The Scandal in Kissing an Heir (8 page)

He released her hand and leaned back against his chair, leaving her with an unpleasant feeling of neglect. “To be perfectly honest, my aunt and uncle request that I abandon my rakish ways, all gambling included, and get myself married. It seems they believe that a wife would make me more responsible.”

Rebecca stared back at him for a second. Realizing that he was indeed being quite serious, she started to laugh—the sort of laugh that made the stomach hurt and tears well in the eyes. He watched her with a look of befuddlement that only made her laugh even more. When she eventually got herself under some measure of control, she managed, “And you decided that I should be the one to help you accomplish that? A woman who has pretended to be mad for two years in order to avoid marriage? One who climbs hedges dressed in an evening gown so she can attend a ball uninvited? Forgive me, Mr. Neville, but surely you can see how unlikely that would be.” Pressing her lips together, she forced back her mirth.

“I suppose you have a point there,” he admitted. “But as I’ve told you before, finding a wife isn’t so easy for me. Nobody wants to associate with me, let alone allow their daughter to bear my name.” He shook his head, a few stray locks brushing his forehead. “In hindsight, I should have behaved better in my younger years, but regrettably, I can’t undo all of that now.”

There was so much remorse in the way he said it that Rebecca felt her heart swell for him. “I know that you’re not as bad as they say. What you did for Miss Brighton, for instance, and the way you refrained from attempting anything untoward with me at the ball when you had the opportunity to do so confirms that. It’s also possible that you think yourself capable of putting your rakehell ways behind you. I just don’t believe that your attempt to do so will last.”

“You doubt my resolve. Why?” He sounded hurt. “If Kingsborough could do it, then why wouldn’t you think me capable?”

“Because he has incentive,” she said, trying to be honest in spite of how guilty she felt as she looked back into his wounded eyes. “His entire family depends on him doing what is right, of him behaving properly. What incentive do you have other than that your aunt and uncle wish it?”

Mr. Neville clenched his jaw. His eyes grew dark, and when he spoke again, there was deep resentment in his voice. “Because they’ll cut me off without a penny if I don’t come up to scratch.”

Rebecca’s jaw dropped. Finally, it all made sense. She sank back against her seat. “Just as I feared, you were going to use me to your own advantage.”

“As if it’s any worse than what you’ve been contemplating—marriage to a man of your own choosing so you can escape the suitors your aunt and uncle have in mind for you.”

“Of course it’s worse,” she said, both stunned and disappointed at discovering that he hadn’t been sincere in his pursuit of her, although deep inside she’d known he would never have considered her an option if he’d had a choice. “I am not attempting to marry for material gain, Mr. Neville, but to avoid a life that I would not be able to bear living. Money will be of no consequence to me if I am unhappily wed and forced to suffer the marriage bed with a man old enough to be my grandfather.” She caught herself, realizing that her voice had risen in frustration. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to speak calmly. “But by marrying you instead . . .” Dear Lord, she dared not contemplate the heartache that marrying Mr. Neville might bring. With the effect that he was having on her this early on, she feared it would only be a matter of time before she fell in love with him, a man whom she doubted would ever accept the affections of only one woman. Eventually he would stray, and once he did, it would break her heart. “You will have accomplished the task set for you by your aunt and uncle, while I will have exchanged one predicament for another.”

“How so?”

Was he serious?

“Because the only reason you wish to marry me is for financial gain.”

“And the only reason you wish to marry me is so you do not have to marry Topperly or Grover,” Mr. Neville insisted. “You may wish to pretend that one reason is more noble than the other, but I disagree.”

She would not argue with him, for in a sense he had a point. Furthermore, he did not have the advantage of knowing her heart’s desire or the pain she was currently feeling at being equated with a bag of gold. She’d allowed herself to imagine that he looked at her with appreciation and some measure of desire, but all it had been was greed—not for her but for the allowance that she would secure for him if they married. Worst of all was the fact that she still wanted him as desperately as a woman lost in a desert longed for water.

Feigning indifference, she said, “I will elope with you on one condition,” she said.

