Unsuitable Wife Page 26

  She turned her head and smiled at the pillow where his head had rested, until he had risen early this morning, whispering to her that he would let her sleep in peace. She was glad he had such tact, glad to be alone to think over the extraordinary events of last evening. After yesterday, after what she had gone through with Sir Stephen, who would have thought—but he was Justin, and he had made her see, at long last, that she was not to blame for her stepfather’s actions. Whatever doubt remained would, she suspected, soon leave. She had been renewed, purified, in the fire of his lovemaking.

  Again she stretched, as sinuous and sensuous as a cat, her eyes closed and a small smile curving her mouth. Who would ever have thought that Justin, her sometimes stolid, undemonstrative husband, would be so loving, so passionate? Especially after yesterday. She was very lucky, she thought, and suddenly she couldn’t wait to see him again.

  “My lady?” a voice whispered, and, startled, Melissa opened her eyes to see Liza bending over her. “I’m sorry, my lady, I didn’t want to wake you, but his lordship’s been asking for you.”

  “Has he?” Melissa flung off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, suddenly too filled with energy to stay abed, though Liza protested. “No, I am fine, Liza. Hand me my dressing gown, please. Is it very late?”

  “Around eleven, my lady. I’ll bring the tea tray—”

  “Heavens, don’t bother! I’ll wait for luncheon. Though I must admit, I’m hungry.” Her brow wrinkled. “Did I have dinner yesterday? I don’t remember. Well, no matter, I shall survive. Hurry, Liza, I shall require a bath, and my prettiest dress. The peach muslin, I think. Heavens!” She sat abruptly down at the dressing table and stared at her reflection. “Oh, just look at my face!” she wailed.

  “It’s not so bad, my lady, only two bruises.”

  “But what Justin will say—”

  “I don’t think his lordship will much care, my lady, way he’s acting.”

  Melissa’s startled eyes met Liza’s in the mirror, and then dropped, her cheeks turning rosy. “Oh, well, I suppose not.”

  “And we could try covering them with powder. I’m sure the marchioness has something you could use.”

  “Perhaps she does. Please draw my bath, now, Liza. There’s not much time.”

  The hall was quiet when Melissa went downstairs, wearing a round gown of peach muslin, embroidered about the hem, with long sleeves and soft white lawn filling in the low neckline. She was a little shaky on her feet but determined to ignore it. Phelps, sitting by the door, jumped up when he saw her. “Good morning, Phelps,” she called.

  “My lady!” he exclaimed. “Are you feeling all right? After his lordship brought you in yesterday, we didn’t know what to think.”

  Melissa’s memory of being carried into the Hall in her husband’s strong arms was mercifully vague. Though she wouldn’t mind being carried by him again. Her face turned pink. “Is his lordship in?”

  “No, he’s out on the estate somewhere. But I’ll tell him you wish to see him when he comes in,” he added quickly, at the crestfallen look on her face.

  “Thank you, Phelps. I’ll be in the morning room.”

  But, once in the morning room, she couldn’t settle to anything, not the purse she was netting, or the letters she should write. Finally, she gave up, and rose, walking to the window. And then, though there had been no sound, something made her turn, to see Justin in the doorway, watching her.

  He searched her face, his eyes concerned and anxious, and she gazed back, unaccountably nervous. Was he sorry about last night, regretting all that had happened between them, she wondered, but then he took a step towards her. It freed her from her paralysis, and they went swiftly, wordlessly, into each other’s arms.

  He held her close for long moments, and then pulled a little away. “You’re all right?” he asked, and she thought he sounded uncertain. “After last night—”

  “After last night, I’m wonderful, Justin,” she said, smiling up at him, and the tension left his face.

  “Thank God. I didn’t know, after all you’d gone through.”

  “That’s past.” She laid her fingers on his lips. “You helped me put it there.”

  His lips brushed her fingers and then he pulled away, taking her hand and leading her over to the sofa. “Thank God. But there are still some things we have to talk about—”

  “Here you are. I wondered where you had got to,” Augusta said, stomping into the room. Justin jumped up and crossed to the window, raking his fingers through his hair, and Augusta glanced at him, curiously. “It’s good to see you up, child, and looking so well, too. That is a pretty dress.”

