Unsuitable Wife Read online

  An Unsuitable Wife

  Mary Kruger

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Mary Kruger

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Art copyright 2011 Princess Pages

  To my sister, Patricia Harrington, who was the first one to see the potential in me.

  Chapter One

  “Ye’ll be safe here, miss,” Bennett said, his portly figure waddling just a bit as he crossed the room to close the shutters. “‘Tis only an attic, I fear, but ‘tis the best I can offer you,” he went on. “If I knew you were coming I’d have saved a room, but with the mill nearby—”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Bennett.” The girl who had followed him into the room took off her black silk bonnet, running fingers through curls the color of autumn leaves as she surveyed the room. It was very plain and very small, furnished simply with bed, dresser, and washstand. The ceiling sloped nearly to the floor and the window was tiny, but to the girl it was a haven. “This will do admirably, and I shall only require it for the one night.”

  “Yes, miss,” Bennett said, placing her portmanteau on the floor and frowning. “But if I may say so, miss, ye could do worse than to stay here. Lunnin’s a powerful wicked place, all I hear.”

  The girl permitted herself a small smile. “Quite possibly it is, but I am sure I shall manage, Bennett. There must be plenty of positions available for a girl willing to work.”

  “Aye.” The innkeeper eyed her doubtfully. Such a little thing as she was, and so pretty, there was little doubt in his mind what kind of position she would end up in. Couldn’t tell her that, though. Miss, young though she was, had a mind of her own. Came of having carroty hair, Bennett supposed. “But if things don’t work out, Miss Melissa—”

  “Hush, don’t use my name!” The girl looked around as if they were in the inn’s crowded, noisy taproom, surrounded by the carousing gentlemen who had traveled from all over England to see the prize fight held near Taunton that day.

  Bennett smiled. “Now don’t ye worry about a thing, miss,” he said, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Old Bennett’ll see to it ye’re taken care of.”

  “Thank you, Bennett,” Melissa said, giving him the smile that had always made his heart turn over. “I know I can rely on you.”

  Bennett straightened, his fatuous smile the only clue to his thoughts. Be a shame if she came to harm in London, and so he would do what he could to look after her. Owed that much to Master Richard’s child. “That ye can, miss. Be ye needing anything else?”

  “No, thank you, but please, remember. No one must know I am here.”

  “Don’t ye worry about a thing, miss. There’s not a one here who’d wish any harm to ye.”

  “Thank you, Bennett.” She smiled. “And good night.”

  The innkeeper bowed himself out of the room, and Melissa was at last alone, at the end of what had been the longest, most nightmarish day of her life. By the light of the single taper the room looked cozy and inviting, spotlessly clean, as was the rest of the Hart and Hind. At this point, however, it would not have mattered if it had been a pigsty. Here she was safe from him. The inn was sanctuary, now that the only home she had ever known was lost to her.

  Swinging the portmanteau onto the bed, Melissa began to undress, exchanging her round gown of black bombazine for a prim, high-necked nightgown of white lawn. She was yawning by the time she had splashed water onto her face and run a comb through her curls, and the feather tick looked so inviting that she was certain she’d fall asleep instantly, in spite of the din coming from downstairs. Extinguishing the taper, she climbed into bed. Thank heavens Bennett had still had this room, she thought, sleepily, and snuggled into the mattress.

  She was not insensitive, and the events of the day had upset her greatly, but she was young and healthy and very tired. In spite of the noise, in spite of her worries and her grief, Miss Melissa Selby, daughter of the late Sir Richard Selby and his lady, was soon fast asleep.

  The corridors of the old inn were dim when Justin, Lord Chatleigh, at last stumbled up the stairs to find his bed. It had been a pleasant few days, he thought, agreeably befuddled by the claret he had consumed in vast quantities in the inn’s taproom. Tolerable food here, and a capital mill this afternoon, with Cribbs, the champion, in rare form. Tomorrow it would be back to Surrey for him, and the Hall. The thought made him frown.