His eyes widened with expectancy; they were dark, so dark she felt sure she’d be able to stare into their depths indefinitely without growing tired. She licked her lips as she pondered her decision and then finally said, “You must convince me that I will never look back on doing so with regret. You are young and healthy, Mr. Neville, so I have every reason to believe that our marriage will be a lengthy one—one I won’t escape anytime soon should I accept your offer.” She paused for a moment, unwilling to give away too much of her concerns, as she feared doing so would suggest deeper feelings than she was willing to admit. But she had to know if he cared enough about her to at least try to have a marriage based on trust and loyalty, so she said, “Can you assure me that we will be happy together?”

He looked perplexed. “You are asking me to promise you the impossible when I have no inkling of what the future may hold for us.”

“No,” she said, all seriousness. “I am asking you to stop being Mr. Neville the rake in favor of just being yourself. I believe I’ve glimpsed that man a few times already, and I have decided that I rather enjoy his company. So if you can bring him to the surface more, then I believe our marriage will stand a chance.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. Being a rake and being myself are one and the same thing.”

“Are you certain about that?” she asked. She had little evidence to the contrary other than that he’d confessed to embellishing the truth where his past exploits were concerned. But then of course there was the extent to which he’d gone in order to marry her. Yes, he stood to gain from their union, but instinct told her that he’d done it just as much to save her. Squaring him with a steady gaze, she added, “I realize that I have few choices available to me, Mr. Neville, but be that as it may, I have always hoped to marry a man who would remain faithful to me. To be sure, I have no reason to expect such loyalty from you . . . indeed, I imagine the task may prove difficult, but I would like to know that the risk I’d be taking in accepting your offer—the risk of discovery as we make our escape would be worth it and that you’ll at least try.”

Silence settled upon them for what seemed like an eternity. Their eyes locked unflinchingly on each other, but Mr. Neville was the first to look away. Pushing back from the table, he stood up. “Thank you for the tea, my lady. You’ve given me a great deal to think about.” He looked at her for a long moment before saying, “I will call on you again tomorrow if that is agreeable with you.”

Rebecca nodded, a slight smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t betray any of the overwhelming feelings that were building inside her as she rose from her own chair and walked across to the window with him, then simply said, “Yes, I would like that.”

Chapter 8

I
will elope with you on one condition.

The words resonated inside Daniel’s head as he lay in bed later that night, picturing Lady Rebecca in his mind’s eye. What a lovely creature she was, and not the least bit shy about speaking her mind. She’d told him honestly about the reservations she had about becoming his wife, but she’d also shown awareness for his true nature—a gentler, more considerate side that he kept hidden from most behind his roguish façade.

When his mother had cuckolded his father and fled to America, the devastation her selfish wrongdoing had wrought had awarded Daniel with a front-row seat to the more negative aspects of love. The day after she’d left, his father had enlisted in the army without further thought for his son and had been killed in action shortly thereafter.

That was what love had done to Daniel. It had destroyed his family and taken away both of his parents. He’d have been a fool to fall victim to it, so he’d resolved to live a life of reckless abandon instead, enjoying life’s pleasures without emotional attachment, choosing to live from one day to the next on the allowance that his aunt and uncle had provided for him.

He didn’t want to lose that comfortable lifestyle. If he could only convince Lady Rebecca to marry him, then he was sure they could live happily together. She’d made it clear that she wanted a respectable marriage with a husband who would remain loyal to her. She’d also made it clear that she didn’t think Daniel capable of being that man, but she was wrong about that. Lady Rebecca was exactly the sort of woman who would be able to hold his interest. She was smart and funny, engaging to talk to . . . exceedingly beautiful. If there was any woman of whom he wouldn’t tire, then it was her. He would not be able to offer her love, since that would mean letting down his guard and becoming vulnerable, but he would be able to make her smile. And with time, he’d prove himself worthy of her by doing precisely what she didn’t think him capable of—staying faithful to her, and her alone.

H
appy with his plan, Daniel climbed the rungs of the ladder as it bowed to his weight the following evening. Reaching the window, he tapped three times and waited. From within, he could see a blurry figure moving through a yellow glow of light toward him. A click sounded, the window opened and Lady Rebecca’s smiling face came into view. God, she was beautiful.

“Right on time,” she said as he climbed over the windowsill.

“Like thieves, we rakes are well aware of the importance of punctuality. As much as a second too late or too early could lead to unpleasant consequences.” Seeing Laura, he nodded his head in her direction. “Good evening.”

“And like thieves, rakes take great pleasure in stealing that which does not belong to them,” the maid said, her eyes locking with his in a silent acknowledgement of the danger he posed to her mistress.

