Unsuitable Wife Page 2

  “What?” Melissa stared at him. “But I can’t marry him!”

  “Don’t see ye got much choice, miss. And might be it’s the best thing for ye.” Melissa stared at him, and he nodded. “Leave ye two to talk it out,” he muttered, and went out, closing the door firmly behind him.

  What a night, what a night, and how he was going to explain this to his wife, he didn’t know, Bennett thought, as he worked his way downstairs, reassuring the other guests as he went. Powerful fond of Master Richard’s children, he and Mrs. Bennett were, and he would never forgive himself that harm had come to Miss Melissa in his inn. But that young Lord Chatleigh was a gentleman. Prepared to do the decent thing, at least.

  “I tell you, I know she’s here!” a voice drifted up the staircase, and Bennett paused on the landing. If he’d been a swearing man, he would have let out much the same oath as Justin had, but Mrs. Bennett was a strict Methodist and did not approve such speech. Bennett’s thoughts were dark as he continued down the stairs, to greet his latest, unwelcome guest.

  “...and you will tell me where she is before I lose my patience!” The man who stood in the hallway was tall and thin and dressed in funereal black, and at the moment his hand was cruelly gripping the arm of the inn’s errand boy.

  Bennett’s mouth tightened. “Sir Stephen?” he said, bustling forward. “What do ye here, this time of night?”

  Sir Stephen whirled around, and the boy scampered off to safety. “Is she here?” he demanded.

  “Don’t know what ye mean, sir.” Bennett pushed past him. “Excuse me, sir, very busy, the prize fight, ye know—”

  “Hang the prize fight!” Sir Stephen’s hand grasped Bennett’s shoulder, holding him back. “Don’t try to cozen me, Bennett. Where else would she run to?”

  Bennett didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked hard at Sir Stephen’s hand, still resting on his shoulder. After a moment, Sir Stephen pulled away. Bennett was not a young man, but his breadth and barrel chest were not due to fat. “Who, sir?”

  “Miss Selby, damn you, who else? If I hear you have been harboring her, Bennett, I’ll—”

  “Ye’ll what?” Bennett glared at the other man. Sir Stephen might in his own way be powerful, but he had never scared Tom Bennett, no sir. “There’s not a one in this neighborhood who will support ye.”

  Sir Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “No? Well, we shall see about that, won’t we, Bennett? Since I am in the right? Now, where is she?”

  “She’s not here. Look, sir, best ye go home,” he went on, as Sir Stephen’s eyes narrowed further. “She’s likely there right now—”

  “I tell you, she isn’t! Let me by, I wish to find her.”

  “No.” Bennett stood in front of the staircase, squarely blocking it. “Won’t have ye disturbing my guests. Gennlemen from Lunnin, come to see the mill.” A crafty look appeared in his eyes. “Been drinking all night. Spoiling for a fight, they are.”

  As if to prove his point, at that moment several young men stumbled out from the taproom, two of them with their arms around each other and singing loudly, if not melodiously, and the third berating them in increasingly strident ton es. Not one gave Sir Stephen more than a glance as they pushed past him to reach the stairs, still arguing.

  “Go home,” Bennett said, more quietly. “If Miss Melissa is still missing in the morning, then I’ll help ye look. The good Lord knows I don’t want any harm to come to her.”

  Sir Stephen stared at him through narrowed eyes, and then turned on his heel. “Very well. But if I learn you have been deceiving me, Bennett, it will go ill for you.” He paused at the door of the inn. “Very ill.”

  Bennett stared at the closed door for a moment, muttered some words of which his wife most definitely would not have approved, and then turned and scurried back up the stairs.

  “He’s right, you know,” Justin said, when the door had closed behind the innkeeper. “Nothing else for it.”

  “There must be!” Melissa, her cheeks still red, rooted in her portmanteau for her dressing gown. “You don’t wish to marry me anymore than I wish to marry you, Lord—?”

  “Chatleigh.” Justin rubbed at his eyes. “No, but nothing else for it, ma’am. Especially not with Edgewater.”

  “Edgewater?”

  “Damned dandy who looked in at us just now.”

