Minor Indiscretions (13 page)

Erica was usually the most biddable of females, Corey reflected, until she dug her heels in. Only once before had she disregarded his advice and look where that got her. Perhaps his advice hadn't been so fine, landing her with that mawworm Wooster, but Corey was young then and had done his best to see her settled before he had to join his cavalry unit. Age and good intentions were no excuses, he knew, and by Jupiter he was trying to make that up to her—if she would only stay out of it!

There was no dissuading her, Coe knew, although he wrote an impassioned letter anyway. Damn, she would be singled out in that backwoods neighborhood of dubious repute like a goldfish in a bowl of guppies… unless Corey managed to muddy the waters. He interrupted Bates to order out his evening clothes.

There must be hunting or fishing, and assemblies at Hazelton, and picnics… He could invite the Cheynes and the Tarnovers for respectability. Lady Tarnover had a stepbrother in politics. There was that prosy bore Pendleton, and Major Peter Frye, Coe's good friend, could be counted on to do the pretty. Frye had a ne'er-do-well cousin who was always on repairing leases. The basket scrambler would be sure to dangle after Felice and her tales of the nabob's money. Corey wondered who else might be at White's, who else would be interested in his sister or a fortnight's house party at a decrepit estate on the way to nowhere.

That climber Lady Ashton would be delighted with the company, Harry would be thrilled with all the horses, and Miss Ashton would be livid, which would be nothing new. No matter, Corey would have nearly a month to bring her round. Just in time for that little house in Kensington to be vacant again!

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"You want
how
much for this wreck of a place, Miss Ashton? Perhaps you misunderstood me. I only wish to rent the Oaks for a month, not purchase it."

"I understood your wish, my lord, but not your reason. If you think to turn my family home into a place for your… your orgies, I won't have it."

"Miss Ashton, when I choose to hold an orgy, you will be the first to know."

Melody's furious blush reminded the viscount he had vowed not to rush his fences with her. "But the Oaks will take an additional outlay to bring it to the standards of a gentleman's residence."

"Gentleman, hah!" That was eloquent enough of Melody's opinion of the devilish rogue in front of her, his pale hair slightly tousled from the ride, his teeth gleaming in a bright smile, and his slightly crooked nose adding even more character to a face that—No, Miss Ashton told herself. This will never do. "The price is firm."

Lord Coe also recalled he had vowed not to lose his temper with the prickly wench. "Very well, ma'am, I accept your terms, but it is highway robbery."

"Ah, that was one of the few crimes of which you have yet to accuse me. Let me see, there was lying, cheating, blackmail, wantonness, and attempted murder. Am I next to be called traitor to king and country?"

"I don't know. Have you been selling state secrets to eke out the egg money?"

"My lord, I don't know any state secrets, and I do not know what you are doing here." Melody had received the infuriating man's note asking to call, and she had met him outside, intending to be courteous but brief. Meggie had a legal male guardian, such as he was: old Toby had put his
X
on the paper under Mr. Hadley's signature. This blackguard standing close to her—too close—on the Oaks' front steps, dressed to the nines and obviously determined to tease her out of the sullens, was not entitled to Meggie, nor to any of Miss Ashton's good humor.

"I told you, I was concerned for the child's welfare."

"Gammon. The child is six years old, and you have never given a ha'penny's thought to her before."

"Ah, but you yourself reminded me so charmingly of my responsibilities." His smile broadened. "Furthermore, I did wish to apologize for that other day. Some of my charges may have been unfounded, some of my words hasty."

Some? Unfortunately, Melody had to admit that some were likely all too true. He was certainly being noble about it; she could be no less a lady. "And I, too, owe you an apology. It seems there may indeed be something untoward going on, so your concern was—is—understandable. Please be assured that my mother and I had no knowledge of such a scheme, and we are trying to take steps."

His blue eyes fairly sparkled. "There, I knew we could see eye to eye about something! Now if we are decided that you aren't a blackmailer, and I am not a debaucher"—he thought he heard Melody mutter something about that wasn't what she'd decided at all—"might we call a truce and go inside where we could be more comfortable while we let the solicitors handle the question of the child? I really would like to discuss my plans for the house and enlist your aid in a scheme of my own."