So she hadn’t warmed to him yet. Ah well. She would come around sooner or later, but for now, he decided to shock her instead. Without looking away, he told her seriously, “I can assure you, Laura, that when it comes to me, the lady takes equal pleasure in giving me what I desire.”

Laura’s jaw dropped. “You . . . you . . . cad!” she stammered, her hands waving about in a mad gesture, as if she hoped to somehow shoo him from the room.

Rebecca, on the other hand, was giggling wildly. “You mustn’t tease her like that, Mr. Neville. It’s terribly inconsiderate of you.”

Whoever said anything about teasing?

“My apologies,” he said with a slight bow in Laura’s direction. “I meant no harm—truly. You have my word that I will be on my best behavior, but what you said led to the possibility of a rejoinder too tempting to be ignored. Can you forgive me?”

Eyes moving from Lady Rebecca to him and back again, Laura looked undecided. She eventually nodded, much to his relief, and took her seat in the corner, where, picking up her needlework, she looked positively oblivious to anything going on around her. Daniel knew better though. He’d pressed his luck with the joke and would not risk jeopardizing his chance of enjoying Lady Rebecca’s company any further. No; he must behave as the perfect gentleman even if he was tempted to do otherwise, and Lord help him if he wasn’t tempted.

How he longed to run his hands along the edge of Lady Rebecca’s shoulders, to plant a row of kisses across the back of her neck as he eased the sleeves of her gown down over her arms, exposing her breasts. He could well imagine how they would feel in the palms of his hands, had considered it repeatedly since making her acquaintance . . . thoughts that led to restless nights of aching need and unfulfilled pleasure.

Clenching his hands, he made a stoic attempt to ignore the stirring desire that threatened. He could not allow it to show—would not embarrass himself or her in that way. So he followed her quickly to the table and chairs instead and promptly sat, removing all evidence from view. Belatedly, he recognized his mistake. A gentleman did not take his seat before a lady. Unfortunately, he’d been left with little choice. He moved with the intention to get back up, but before he could manage it, she’d thankfully taken her seat as well.

“My apologies,” he said. “That was ill mannered of me.”

Saying nothing to the contrary, she simply began pouring the tea. “Think nothing of it.” Her voice was sweet like music when she finally spoke, with that trace of humor that always made her tone so delightfully light. He loved listening to her speak. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not much of a stickler when it comes to propriety or etiquette, though your apology is much appreciated.” The left corner of her mouth drew up as it always did when she was speaking her mind with mischief.

“Then you will not mind if I dance on the table or swing from the rafters?” he asked, goading her.

“Not in the least, Mr. Neville. On the contrary, I would probably join you.”

He laughed at the image that presented and shook his head with wonderment. “Lady Rebecca. Of all the women I’ve ever known, you are by far the most charming and memorable.”

She’d been taking a sip of her tea as he’d said it and now lowered her cup slowly to the table while her eyes remained locked with his. It was impossible for him to look away, not that he wanted to do so in the least, for it was almost as if she was mesmerized by something—something that made him wonder what exactly she might be seeing. The good in him, he hoped. For he
was
good, deep down beneath the façade he’d erected to ward off pain and heartache. Yes, he’d lived a tainted life, always trying to escape the fate that had been his father’s. If he could just enjoy himself and have some fun without getting close to anyone, then he could keep himself and his heart safe from harm.

But there was something about this woman, an openness and freedom of spirit that made him want to leap blindly into marriage with her, knowing full well what the risks would be. And the risks would be massive, for he liked her well enough already, enjoyed her company more than that of anyone else he’d ever met before, and knew they could easily be friends . . . lovers . . . and with time . . . so much more. The notion was not without danger, yet if he married as he had to, then he couldn’t envision himself with anyone else. Only Lady Rebecca would do.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice a little breathless and a great deal surprised.

Recalling her reaction when he’d told her she was stunning, he suspected that praising her for her looks would lead him nowhere. Judging from her present response, however, he deduced that she appreciated being admired for how distinctive she was. Perhaps she was self-conscious about it? He decided to broach the issue gently. “I’ve noticed many women over the years, Lady Rebecca, but the truth of it is that most of them bore me.”

“Do go on, Mr. Neville,” she said, leaning forward a little as she cradled her teacup between her hands.

