To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses)

by Monajem, Barbara

  “Stupid fellow,” said Miles predictably.

  “I know you don’t believe in love,” Melinda said, “but that doesn’t mean Mr. Fellowes shouldn’t.”

  “It’s nothing to do with believing in love,” Miles said, surprising her. Did he look a little sheepish? No, that hint of embarrassment, if that’s what it was, had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, to be replaced by that stern, cold expression he so often wore. “It has to do with her character. She has shown herself to be fickle.”

  “Miles, I don’t believe that’s true. If she has any weakness of character, it’s that she doesn’t know how to think for herself.”

  “A substantial weakness, in my opinion.”

  “Perhaps, but she means well.”

  “If you say so,” Miles said, his expression now verging on a sneer.

  This was one subject on which they would never agree. “Still, if Mr. Fellowes wants her, he should be allowed to do his best to win her. I’ll send him a note to let him know I shan’t be there. He can show me his sketches another time—perhaps tomorrow or the next day.”

  “An excellent notion,” Miles said, obviously uninterested. “How about playing piquet tonight? I’m not a bad player, but most likely you’ll trounce me.”

  She eyed him warily. Often, men didn’t like to lose to a woman.

  “Don’t you dare let me win,” Miles said. “I’m wise to your tricks.”

  He proved to be a worthy opponent, but she won more often than he. When Miles proposed stakes which involved undressing one another, they went upstairs to continue the game. She began by winning, but eventually lost her concentration and every stitch of clothing as well.

  The next day, Melinda woke happier than she’d ever been in her life. She spent the morning with Miles, shopping for wallpaper, upholstery fabrics, and furniture. Back at home, Miles went off in his coach to fetch Mrs. Rawley, whilst Melinda spent an enjoyable few hours finishing the new reticule to replace the one stolen by Mr. Toup. Next she took a constitutional around the square with Rebecca and the housemaid who had been assigned to take care of her.

  The only cloud on her horizon was the impending elopement. She would see Mr. Fellowes and Lavinia tonight at a ball, but perhaps she wouldn’t have to help arrange the actual flight. Not that she had any qualms about the rightness of the elopement, but she dared not risk the marvelous harmony she and Miles had just achieved.

  They returned home, Rebecca chattering like a squirrel, and were just going through the door when a woman scurried down the pavement toward them. Surely Melinda recognized that exquisite morning dress . . . Unaccompanied and heavily veiled, the woman clutched her bonnet as if the strings had become untied.

  “Take Rebecca to the kitchen and give her some milk and macaroons,” Melinda told the housemaid, shooing them hurriedly away. A second later, the woman flung herself at Melinda, sobbing.

  “Everything is ghastly!” It was indeed Lavinia. “I had to come. You’re my only hope.”

  Chapter 15

  Melinda knew full well that Lavinia tended to exaggerate, but she would never venture out alone in anything less than a dire emergency. She’d never walked to the corner of the street by herself, much less half a mile from home.

  It would never do for anyone to see her before Melinda knew what was going on. She glanced indoors, but Rebecca and the maid had gone to the kitchen. “Quickly, come indoors!” She pulled Lavinia inside and softly shut the door.

  “Melinda, I don’t know what to do.” Her voice rose to a whine.

  “Shh!” Melinda glanced around, but no servants were in sight, and Miles, thank heaven, had not yet returned. “Come with me and don’t make a sound.” Melinda led the way upstairs and hustled her friend into her bedchamber. She closed the door behind them.

  Lavinia threw herself into Melinda’s arms. For a heart-wrenching minute, she held Lavinia and let her weep. Then she pried herself free and fetched a couple of handkerchiefs. “Here, blow your nose, and take off that ridiculous veil.”

  “I can’t,” Lavinia said. “I look dreadful. I cried all night.”

  Gently, Melinda lifted the veil and removed her hat. Lavinia’s eyes were bloodshot and her lids so puffy they were almost swollen shut. “What happened?”

  “We went to the opera last night. Why weren’t you there?”

  Melinda couldn’t possibly explain that. “My husband and I had other plans.”

  “It was horrid,” Lavinia said. “Well, not entirely. Mr. Fellowes was there, and he nodded and smiled at me, but that made Mama angry. And Lord Andrews was there, too.”

  “What happened? Did he ask you to marry him?”

  “Yes, but that was this morning. Melinda, last night he was in a box that belongs to a courtesan!”

  “Men often gather in a courtesan’s box,” Melinda said. Her mother had more than once pointed them out to her when Grandmama wasn’t looking.

  “Yes, but Mama says the courtesan is his mistress and I must pretend not to know. I told her I couldn’t possibly marry a man who has a mistress. She said we’d been over that before and not to be stupid. She would have slapped me again if we hadn’t been in full view of everyone.” She gulped on a sob. “But that wasn’t the worst part.”

