Patrica Rice (6 page)

Staring avidly at the food vendors noisily selling their wares to the crowd, Pamela noticed none of this. Hastily, to divert her own attention as well as the child's, Melanie signaled for an orange vendor. Surely an orange couldn't hurt anything but the front of her niece's dress.

When Damien finally caught up with them as they pushed into the amphitheater, Melanie pretended she hadn't noticed anything, but he caught her elbow in a tight grip and whispered in her ear, "I apologize for the scene. I keep meaning to curb my temper, but there are times . . ."

"You needn't explain to me, Damien," she answered without inflection. "I realize I have asked a great deal of you. I do not wish to be a burden to your conscience as well. Do not change yourself for my sake."

She had to find some way to distance herself from him. He had wreaked chaos with that kiss, but it had been a thing of the moment, some spontaneous action that he couldn't control, like his temper, no doubt. She wouldn't allow herself glorious dreams of love and happy-ever-after. Damien would do as he pleased, and so would she.

Beside her, Damien fell silent. As he helped them into their seats, Melanie felt as if her words hadn't met with his approval. She had tried to release him from any obligation he may have felt to defend her, but he didn't seem particularly pleased about it. She didn't like being at odds with Damien. With curiosity, she watched his stony expression.

"I heard what the man said, Damien. I am a cripple. You needn't take his head off for stating the facts. You are kind to pretend that I am the countess you deserve, but you needn't, you know. Anytime you wish to call off this charade, I will understand."

Damien exploded. She couldn't put it any other way. He slammed his hands down on the seat in front of them, clenched his fingers into his fists, and bit back a reply with such difficulty that his jaw muscles strained from the effort. He finally leaped to his feet, and still clenching his hands in fists, stared coldly into the crowd rather than at her.

"I will fetch some lemonades and be back directly."

Melanie gaped at this display, but she said not a word as he strode off into the crowd. She would never understand the male mind, she decided, as the first horses rode into the arena and she turned her attention to the performance.

Damien sat on the other side of Pamela when he returned, pointing out the clowns dancing in the wings, explaining how the riders did their tricks, agreeing that she needed a pony of her own if she wished to learn to ride properly. He would really make a wonderful father, Melanie thought sadly. And for just a moment, she felt a bitterness that Jane had all the luck.

But she let the excitement of the performance and Pamela's enchantment sweep away the bad thoughts. How could she feel bitter when she was having the most exciting time of her life? She would have these memories to cherish forever. She could even allow herself a little hope. Perhaps now that she had reached London, her father wouldn't have the power to drag her back home, even when it became obvious that Damien belonged to Jane and not to her. She thought Damien might help her stay.

He remained silent on their return journey when Pamela fell asleep in his arms. In sleep she did not seem so much a giant as a lonely little girl, and Melanie pushed the blond curls back from her childish brow with affection.

"You would be a better mother for her than Jane," Damien said coldly from his comer of the carriage.

Startled, she glanced in his direction, but the carriage lantern only sent his face into shadow. "Jane needs to remarry and settle down. A child needs two parents."

"I agree a child needs two parents. Jane isn't even one. I'd thought she might change, but I made a very large mistake. I think Jane realized that before I did."

Puzzled, Melanie tried to find the meaning behind his words, but it was late, and she was tired. She shook her head. "I don't understand you at all, you know."

He sent her an enigmatic look over the head of the sleeping child. "Don't call yourself a cripple anymore, Melanie. You are far less crippled than most. Your flaw is just more obvious than others."

"Is that what is bothering you?" she asked with relief. She smiled a little. "You can't catch me by my cravat and shake me when I call myself names. It must be very frustrating."

He raised his expressive eyebrows. "I'll find other ways of stopping that sharp little tongue, my lady. Beware."

The thought of just how he might do that sent a pleasurable shiver down Melanie's spine. She met his gaze boldly, and felt the stir of something sensual below her middle when Damien's gaze drifted to watch her mouth. He was trying to seduce her, just as he'd said!

