Countess So Shameless (Scandal in London) Read online

  “Do we not all fall short of both divine and human expectations?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she replied, smiling again. “But enough of gloom and doom. Tell me more about the man behind the wicked reputation.”

  “What else would you like to know?”

  Her eyes lit. “Everything,” she said eagerly. “I already know you enjoy chess and dancing, but what of life’s other enjoyments? Besides the one we’ve just explored, that is; although”—her gaze dropped to his stiring member—“I can certainly understand why you’re so keen on it.” Grinning naughtily, she reached down to grasp him. “I myself am finding it quite entertaining.”

  He burst out laughing at her bawdiness, and then again at her blush. For a virgin, she said and did the most unexpected things! “I find you”—he paused, distracted by her hand’s slow movement up and down his swelling length—“delightfully surprising.” His laughter quickly turned into desire. “I know you to be a gently born virgin—at least until recently,” he said, raising a brow, “yet you have all the boldness of a seasoned courtesan.”

  Mélisande colored, and her hand stopped momentarily. “Actually, my mother was a courtesan. Isabelle Jeannette d’Orleans. It was her surname I gave you when we first met.”

  On hearing the name of Louis’s first and most beloved mistress, Alessandro stilled. It is as I suspected, then... Isabelle d’Orleans was a legend in Versailles, her name still occasionally mentioned at court by the older set.

  A log popped in the hearth, briefly bathing the room in a warm glow. His gaze dropped to the tiny mole on Mélisande’s left breast, the one shared by King Louis and Louis’s mother. Moving down, his gaze rested on the oddly shaped birthmark on her right hip. He’d had the honor of attending the French monarch in his morning dress once, and he’d noticed that same, singular mark in the exact same place. Mélisande’s eyes, too, were her paternal grandmother’s.

  “My father fell in love with her when he first visited Versailles, and they were married before he left,” Mélisande continued. “My mother taught me many things. She once said that passion makes us bold, frees us from inhibition.”

  Her mother must have married to prevent a scandal.

  “Alessandro?”

  “Apologies, amora. I must be getting tired.” He wondered if she knew her true parentage. No wonder she was so passionate! Her mother was famed for her torrid affaire with the French king, who was himself a lusty man.

  “I’m a little tired, as well,” Mélisande admitted. She looked to the cold tub with distaste. Rising, she yanked the bellpull, then threw on a wrap and stood by the hearth to warm up.

  A knock sounded on the door, and at Mélisande’s call to enter, young Kate peeked in. “My lady?”

  Alessandro grinned as he flung the coverlet over himself just before her curious gaze landed on him. The servants would get no report on the size of his shaft this night.

  Mélisande’s thoughts had apparently just jumped to the same conclusion, for her cheeks reddened. She looked as though she wanted to dive beneath the bedcovers and hide. “I’d like hot water brought up as quickly as possible, enough to wash with,” she requested, her tone brisk.

  “Right away, my lady,” the girl answered, her gaze dropping to the floor respectfully. “Is that all, ma’am?”

  “I’m a bit starved,” Alessandro added, marking the rumbling of his stomach. He’d worked up quite an appetite.

  “Some food, as well, then,” Mélisande ordered. “Tell cook to send whatever is available.”

  With a quick bob, Kate departed.

  Mélisande sank back onto the bed with a groan of mortification.

  Laughing, Alessandro pulled her against him, and together they waited, enjoying the crackling of the fire and the warmth of each other’s companionship.

  When the maid returned, she was followed by an army of servants. Two footmen began to remove the now cold water from the first tub and pitch it out of a nearby window. When it was empty, they refilled it from buckets of steaming water passed hand to hand up the stairs.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Mélisande emerged from beneath the coverlet, stripped, and stepped into the water.

  She washed far too quickly, in Alessandro’s opinion. Some women looked better gowned and bejeweled, but Mélisande needed no such ornamentation. After admiring her nakedness for a moment, he brought her a drying sheet and then washed himself as well. By the time they were both dry and wrapped in robes, another knock sounded.

