Unsuitable Wife Read online

  “Has her ladyship returned home yet?” Justin asked, striding into the hall, and Phelps shook his head.

  “No, my lord, but- “

  “Damn!” Justin turned away, raking his hand through his hair. “Of all days for her to be late. Let me know when she does come in, Phelps.”

  “Yes, my lord, I think that it is her now,” he said, glancing out one of the sidelights, and Justin turned from the back of the hall.

  “Good.” He leaned against the wall as Phelps went to open the door. A few moments later Melissa came in. Her grey pelisse was usually flattering, but today her color was missing and her eyes had a haunted look. In spite of his resolve to behave coolly, Justin stepped forward. “My dear, what is it?”

  Melissa jerked away from his outstretched hand, wrapping her arms about herself. “Nothing.”

  “No?” Justin let his hand drop, absurdly disappointed that she had not let him touch her. “Are you ill?”

  “No! Just tired. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go up to my room—”

  “Wait.” Frantically Justin searched his mind for some pretext to keep her here. He didn’t want her going upstairs while she was in this mood. “Come into the book-room. Got something I want to ask you.”

  “Can’t it wait, Chatleigh?” she said, sounding so miserable that he had the odd urge to enfold her in his arms and rock her back and forth, comforting her.

  “Won’t take a minute. Come on.”

  “Oh, very well.” With slow, heavy movements Melissa took off her bonnet and pelisse and handed them to Phelps. “But just for a minute.”

  Somewhat more than a minute later, she climbed the stairs to her room, glad at last to be seeking sanctuary. After the incident with her stepfather all she wanted was to take a bath, scrubbing herself clean of his presence, and then climb into bed, pulling the covers over her head and shutting out the world. It had been unfortunate that Chatleigh had chosen today, of all days, to ask her advice on topics he could speak about. At any other time she would have been more than pleased, but not today. Today she was beginning to think that it was just as well he’d kept his distance. She couldn’t bear to be touched by him, by anyone, because if he came too close, he would know.

  “Oh, my lady!” Liza exclaimed when Melissa came into her room.

  “What is it, Liza?” Melissa asked, crossing the room to place her reticule on the dressing table.

  “Nothing, my lady, I just didn’t expect to see you. Would you be wanting to choose a gown for tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Melissa’s fingers, poised to remove the ribbon that held back her curls, stilled. “What is tonight?”

  “His lordship told me you’re dining with Lady Helmsley.”

  “What? He didn’t tell me.” Melissa scrubbed at her face with her hands. “All I want is to have a bath and then go to bed.”

  “Yes, my lady, you do look done in. Just tell me which gown you want and then I’ll draw the bath for you.”

  “Oh, very well.” Melissa walked across to her dressing room and then stopped as Liza flung open the wardrobe doors. “What—?” Inside was a rainbow, a profusion of colors and fabrics such as Melissa had never seen before. There were evening gowns in silks and satins of emerald and bronze and turquoise; morning gowns of peach muslin and ivory wool; a new pelisse, of teal blue velvet, with a dashing little hat to match; and even a riding habit, of forest green velvet. Melissa stared, mouth agape. “What in the world—”

  “Aren’t they beautiful, my lady?” Liza said, shyly, stroking the pelisse.

  “Yes, but—where in the world did they come from? I never ordered all this.”

  “No, but I did,” Justin said behind her, and she turned, to see him lounging in the doorway, grinning. “Merry Christmas, a little late.”

  “But, Chatleigh—”

  “Went to Celeste’s and had her make all this up for you,” he said, waving a hand towards the gowns. “Hope she picked the right colors.”

  “Yes, she did, but Chatleigh—”

  “High time you started wearing colors, m’dear,” he said, his voice softening. “Time to put the past behind you.”

  Melissa glanced up quickly from fingering the satin of one of the evening gowns. Justin was smiling, but his eyes were anxious. He looked so like a hopeful little boy that she couldn’t bear to disappoint him. She remembered all too well how she had felt when he’d refused her gift. “They’re lovely,” she said, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. They must have cost a fortune.”