  “Thank you, Justin picked it out,” Melissa said absently, looking past Augusta to her husband. “If you’ll excuse us, aunt, Justin and I have some things to discuss. Justin?” She touched his arm. “There shouldn’t be anyone in the breakfast room yet.”

  He gazed down at her for a moment, and then smiled. “Excuse us, aunt,” he said, and took his wife by the hand.

  “Now this is more like it,” he said, surveying the deserted breakfast room a few moments later, and pulled his wife into his arms. Her arms twined about his neck, and for a long moment neither said anything. “There, that’s better.” He pulled away, just a little bit. “Now, where were we?”

  “You were saying we had things to talk about—”

  “Oh, excuse me, my lord, my lady,” someone said behind them. They turned, startled, to see a maid hastily place some dishes on the table and then scuttle out.

  Justin raked his hand through his hair again. “Damn! We can’t talk here.”

  Melissa bit back a smile. “There’s the drawing room. I’m sure there’ll be no one there.”

  “There had better not be,” he said, grimly, and took her hand again. They hadn’t gotten ten feet when Harry ran towards them.

  “Melissa, you’re up! Capital!” he exclaimed, hurling himself at her. “Did Chatleigh tell you? He’s to be my guardian!”

  “Damnation!” Justin said, and stalked off down the corridor. “A man can’t find peace in his own house!”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Harry asked, perplexed.

  “Nothing, Harry, I’ll explain later,” Melissa called over her shoulder as she went after Justin, her lips twitching. “Justin! Wait!”

  He waited for her at the end of the corridor. “I swear, Melissa, if you choose another room that’s supposed to be empty—”

  Laughter bubbled out of her before she could stop it. “I’m sorry! All right, you suggest someplace.”

  “My study,” he said, and set off, her hand clasped firmly in his, so that she had no choice but to follow at a half-run. “And the next person who interrupts us will be sacked,” he said to Phelps as they crossed the hall.

  “Yes, my lord,” Phelps said, astonished, and watched them as they disappeared down the corridor, her ladyship radiant with happiness. Phelps relaxed, a smile lighting his own face. Looked like things were finally working out around here.

  The solid oak door slammed of the study shut behind them. “No more interruptions,” Justin said, pocketing the key.

  “No, I’m sorry, Justin, but if you could see your face—”

  “Damn it, Melissa, it’s bad enough we keep getting interrupted, this house is big enough you’d think we’d have some privacy, but for you to laugh—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, controlling her laughter with an effort. “What was it you wanted to say?”

  “That I love you, damn it!” he shouted, and then looked amazed. Melissa went very still. “Oh, damn, I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

  Melissa had started giggling again, helplessly this time, and after a moment, he joined in. They sank into the armchairs facing the fireplace, and he reached across to take her hand.

  “I mean it, you know,” he said, when they finally had themselves under control.

  “I know you do,” Melissa said, wiping her streaming eyes. “I mean it,
too.”

  His hold on her hand tightened. “We’ll have a good life, Melissa. I promise you that.”

  “Even after, everything?”

  “Everything?”

  “The way we met, and some of the things I’ve done since, and,” she looked away, “my stepfather.”

  “He won’t bother you again,” he said, quickly, turning and looking at her, though she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I promise you that.”

  “What is going to happen to him?”

  “He should be at Bow Street already. Probably he’ll be transported to Australia.”

  A hard little knot, of tension, of fear, that Melissa hadn’t even known was still inside her let go. “Thank God. These last months, I was so scared he’d get to you.”

  Justin looked at her sharply. “You knew?”

  “He told me, the night of our ball. He said,” she drew in her breath, “he would kill you if I didn’t do what he wanted.”

  “God!”

  “I didn’t know what to do! But I couldn’t do that, Justin. I just couldn’t.”

  “Thank God you didn’t,” he said, fiercely. “If any harm had come to you, I don’t know what I’d do.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I love you.”