She really thought she would like to be seduced. When would she ever have another opportunity? So with more courage than sense, she smiled back, and let her own gaze drop to his mouth.

He didn't touch her. He couldn't, not with his hands full of Pamela. But by the time the carriage stopped, Melanie felt warm all over just from the things his gaze spoke. When a footman rushed to take Pamela, and Damien lifted Melanie from the carriage and carried her to the house, she felt more than warm all over. She felt she might turn into steam.

He returned her to her feet at the top of the stairs so she might see Pamela settled into her room for the night, but Melanie found Damien waiting for her in the sitting room when she returned. He had a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands.

"Will you share a drink with me before we retire?" he asked politely, but she didn't think there was anything polite about the look he gave her. He made her feel as if she wore a daring evening gown, or nothing at all.

"If I do, what do you mean to do with me?" she asked without shyness. Damien had never said anything to discourage her from speaking as she thought.

He filled the glasses and handed one to her. "Kiss you, probably," he replied in the same tone as she used. "I fully intend to employ what is usually the woman's ploy to trap a man. I'll flirt and tease and drive you to want more, but I'll refuse until you agree to marry me."

Melanie's eyes widened as she sipped the wine and absorbed his message. He wouldn't seduce her completely. She could encourage his kisses and still remain a maiden. She found the thought somehow stimulating. She had no understanding of the marriage bed, so she feared it. But she understood kissing.

A few minutes later, with Damien's wine-flavored breath mixing with her own, Melanie decided she didn't know anything about kissing either, but she was more than willing to learn. She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around him and let him play with her tongue again. Desire shot swiftly and surely through her veins, and she nearly lost her balance. Only Damien's strong arms kept her from falling.

He trailed his kisses from her mouth to her ear to give her a chance to recover. "There's more I can teach you, sugar plum, but I think I'll make you wait for another night. I want you eager and anticipating each step of the way," he murmured against her ear.

"You plan on telling me in advance how you mean to seduce me into marriage?" she asked with a slight laugh, not moving away from his hold. Her breasts felt oddly full yet somehow deprived as they rubbed against him.

"I don't want to be a complete scoundrel." Damien raised his hand to release some of the pins holding her hair, capturing a tendril between his fingers. "I may be a gazetted fortune hunter, but I'll be an honest one."

"It's not honest if you truly want Jane and I'm just a substitute," she pointed out implacably. "I think we'd best send Jane an urgent message to return home."

"Do that," he answered, visibly annoyed as he stepped away from her. "If calling Jane home is what it takes to convince you that I am not a complete imbecile, then do so. I've made my choice. It is up to you to make yours."

He left the room, taking the bottle of wine with him.

Utterly amazed, afraid to believe a word he said, Melanie stared at the closed door until her knees folded and she had to sit down.

Damien Langland, Earl of Reister, declared he wanted her for wife and not the glorious Jane. Something did not ring at all true here, she just couldn't figure out what it was. She would have to wait for Jane.

In the meantime, he left her longing for something she didn't understand except to know that she couldn't have it.

* * * * 

"'Tis a pity a man of such noble countenance and title must be reduced to marrying an unfortunate cripple for money. I suppose she can claim no family, either?" the voice behind Melanie asked haughtily.

"Her father is a country baronet, but exceeding wealthy. Lady Morgan is her sister. Reister will survive," the second voice replied dryly. "They all do somehow."

The women moved on, leaving Melanie sitting on the park bench staring at the overhanging leaves of a maple in front of her. She supposed the women hadn't seen her there. She doubted they would recognize her if they did. They just gossiped as all society must gossip. They meant nothing by it.

They just left a hollow yearning behind. Melanie knew she was no match for an Earl of Reister. She had never held any such illusions. Damien deserved a beautiful woman like Jane on his arm. Pamela needed a father like Damien. Had she truly ruined his chances at having the countess he deserved?