  Justin smiled down at her with a look in his eyes she’d never seen there before. “Worth it,” he said. “Which are you wearing tonight?”

  “I don’t know!” She turned back to the gowns. “You might have warned me we’re dining at Aunt Augusta’s.”

  “Just came up. She wants to see me about something.” He lounged against the doorjamb. “The green, I think.”

  “What, this one?” Melissa held the gown of green watered silk against her. “Yes, I think so, too. It’s a lovely present.” Her eyes softened as she looked at him. “Thank you.”

  Justin nodded, and his cynical motives for providing her with this wardrobe were forgotten. All the expense and the time had been worth it, if only to remove that bleak look from her eyes. “You’ll do me proud,” he said, and, bowing, turned.

  “Really!” Melissa exclaimed, but he was gone. She stared after him, and then, in spite of her pique, laughed. That was Justin, and she might just as well accept him as he was. He was right, she thought, turning back to the gowns. It was time to put the past behind her; time, in spite of her stepfather’s veiled threats, to concentrate on the future. And, after today, that future looked much brighter.

  The line of carriages in Whitehall, all bound for the home of the Prime Minister, was prodigiously long. Melissa, outwardly composed, inwardly very nervous indeed, sat across from Justin in the barouche. Tonight would mark her debut as a political wife. She hoped she would measure up.

  At last the barouche came to a stop, and the Chatleighs emerged from within. Justin’s attire was, as usual, faultess; his evening coat of black superfine sat on his broad shoulders with nary a wrinkle, and even his normally unruly hair had been tamed. It was Melissa, however, who caught the eye. In a gown of bronze satin trimmed with gold braid, she was dazzling. The gown fit her perfectly, the décolletage cut lower than she was accustomed to across her youthful bosom, and the short, puffed sleeves revealing slender, rounded, arms. The heavy satin fell straight nearly to the floor, where slippers dyed to match peeped out. Topazes, borrowed from Lady Helmsley, sparkled at her ears and throat, and a filet of gold banded her forehead. The color, an unusual shade, caught the highlights in her hair and made them blaze, and her eyes held a faint golden tinge. Justin was very proud of his wife as he walked beside her into the house.

  Although the official residence of the Prime Minister was in Downing Street, Lord Liverpool chose instead to live in his own home, Fife House. Melissa and Justin slowly made their way up the crowded staircase and, after being greeted by Lord Liverpool, passed into a drawing room already filled with ladies in brilliantly colored gowns and gentlemen in evening clothes. Justin stopped a passing waiter and procured champagne for each of them, and they smiled at each other over the rims of their glasses. “So this is the sort of thing a political wife attends?” Melissa asked.

  “Afraid so, m’dear,” Justin said, taking her arm and leading her deeper into the room. Tonight all the members of the Tory establishment were present: Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary; Eldon, Lord Chancellor; and Lord Palmerston, Secretary of War, among them, the people Justin would have to impress, if he were to stay in politics. “No dancing, I’m afraid, and no music.”

  “As long as there’s food.”

  Justin grinned down at her. His dainty little wife had a trencherman’s appetite. “There’ll be food. Come, there’s some people I’d like you to meet.”

  “Justin?” a feminine voice said behind them, and they b
oth turned. “You are here! Daddy said you would be.”

  “Helena.” Justin ran a hand over his hair, the first time he’d done so this evening, and Melissa looked at him curiously. What was there about this woman that made him uncomfortable? “Evening, Helena. Your father here?”

  “Yes, over there.” Helena gestured carelessly over her shoulder as she came forward, her eyes never leaving Melissa’s face. “Is this your bride, Justin?”

  “Yes.” Justin cleared his throat, acutely aware that this meeting was the focus of much interest. “Melissa, m’dear, like you to meet an old friend. Miss Helena Keane.”

  “Miss Keane.” Melissa held out her hand, smiling politely as she studied the other woman. In a gown of ice blue satin whose expensive simplicity matched Melissa’s, Helena looked regal and icily beautiful. Her golden hair was plaited atop her head into a coronet, and an ornate, heavy necklace of sapphires and diamonds was brilliant about her neck. She was so beautiful, Melissa thought wistfully, with all the height she herself lacked, and the proud bearing to go with it. A veritable goddess, and at that moment Melissa took a decided dislike to her.