  Young Kate was back with food. Mountains of it. When her mistress remarked upon the speed of service, she laughed. “We began heating water as soon as his lordship arrived, ma’am, and cook started preparing the food this afternoon.”

  Together, they feasted on the roast capon with herbed potatoes, freshly baked bread, and a chocolate trifle. When they were done, footmen came and removed the dishes.

  The clock on the mantelpiece chimed, drawing Alessandro’s attention. It was already past three. “You should prepare for your journey home,” he advised.

  Mélisande tried not to show her disappointment. “I should like it very much if you called tomorrow.”

  “Unfortunately, I have an audience with your king tomorrow morning,” he answered with a frown.

  “I understand,” she said with deliberate insouciance. Of course I can’t expect to see him every day. It’s not as if we’re really engaged, after all. “I shall probably want to rest anyway.” She began brushing her hair.

  “I imagine you will,” he replied with a naughty smile.

  Unable to help herself, she grinned.

  “If there is time, I will call afterward,” he told her, “but I know not how long it will take to accomplish my task.” He rose and retrieved his jacket from beside the hearth and frowned at the water-stained cuffs. When he was done dressing himself, he helped her with swift, sure hands.

  He’s done this a thousand times, Mélisande thought as he finished tying the last ribbon.

  “Your carriage must leave first. I will then follow at a safe distance,” Alessandro said as they neared the bottom of the stair.

  “You needn’t worry for my safety,” Mélisande assured him, pleased at his concern. “My driver is armed, and I’ve a pair of loaded pistols with me in the event he is unable to deter an attack. I shall be quite safe. It would be more suspicious if our conveyances were seen traveling the same road at this hour.”

  “Very well, but I shall at least remain here until your driver returns,” he persisted. “If he is not back within the hour, I shall follow his route and come looking for you myself.” His tone brooked no argument. “You may count yourself fortunate that I don’t insist upon escorting you home. I know the dangers associated with being seen together, but the dangers of London at night are far greater.”

  Nodding assent, she moved to the door, but he caught her arm and spun her about before she could exit. Despite the warmth that uncurled in her belly at his touch, a flash of irritation struck at his handling her so in front of the servants.

  But instead of the kiss she anticipated, he merely caressed her cheek once before twitching her veil down over her face. His eyes twinkled at her even through the lace. The devil knew she’d expected him to kiss her!

  “You must be more careful, amora,” said Alessandro, laughter in his voice. “We wouldn’t want anyone discovering our nocturnal activities.”

  Mélisande swallowed her disappointment. “Until our next meeting, then,” she said, inclining her head. She turned and stepped into the night without a backward glance, leaving behind the cocoon of warmth and light. When the carriage door closed, she ventured a peep through the curtains. Alessandro still stood there, a dark silhouette in the doorway. His hand lifted in farewell, though it was impossible for him to have known she was looking. She smiled in the darkness and watched until the carriage turned the corner.

  Regarding herself in the mirror, Mélisande knew her body looked as it ever had. There were no outwa
rd signs of their lovemaking, save the deep shadows beneath her eyes. A faint smile curled her lips. Grabbing her nightgown, she turned from her image with a nod of satisfaction, unaware that even if her body showed no visible change, her eyes certainly did.

  As she reached to douse the lamp at her bedside, her gaze lit upon the ring on her finger, drawn to the jewel as the light illuminated something strange in its depths. She’d not taken it off since Alessandro had put it on her hand. Removing it now, she examined it carefully.

  To her surprise, there was a design carved in relief on the back of the stone. It was a crest—and it matched the one painted on the door of Alessandro’s carriage. She brought it closer to the light to read an inscription engraved on the inside of the band: Per amare ed onorare—to love and to honor.

  Her heart began to pound unevenly. This was no paste plaything, nor even an expensive bauble. Like the ruby Louis had given her, this was a family heirloom, a treasure passed from generation to generation.