  “Go on,” Melinda said.

  “Lord Andrews bowed and waved to me from the courtesan’s box! And then he whispered in his mistress’s ear—and I know he was talking about me. Can you conceive of anything more horrid?”

  Appalled, Melinda said, “He flaunted his mistress in front of you—while at the same time he is courting you?”

  She nodded. “It made me feel dreadfully ill. I’m sure Mr. Fellowes wouldn’t do that even if he did take a mistress.”

  “Of course he wouldn’t,” Melinda said. “He is a true gentleman.”

  “Yes, h-he is and I love him. I want to marry him. I told Mama I couldn’t marry Lord Andrews and she yelled at me the whole time in the coach on the way home. I cried all night, trying to decide what to do. And then Lord Andrews called this morning and I refused to see him. Mama took one look at me and agreed, because I look so ghastly. She said she would accept on my behalf, but I told her again that I will never marry him, and she can’t m-make me.”

  “Of course she can’t. You have but to stick to your guns.”

  “I tried,” Lavinia said. “I begged and pleaded, but Mama got more and more furious. I thought she would have a conniption. She said I couldn’t go to any balls or parties or see my friends or—or anything until I agreed.” She paused. “I know I shouldn’t care about that. I know I should insist and be strong, but I’m not strong, Melinda. I’m not like you. I sneaked out as soon as she was out of the way.” She shook with another huge sob. “What am I to do?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “I can’t go home again. I simply can’t, and my guardian is a hundred miles away, and even if I could get to him, he would send me back.”

  “You shan’t go home. You’ll elope with Mr. Fellowes tonight. I won enough money the night before last to pay your expenses.”

  “Is that why you were gambling for high stakes? How clever of you. Mama told me about it. She says your name is being bandied from lip to lip.”

  Perhaps, but as long as Miles was happy with her, Melinda didn’t care. They would be looked upon askance by the highest sticklers for many reasons, but Melinda found she didn’t care about that, either. She wished she could confide in Miles now, but it was too big a risk. He didn’t approve of Lavinia; he wanted to save his friend from an unhappy marriage. She understood his reasoning, but she didn’t, couldn’t agree with it. Therefore, she had no choice but to keep Lavinia’s presence a secret.

  “I’ll send a note to Mr. Fellowes telling him to have a coach at the corner of the street at m
idnight and to wait until we get there—because I may not be able to sneak you out at any particular time. I shall try to come home from the ball early, but after that, it will depend on Lord Garrison and whether he wants to, er . . . you know.”

  Lavinia gasped in horror. “I can’t hide in your bedchamber!”

  “Definitely not,” Melinda said. “I shan’t even tell him you’re here. You must wait someplace where the servants have no reason to go . . . I have it!”

  Five minutes later, she peeked onto the empty landing. With a blanket under one arm and a pillow under the other, she led Lavinia to the chamber which by rights belonged to the mistress of the house. “Nobody goes in here. It will be my bedchamber eventually, but I shall have it refurbished first.” She shut the door and once again stripped the Holland cover off the sofa. “Lie down and go to sleep.” She glanced around. “There’s a chamber pot under the bed. I’ll order some tea and cakes and bring them to you later.”

  “What if my parents come looking for me?”

  “No one has seen you, and Lord Garrison and I shall tell them so. If we’ve already gone to the ball, the servants will say the same.”

  “But what if one of the servants finds me here?”

  “You must pray that they won’t,” Melinda said.

  Something was going on, but Miles didn’t quite know what. When he’d left the house to pick up Mrs. Rawley, Melinda had been glowing with happiness, but now she wasn’t herself at all. She’d made sprightly conversation over dinner—the sort he’d heard her making with acquaintances at the two balls they’d attended together. She hadn’t spoken like this with him before. She’d been more . . . natural, somehow. More herself.

  He’d tried to swoop in for a kiss and she’d hesitated before kissing him back. It was as if she’d forced herself to respond favorably to him. What had happened to the woman who’d laughed and stripped off her clothes, one by one, the night before, and bedded him with such energy and life?

  “Are you sure you want to go to the ball?” he asked when she came downstairs dressed in a jonquil gown and a blue shawl. “You seem fatigued.”

  “No, I’m perfectly fine,” she said in the same bright voice that made him uneasy.

  “Maybe we should stay home again,” Miles said. “Have a peaceful evening by the fire.”

  Melinda rolled her eyes and blushed. “I know how peaceful an evening with you is likely to be.”

  That was more like her. “Not if you’re unwell, Melinda.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m looking forward to the ball. Not only that, I want to make sure people see us round and about as much as possible. We still have to show people we’re happy, even though we’re not acting anymore.”

  As long as she was happy, so was he. He must stop imagining things.

  “Perhaps we can come home a little early and have half a peaceful evening,” she offered.

