her. They made their way slowly through the ballroom, chatting and bidding farewell to this person and that. While their carriage was brought round, Miles exchanged languid remarks with some acquaintance or other. For all the attention he paid to Melinda, she might have been a coat on his arm.

  Their carriage pulled up, and one of Lord Winslow’s footmen let down the steps. Melinda climbed in, slunk to the far corner, and curled up in utter mortification. Miles ducked through the door and sat at the other end of the bench. A footman put up the steps and closed the door, and the coach moved forward.

  For a few terrible minutes there was silence but for the rumble of the wheels.

  Melinda couldn’t stand it. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

  From the other corner came not a sound. If only she could see him properly, see if his grim expression had lessened at all, but it was far too dark.

  “I didn’t mean to cause a brawl,” she added.

  They passed a streetlamp, and light flooded through the window. Miles was shaking.

  Could he possibly be crying? He did care what people said about him, and this time it was all her fault. “Oh, Miles, please don’t be upset. People are fools. I’m so, so–”

  Miles whooped. “Oh, Melinda.”

  He was laughing? Yes, positively rolling with it. “Oh, Melinda,” he said again, quaking all over. “Haven’t had so much fun . . . so much fun in months. If you’d seen their faces as it gradually dawned on them . . .”

  “You’re not angry with me?”

  “Angry? Why? You were brilliant.”

  “But you were enraged,” she said. “Much angrier than I’ve ever seen Edward, even.”

  “Nobody insults my wife and gets away with it,” Miles said.

  For a long moment, Melinda couldn’t get a word out. “Thank you,” she said, strangely breathless.

  “I don’t know how I kept the laughter inside me so long.” Miles chuckled once more. “What a pity you won’t be able to pull that off again. All of London will know by morning. How have you managed to keep it a secret for so long?”

  “By not playing cards in town,” Melinda said. “Grandmama forbade it. She said it would hinder my chances of finding a husband.”

  “Not one who truly appreciated you,” Miles said.

  The wheels rumbled beneath them and houses and streets passed by, while she sat dazed and happy.

  He appreciated her. He approved! No one had ever truly approved of her before.

  But he wouldn’t approve of her reasons for playing against Mr. Toup. Oh, she wished she needn’t deceive him about Lavinia.

  “Lord, that was fun,” he said. “If you’d been born to a different walk of life, you might have succeeded as an adventuress. You bamboozled everyone. Playing poorly enough to lose badly to Fellowes must have been hard work.”

  “It was,” Melinda said, still incredulous.

  “Serves Toup right, but I wonder if he can afford the loss. He’s not a rich man. I didn’t think he was sufficiently plump in the pocket to risk two-guinea points.”

  “I wouldn’t want to bankrupt anyone,” she said, “even such an odious man. Should I return some of the money?”

  “Definitely not,” he said. “The fellow’s a louse. He’s the one who spread a tale that I had ravished you. He deserves what he got. Come here.” Miles pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She kissed him back, flush with excitement and happiness. “What a lucky man I am. Well, now. Are you ready to bed me tonight?”

  “Yes, please,” she whispered, as they pulled up before the house. When the night footman didn’t emerge immediately, Miles opened the coach door. He got out, let down the steps, and reached out to help Melinda down.

  She put her hand into his large one, and for the first time, she felt as if it really, truly belonged there.

  From out of nowhere, a running figure slammed into Melinda. She flailed, trying to keep her balance, but something yanked her arm and sent her crashing to the pavement. Miles landed heavily beside her, clutching his shoulder with a growl of pain.

  “Stop, thief!” Jem cried. The night footman blundered out of the house and set off in pursuit.

  Miles stood and reached for Melinda. “Are you hurt?”

  She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Even as he pulled her to her feet, her knees threatened to give away. “Melinda-love,” he said and drew her into his arms. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

  Trembling, she sank onto his broad chest. His heart beat powerfully against her ear. His arms enveloped her, assured her she was safe. She put her arms around him and held on tight. Gently
, his hand caressed her spine. He dropped a kiss on her hair. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Melinda said. “Only shaken.” She lifted her head; his eyes glittered in the dim light from the streetlamp. “But you’re hurt, aren’t you?”

  “There were two of them,” Miles said. “One shoved you and took your reticule, the other clubbed me on the arm with a blasted cudgel. I’m lucky he didn’t get me on the head.”

  Her reticule was gone!

  “Aye,” Jem said, “and they were fast. He’ll never catch them.”

  “My money! They got all of it!” She pushed away from Miles’s chest and peered futilely down the street after the thieves. “Oh, no!”

  “It’s only money,” Miles said, letting her go.

  Maybe to him, but it was her one and only chance to finance Lavinia’s flight! Tears welled up. Flicking them furiously away, she dashed into the house.

  Miles watched Melinda hurry indoors. His heart wrenched at the sight of her tears. She wasn’t the sort of woman to cry over nothing.

  The footman returned, puffing and blowing. “Sorry, my lord, I couldn’t catch them. I’d have been more on my guard, but we don’t often see footpads here.”

  “Better business elsewhere this time o’ night,” Jem said.

  “Just what I’d been thinking,” Miles said. “Did my eyes deceive me, or was one of the fellows masked?”

  “Aye, my lord, he was.”

  Could the thieves have been lying in wait? And if so, who had sent them here, knowing Melinda carried a large sum in her reticule? The answer was obvious—one desperate for the money and so likely to be recognized that he would wear a mask.

  Miles sent Jem and the carriage off to the stables, hastily changed his evening clothes for something more suitable to a fistfight, and set out on foot. Miles hadn’t the faintest idea where Toup lodged, but he’d seen him with Colin a number of times.