  Melissa’s eyes closed briefly. How long she had waited to hear those words, and yet there was still one more thing to settle, one thing she had to know, no matter the consequences. “In spite of what my stepfather tried to do?”

  He was out of his chair in an instant, kneeling before her and grasping her hands. “I don’t want you blaming yourself for that, Melissa, ever again. I thought we’d settled it last night.”

  “We did. But,” she fiddled with his neckcloth, unable to meet his eyes, “doesn’t it matter to you?”

  His hands tightened on hers. “Of course it matters. My God, how I kept from killing him—”

  She pulled her hands away. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what, darling?”

  She closed her eyes, briefly savoring the sweetness of being loved by him. “I mean—doesn’t it matter, about me?”

  “No!” He reached out and pulled her close, clutching at her almost desperately. “No,” he said again, his voice soft, his hands gentle as they stroked her back. “I know you, Melissa. I know what happened wasn’t your fault.” He pulled back a little bit, to see her face. “You know that now, don’t you”

  “Y-yes.” She laughed, a little shakily. “But I may need reminding for a while.”

  “Like this?” His lips brushed her cheekbone. “Or this?” Her brow.

  “J-Justin—”

  “Or this?” Her throat. “Or this?” Her ear, his tongue tracing the delicate curve.

  She shivered. “Justin!” She put her hands on his chest and pushed, before they were both lost.

  “I’ll remind you every day, if that’s what you need,” he murmured, not a whit deterred by her action, and at last, with a little laugh, she gave in, allowing him to pull her against him, feeling safe and secure and cherished, at last.

  “Yes,” she gasped, as his lips came down on hers. “Every day. Oh, Justin,” when his lips had left hers to explore her throat, and she was breathless with the emotions rioting through her, “I do love you.”

  Justin pulled back and stared down at her, momentarily speechless, and then a smile like sunlight broke over his face. “Good,” he said, and crushed her to him.

  A long time later, someone pounded on the door. “Chatleigh,” Harry called. “Lissa. We’re waiting luncheon.”

  “Go away,” the earl said, and kissed his wife again.

  The End

  If you enjoyed this book, you might also enjoy A Summer Folly, by Mary Kingsley. Please read on for an excerpt.

  A Summer Folly

  Mary Kruger

  Chapter One

  The mists lifted, and suddenly, there it was. Land. England, at this distance only a cloud on the horizon, but land, all the same. Standing in the bulwark of the ship, Anne Templeton felt a lump come to her throat. Home, after all these years. Her family. Dancing and assemblies and the best of society. Sophisticated clothes in colors she could wear, now that she was a widow past the first blush of youth. Home. Facing down the scandal she’d left behind years ago. Facing Giles again.

  “Mama!” A small boy careened across the deck, nearly knocking down a sailor. “Diah says we can see England!”

  “So we can, pet.” Anne lifted her son, whirled him around, and then settled him on her hip. Jamie, one of the few good things that had happened to her these past years. He favored her; his reddish gold curls gleamed in the sun, and his skin had acquired the same golden hue that life in Jamaica had given her. He looked like a little heathen, she thought affectionately. God only knew what the proper people of English society, particularly his father’s family, would make of him. Or her.

  “It’s only a cloud,” Jamie said, and wriggled in her arms.

  “You’re too heavy for that, lovey,” Anne said, and set him down. “We’ll be there soon enough. You’ll see.”

  “Will I like England?” he asked, for the thousandth time.

  “Mm, I think so. The grass is very green and you’ll have your own pony. And we’re going to live in a castle with the duke.”

  “With a moat and a drawbridge?”

  “Yes, but no knights in armor, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m going to be a knight when I grow up. Diah!” He dashed back across the deck, and the tall man walking barefoot toward them with a peculiar grace, lifted him, his head, completely bald, glistening mahogany in the sun. “Diah, does that look like land?”

  Obadiah shaded his eyes with his hand. “I see signs in the clouds,” he intoned, in a sepulchral voice that sent shivers down Anne’s spine. “I see hauntings, a dragon, and a fair knight.”