  “As long as we don’t do anything halfway,” Miles said. “The carriage is at the door.”

  Did Miles suspect something? No, she thought not. He only worried that she was tired. He only wanted to take care of her—which made her feel frightfully guilty. She wanted quite desperately to be comfortable with him, entirely herself. She wanted that bliss again, both physical and emotional.

  She would have it again. She snuggled up to him in the carriage and laid her head on his shoulder. It was the best she could do to show her affection, and hopefully effective, since it was dark and he couldn’t see the guilt on her face.

  From now on, she would be open and sincere and the perfect wife—as soon as she got rid of Lavinia and Mr. Fellowes.

  Miles didn’t make it easy. At the ball, he was overly solicitous and showed an inconvenient tendency to remain by her side, which would ordinarily make her supremely happy, but not tonight. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mr. Fellowes arrived empty-handed, so they had nothing to discuss.

  “You forgot your sketchbook,” Melinda said.

  “Er, so I did,” Mr. Fellowes said.

  “If you don’t take this project seriously, how do you expect to make enough money to support Lavinia?”

  “It’s no use,” he said. “Someone will snap her up long before that.” He scowled, eyeing the crowd. “Where is she? I couldn’t get near her at the opera, so that was a complete waste of time. I thought for certain she would be here.”

  “So did I,” Melinda said, which was true, or had been this morning. “Perhaps she’s unwell.” Which was somewhat true, but she hated spouting half-truths with Miles listening. Why didn’t he go talk to someone else, as he had at the two other balls they’d attended together?

  Maybe she could bore him into leaving. “Let’s discuss myths, then, and plan how to tell the stories and which illustrations would work best.” She dug paper and pencil from her reticule; at least she had come prepared. “Shall we start with the Titans or go further back to Gaia and Uranus?”

  That got Mr. Fellowes going and Miles yawning, but still he didn’t leave. When the musicians struck up for a cotillion, Miles raised a questioning eyebrow. She stiffened, fearing he would ask her to dance, which wasn’t at all convenient.

  “Not up to dancing tonight?” he asked.

  “Of course I am,” she lied. “Let me jot down a few ideas for Mr. Fellowes first. Maybe we can join the next set.”

  “When you’re ready,” he said, “come find me.”

  “I shall,” she said with a relieved smile and watched him walk away. The minute Miles was out of earshot, she whispered to Mr. Fellowes, “Tonight, you must have a carriage at the bottom of my street at midnight and wait there until dawn.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Lavinia’s not here because she ran away from home. I’m hiding her, and I’ll bring her to meet you the instant I can get away, but I have to wait for Miles to fall asleep.”

  Mr. Fellowes goggled. “She ran away from home?”

  “Hush!” Melinda hissed. “Her mother threatened to keep her prisoner in the house until she agrees to marry Lord Andrews. She hit her across the face the other day, too.”

  Mr. Fellowes clenched his fists. “That woman is a monster.”

  Miles was watching them from across the room. Melinda passed Mr. Fellowes the paper and pencil. “You’ll have to manage it somehow, because she simply can’t go back home.”

  “Leave it to me,” Mr. Fellowes said and stalked away.

  She joined Miles, who asked, “Where’s Fellowes off to?”

  “Lavinia isn’t here, so he had no reason to stay.” Strictly speaking, true again, but these misleading half-truths distanced her further and further from Miles.

  They wandered about the ballroom, meeting and greeting acquaintances, and later they danced. She did her best to enjoy herself, but uneasiness about her duplicity hovered at the back of her mind. Miles settled her in a chair by the wall and went to fetch wine and cakes.

  She wrapped the shawl tightly around her shoulders; she wasn’t ill, and yet she felt awfully chilled. She’d been miserable and lonely for three years with Grandmama, but she’d had anger and determination to keep her going. This was much different. Even though she knew she was doing right, hiding it from Miles made her feel shriveled and sick inside.

  She ignored a cool stare from one of the dowagers she’d seen at the bookshop and some amused glances from behind fans. She managed to converse cheerfully with several guests sitting nearby, deflecting their curiosity without much interest. How odd that the sort of disdain she’d avoided at all costs before her marriage affected her not at all compared to the disapproval of her husband.

  Miles returned with wine and cake, offering a warm, concerned smile. It made her want to burst into tears. She forced herself to swallow every crumb of cake and every drop of wine.

  And then it
got even worse, for she realized something that hadn’t occurred to her before. Tomorrow or the next day, Miles would learn what she’d done. The news of Lavinia’s disappearance would get out, and he would notice that Mr. Fellowes had also left town. He would put two and two together and ask Melinda if she’d been involved—and she absolutely couldn’t lie to him.

  “May we please go home?” she asked.

  Something bothered Miles about Melinda tonight—but he couldn’t say exactly what. Yes, she seemed overtired, but it was more than that. Sadness? Some other kind of distress?