Outside in the fresh air was close enough for Melody's comfort, but she could not continue to be so ragmannered in the face of his polished charm. She led the way to the library, and Angie came gamboling after the viscount.

Mindful of his buff kerseymere breeches, and Bates's sorrowful demeanor on learning his master's destination, the viscount commanded, "Down, sir!" in his best battalion voice.

"It's a female," Melody corrected.

"Figures," Corey replied, but his grin overrode the insult.

They were both amazed when the hound actually stopped frolicking around and flopped herself down at Lord Coe's feet. Impressed despite herself, Melody offered the viscount a glass of wine, and he drank in the sight of her in a muslin gown embroidered with violets, gracefully pouring. Her chestnut hair was neatly, severely bound; how he wished to see it loose and flowing down her back. Melody could feel his gaze bringing a warm flush to her cheeks, so she hurriedly took her seat behind the desk, folding her hands in front of her primly, expectantly. Neither one noticed the dog at Corey's feet, contentedly chewing the gold tassels off the lord's brand-new Hessian boots.

"You were going to tell me about a plan of yours, my lord? One that might conceivably explain your wishing to rent the Oaks."

Corey admired how she looked him directly in the eye. For such a young chit she was remarkably self-assured. Of course, Mrs. Tolliver was likely nearby with a cast-iron frying pan. He smiled lazily. "I don't suppose you would swallow a tale about my appreciation for the scenery around here or my need to rusticate?"

Knowing from Felice that he was the
compleat
London beau and from her mother how many country estates of his own he had? Not likely. Melody tried to raise one eyebrow in mocking imitation of his own expression, and only succeeded in scrunching her face and making him laugh. It was a very nice laugh. Her own spirits lightened at the sound.

"There, I've made you smile," he said, as if he cared. "Very well, my sister wishes to see the child she has been supporting all these years. You'll acknowledge her right?"

"Gladly, and I would be happy to express my appreciation for her generosity and beg her pardon that someone has been trying to intimidate her. I am sure my mother would second that and extend an invitation, too. There is no need for you to lease the house." Or cut up Melody's peace, but she did not express that last thought.

"My sister has been blue-deviled lately, and I thought to invite other friends to keep her company, a regular house party, in fact."

"Here, with the children?" Melody remembered Pike's reaction to the orphans, terming them freaks and bastards; she was still agonizing over his specific insults to her. No one would do that to her charges. "I will not have the children laughed at or made the butt of tasteless jokes."

"And I would not have friends who did. There are members of the ton more eccentric and less amiable than Ducky, and many whose parentage does not bear inquiry. You need not be such a tigress, rushing to the defense of her cubs. No one shall harm them. You have my word on that."

Why Melody should trust him was a mystery, but she did. In this, at least. She was not so sure about others of his motives, which prompted her to ask, "And this scheme of yours?"

"Requires your help, and that of the children, of course." He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and spoke in a low, confiding voice. "You see, I wish to find my sister a new husband and need to know if the prospective brothers-in-law like children. I thought to invite some eligible bachelors here, to gauge their reactions. Someone, I don't know who, said you could learn a lot about a man by watching how he treats children and d—Blast this mangy mutt! Look at my boots! Of all the poorly trained, evil-minded—I've a good mind to—"

"Children and… ?" she asked, laughing, and was pleased to see his anger turn to chagrin and then to the good humor that etched lines on his tanned cheeks and made his eyes sparkle. They both agreed the gentlemen would have ample testing ground. His lordship was willing, naturally, to pay for Angie's services as part of the experiment, once the hound had worked off her debt to his man, Bates.

"I am afraid poor Angie will be trying your sister's likely suitors for years, Lord Coe. But if I may ask, has Lady Wooster no preference in this matter?"

Interestingly enough, Corey felt like confiding in Miss Ashton, the same woman whom he had castigated as a lying jade not ten days ago. He did go on to tell about his sister, four year his junior, and how at an early age she had fallen in love with a soldier. Erica's soldier was a penniless second son with no prospects, except an imminent recall to service on the Peninsula. Lord Coe had found the two together—Corey did not mention that he'd found them on the road to Scotland—and sent the young man off with a flea in his ear. The soldier was reported dead or missing shortly thereafter. Inconsolable, Erica went into a decline until a desperate Lord Coe sent her to visit her old governess in Cornwall, for he had to rejoin his own unit.

