The Mad Lord's Daughter (23 page)
“I do enjoy her company,” his father said evasively, and John noted his father was looking at his cognac and not at him. “She’s the only woman I’ve met in twenty years who didn’t bore me, or worse, annoy me,” he said gruffly.
“You have surprised me, Father,” John said.
“It’s cards, John, nothing more.”
“I never suggested otherwise, Father,” John said, giving his father a knowing smile.
“Get that smirk off your face.”
John grinned, then downed the rest of his drink. “I haven’t the vaguest idea what you could be talking about, Father.” He walked to the door. “By the way, I notice you appear quite clean shaven this evening. Hmmm.”
He walked through the door with the sound of his father chuckling behind him. Imagine, his father shaving for a woman. In all his life, even when his father attended obligatory balls, he’d never taken the time to shave twice in one day. It was more than interesting.
Chapter 15
Diane wasn’t stupid. Naïve, perhaps at times. Stupid, no. It was almost as if a veil had been held up in front of her for weeks, but had finally been lifted. It had begun when she and Melissa had come home from their ride. She noticed, but didn’t give it a thought, how happy Melissa was to see John. How he’d looked down at her with real concern—concern Charles hadn’t shown. No, Charles had been more fearful of what people would think of Melissa’s shedding a tear or two. John, she knew instinctively, would have done anything to comfort her. And then, it was the way Melissa had laughed, the way her eyes shone when she looked at him. It was the look a woman gives to a man she loves.
It was a rather startling observation, but Diane, being suspicious of love in general, took it upon herself to watch the subtleties of their interactions. And she found it wasn’t what was said or even the looks that passed between them. No, it was rather the way they looked at one another when they thought themselves unobserved. If she was not mistaken, it appeared as if Melissa and John were in love and trying not to show it to anyone—particularly to one another.
Diane was not stupid, and so she realized she might be seeing love where it didn’t exist because she was so very much in love with Lord Braddock and trying just as desperately not to let him know. The kiss they’d shared had been a mistake of monumental proportions—not simply because it was inappropriate, but because now Diane could not get that kiss out of her head. It was disconcerting that all he’d had to do was give her that crooked grin of his and she’d agreed to continue being his partner in whist. Worse, in all the evenings the two of them had shared since, Lord Braddock had never looked at her with anything but fondness. Clearly, he enjoyed her company. But he enjoyed the vicar’s company, too.
Because it was an intimate dinner, they all sat close together at one end of the dining room table. Lord Braddock had abandoned the head of the table to dine across from her and next to his son. Melissa and John sat across from one another, each taking turns devouring the other with their eyes when they thought no one was looking. They couldn’t have been more obvious had they announced to her and Lord Braddock that they were in love. She hoped that was as far as it had gone.
How very tragic, she thought. She understood, then, why Melissa always seemed so very sad, even when she was facing the prospect of marrying a very fine gentleman. It reminded her of her own niece, who had been secretly in love with one man while engaged to marry another. Diane had been taken completely by surprise by her niece. But, as the saying went, fool me twice, shame on me. And Diane wasn’t about to be fooled twice.
She could almost feel their love, like an intangible thread that connected them to one another. This could not end well, not for either of them.
Still, she could be wrong. It could be her overactive imagination, which would be understandable given the hell her poor niece had gone through. And the hell she herself was going through, to be honest. Imagine, falling in love with a man who claimed the emotion did not exist. It was almost amusing.
“Melissa,” she said brightly, forcing herself to stop thinking such depressing thoughts. “While we were out this afternoon, the modiste sent over another gown. It is lovely. We’re going to have to start thinking about your wedding dress, you know.” She watched John from the corner of her eye, and it was as if he’d received a small blow before he instantly recovered with a smile.
“Have you set a date?” he asked. To someone who wasn’t already suspicious, that would have seemed like an innocuous question. But Diane saw the tension in his face, the way his knuckles shone white as he held his fork and calmly took a small bite of roast pork.
