Patrica Rice (2 page)

The man was shrewd enough to know a bribe when he saw one, but cautious enough to check on Melanie first. When she threw him a kiss and waved before climbing into the carriage, the vicar pocketed the coins and nodded. "I'm certain you'll do what's proper, my lord. I've never known you to do elsewise."

"Proper!" Sir Francis shouted, finally coming to his senses. "This young pup knows nothing of proper! That's my daughter he has there! My little Melanie. He hasn't a twig to light on and he thinks he can take care of a young female of her delicate constitution—"

"Melanie's constitution is about as delicate as Jane's," Damien interrupted rudely. "It's her leg that's damaged, nothing else. I'll not cosset her, for she doesn't want it, but I'll see her safe and happy. They aren't always the same things, you know."

Without waiting for any further reply, Damien strode off in the direction of the waiting carriage. He'd borrowed it from another friend, the upkeep of carriages much too expensive for his hollow pockets, but it made a good appearance now. He could still hear old Francis screaming as he climbed in and James shut the door behind him. There wasn't a damned thing the old man could do this time.

It felt good to know he'd bested the surly old goat for a change. With a smile of exaltation, Damien sat back against the squabs and turned to share his pleasure with the dainty woman beside him. As the driver took up the reins and the carriage lurched forward, he found himself looking into vivid violet eyes instead of pale blue ones. Staggered at the immensity of what he had just done, Damien wondered what in bloody hell he'd got himself into now.

* * * * 

"I meant what I said about marrying you."

Melanie turned her gaze from the thrilling melee of carriages, horses, carts, and wagons threading through the London streets back to the man who had remained stoically silent most of the journey. She gave him an understanding smile and reached across the aisle to pat his arm. "You'll marry Jane, just as you wanted. I'm certain there's a good reason for her delay. Shall we stop at her house first and see if she's in?"

"It's four of the afternoon, Melanie. If she's in London, she's driving in the park. She has her own rig. I don't think it wise for us to take a closed carriage into the park right now, still wearing all our travel dirt. You'd never escape the scandal. As it is, there is some chance we can keep this quiet if Jane will take you in."

Melanie wondered if perhaps Damien was ashamed to be seen with her. She had worn her best rose-bedecked bonnet and a cunning sprigged muslin that draped her figure rather nicely, she thought, but she was well aware she looked as wilted as the roses in the seat beside her. She nodded agreement to his decision not to go to the park, but before he could give the driver directions, she disagreed with his second notion.

"Jane never invited me to visit, my lord," she said quietly, hoping a soothing voice would make her refusal go down easier. "I would not wish to intrude where I am not wanted. I have a house of my own. My aunt left it to me. I asked the solicitor not to let it this year. I had hoped to find some way to see it for myself. Now seems an excellent opportunity."

He'd moved to the seat across from her to give her more room as they journeyed. Now she wished he hadn't. The position made it much too easy for her "husband" to glare at her.

"You're near as wicked and deceitful as your sister," he declared. "If I hadn't happened along, who would you have chosen as victim?"

He was beginning to feel uneasy about his role in this charade they played. She could understand that. She just didn't know how to reassure him. The enormity of the city passing by their window overwhelmed her. Would she be able to get about by herself?

"I'm not certain," she answered honestly. "If I could have learned to handle the ribbons, I could have taken myself off, I suppose, but father wouldn't hear of my learning any such thing. I thought of bribing one of the stable boys to borrow the carriage and take me here, but I feared my father might have him transported or some such. Besides, they're all terrified of him; they would never agree. But I would have found some way. I am determined to see something of the world before I retire to knitting stockings for Jane's children for the rest of my life."

"That certainly wouldn't keep you busy for long," Damien responded dryly. "Jane isn't particularly fond of children. I can't imagine she'll want many."

Melanie gave him a surprised look. "Jane couldn't help it if George was too old and ill to father more than one child.  I'm sure she'll be happy to give you an heir or more. I'm looking forward to meeting Pamela." She sat eagerly upright in her seat at just the thought of meeting Jane's only child.