  Ten minutes later, he banged on his cousin’s door. Colin was hunched on a sofa with his hands dug into his hair, looking unusually weary; must be burning the candle at both ends as usual. He sat up immediately, wide awake and more cheerful, when Miles explained the reason for his visit.

  He nodded, pulling on a boot. “Nothing is more likely. Toup has a taste for low company. Brought me to a boozing ken once that turned out to be a den of thieves. I was lucky to get out of there in one piece.” With a grunt, he pulled on the other boot. “Looks like I’ll have to drop Toup for good.”

  “If I don’t kill him first,” Miles said.

  “Won’t be a loss.” Colin tugged on a coat and they went out.

  Fifteen minutes later, Miles hefted Colin onto his shoulders to look in the window of Mr. Toup’s lodgings. “Bloody hell, you’re heavy,” Miles grunted.

  “Out of shape, coz?” Colin said. “That’s what happens when you reach middle age.”

  “Go to the devil! I’m only twenty-eight—almost the same age as you.”

  “In body, yes, but your spirit’s an over-the-hill curmudgeon. Well, well. There he is, counting the spoils. How shall we do this?”

  “You’re his friend. He might open the door to you.”

  “See what I mean?” Colin jumped down. “You’ve become a stick-in-the-mud. What happened to the old Miles, up for any lark?”

  “An illegitimate child,” Miles said. A child whose existence preyed on his mind constantly now. The closer he got to sending Rebecca away, the more he recoiled from such a course of action.

  “No,” Colin said bluntly, “it was the girl’s mother did this to you, the ungrateful bitch.”

  Miles opened his mouth to deny it, but just sighed.

  “You don’t know how lucky you are she cuckolded you before you ended up married to her.”

  “Yes,” Miles said, “I do.”

  “Good thing she died,” Colin said.

  Colin was right on all counts, damn him, but having a child on whom the world looked askance was not to be taken lightly. He’d managed fine up until now.

  He shinned up the drainpipe without even needing a boost. So much for being out of shape. “Go knock on the door. If he doesn’t let you in, I’ll break the window.”

  “Good to know you haven’t become entirely gutless. Melinda’s probably right for you, but don’t hem her in. She was fun as a young girl.”

  “She’s fun now.” Miles hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in months as he had this evening, watching her fleece the unsuspecting Toup. He swung himself onto the cramped balcony outside Toup’s window, while Colin worked his way round to the front door. Miles peered in the window. Banknotes, guineas, and vowels lay strewn across a bed next to the empty reticule. Miles’s gut tightened at the sight of Melinda’s reticule on Toup’s bed.

  An irregular thudding sounded from the front of the house. “Open up!” Colin cried. “Toup, old fellow. You there?” He hiccupped and banged haphazardly on the door again.

  Toup started, alarmed at first and then annoyed, as anyone might be at the arrival of a drunken friend in the wee hours. He gathered the banknotes and coins, stuffing them into a drawer. “Groggan,” he shouted, “wake up and answer the bloody door!” He tossed the vowels and reticule in the direction of the fire and stalked out of the room, still shouting.

  Miles tried the window. Locked. He pulled his coat sleeve over his fist, smashed the window with one blow, and reached in to unlock it. He tried to shove it up; it jammed. To hell with that. With a few quick strokes, he broke the remaining window glass and got his torso and one leg into the room before Toup reappeared.

  Toup gaped from Miles to the fire, and to the vowels scattered before the grate. “Groggan!” he shrieked. “Now!” He flew to gather the scraps of paper.

  Miles got the other leg through and flung himself at Toup, who plummeted to the floor with a crunch and a yelp of pain. “Drop them,” said Miles.

  “To hell with you,” Toup panted, bucking and heaving, pushing a few vowels into the fire. Miles got a knee in his back and wrenched up one of Toup’s arms. “I haven’t the slightest objection to breaking your arm. Leave the rest.”

  Toup cursed and did so. Colin wandered in. An old manservant followed, fastening his breeches and gaping from the broken window to the struggle on the floor.

  “Nothing to worry about, Groggan,” Colin said. “Lord Garrison and Mr. Toup are merely having a disagreement, but I believe I can persuade his lordship not to charge your master with assault.”

  “But—but the window, sir!”

  “Better board it up. But first, get us some brandy, will you?”

  “No brandy,” Miles said. “We won’t be staying long.”

  “Stick-in-the-mud, Miles. That’s all I can say. Just deal with the window then, Groggan.” He waved the confused servitor away.

  Miles let go of Toup’s arm, scooped up the remaining vowels, and tucked them in his pocket. Then, whilst Toup looked on snarling, he retrieved the money from the drawer and counted it. “I’ll give you a week to pay me the value of all the vowels, burnt or not, and what you paid the thief who helped you.” He named a figure.

  “Or else what?” Toup spat.

  “One of several options,” Miles said. “I might spread the word about what you did in all the clubs. I might have you arrested, in which case you will certainly be hanged. Or I might just return and kill you.”

  “Only one of those options?” Colin said. “Miles, where is your sense of fun?”

  The reticule was a lost cause, but Miles rummaged in the dresser drawers, found a muffler, and tied the coins and banknotes up inside it. “Let’s go.” He stalked out.

  “Tsk,” Colin said, “very bad ton, Toup,” and followed.

  By the time Melinda reached her bedchamber, she had made up her mind to calm down. The robbery was merely a reverse; sh
e was accustomed to dealing with reverses. She would find another way to help Lavinia elope.

  Besides, she couldn’t let anything ruin her first night with Miles.