To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses)

by Monajem, Barbara

  In the coach, he put his arm around her and held her close. “What’s wrong, my love? I think you’re upset about something.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder, but her body remained rigid, not softening against him. “I’m not upset. Nothing’s wrong.”

  He didn’t quite believe her, but perhaps that was his problem, not hers. He was the happiest and luckiest of men, he reminded himself.

  It didn’t take long to get home. Indoors, she hurried upstairs. He ordered the night footman to lock up and go to bed.

  “A gentleman called while you were out, my lord. Said it was urgent.” The footman motioned to the silver salver that sat on a table by the door. “He left his card.”

  “It can wait till morning,” Miles said and followed his wife.

  A sleepy housemaid was waiting to undress Melinda. She dismissed the girl as soon as possible and sat at the dressing table to brush her hair.

  Would Miles come to her chamber? She wanted him and yet didn’t. How could she bear to couple with him in that beautiful, intimate way while she was still keeping a secret from him? She wished she had never agreed to help Lavinia.

  No, she didn’t! She couldn’t leave Lavinia to be forced into marrying a man she disliked. Surely Miles would understand, if he knew. If only she could just tell him…

  No, he wouldn’t agree to help. Not only did he disapprove of Lavinia, but he was intent on proper behavior. It had taken a great deal of persuading to convince him to keep Rebecca and he’d been worried about the consequences in society. Elopements were not at all the thing. Lavinia would face some very unpleasant censure on her return, and so would anyone who had aided her. As it was, only Melinda would be to blame, not Miles.

  The door opened and he came in. Her heart twisted. He had removed his coat and waistcoat and untied his cravat. How very handsome he was in shirtsleeves and pantaloons. She gave him a wavering smile and returned to brushing her hair.

  Miles came up behind her and took the brush. “Let me.” His eyes caught hers in the mirror. She tried to smile back, but couldn’t.

  She dropped her gaze. She couldn’t bear to meet his, when he was sure to be furious at her when he found out what she’d done. She closed her eyes and tried to enjoy his ministrations—or at least to convince him that she enjoyed it.

  His lips brushed her ear and she shivered, but although a tiny flame of desire hid somewhere deep down, most of what she felt was . . . nothing. She leaned back to allow him better access and tried to savor the touch of his lips on her throat.

  He lifted her, turned her to face him, and kissed her deeply.

  She couldn’t do it. She broke the kiss. “I’m sorry, Miles. I don’t feel well tonight.”

  He pulled away. “Very well, my dear. Sweet dreams.” With a curt, not unpleasant bow, he left the room.

  She let out a long sigh of relief. Tears lurked inside her, but she kept them buried far from the surface. Afterwards, when Miles vented his rage, she might allow herself to cry. She might not be able to stop herself. Why did she care so very much?

  It dawned on her suddenly, but not the way she’d expected. She had dreamed of this moment—that magical instant when she knew she had fallen in love. It would be utterly glorious, the most uplifting experience of her life.

  This was like falling into a pit.

  She gathered her composure. Somehow she would make amends, but for now she had to be practical and get the elopement over with. She would wait long enough for Miles to fall asleep, pack a few necessities for her friend’s journey, change into Stephen’s old clothes, and fetch Lavinia.

  Tomorrow, she would start their marriage all over again.

  Miles was tempted to consign everyone and everything to hell and go to sleep, but he knew he was too agitated to do so. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that Melinda was keeping something from him. She’d been on edge ever since he’d returned in the afternoon. He opened a book of poetry, but after reading the same lines over and over again, he gave up and put the book back on the shelf. He extinguished the candles and ensconced himself at the window.

  He had to stop thinking this way. He had no reason to mistrust her. No reason to be worried or unhappy. No reason to believe she was anything but fatigued.

  And yet . . .

  Not much happened on a quiet street in Mayfair at night. A courting couple, servants perhaps, strolled past, arms locked. A solitary man, rather worse for the wear, blundered into a streetlamp, extinguishing it. A travelling carriage rolled slowly past, and somewhere not far away, a fox yowled.

  Miles felt a bit like yowling himself.

  The creak of a board snapped him out of his thoughts. Silence followed, but no one else slept on this floor but Melinda. Had she changed her mind about bedding him? No, somehow he knew that wasn’t likely. Quickly and silently, he tiptoed to the door. He set his ear to it—nothing. Very, very carefully, he opened it an inch.

  The landing was in deep gloom. Across the way, no light showed under Melinda’s bedchamber door. Not even a glimmer.

  A faint light showed from under the bedchamber next to his own. Desiree’s chamber. He grew hot and cold, his gut roiling.

  No. It wasn’t Desiree’s chamber anymore, and Melinda wasn’t in there with one of the footmen. The very idea was absurd. Fine, but what the devil was she doing in that room? He damned well intended to find out.