Damien shook his head and regarded her strangely. "When was the last time you saw your sister?"

Indignantly, Melanie replied, "She writes every chance she gets. She tells the most amusing stories! I can't wait to see her again. What time do you think she will return from the park?"

Damien leaned forward and tapped her forehead with his finger. "You aren't listening to me, sugar plum. When did you last actually see your sister?"

He had already given the driver directions to her own home, so Melanie didn't resent his attitude. Men had to feel as if they had the upper hand once in a while. Still, she squirmed uncomfortably before giving him the answer he wanted.

"Well, she must visit her in-laws at Christmas because of Pamela," she hedged. "And she never did have a fondness for the country. She swore she'd never return once she escaped."

"You haven't seen her since she married, have you?" he answered for her, leaning back against the seat with his hands on her walking stick as if it were his own.

"But she writes," Melanie protested vehemently. "I know all about sweet little Pamela and how she looks just like Jane. It is just as good as visiting. Better, since I don't have to listen to her argue with our father."

Damien nodded and glanced idly out at the street they now traversed. Melanie could see tall stone homes adorned with expensive windows and iron fences to keep out the uninvited. This street had considerably less traffic than the others they'd traversed. They passed a stately barouche with an elderly lady being helped into it by a footman in scarlet livery. Even in her inexperience, Melanie realized they had reached a wealthier part of town.

"We're almost there, I think," Damien murmured, not looking at her. "Will you have servants in residence?"

"The caretaker and his wife. We can hire some tomorrow." She watched him anxiously. "You do know how to hire servants, don't you? I have no notion at all."

He finally sent her that warm smile she remembered so well. "You've left your wits to let, gosling. I'll see if I can borrow someone's chambermaid for the night so you can pretend you have some sort of chaperonage. I'll come back around in the morning and we'll talk of hiring a real companion for you then."

Alarmed, Melanie stared at him. "You're not staying? You'll leave me alone with complete strangers? You can't do that to me, Damien Langland." She hesitated instantly, realizing of course he could do that. They weren't really married. She'd let her daydreams get the better of her. A feeling of mixed resentment and fear welled up within her as she realized Damien had no obligation whatsoever to continue this charade. Fear was a great motivator, however. Shrewdly, she asked, "Have you somewhere to go? You must have thought you would be returning to Jane's."

She caught the earl's bleak expression before he carefully shuttered it behind his gentlemanly demeanor. If her lameness had taught her nothing else, it had taught her to sit quietly and watch how people really felt. Damien was in hot water right now. She sensed it immediately.

"I have friends. You needn't worry, Melanie. I've been on my own for quite some time now. I fend for myself."

Melanie set her lips and ignored this foolishness. "Well, I haven't and I can't. Come in with me now so I don't look a complete ninnyhammer. We'll send someone around to Jane's house to see if she's there and what she wants us to do. If she's not there, there's no reason we can't continue this a little longer. I can't get about London on my own, and it is rather senseless for me to come all this way and not see the sights. Couldn't we pretend just a little longer, Damien?"

As the carriage came to a halt before a stately town house, Damien gave her a long, thoughtful look that made her shiver in her shoes. She'd never particularly noticed how long-lashed and brown his eyes were until they seemed to penetrate her very soul. She feared he wouldn't very much like what he saw there.

"Melanie, you are twenty-five years of age and perfectly cognizant of what will happen shall I stay here with you. Jane left me standing at the church today, so I owe her no obligation. No one knows of our betrothal. We never announced it. I am perfectly free to marry you. Since, as you have obviously surmised, I am in dire need of the ready, I am more than willing to marry you instead of Jane. Actually, had I thought of it sooner, I might have sought you first, but Jane knows the way of things and you're an innocent. I hate to tar you with the same disillusionment that we suffer. After spending some time in London and in my company, you may wish you had never come. I would not tie you or your dreams to someone of my ilk if it can be prevented. If I go into that house with you now, I go in as your husband, with all the accompanying folderol. I will allow you some time to decide if this is what you want, and if you choose otherwise, we'll find some way to get you free of both me and your parents. But I warn you now, I will spend these next weeks trying to persuade you that we should wed in truth. I have sunk just about as low as a man can go, Melanie. I'm quite capable of seducing an innocent at this point."