  Melissa knotted the sash of her dressing gown around her. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “Edgewater? Hardly. No, he’ll be delighted to spread the word of this.”

  “But you didn’t have to tell him we were married!”

  “Couldn’t think what else to say.”

  Melissa stared at him. Men! “Not that he believed it.”

  “No, but by the time he tells anyone who matters, we will be.” His eyes, sober now, met hers. “Afraid there’s no help for it.”

  “But you could just let me go. No one knows who I am, no one cares, and I could just go on as I planned—”

  “And have it said I seduce young ladies of quality?” His smile was mocking. “Haven’t sunk that low yet.”

  “Oh, haven’t you!”

  “Thought this was my room!”

  “Well, it isn’t!” They glared at each other. “For heaven’s sake, would you please put on some clothes?”

  “Certainly.” He stood up, his bulk seeming to fill the room, and Melissa was again reminded how very large he was. “Might want to turn your back. Unless you’d like to watch?”

  “Ooh!” Melissa spun around. Justin, pulling on his shirt and pantaloons, stared at her thoughtfully. Younger than he’d realized, and not a doxy, which would have made matters easier. He could cheerfully have paid her off, then, but one couldn’t offer coin to a lady of quality. What was she doing in an inn alone, without even a maid to lend her countenance? Something havey-cavey here.

  Justin was just pulling on his boots when Bennett rushed in. “Miss, Sir Stephen is belowstairs!”

  “What!” Melissa whirled around. “Oh, Bennett, you didn’t tell him I was here!”

  “No, miss, he’s gone. But he’ll be back. Powerful upset, he was.”

  “Sir Stephen?” Justin asked.

  “Yes, my lord. Sir Stephen Barton.”

  Justin looked quizzically from Bennett to Melissa. “My stepfather,” she said.

  “Stepfather?” Justin looked thoughtful. “Might be another way out of this.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If I could talk to the man. Maybe between us we could settle something—”

  “No!” Melissa grabbed Bennett’s arm. “Oh, Bennett, please don’t make me go with him! Please!”

  “Now, miss, don’t ye fret.” Bennett patted her hand. “Sir Stephen is gone, and Lord Chatleigh said he’d stand by ye.” He looked over at Justin. “And I’ll see to it he does, or my name’s not Tom Bennett.”

  “I see.” Justin slowly lowered himself to the bed, staring at them both through narrowed eyes. “I see what it is.”

  “My lord?”

  “And suppose I decide not to marry this—young person?”

  Bennett frowned, puzzled by Justin’s ton e. “I can’t force ye, my lord, but—”

  “But for a certain fee, you’ll keep quiet about this. I see.”

  “No!” Bennett shook off Melissa’s hand and stood, four-square, his large hands bunched into fists. “By God, sir, no one insults Tom Bennett like that—”

  “Bennett.” Melissa caught at his arm again. “What on earth—”

  “He thinks, miss, that this was a trap.” Bennett glared at the other man. “He thinks we set a trap, working together.”

  “Didn’t you?” Justin almost looked bored. “Won’t be the first time it’s been tried.”

  “I don’t understand.” Melissa ignored his contemptuous gaze. “Why would we do something like that?”

  “For the money, of course. Either force me into marriage, or make me pay to insure your silence.”

  “What!”

  “Oh,
yes, a good plan, and you picked your partner well. An innkeeper, to claim that this isn’t my room—”

  “But it isn’t!”

  “—while you play the whore.”

  “By God, sir, I’ll not stand here and listen to such insults,” Bennett roared, and Melissa caught his arm again.

  “Oh, Bennett, never mind, it’s not worth it! The man must have windmills in his head if he thinks Mrs. Bennett would allow such goings-on in her house!” Bennett blinked at her and slowly lowered his arm. “Let it go, Bennett. I don’t want to marry him.”

  Justin rose and reached for his coat. “Well, Bennett? If you would show me where you put my things, perhaps I could get some sleep ton ight.”

  Bennett’s hands balled into fists. “Oh, no, my lord, not until I have yer word—”

  “Bennett. Never mind, it doesn’t matter,” Melissa said.