  “Lady Chatleigh.” Helena’s voice was cool as she took Melissa’s hand and, after one brief glance at her, dismissed her. “So, you are going into politics after all?” she said, taking Justin’s arm. “Daddy told me, but I wasn’t certain I believed him.”

  “Yes, well, thought I’d try it.” With a woman on either arm, Justin couldn’t give into the desire to run a hand over his hair again. Damn, what a coil. “In fact, I was just going to introduce my wife to some people, Helena, so if you will excuse us?”

  “Of course.” Helena stepped back, and her smile did not reach her eyes, as icy as her dress. “But I must insist you talk to Daddy later on.”

  “Of course,” Justin replied, and turned away, aware of Melissa looking curiously up at him.

  “Is Daddy anyone of importance?” she asked.

  “Hm? Oh, Mr. Keane. Yes, he’s an M.P. Not as important as he’d like to think. Found out money can’t buy everything.”

  Melissa’s hand tightened on his arm. “Oh.”

  Justin glanced down at the colorless monosyllable. “Sorry, m’dear,” he said, patting her hand with his free one, and she looked up at him. “Come, let’s get some food.”

  Melissa smiled. “First sensible thing you’ve said all evening.”

  She was standing with Lady Rutherford, the wife of the Earl of Rutherford, later in the evening, and trying hard not to yawn. Never before had she realized that parties could be such hard work, when a career was at stake. Justin appeared to be doing quite well, though, she thought fondly, seeking him out as he made his way through the throng. He seemed to be well-liked and respected among his peers. The foundation had been laid for his future. Now they would just have to find some way for him to make his mark.

  “...and I must say, Chatleigh is doing better than I expected,” Lady Rutherford said, paralleling Melissa’s thoughts. “I’ve heard good things about him tonight, my dear.”

  “I’m glad,” Melissa said absently, for across a small clearing in the crowd she could see that Justin had stopped near a small group of people that included Miss Keane. With them was an older man, short and running to fat, his bald pate glistening. Mr. Keane? He didn’t look as if he could have produced the beauteous Helena, who had her hand on Justin’s arm and was smiling up at him. Melissa had a sudden urge to scratch her eyes out.

  “Yes, he’s shown more shrewdness than I would have guessed. Talking with the Keanes is a particularly good idea. Think of the scandal there might have been!”

  “What?” Melissa turned back. “Why?”

  “Why, my dear, because he and Miss Keane were so nearly engaged, of course. You knew about it, did you not?”

  It was as if she had been struck a blow. “Of course,” Melissa said through frozen lips, aware that Lady Rutherford was watching her closely.

  “Quite a surprise when Chatleigh turned up married to you, but then, I daresay he’s done better for himself. They call her the Ice Princess, you know. I daresay it’s well-earned.”

  “Oh?” Melissa hoped her face didn’t betray her shock. Justin and Helena. Now she remembered where she had heard the name. She should have known, just from the way the woman looked at him. The question now was, what was she going to do about it?

  Lady Rutherford murmured some excuse and moved away, and though Melissa nodded at her, she was hardly aware of her going, so concentrated was she on the tableau across the room. Justin must have said something amusing, for at that moment Helena put back her head in a laugh, displaying her long white throat and emphasizing her bosom. Primitive rage suddenly surged through Melissa. She shan’t have him! she thought, grabbing a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and swallowing it in one gulp. Justin was hers, and she was not going to give him up to some blond hussy.

  Melissa would never afterwards remember how she made it through the rest of that evening. It dragged on interminably as she talked and laughed with various people in the interests of furthering her husband’s career. Fortunately for her peace of mind, he didn’t stay much longer with the Keanes, but that incident made her look at him in a new way. Lord, he was handsome, and so well-built, she thought, swallowing another glass of champagne. Almost graceful, in spite of his height and bulk. And he was hers! She remembered, with a little shiver, how his arms had felt about her, and suddenly she longed to feel them around her again. And soon. Her fingers clenched around the stem of her glass. Miss Keane had best watch out. Justin was hers.