And Melissa, the dear girl, pasted on a very similar smile. “No, we haven’t. I haven’t even met his parents yet.”
“That will be amended tomorrow,” George said, then turned to John. “We’re having a small dinner party. Lord and Lady Hartley just arrived in Town yesterday. Unfortunately, the older boy is too ill to travel to London. I do expect you to be there, John.”
John looked as if he might argue, but nodded. “Of course. Are you nervous, Melissa?”
Melissa shook her head, even as she said, laughing, “Terrified.”
“No need,” George said heartily. “They are a fine family. Lord Hartley is quite down to earth and very easy to get along with. No airs. I tell you, it will be rather pleasant to have them part of our little family. It’s been just the two of us for long enough, eh, John?”
John gave his father a level look, one Diane couldn’t begin to interpret. “Yes,” he said softly. “That is true.”
“And I can come visit any time,” Melissa said, looking from one man to the other for confirmation.
“I’m certain you’ll be quite busy setting up house and having babies and being a good wife,” John said with impatience.
“Of course she will,” George said, appearing slightly confused by John’s tone.
“You’re the only family I have,” Melissa said, looking uncertainly from her uncle to John. “It would be dreadful not to see you.”
“Perhaps,” John said, his jaw clenching. “Charles will be your family, dear cousin. And, of course, Laura.” He threw down his napkin and stood. “If you will excuse me.”
“You will always be part of this family,” George said to Melissa, then gave his son a chastising look. “Really, John.”
“I’m not very good company tonight,” John said tightly. “I do apologize.”
“Will we not play cards, then?” Melissa asked, and John drew in a breath, then smiled, his expression softening considerably.
“Of course. Say in an hour? I need a breath of fresh air, that is all.” He gave a small bow and left the dining room, leaving those still at the table looking at one another in confusion.
“Well,” George said. “I don’t know what that was all about. Very unlike John to act so disagreeably.”
“Perhaps he is simply tired,” Melissa said, turning toward the door where John had disappeared.
Diane made a decision, one she prayed she would not regret. She had seen firsthand how devastating it could be to keep a man and woman apart who were deeply in love. She would not be party to such heartbreak again.
John sat sullenly at the card table, gazing at a terrible hand, and wishing he were in his own town house. In bed. With a buxom, willing woman. He was not a sullen man. He was not a man who brooded. But this night, he could not bring himself to pretend he was happy that the woman he loved was marrying someone else. That she wanted to “visit” them after she was married, perhaps with her husband in tow, perhaps with her belly swelling with Charles’s child, perhaps happy and glowing and driving a jagged piece of metal into his heart each time they looked at each other.
“John, it’s your trick,” his father said, giving him a searching look. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if his father stared at him all night. His father was the reason, after all, that John couldn’t claim Melissa as his own. It was his father’s damned sense of honor, his vital work on that damned commission, his damned friendship with Charles Damned Darwin that was causing all this heartache.
“So it is,” he said, throwing in a random card.
“John,” Melissa said, miffed.
Apparently he’d thrown in the wrong card. “What was trump again?”
“Clubs,” Melissa said, looking pointedly at the two of clubs he’d led with.
He could feel them all looking at him. He knew they were wondering what was wrong, and he didn’t care. His father had forced him to attend this dinner and forced this ridiculous card game on him. Just as he was forcing him to attend dinner the next evening so he could watch Melissa be introduced to her future in-laws. Just ducky all around.
They finished playing the hand and once again his father and Miss Stanhope won, much to his father’s glee. Across from him Melissa gave him a look of exasperation, and he had to smile. She was so adorably angry at him for losing yet another hand.
“I thought you were a good player,” Melissa said.
“He is,” George said. “When his mind is on the game and not elsewhere. Just where is your mind tonight, son?”
John’s eyes flickered to Melissa, before he gave a small shrug. “I’ll try to do better.”