  “It does matter, miss, he’s dishonored you.”

  Justin let out a bark of laughter. “Should have thought of that before you set this up! It’s your scandal, now.”

  “Oh, no, my lord!” Melissa stepped quickly in front of Bennett and stared up at Justin, so annoyed by his implication that his towering height did not intimidate her. “You were the one who announced our marriage to the world!” Justin’s eyes narrowed. “Handy for us that Edgewater came along at that moment, wasn’t it?”

  “By God, madam—”

  “So now who’s trapped, my lord?”

  Justin let out that oath again. “My lord!” Bennett exclaimed.

  “Damn!” Justin glared at them. They were right. Damn, if it had been anyone else but Edgewater, he would be tempted to walk away from the mess, but now he was in for it. Once the news reached London, as Edgewater would surely see it would, it would be his scandal. “Damn. Why didn’t I just keep quiet?”

  He looked so harrassed, his hair on end where he had raked it with his fingers, that in spite of herself Melissa felt a stab of pity. “You thought you were doing the right thing—”

  “The right thing?” Justin turned, and the expression on his face was so savage that she took a step backwards. “Oh, yes, Miss Selby, you banked on that, didn’t you? Damn.” His hands clenched into fists, and for a moment he stared at them. “All right,” he said, finally. “All right. I’ll marry you.”

  The inn was quiet at last. The young bucks who had caroused in the taproom had long since sought their beds, or fallen into a drunken stupor where they sat. In the innyard the waning moon shone coldly on the damp cobblestones, and in the stables the only sound was the occasional snuffle or nicker of a horse. The very world seemed to be asleep but, long after everyone else in the inn was at rest, Melissa lay in the bed that had earlier been so inviting, staring at the shadowy ceiling and trying to figure out what had happened to her life.

  Too much had happened to her lately, there had been too many changes, and this latest was the most bewildering of them all. She had no wish to marry! The thought of it made her feel hot, and then cold. Marriage had not been a part of her plans for a very long time. Of course Chatleigh had felt honor-bound to offer for her, but he obviously was no happier about it than she was, and that did not bode well for the future. She had no idea what kind of man he was. He might be a rake, a gambler; he might beat her, or he might—

  Melissa tossed onto her side, her knees drawn up to her chest. No, she had to be honest with herself on that score. He might try to force her, but, heavens, he wouldn’t have to use much force! She had learned that to her own chagrin ton ight, and even now she could feel the warmth his touch evoked, the little frissons of pleasure and excitement as his fingers touched her breast, and the need, aching down deep—

  Melissa moaned and curled up tighter, turning her head into the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut, as waves of shame washed over her. No, he wouldn’t have had to use much force at all. Another moment or two and she would likely have given into him. He was unknown to her, and yet his touch had awaken such feelings in her as she had never before known. No proper young lady felt that way, she thought, sitting up in bed with her arms wrapped around her knees. It only confirmed something she had suspected about herself for some time now. There was something wrong in her.

  So, now what did she do? Undoubtedly there were advantages to the match; it would, at the least, save her from an intolerable situation. Under other circumstances, she might even have been interested in Chatleigh. He was certainly handsome enough, with his tousled brown hair, his regular features and strong, even, white teeth; he had behaved like a gentleman, once he had realized she was not a doxy; and he had the indefinable bearing of a military man, which Papa would have approved. He was also an earl, and though that didn’t matter to her, at least he appeared to be an honorable man. But she didn’t love him, and she could not conceive of a marriage beginning worse, with mutual mistrust and, on his part, dislike. It would be better if they had never met. It would be best if she could just run away and hide.

  The thought made her raise her head from her knees. If she didn’t marry Chatleigh she would be ruined, but then, if she stayed with her original plan and went on to London, no one would know who she was. Yes! She flung back the quilts and jumped out of bed. She would go on as she’d planned. She’d gotten herself into this mess; she was the only one who could get herself out.

  Dragging her portmanteau towards her, she packed her few belongings and then lay down again. Dawn was near and she must not sleep, she told herself. But, though she meant to close her eyes only for a moment, when she opened them again the room was bright with the first rays of the sun.