  But not in this state of mind. Not angry, not reproachful. Theirs was becoming a happy marriage and he intended to keep it that way. He held himself still, took several deep breaths, and counted to ten. And ten again.

  The door of Desiree’s chamber began slowly to open. Hastily, he shut his own door all but the slightest crack. A man emerged, short and slight, almost boyish, wearing a wide-brimmed hat—followed by Melinda in a cloak, the hood up, almost covering her face. The man carried a bandbox and a valise.

  A roaring grew and mushroomed inside Miles’s mind.

  Red rage blinded him. He stumbled back into his room. Murder, violent and bloody, filled his mind. He would kill the bastard with his bare hands, and as for Melinda…

  He counted to ten again. Now he knew why she hadn’t balked at pretense. Everything about her had been a sham, right from the start. He dropped to a chair and donned his coat and shoes. By the time he emerged, the two figures had reached the front door.

  Swiftly, he followed them, but they were moving quickly, the man urging Melinda on. He didn’t blame the bastard; he must be in fear of his life or worse, if Miles caught him. People still told tales of what Miles had done to the footmen. All nonsense, but Miles had never bothered to correct that gossip, either.

  This time it would be true.

  A traveling carriage waited at the end of the street, the same one Miles had watched pass by a short time ago. Miles hastened down the pavement after the heedless pair.

  Melinda and her cavalier reached the carriage . . . and from behind it, with a watch in his hand, came Fellowes. Melinda flung her arms around his neck, weeping. “Thank God, thank God! Don’t let her find me. Please take me away. Please don’t let her find me ever again.”

  Find . . . whom? That wasn’t Melinda. That wasn’t her voice, and—

  Fellowes patted the sobbing woman on the back. “Hush, darling. I’ll take care of you. Quietly now.” His eyes lit upon her companion and his jaw dropped. “Good God!”

  “It was safer this way, but must you broadcast it to the world?” Melinda’s voice came from the small man’s body.

  She wasn’t leaving him. She was merely helping Fellowes and that vapid girl to elope. Miles shook with relief; he halted, leaning against a railing to regain his poise. Where the devil had she got that costume? It wasn’t Miles’s clothing, which would have been far too large.

  “What if you hadn’t
been here yet?” Melinda said to Fellowes. “What if we’d encountered some drunken bloods?”

  What if, indeed? Yes, he was relieved, but enraged as well. Anything could have happened to her, venturing out at night like this—his reckless, foolhardy wife.

  “I daresay you’re right,” Fellowes muttered, glancing at the curious postilion. “But you shouldn’t—if I’d known—I insist on returning you safely home before we leave.”

  Miles came forward. “Unnecessary,” he said.

  Chapter 16

  Melinda almost leapt out of Stephen’s shirt and breeches. “Miles,” she squeaked. “You startled me.”

  Miles ignored her. “A word with you, Fellowes.”

  Mr. Fellowes peeled the weeping Miss Darwin off his chest and passed her to Melinda. “Garrison, I—”

  “Miles, please don’t—” Melinda began.

  Miles cut her off with a curt gesture. “Help your friend into the carriage.” His tone left no room for defiance. He drew Mr. Fellowes aside. Melinda couldn’t hear a word they were saying. It didn’t help that Lavinia had burst into terrified sobs.

  “Shush! You’ve already drawn too much attention to us. Get in.” Melinda found a rug on the floor of the carriage and spread it over Lavinia’s knees.

  “He’ll make me go home,” Lavinia wailed.

  “He can’t force Mr. Fellowes to take you home,” Melinda said. But he might convince him to do so, and then what? Melinda shuddered at the thought of the coming confrontation, but she managed to keep her voice low and calm. “Get inside. Lie down.” She tossed the valise and bandbox in after her friend. She dug in her pocket and drew out a handkerchief. She had anticipated more tears, but not because of such a catastrophe. “Blow your nose and hush!”

  Melinda turned to where Miles and Mr. Fellowes were still growling at one another. She had to do something. “Miles, I—”

  He put up a hand. “You’ve already played your part. Be silent.”

  “But—”

  He rounded on her with such fury that she recoiled. She backed away. She almost ran away, but she’d never been a coward and didn’t intend to start now. She had brought this upon herself, even if she had meant well.

  Would he take Grandmama’s advice now and beat her?

  She waited, frozen with misery, ears straining, as Miles and Mr. Fellowes drew even further away.

  At last they finished talking. Mr. Fellowes hastened to the carriage and clambered in. Miles put up the steps. “Thank you,” Mr. Fellowes muttered, as Miles moved to shut the door.

  Why was he thanking Miles? How could he be such a coward? “Mr. Fellowes—”

  “Wait over there,” Miles snapped, moving to confer with the postilion. Stiffly, she obeyed, and again, she couldn’t catch a word of what was going on.