  Damn, now which one was his room? Justin swayed as he stood, considering this problem. Bad enough he’d been relegated to an attic, but even worse if he couldn’t find his room. Wouldn’t do to stumble in on some stranger, he told himself, while the corners of his mouth turned up idiotically at the thought. No, wouldn’t do at all.

  Second door, third door? Justin peered owlishly at both of them, and then, nodding, made up his mind. Second door. With great determination he put his hand on the knob. It wouldn’t turn.

  “Damn,” he muttered, and applied himself to it again. It resisted, but he was a strong man. Of a sudden the latch gave, and, not expecting it, Justin tumbled into the room.

  “Damn!” Regaining his feet, he scowled back at the door. Surely he wasn’t so castaway as that, in spite of all that claret? Damned tolerable vintage too, for a country inn. Now, where was the damned candle? Maybe he should have brought his man along with him, if only to have the room prepared.

  A few minutes’ further stumbling exploration brought him to the dresser, where at last he found what he sought, the taper that the good innkeeper had left for him. Striking a lucifer, he put the flame to the taper, finally allowing him to see his surroundings, the plain plaster walls, the oak dresser, the ceiling sloping nearly to the floor. An attic, yes, but it would do. He’d had worse billets in Spain. Not surprising, either, considering all who had come to see the mill, and he supposed he shouldn’t complain, when even such a toplofty gent as the Marquess of Edgewater was forced to take a room just the other side of the corridor. Justin grinned at the thought. Good for him. Take him down a peg or two.

  Yawning hugely, he began to strip off his clothes, letting them fall where they would: the coat of bottle green superfine, a product of Weston’s fine tailoring, tossed carelessly upon a chair; his neckcloth, atop; and his shirt, pulled over his head to reveal a broad, muscled chest. Justin stretched, turned, and then stopped, standing very still, not sure he believed his eyes. He shook his head, but the vision remained. Damn, there was a girl in his bed!

  Bemused, Justin lowered his arms and let the shirt fall to the floor. Well, and what was this? He hadn’t thought such an insignificant country inn would provide such—service. He was grinning at the thought as he crept, surprisingly quietly for so large a man, closer to the bed to observe this unexpected bounty.

  As if unaware of his presence, the girl slept on. Justin’s eyes strayed to where the coverlet rose and fell with her breathing, and then back to her face. She looked absurdly young and innocent to be plying her trade, but Justin had learned long ago how deceptive appearances could be. He would accept this offering without protest, because, no doubt about it, the girl was a beauty. Luxuriant coppery curls framed the perfect oval of her face and contrasted with the porcelain whiteness of her skin, marred just a bit by the sprinkling of freckles across her small, straight nose. In sleep her full lips were relaxed, and her eyelashes made dark, spiky cre
scents upon her cheeks. Aye, a beauty, no question about that. A sleeping beauty. A princess.

  His impatient fingers fumbled with the buttons of his pantaloons, and at last he was free of all encumbrances, free to accept his prize. The feather mattress sagged under his weight, the ropes supporting it whining in protest, and the girl stirred. Justin smiled down at her, still a bit bemused by his good fortune, and then bent his head. “Wake up, princess,” he whispered, his lips descending, and at that moment the girl suddenly reared up into his arms.

  Melissa’s sleep had been deep and dreamless, enhanced by the knowledge that, for the first time in years, she was safe. It was only by gradual degrees that something other than the usual bustle of the inn began to impinge on her consciousness, an awareness that something was wrong. Still half-asleep, Melissa considered the problem. Had there been some sound to awaken her? If so, there was nothing now, except, perhaps, the sound of breathing— Melissa’s muscles tightened. Someone was in the room with her.

  No, it was a dream. She’d had this dream before, so vivid that she could actually feel it happening, could hear the footsteps quietly crossing the floor, feel the comforter being pulled back, feel the bed shift as the intruder climbed in. A dream, and in a moment she would wake up, heart pounding, to discover that all was well, and she was safe. Wake up, she told herself, and opened an eye just enough to realize that, this time, it was no dream. A man was bending over her, not him, as she’d feared, but a stranger, handsome and smiling and utterly terrifying.