  Melissa sat bolt upright, banging her head on the sloping wall and scrambling from the bed. Oh, no, she hadn’t meant to sleep! Hastily splashing water onto her face, she pulled on her clothes. Though she could hear movement and voices outside, within all was quiet. It was still early. Doubtless Chatleigh was sleeping; it was well-known that the ton never rose before noon, and besides, he was likely to have quite a head this morning, after imbibing so much last night. She certainly needn’t fear that he’d block her escape. Most likely he’d be glad to be rid of her.

  Down one flight of stairs, and then another. Near the bottom a stair creaked so sharply that she stopped, her breath caught, until she was certain no one would come to investigate the noise. From here she could see most of the hall and the door to one of the private parlors, standing open. There was no one in sight. She could leave without being remarked.

  On tiptoe she ran down the remaining stairs and crossed the hall, glancing into the private parlor as she did so. It was then that all her carefully laid plans fell apart. For there, sitting at the table and staring at her, his fork poised halfway to his mouth, was the earl.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh” Melissa dropped her portmanteau. Justin gave her a long look and then calmly resumed eating his breakfast, taking a pull on his ale before speaking.

  “Good morning.” He touched his napkin to his lips and then leaned back. “Care to join me?” he said, gesturing carelessly towards the repast that covered the table.

  “I—no, I—I didn’t think you’d be up!” Melissa glanced down the hallway, but there was no one to rescue her from this.

  “One thing you’ll soon find, m’dear. I have a very hard head. Come.” He crossed the room to her. “Must insist you join me.”

  “I—no, I can’t. That is, I’m not hungry.”

  “Nevertheless.” He grasped her arm in a grip that, though gentle, was firm, and she knew it would be fruitless to struggle. “Ready to go so soon?” Justin scooped up her portmanteau in his other hand and kicked the door shut behind them. “Must say, didn’t think you’d be this eager.”

  “I’m not! Oh, it’s not proper for us to be alone here.”

  “Proper?” Justin’s eyes mocked her as he seated her and then resumed his place. “Rather think we’ve gone beyond ‘proper’ already.”

  Melissa’s hands flew to her flaming cheeks. “You are no gentleman, sir, to
remind me of that!” Justin shrugged and tucked into his eggs again, and Melissa watched him resentfully. How could he be so calm? Look at him, sitting there, eating breakfast as if this were any ordinary morning, and looking as if he’d just come from the hands of his valet. Though he wore a Belcher kerchief knotted around his throat rather than a neckcloth, his shirt was crisp and white, and the coat that sat so well upon his broad shoulders was unwrinkled. It gave him an unfair advantage, especially since she was aware that her gown, the same one she’d worn yesterday, was sadly crumpled.

  “Perhaps it’s just as well you’re here,” she said, gathering her courage. “I believe we need to talk.”

  “Talk?” Justin glanced at her and then went to tug on the bellpull. “About what?”

  “You know quite well!” Melissa stared at him as he sat down again. “About this mad start, this marriage—”

  “Yes, my lord, is there something you need?” a maid asked from the door.

  “Yes. Breakfast for the young lady, and quickly, now. We leave within the hour.”

  “But I’m not hungry,” Melissa protested, and Justin shrugged again.

  “Best eat.” He cut into his beefsteak. “Long ride ahead of us. Hope to make Wells by this afternoon.”

  “I’m not going.” Even to her own ears Melissa sounded sullen and sulky, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

  “Don’t blame you. None too fond of Wells, myself.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant!” Not for the world would she tell him that Wells sounded impossibly distant to her, or that she had never been farther afield than Taunton. “I will not marry—”

  “Excuse me, my lord, miss.” The maid was back, carrying a heavily laden tray containing bacon and eggs and ham, hot toast and muffins, and a pot of tea. Melissa flung herself back in her chair, her arms crossed upon her chest, and glowered at him.

  “Best eat,” Justin said again. “Pour you out some tea?”

  “Thank you, I’ll do that myself,” she snapped, and reached for a piece of toast. She might as well eat. She would need to keep up her strength to deal with this infuriating man.