  “Really?” Jamie said. “Are there ghosts in the castle, Mama?”

  “No, Jamie, Tremont Castle is not haunted. You are a complete hand, Obadiah,” Anne chided, but she was smiling. She had caught the glint in his eyes that told her that this prophecy, at least, was made in jest.

  Obadiah inclined his head. “Thank you, lady.”

  “Though the Tremonts do tend to live in the past. I fear the next weeks won’t be easy, Obadiah.”

  “How long will we be staying, lady?” he asked, in cultured tones that would not have been out of place in a Mayfair drawing room.

  “I don’t know. Jamie, lovey, why don’t you see how Nurse is?”

  “I don’t want to,” Jamie said.

  “But she’ll want to know we’re near land. Hm, maybe I’ll go tell her—”

  “No, I’ll go!” Jamie wriggled free of Obadiah’s grasp and ran off. Anne smiled as she watched him go, but her eyes were worried.

  “I don’t know,” she said again. “It depends on the duke. And if I know him...”

  “A hard man, lady?” Obadiah said, when she didn’t go on.

  “No. Oh, no. A good man, and fair. Or he was. It’s been a long time.” She fell silent again, and this time, Obadiah stayed equally silent, while the crew stepped around them, eyeing them with wary respect. Obadiah was in her employ, but he was far more than a servant. He was confidante, advisor, and, above all, friend. When Freddie had died last year, leaving her with a plantation poorly run and saddled with debt, Obadiah had helped her straighten matters out. He was the best overseer Hampshire Hall had ever had; he was respected by servants and house folk alike, and he had consulted with her on a program that had the plantation running well again. Until the duke had meddled, sending an overseer of his own to replace Obadiah, undoing all the changes they had made, and ordering her back to England. That he was now guardian of her son and had the right to do what he had made no difference to Anne’s resentment. Thus she had asked Obadiah to accompany her, ostensibly to get his position back. She wondered what the Tremonts would make of him.

  “When I left he wasn’t the duke,” Anne said, abruptly. “His father w
as still alive and he didn’t have the responsibilities he has now. He and Frederick were cousins. We all grew up together. It was natural for Frederick to name him Jamie’s guardian, and I suppose we would have had to return to England sometime.” She grimaced. “I don’t know what the duke has in mind, but I have the awful feeling he’ll want us to stay. Jamie should be educated. The Templetons go to Eton, and then Oxford. Family tradition.”

  “Not a bad one, lady.”

  “No, perhaps not. But no one’s even thought of changing it. If things were done a certain way one hundred years ago, all the more reason it should be done that way now. Tremont Castle isn’t haunted, Diah. The Tremonts are too dull for it.”

  Again Obadiah smiled. “You’re not dull, lady.”

  “No.” Anne smiled back. “Scatterbrained and flighty, perhaps, at least Frederick said so, but never, never dull.”

  “Mrs. Templeton.” Captain Warwick, short and portly, came up, touching the brim of his cap. “We’ll be making landfall in Portsmouth soon. When we’re docked I’ll find an inn for you.”

  “Thank you.” Anne smiled at him. It wasn’t his fault, after all, that he’d been given the task of bringing her back to England. Like her, he’d had no choice. When the Duke of Tremont ordered something done, it was done.

  Soon they were passing through the Solent, the narrow passage between the mainland and the Isle of Wight, and their destination was in view. Jamie pointed with excitement at the men of war in Portsmouth harbor, and all of them looked with awe at Victory, Admiral Nelson’s flagship. They dropped anchor, and, after the ship had been visited by a customs official and the quarantine doctor, a lighter was put over the side for the Templeton party. The odors of salt and tar, fish and horse assailed Anne’s nostrils as the boat was rowed to the quay, and another scent, elusive, but familiar. A fresh scent, a scent that reminded her irresistibly of spring, a scent she had never found in Jamaica’s lush tropical gardens. The scent of England. A feeling of rightness settled in her, and the lump rose in her throat again. She was home.