  It was late when they finally arrived home. Justin stifled a yawn as they climbed the stairs towards their rooms. “Well, m’dear, if you’ll excuse me, I’m for bed—”

  “No, don’t go just yet.” Melissa laid her hand on his arm and gazed up at him, her eyes tawny in the dim light. “Surely you can spare a few moments to talk about this evening?”

  “Of course,” Justin said, a bit puzzled. She had been quiet since leaving the Prime Minister’s, and this request was unprecedented. “Are you feeling all right, m’dear?”

  “Certainly. I may have had a bit too much champagne,” she added over her shoulder as she preceded him into the drawing room. For the life of him, he could not take his eyes from the gentle sway of her hips.

  “I believe many people did.” Justin tugged on the bellpull, and a moment later a footman came in, to build up the fire and light the remaining lamps. Melissa had worked hard on redecorating this room, and its color scheme of blue and white and gold was relaxing and comfortable. “What was it you wished to talk about?” Justin asked, when the footman had gone.

  “Will you have a brandy?” she asked, her voice husky.

  “I wasn’t going to, but—”

  “I’d like one, Justin.”

  “Very well.” Justin turned away, startled by her use of his name. “Though it won’t make you feel any better tomorrow,” he added as he handed her the cognac.

  “I daresay I shall survive.” She sipped from the glass, her eyes never leaving his, and then, almost abruptly, turned. “Come sit with me,” she said, leading him over to a pair of gold striped-satin sofas. He waited until she had chosen one, and then sat in the other, his long legs stretched ahead of him, crossed at the ankles. He thought he saw a spasm of annoyance cross her face, before she rose and came to sit by him, curling her legs up under her. Of all the things that had happened this night, this was the most startling. Justin wondered if he were dreaming.

  Melissa took a sip of the cognac and then reached down to untie the satin ribbons that fastened her slippers. With a nudge from her toes she pushed both slippers off, and stretched out one leg. The sight of her foot, slender and elegant in the white silk, and her delicately turned ankle, had an odd effect on him. “I dislike wearing shoes,” she said, with the careful pronunciation of the tipsy. “I would go barefoot all the time, if I could.”

  “I dislike neckloths,” he said, tugging a
t his. “Whoever decreed this ridiculous fashion—”

  “Here, my lord, let me help you.” Setting her glass down on the sofa table, she leaned forward and began working at the knot. The neckline of her gown gaped, and Justin had to force his eyes away from the soft white mounds presented to his view.

  “Melissa.” His voice was firm as he grasped her hands. “I can manage.”

  “Can you?” she said, softly, her fingers reaching up to stroke his cheek.

  He swallowed, hard. “Melissa, stop. If you don’t know where this leads—”

  “But I do.” Her eyes met his, and held. “Justin.”

  Justin stared at her, his head reeling, and then, very carefully, reached over to set his glass down. All the nights he had paused at her door, thinking of her lying soft and warm in her bed, all the evenings when he had sought comfort in a bottle, needing surcease from the desire raging within him. But she was his wife! There was nothing wrong in this, in taking what was offered. “Melissa. Are you sure—”

  Melissa suddenly pressed against him, reaching up and kissing him full on the mouth. Caught by surprise, he pulled back, but then his arms came down of their own accord, pulling her across him, onto his lap. Her fingers wound into his hair as he bent to her, deepening the kiss. “Ah, Lissa,” he whispered, leaving her lips to trail kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her eyes. “My wife,” and he found her lips again, parting sweetly under his to allow his tongue entry. They kissed for a very long time, his fingers stroking restlessly up and down her back, hers now touching his face, now clutching at his shoulders. He bent her backwards, one arm supporting her, and his free hand came around, to trace the lines of her jaw and throat, to stroke her shoulder, and finally, at last, to slip below the gold braid-trimmed neckline of her gown. Melissa moaned low in her throat as his warm hand cupped her breast, and tightened her hold around his neck, pressing closer to him and kissing him with greater abandon. When they finally broke apart, his breathing was as shaky as hers.