  “Wake up, princess,” the man whispered, and at his words the paralysis of fear that had gripped her suddenly let go. As his head bent to hers, she suddenly reared up, seeking escape—and found herself trapped against a broad, masculine chest.

  Ah, so the wench was willing! Justin’s arms tightened about the girl. Willing, and quite a spirited armful, too, though some part of his drink-clouded mind found it strange that a doxy would be garbed in a pristine nightgown, buttoned snugly to her neck. And her lips, those full lips he had admired, were as soft and sweet under his as he had imagined. What a little wildcat she was, moving eagerly against him, her hands on his chest. “Shh, princess,” he murmured, releasing her mouth to trail kisses along her check, her eyes, her brow, and the girl twisted her head away.

  “No—”

  “No,” Melissa moaned, unable to do more, though every fiber of her being was outraged at this attack. He was too big, too heavy, lying atop her, and she could scarcely breathe, let alone make the kind of protest she desired. Even her hands, pushing against his chest, were ineffectual. “Oh, no—”

  “Shh, princess.” Justin laid his hand tenderly across her parted lips. The girl’s eyes flew to his, and for a moment their gazes held. And then, to Justin’s immense surprise, she sank her teeth into his thumb.

  “Ow!” Justin yelled, snatching his hand back and rolling a little off her.

  Melissa drew in her breath. “Help!” she shouted. “Help, oh help me—”

  “Be quiet, little fool!” Justin caught hold of her flailing wrists and pulled them above her head, holding her down, and again their eyes met, hers darkened by panic, his lit with an odd light.

  “Oh, please—” she gasped.

  “Damn, we both know why you’re here,” he snarled, and brought his mouth down on hers again. This time it was no slow, tender kiss; this time it was hard and punishing, his ton gue forcing her mouth open, his teeth cutting into the soft flesh of her inner lip. This was worse than any nightmare from the past.

  “Please,” she begged again, when he at last came up for air, and he looked down at her.

  “Please?” he said, shifting his embrace so that he held her wrists in one hand. “Please what?”

  “Please—”

  “Please this?” And with that, his free hand came down upon her breast. Melissa gasped, and he took advantage of her parted lips to kiss her again, persuasively this time, his ton gue slipping easily into her mouth to caress hers. The touch of his big hand was amazingly light as he cupped her breast, his thumb moving caressingly across her nipple. To Melissa’s horror, strange feelings began to spread outwards from his fingers, warmth and languor and, unbelievably, pleasure. The thought made her struggle even harder.

  “Ah, princess, don’t fight me when we both want it,” he murmured into her hair.

  “I don’t—”

  “You do. You do.”

  She did, she did. It was getting harder to push against him, harder to struggle with the strange weakness that was pervading her limbs, impossible to think of anything but the feelings he evoked in her so easily, as his thumb rasped across the hardened tip of her breast, again and again. When the touch stopped she almost cried out in protest, and when he leaned up on his elbows, freeing her arms, she blinked up at him, uncomprehendingly.

  “Ah, your breasts are so beautiful, m’dear, like two ripe, firm apples,” he murmured, and dumbly she followed the direction of his gaze to see that, somehow, he had managed to unbutton her nightgown, exposing her to his hungry eyes.

  The cool draft on her skin at last awoke her. Before Justin could guess what she was about, she twisted from beneath him and stumbled across the floor. Snatching up the pitcher from the washstand, she held it threateningly over her head.

  “Get out of my room!” she cried, and it penetrated dimly through Justin’s confusion that her accents were not those of a common drab, but a young lady.

  “Now, wait—” he said, holding his hand out to her, and at that moment, someone pounded on the door.

  Chapter Two

  For a moment they stayed in tableau, staring at each other, and then the doorknob rattled. “Miss?” Bennett’s voice called anxiously. “Miss Melissa?”