Pleased to have gotten her attention, Daniel said, “They are all the same in every conceivable way, most of them without a thought of their own.”

Lady Rebecca scrunched her nose. “That is not very flattering.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” He smiled conspiratorially at her. “You see, what oftentimes occurs is that one of these women, whether she be a debutante or older, becomes so immensely popular that everyone else starts to mirror the way she is dressed, how she sets her hair, the places she enjoys frequenting, along with the things she says. They are like sheep, if you must know, and not the least bit unique.

“You, on the other hand . . .” Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his, just as he’d done the previous evening, only this time, he brushed the pad of his thumb against it and was rewarded as an undeniable spark ignited in her eyes. “You are so different in every way, from your looks to your daring personality, and I simply cannot help but be fascinated by it.”

A flush crept over her skin, and he heard her breath catch. Her hand trembled ever so slightly and she slowly lowered her lashes, her gaze fixed somewhere on the table. “There are those who would disagree,” she said.

“There always are, and if you ask me, they can all go hang.”

She laughed at that, but not wholeheartedly. Something—some niggling insecurity, no doubt—was holding her back, reminding him that this was a subject with which she wasn’t comfortable. “I must confess that I’ve always wished I looked like all the other women so I wouldn’t stand apart as much as I do.”

A deep sigh escaped Daniel. He’d suspected as much, but having her confirm it and know that a woman of her great beauty would ever doubt herself to such a degree made his heart ache. “I can think of no greater pity than for you to look like all the rest when you are as perfect as you are. You may think that I am saying this to flatter you, but that is not the case. I am saying it because it is the truth—at least in my eyes.”

He squeezed her hand a little and was touched to find her eyes glistening as she stared back at him from across the table. “Thank you,” she said.

They sat like that for another moment until the silence between them grew heavy, at which point Daniel pulled his hand away from hers, leaving him bereft. It was not a pleasant feeling in the least, and one he quickly hoped to disband by finding something else to talk about. She beat him to it, however, asking plainly, “How does a man go about becoming a rake anyway?”

Having just taken a sip of his tea, Daniel almost choked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, is it something he decides to become from one day to the next the way other men might choose a profession, or is it something that happens gradually?”

Why, the little minx. If she wasn’t giving him the most mischievous smile at the moment, then he wasn’t sure what was happening. Clearly she’d returned to her bold and adventurous self.

Daniel decided not to point out how irregular such a question was when posed by a young lady, since that would only be stating the obvious, so he said instead, “I believe every man’s situation is different, but I can tell you that in my case, it was a night of heavy drinking that led me down that path. That and a bleak mood.”

She nodded thoughtfully, as if this made perfect sense to her. “I imagine such a state would prompt anyone to seek comfort in some way or other, and I suppose that seeking the company of women is as good a way as any. It’s certainly better for your health than excessive eating. That is of course unless you happen to catch the French disease the way my cousin Vincent apparently did. He eventually died from it, you know.” She narrowed her eyes and then posed the most damning question of all. “You don’t have the French disease by any chance? Do you, Mr. Neville?”

Daniel gaped at her. Of all the brazen things to ask a man. “No,” he finally managed. “No, I do not.”

“You’re quite sure?” she pressed, her face perfectly serious. “From what I understand, it can sneak up on you—catch you by surprise.”

“How on earth would you know that?” He just couldn’t help but ask. The conversation was far too peculiar for him not to.

“Well, when it became clear that Vincent had taken a turn for the worse, my mother took me aside one day and explained what had happened to him. I was only thirteen years of age at the time and had not imagined that a man and a woman would do more than hold hands with one another or perhaps steal an occasional kiss. As you can imagine, my mother’s talk put fear in my young mind—the very idea that getting too close to a man could actually result in death was indeed quite frightening.”

Daniel blinked. He could not believe that they were having this discussion. “And er . . . does the idea of being . . . close with a man still terrify you?”

“Not as long as I have every confidence that the man in question is a gentleman, for you see, Lady Trapleigh has informed me that if he is, he will have taken certain measures to prevent catching the disease.” She frowned, her nose scrunching quite adorably as she did so. She then said, “Though I can’t begin to imagine what such measures might entail. I believe I should have asked her to be more specific when we spoke on the subject.”

Bloody hell.

“I think perhaps she was trying to spare your sensibilities,” Daniel said.