Melanie felt a momentary frisson of alarm at the warning tone of his voice, but then she looked up and saw Damien's familiar face—neither threatening nor seductive—and she relaxed a little. No man would want her for a wife when Jane was available. He was just being gentlemanly as usual. She managed a smile and took back her walking stick. "That sounds quite enticing, Damien. Shall we begin?"

A shadow of a smile curled his lip, and he shook his head at her obstinacy, but he climbed down from the carriage and helped her alight.

When the caretaker finally opened the door, Damien caught Melanie's waist in a strong grasp, stooped to catch her behind the knees, and literally swept her off her feet to carry her across the threshold. So totally startled by his action that she nearly dropped her cane, Melanie managed to grasp it with one hand while clinging to Damien's strong shoulders with the other. She had never thought of Damien's greater height and weight in comparison to her own smaller stature. The manner in which he casually carried her into her own home made the differences terrifyingly clear. It was a good thing she wasn't afraid of Damien.

As it was, he left her so breathless she couldn't speak to the astonished servant stepping back from the door. Damien had to do the honors.

"We realize we have caught you unprepared, but my lady needs to rest and wash after her journey. Some clean linen and hot water, if you would. We will make amends later." He spoke courteously but with firm authority, never doubting that the poor man could produce what he wanted without question or complaint.

Marveling at the ease with which he took command, not only of her house and her servants, but herself, Melanie grew restive in Damien's hold. He declined to put her down but carried her easily up the stairs, following the caretaker to a room adorned in Holland covers. By this time, the caretaker's wife had appeared, taken in the situation, and started stripping back the linens.

"We were not apprised of your arrival, Miss Berkeley," the woman said breathlessly, hurrying to ball up the huge sheets and remove them to the hallway, "or we would have hired staff and had all prepared." She sent them a look of curiosity over her shoulder.

Once Damien set her down, Melanie could speak again, but he spoke for her. "Miss Berkeley is now the Countess of Reister. You need not apologize for lack of preparation. We will see about staff in the morning, or if you know of a few willing to come in this evening, send around for them. We will fend for ourselves for now."

Melanie watched in amazement as he drove the servants out, leaving her alone in a strange bedchamber with this man who had suddenly begun acting suspiciously like a husband. Wide-eyed, she watched as he turned back to her. She watched for an amorous or determined glint in his eyes, remembering his warning all too clearly. It had never occurred to her that Damien might take advantage of the situation to do that to her. She didn't think any gentleman had any such inclination toward a cripple like herself. An odd feeling crept through her midsection as he inspected her thoroughly with hooded gaze.

Then he nodded, gave a smile of approval, and indicated a delicate blue velveteen chair. "Sit, gosling. I'll not woo you yet, although I admit, I felt quite possessive carrying you up those stairs like that. Is that how a husband feels, do you think? You roar so loudly sometimes, I thought you much stouter than you are. You're a veritable feather."

She gave this ingenuous monologue a look of suspicion, but took the chair offered so he might sit. "Don't you begin treating me like some fragile piece of porcelain," she warned him. "I am quite stout. It is just that my one leg is weaker and slightly shorter than the other. It tires me to walk any distance hobbling about like that."

He took a large wing chair across the fireplace from her and regarded her through narrowed eyes. "A horse's gait can be corrected with the proper shoes. I see no reason we cannot do the same with people. You'll have to see a modiste first thing in the morning. You have no clothes. We'll find a bootmaker at the same time."

Melanie brushed aside the mention of boots but smiled with delight at the idea of new clothes. "I will have my choice of the latest London fashions! That hadn't occurred to me. Oh, Damien, do you know the very best modiste? Or will Jane? I want to feel like the best dressed female in all London. The Countess of Reister ought to be, don't you agree?" Then reining in this pleasant fantasy, she added, "Should you go 'round to Jane's now? We really can't continue this silliness until we know what happened to her."