  Justin swore, an oath Melissa had never heard before, and pulled the quilt around himself just as the door burst open. Bennett stood in the doorway, blinking at them. “Miss Melissa?” he said, unbelievingly. “And—my lord?”

  “My lord?” Melissa glanced towards the man still sitting on the bed, his hair disordered and his eyes, filled with a dawning horror, staring back at her. Slowly, she lowered the pitcher. “Bennett—”

  “Miss Melissa?” Justin said at the same time. “Miss who, innkeeper?”

  “Why, Miss Selby, of course, my lord.”

  “Miss Selby. Holy God.” Justin thrust his hand into his hair. God, she was gentry, at least. He was in a fix now.

  “Ye’re all right, miss?” Bennett looked towards Melissa. “I mean—”

  “What?” Color flooded Melissa’s cheeks as she glanced down and saw that her nightgown was still unfastened. Hastily she pulled it closed, scooping up an article of clothing from the floor to hold before herself. “Yes, Bennett, I—I think this gentleman mistook his room, and—”

  Justin raised his head at that. “My room. Paid for it.”

  “No, my lord,” Bennett said. “Yer room is the next one down.”

  Justin stared at him, and Melissa caught at Bennett’s sleeve. “Bennett, it was a mistake, I know it was. There was no harm done and no one need know—”

  “But that’s just it, miss. Everyone heard ye. Everyone does know.”

  “Oh, God,” Justin groaned.

  “You’re no help,” Melissa snapped. “Bennett, if you tell everyone I simply had a nightmare and tell them to go along, then when it’s quiet this gentleman can go back to his room.”

  Justin looked up. If only he hadn’t drunk so much. If only he could think straight. Though her suggestion had merit, he had got himself into an intolerable situation, and in honor there was only one way out. “I’ll have to marry you,” he said.

  “What!” Melissa exclaimed, turning towards him, and at that moment the door, still ajar, opened.

  “So, this is where you’ve got to, Chatleigh.” The elegant gentleman who lounged in the doorway looked around, taking in in one comprehensive glance the room’s occupants. Though it was late evening, the shine of his boots could not be surpassed, and his neckcloth
was meticulously knotted. A smile faintly touched his lips. “Got yourself in another scrape, old chap?”

  Justin dropped his head in his hands for a moment. Oh, God, it needed only this. “No scrape, Edgewater,” he said, looking up. “Present you to my wife. Understand if I don’t rise.”

  “Your wife?” Edgewater raised his quizzing glass and carefully studied the disheveled girl. “I see. Hadn’t heard of your nuptials, old chap.”

  “I’m not—there weren’t—” Melissa spluttered.

  “Whirlwind courtship, and all that,” Justin said, staring at Edgewater without liking. “Excuse us, now. M’wife suffers from nightmares.”

  That faint smile briefly appeared on Edgewater’s lips again. “I can’t imagine why. I will leave you to your rest, then. Remind me to congratulate you in the morning.”

  With a gentle click he closed the door behind him, and the others were left, momentarily speechless. It was Bennett who broke the silence. “I’m that sorry, miss. That there lock hasn’t been working right but with all the excitement, the mill and all, I clean forgot.”

  Melissa waved her hand. “It’s not your fault. Look, sir, whoever you are, I am not your wife and I have no intention of becoming your wife.”

  Justin shook his head, an action he immediately regretted. “Can’t see any other choice.” He rose, and for the first time Melissa realized just how big he was, so tall that his head almost brushed the rafters. The quilt he clutched about him did nothing to hide the broad expanse of his chest, or the muscles of his arms.

  She took a hasty step back. “Can you not have the decency to go away and put on some clothes?” she snapped.

  “Would, but you’re holding my shirt.”

  “What? Oh!” Melissa looked down at the cambric shirt she had snatched up from the floor and tossed it from her. “Here. Now, please leave, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

  “Can’t do that, miss.” Bennett’s voice sounded unusually grave. “Afraid Lord Chatleigh’s in the right of it.”