On Corey's next leave, Erica seemed apathetic, but resigned. She agreed to marry the man of her brother's choice, a solid, wealthy member of Parliament, an older gentleman who would cure her of those romantic flights and see to her welfare. Wooster turned out to be an ogre, who furthermore never gave Erica the children she craved. The only favor he did her was in dying of an apoplexy four years later.

"That was over a year ago, and now that she is out of mourning I want to make it up to her. I have invited an earl, a war hero, and a rising politico, all with impeccable lineage, substantial incomes, spotless reputations."

"But what about love?" Melody wanted to know. "Is there no place for that?"

"My dear, she is a woman of twenty-four summers, not that starry-eyed chit. She has had six or seven years since her childish infatuation, and she's shown no preference for anyone."

"But she was married for four of those years."

"What's that to say to the point? Don't be naive, Miss Ashton. Women of her class"—Melody noted he did not say "your class" or "our class"—"often find love outside of marriage."

"And that doesn't bother you? You would countenance her taking a lover, rather than marrying below her?"

'It's the way of the world, my dear."

It was tragic, that's what it was, and not just for this hard-hearted man's unfortunate sister. Melody vowed to befriend Lady Wooster and defend her against her brother's machinations, if the lady could not like any of his choices.

But what of Melody herself? Every word Corey spoke, every arrogant, aristocratic pronouncement of what was suitable for his family, cut like a knife into Melody's soul. Here he was, laughing with Melody, confiding in her, treating her like a friend, like an equal. But they were not equals and neither, it seemed, could forget that. Melody had no fortune or standing in the ton, her family name was stained with scandal, and now there were doubts about her origins. Oh, she'd hurried to Aunt Judith's family Bible as soon as Pike left, and found her birthday properly recorded. Was she truly going to be eighteen next month? She felt like eighty. But there it was, in Aunt Judith's firm hand. She was not just a foundling from the wayside. There was, however, no record of her parents' marriage. Melody knew there had been a runaway match—everyone seemed to know that—but was there never a wedding to legitimize her parents' love? She couldn't come right out and ask, Mama, did you ever marry my father? so she checked the local church registry one day when she brought flowers for the altar. Nothing. That's what she could hope for from Lord Coe and his sweet, teasing smile: nothing.

Melody was wrong, of course. Seeing shadows come to her eyes and detecting a quiver in her voice when she asked if he would like tea, the viscount was disturbed. He tried joking about the dog, enlisting Miss Ashton's sympathy for his sister, eliciting her advice about readying the Oaks. All he got was cast-down looks, monosyllabic replies, and deference to his wishes, no spark, no lilting laughter, no dimple. This quiet, humble, courteous Miss Ashton was not at all to Corey's liking. She even put the correct lump of sugar in his tea when Mrs. Tolliver brought the tray, nodded, and left. Was Melody sad to think of strangers in her home? Was she shy about meeting the socialites he'd invited?

When Melody asked if he would like more tea, he absently nodded and held his cup out for her to refill. She had to come around the desk and stand close to him, where he could look up into her melancholy eyes. Hell and damnation, he hated that shattered look!

Therefore, while Melody poured, Lord Coe said, "You know, Angel, if you've had second thoughts about leasing the house, my previous offer still stands."

That was what Miss Ashton could expect from Lord Coe: a slip on the shoulder. She kept pouring the hot tea, while Corey was absorbed in watching the changes of expression flicker across her face, the brows gather, the green sparks shoot from her eyes, the lower lip thrust out. He kept watching. Melody kept pouring: over the brim, over the saucer, over his lap.

Bates was going to be
so
pleased. There was nothing to dampen a gentleman's ardor more than damp nether garments, especially on a long ride on horseback to a disapproving valet who was going to demand some explanation. Yet Lord Coe kept laughing out loud. By George, she was magnificent! What a mistress she would be!