  Why would he give something so precious to me? She had to assume he meant for her to give it back when they parted ways, but why give it to her at all? Jamming the ring back onto her finger, she blew out the lamp and tried to dismiss the words from her mind. But “to love and to honor” kept popping back into her thoughts as she sought sleep.

  Enough is enough! she chastised herself. He’s a brief distraction, a pleasurable dalliance, nothing more!

  But though she tried not to dwell upon it, she could not help wondering what it would be like if things were different between them.

  PRINCE CHARMING AND THE KING

  FROM ACROSS THE chessboard, George eyed the Italian duke with amusement. An entertaining fellow, to be sure. Boisterous and ribald, even by English standards. A lively addition to his court, if a temporary one.

  “I am a fortunate man, Your Majesty,” said his opponent, moving another piece.

  “The board says otherwise.” George chuckled, castling to put his rook in a position to take Gravina’s king. “Check. How so?”

  Gravina moved his king out of danger. “The woman I asked about before—the one I met in Versailles—I found her.”

  The announcement caused George to pause in confusion. When he’d first arrived at court, Gravina had inquired after a woman by the surname d’Orleans. At the time, he’d thought it strange that an Italian would ask after Isabelle. The man had been disappointed to learn that she had died more than a year prior. “You mean you found her grave?” he asked, resuming play.

  Gravina laughed and moved his knight to block him. “No, Your Majesty. The lady is quite alive. We discovered each other again at Lord Ludley’s ball and have since renewed our acquaintance. When we first met, she told me her surname was d’Orleans, but it was really Compton.”

  George carefully concealed his surprise. Isabelle had mentioned something in her letters about Melly being different after their visit to Versailles. She’d suspected something had happened there to cause her to break her betrothal. Perhaps the reason was sitting across from him even now. “Mélisande Compton?” he asked, taking Gravina’s knight.

  Gravina smiled. “The same.” He scooted his queen to a white square.

  “Exactly how did you become acquainted in Versailles?”

  Gravina gave him a devilish grin. “She wandered into the garden where I happened to be seeking a moment of solitude. We talked for a little, and then I suppose she let curiosity get the better of her. I was delighted to oblige, of course.”

  “I see,” murmured George. He was beginning to see all too clearly. Yesterday he’d heard about the infamous waltz. Until this moment, he’d thought it just another one of Melly’s harmless escapades. She’d proven herself capable of avoiding any real trouble so far, and the idea of watching her cause a stir with Gravina had actually been somewhat entertaining—but now... “And?” he prompted, sliding his bishop into place. “Check.”

  Gravina again moved his king. “She vanished.”

  “You searched for her?” George asked, repositioning his knight. “Checkmate in three moves.”

  Gravina frowned for a moment at the board as if startled to find himself beaten. “I asked everyone about her,” he finally answered, tipping his king, “but no one knew anything. She’d been seen by others the day we met, but never before and never again after.” He frowned again and began reordering the pieces for another game. “I even went to speak with the d’Orleans family, but they disavowed any knowledge of her. It was the strangest thing.”

  “And now you believe you have solved the mystery?”

  Gravina nodded. “I have. Her father was visiting the French king on an important errand for Your Majesty, something to do with discouraging French support for the Jacobites. They departed Versailles the morning after our encounter.”

  George knew why Wilmington had been sent to France. What he didn’t understand was why Melly had assumed her mother’s surname while there. “I see. And what is your interest in her now? Surely after so many years, your feelings cannot have remained intact.”

  “I beg to differ, Your Majesty,” said Gravina. “If anything, they have grown in strength. I have searched for her from Spain to Russia, everywhere my travels have taken me, and I have had neither peace nor contentment until now. I wish to marry her—and the feeling is mutual.”

  “You are certain of this?”

  “It may be considered a bit hasty, Your Majesty,” Gravina admitted, “but she has already accepted my suit. I have given her my ring in troth before witnesses. The engagement is to be announced publicly today.”