It wasn’t easy, for he was trying very hard not to look at Melissa, knowing that how he felt was likely written plainly on his face. But they were sitting across from one another, and they were partners, so it was fairly difficult to avoid looking at her altogether. Everything about her delighted him. From the way she studied her cards so carefully, wrinkling her nose when she didn’t like what she saw, to the way she meticulously organized her cards, to her very poor bids.
“It’s best not to use up all your trump,” Miss Stanhope said during one hand.
“I’ve got plenty more,” she said, so innocently John laughed.
“You shouldn’t let a player like Miss Stanhope know what you’re holding, silly goose,” he said, and Melissa laughed.
“It truly doesn’t matter,” she said, impishly laying down yet another trump card.
“Oh, my, I believe the girl is holding a rather excellent hand,” his father said.
“Why didn’t you bid more?” John asked. “Miss Stanhope would have bid seven on such a hand.”
“I’ll get it whether I bid it or not,” Melissa said pertly, and John was certain that made complete sense to her.
“But I could have outbid you,” Miss Stanhope pointed out.
“But you didn’t.”
“But she could have.”
Melissa shrugged, for she truly didn’t care one way or another. She was having fun, and that was all she cared about, clearly. With a handful of trump, Melissa won the hand, giving a triumphant “hoorah” at the end of play.
“I think we should quit while we’re ahead,” Miss Stanhope said. “Why don’t you escort your cousin to her room. Tomorrow is a big day, with her future in-laws coming, and Melissa needs her rest.”
John frowned at Miss Stanhope, both at her mention of Charles’s parents, as well as at her forcing him to be alone with Melissa. It was the last thing he wanted—and the thing he wanted most.
Melissa, oblivious to his anguish, readily agreed, her cheerful attitude beginning to grate. Couldn’t she feel even a tiny bit miserable? Was this love so unrequited then? John had never felt so foolish in his entire life.
He bowed before her, and she took his arm with a smile, bidding his uncle and Miss Stanhope a good night.
“You are a terrible card player,” he said, smiling down at her. She let out a gasp of outrage.
“I won that last hand, if you recall,” she said. “And all I need is a bit of practice. That was the first time I’ve played pairs, you know. I think I did rather splendidly.”
Her hand on his arm, warm and small, was a subtle torture. She had a habit, he noticed, of squeezing his arm when she spoke, an unconscious thing that was like a caress in his fevered mind. He found himself walking unaccountably slowly, simply to prolong the trip.
When they reached her room, she dropped her hand and lifted her face up to him, her brows furrowed. “What is wrong, John? You were not yourself tonight. Have I done something to make you angry with me?”
“I’m perfectly well, and of course I’m not angry with you.”
“Oh.” It was almost as if she were disappointed.
“What on earth would I have to be angry about?” he demanded, sounding rather angry even to his own ears.
“See? You are angry. Is it about Charles?”
He could feel his cheeks redden, but he forged on with his lie. “Of course not. Charles is my best friend.”
“And you are happy we’re to marry?”
“Ecstatic.”
She nodded, and to his love-addled mind, she seemed relieved. Relieved that he was giving her his blessing.
Bloody, bloody hell.
Bloody, bloody hell.
He gave her a curt bow and knew he should say his good nights before he lost the ability to keep his hands by his sides. She couldn’t have looked lovelier at that moment if she’d tried, gazing up at him with those eyes that drove him mad with want. Almost against his free will, his eyes drifted down, past her pretty nose, to her full lips, slightly parted as if ready for a kiss. He felt himself sway toward her before staying himself and taking another step back.
“I shouldn’t walk you to your door,” he muttered.
“No.” A whisper, breathy and soft.
“Because it’s too much of a temptation.”
She said nothing, but grew impossibly still, her eyes never leaving his.
“Because I want to kiss you.” Oh, God, what was he saying?
“I know.”
“I want to do more than kiss you. I want to make love to you.” He clenched his fists by his sides, and he nearly groaned when she took a step back.
“Stop it,” she said, angry suddenly. “You’ve made your decision.”
“What decision?” he asked, feeling his own anger surge.
“Never mind,” she said, turning toward her door. He reached out without thinking and grabbed her arm.
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