  At last the carriage drove off. “Come,” Miles said and strode away up the street.

  He didn’t even look behind to see if she would follow. Again, she wanted to run—in the other direction, far, far away—but where to? Edward would send her straight back to Miles, but even worse, Grandmama would know about her disgrace.

  She couldn’t bear that. Far better to keep the current humiliation to herself. Slumping, she followed Miles, hurrying to catch up as they reached the house. He held the door open for her and motioned her toward the stairs without a word. She lit a candle from the lamp at the bottom and went slowly up, turning on the first landing to see whether he followed. He barred the front door, picked up the salver that stood on the table by the door, the one in which people left their cards, and vanished in the darkness toward the rear of the house.

  She made her way up to her bedchamber, but couldn’t bring herself to undress and go to bed. If only she knew what he intended to do. She would almost prefer a shrieking match to this cold silence, as if he had shut a door against her heart. She tossed her hat onto the sofa and waited.

  At last his footsteps sounded on the stairs. When they reached the top, they didn’t approach her door. She couldn’t just sit and wait. She had to know what was going on.

  She rushed to the door. “Miles.”

  He didn’t turn, but by the light of the candle he carried she saw the jerk of his chin, which seemed to indicate she should follow him. Heartened, she hurried after him into his bedchamber.

  “Yes?” His voice was so very, very cold. He didn’t close the door; evidently he didn’t want her there, didn’t mean her to stay.

  “Miles, what did you say to Mr. Fellowes?”

  “That is none of your business.” He set down the candle, tossed something onto the dressing table, seated himself, and removed his shoes.

  After more silence, she asked, “Did you send Lavinia back home?”

  He shucked his coat. “I see no reason to tell you that, either.”

  “But she’s my friend! I have to know.”

  “Fellowes is my friend, and yet you didn’t tell me what you were going to do.”

  “Because I thought you would forbid me.”

  He shrugged. “That’s no excuse.” He removed his stockings. “If you had come to me, we would have had a rational discussion about what to do.”

  “I know all about rational discussions. They’re what my father had with my mother, where he did all the talking and my mother was supposed to agree and obey. He never considered her opinions, only his own wishes.”

  “I’m nothing like your father,” Miles said. “Didn’t I discuss Rebecca’s future with you? Didn’t I do as you suggested?”

  Mortification washed over her. “Yes,” she whispered, “but―”

  He broke in. “But it seems you are like him, since your wishes were all you considered in this case.”

  “That’s not true. I was considering Lavinia and Mr. Fellowes. You said you didn’t want them to marry. You said you wouldn’t help them. What else was I supposed to think?”

  “That I would find out what you had done? That my friend would take me for a fool whose wife had put blinders on him?”

  “It wasn’t like that! Not at all! I knew you would disapprove, and I feared you would be angry at me, but I didn’t think—”

  “Precisely. You didn’t think at all.” He picked up a calling card from the dressing table and cast it in her direction. “Lady Eudora sent a lawyer to call on me this evening when we were out—one of Miss Darwin’s trustees, I assume. If I acquiesced in this elopement, what was I supposed to tell him if he returned in the morning? Lie and say I knew nothing about it? That wouldn’t reflect well on me when the whole damned story came out, as it surely will.”

  She retrieved the card and eyed it miserably in the candlelight. “So you sent her back home.” Outrage and misery roiled within her. “You were willing to help Mr. Fellowes last time. What about the story that would have come out then?”

  “Not many people knew of my friendship with Fellowes. Everyone knows about yours with Lavinia.”

  “At least I am truly her friend.” Melinda threw the card onto the floor. “Last night at the opera, Lord Andrews flaunted his mistress in front of her, and yet her mother still insisted she marry him. She forbade her to leave the house until she agreed, so Lavinia finally got up her courage, ran away from home and came to me. What else could I have done but help her?”

  “You were planning the elopement before Miss Darwin ran away. That’s why you played piquet, isn’t it? To win the money to pay for their journey.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t try to keep the defiance from her voice.

  “That’s why I inconvenienced Colin and confronted Toup—to finance an elopement of which I disapproved.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts, Melinda. I cannot tolerate a wife who lies and keeps secrets from me.”

  “And I cannot tolerate forced marriages!�
�� How in God’s name was she to help Lavinia now? Wild thoughts crowded her mind, of climbing up to Lavinia’s room and rescuing her at dead of night, or abducting her on the way to the altar, or . . . How could she manage any such rescue? Hopelessness washed over her. “If you had not intervened, at least Lavinia would have had a husband who loves her, even if I do not!”

  That barb pained Miles more than it should have. “Love was not part of our arrangement,” he said. “I married you to restore your reputation, remember? And yet you seem determined to ruin it.”