  George felt his blood begin to heat. A bit hasty? Melly damn well knew she needed his approval before there could be any sort of wedding! He maintained a calm exterior in spite of his vexation. “I don’t mind telling you that Lady Wilmington has become a matter of increasing concern,” he told him. “On several recent occasions, her behavior has come dangerously close to eliciting my intervention. I’ve been a hairbreadth from commanding her to marry Newcastle’s heir, despite her objections.”

  Gravina’s face whitened.

  So, he really does have feelings for her, thought George. “However, if a happier alternative exists, I shall not be displeased.”

  “You will allow it?” Gravina asked. “Given her entitlement, I was concerned you might not grant your blessing, as I am not English.”

  George waved his words away. “I’ve already decreed that whomever she marries shall have no claim to the earldom. Her firstborn son shall inherit all. Which brings me to the subject of children,” he added, watching the other man carefully. “She is the sole heir to the earldom. Until her birth, Lord Wilmington was the last of his line. I understand you are a duke in your own country; however, in this, I must put England’s interests first. Lady Wilmington must remain in England and bear a son to inherit the Wilmington title. Upon his birth, I will make him a ward of the Crown, entrusted to his mother’s care, of course—but he will not be allowed to leave these shores. One can assume that Lady Wilmington will want to remain here with her child. I have no wish to rob you of a son, but you must understand that Wilmington was my friend. If at all possible, I must see that his lands are inherited by someone of his line.”

  Clearly, the king knew nothing of Mélisande’s true heritage—and Alessandro was certain she would rather it remain so. He would not expose her for his own gain, either. To do so would earn him only her enmity. There must be another way. I simply need time to find it.

  For now he had no choice but to accept the terms if he wanted to continue to court her. “I would prefer to take her back to Italy, naturally, but if needs must, then for her sake I will remain in England,” Alessandro finally replied.

  George frowned. “You would abandon your responsibilities in your own country?”

  He didn’t think I would be willing to make such a sacrifice. “I can manage things from afar. A yearly visit should suffice, as long as my mother is able to oversee the daily running of the estate. She has done
so most admirably for the last twenty years. My father’s duties to the Holy Roman Empire required his absence for extended periods of time. She is quite capable.”

  “Understand, Lady Wilmington’s firstborn son will be the next Earl of Wilmington,” warned George. “There will be no reversal of my decision.”

  “I shall declare my second son to be the ducal heir,” Alessandro answered. “He will be trained to bear the responsibility alongside my firstborn until he is old enough to assume my title.”

  “You are certain?” asked George. “If she bears only one male child, he shall belong to England.”

  “According to our laws, a daughter may inherit if there are no male heirs.” His father would have suffered an attack to hear him say such a thing.

  The king’s gaze rested on him for a long moment, and then the monarch smiled. It was not a smile that inspired relief.

  “Very well, then,” George said. “You have my blessing. Melly will make a fine wife, if you can tame her. My goddaughter is a bit strong willed, but a man couldn’t hope for better.”

  The hair rose on Alessandro’s neck. Daughter of the French king, godchild of the English. What capricious star had shone upon Mélisande’s birth?

  “She has no idea you’ve come to me with this, does she?” the king suddenly asked, his bright blue eyes gleeful.

  “She does not, Your Majesty,” Alessandro answered. “Our engagement has been announced informally among friends, but I felt it best to speak with Your Majesty before any public announcement was made.”

  “Very wise,” said the king, arching a brow. “I wish you luck in your wooing. Now, let us discuss the matter of James Stuart,” he continued, clearly ready to move on to other matters.

  Alessandro breathed a sigh of relief. The matter of marrying Mélisande was of far more importance to him than his “mission of peace,” truth be told. His presence here was a token gesture only, a demonstration of Rome’s willingness to listen to the Hanoverian’s argument—a willingness that did not actually exist. Rome wholeheartedly supported the Catholic Stuart’s claim, and that wasn’t going to change.