She watched as Pamela ran and chased a hoop with some other children by the river. Melanie had brought one of the younger maids along so she might keep up with the child better than she could. With a little exercise and a proper diet, Pamela would be lovelier than Jane one of these days. Why had Jane neglected her only child so that she thought of food as her only companion?

It didn't make good sense. Since she had allowed her dreams to drive her to the altar with Damien, very little made any sense at all. She had made a childish decision and found herself burdened with adult responsibilities for the first time in her life. She had thought to help Damien out of an awkward situation and help herself in the process. Instead, she had unwittingly trapped him as well as herself. But he appeared not to mind while she spun dizzily, not knowing what she dared to ask.

She carried the pain of the women's scorn with her as they left the park to return to the house. Damien wished to introduce her at a grand social occasion, but Melanie couldn't do it. She would wait for Jane. She wanted Damien and Jane to be happy. She didn't want to feel responsible for destroying their lives. She wasn't at all certain anymore that could be arranged, but she'd have to try.

She found her men of business just coming out of the study when she returned to the house. They took off their hats and bowed to her as if she truly were a countess, and Melanie had to smile at her own playacting.

"You are very fortunate to find a man of intelligence like the earl, my lady," the banker declared boldly. "He will double your fortune within the year, mark my words."

She didn't know what to do with the wealth she already had, but she supposed Damien knew how to spend it. She had never thought paying his debts a bad bargain, but he seemed determined to square them somehow. She smiled in agreement, not knowing how else to respond. She watched as Watson let them out, then turned to find Damien in the doorway, studying her.

"I have more business to attend to this afternoon," he said politely, as if they hadn't exchanged passionate kisses the night before. "Will you ride with me in the park this afternoon when I return?"

She didn't want the whole world to despise him for his unfortunate "marriage," but she hated to refuse him anything. Carefully, she asked, "Isn't a traveling coach a little unfashionable for the park?"

"I had to return that one to its rightful owner. I thought you might enjoy a landaulet. I know of one for sale. I hoped you might like to try it out."

Melanie's spirits rose at the notion of owning her very own carriage. She stared at him anxiously, not certain how to take his toneless suggestion. "Do you think you could teach me to drive?"

This time, a smile lightened his demeanor. "Not a landaulet. You will need a driver for that. But once you've decided how you mean to go on, we might find something a little smaller for you." He frowned as she bounced with delight. "You will still have to take a tiger with you. You cannot go about alone."

"I will! I will, I promise. But if I could just learn quickly—"

He caught her hands and stilled her bouncing. "You cannot learn quickly enough to avoid your father should you choose to denounce me. There are still some things you have to face."

That still didn't bring her down completely. She envisioned many happy days before her father learned anything. And now that she was happily ensconced in her own home, perhaps he could do nothing at all but rant and rave. Even Jane might teach her to drive.

"Denounce you! As if I would ever do such a thing. Where do you come up with these words?" she asked mockingly, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I shall love you dearly for the rest of my life."

The Earl of Reister held a hand to his cheek long after his innocent "bride" swept happily to her room.

* * * * 

The ride in the park had been a glorious success, Melanie concluded contentedly as she sipped her morning tea and perused the stack of invitations that had assembled on the hall table these last few days. She knew she didn't have herself to thank so much as the modish carriage gown of luscious peach with the flattering neckline that made Damien look at her as if she truly were a peach ripe for eating. And of course, sitting in that lovely landaulet with all the plush velvet seats, no one could see her hobble, so perhaps she almost did look good enough to be Damien's countess. He'd showed her off proudly to everyone they met, and his friends seemed to greet her graciously. Perhaps she wouldn't be so very bad for him, after all.

Of course, that was last night talking. Melanie sat back dreamily and remembered how he'd held her as they sat on the love seat. He'd talked of the future of steam engines, if she remembered correctly, not precisely a romantic topic of conversation, but one she'd found as intriguing as he did.