Countess So Shameless (Scandal in London) Page 4

  They were wrong.

  David chuckled, lounging against the mantelpiece. “I never imagined they would go as far as this.”

  Mélisande made an unladylike noise.

  He shook his head and laughed. “You’ve not changed at all.”

  “They will be livid. This marriage is the culmination of generations of planning.” Sighing, she rubbed her tired eyes. “I find it ironic that I’m even held to this agreement at all, given the circumstances. If your father knew...”

  He came and sat next to her. “But he doesn’t. As far as he or anyone else knows, you’re the first female born to the Compton line in almost a century and the last of that line. You’re also Wilmington’s last hope. If he hadn’t claimed you as his own, he would have no heir and the land would revert to the Crown upon his death. He knows what he’s doing. As for my father, I don’t think he’d care about the blood in your veins, if you want to know the truth, so long as our lands are joined.”

  “Thanks. I feel so much better for knowing that,” she said with sarcasm. “Regardless, we’ll be lucky if they don’t disown us both for this.”

  “They’ll get over it,” he told her, rising. “Life is full of disappointments. I’m my father’s biggest, and he hasn’t disowned me yet.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. David had, as she’d always known he would, grown into an absolute terror. Indeed, his latest affaire had been with a married woman, resulting in the crossing of blades and near imprisonment that had, in turn, caused his father to insist that he marry her immediately in order to prevent further scandal.

  “How can we keep them from forcing us to the altar?”

  Casting her a mischievous look, David stalked over to the window and eased it open.

  Mélisande shook her head. “You know those ruffians your father hired are just waiting for you to try something like that. You’ll never even make it to the village.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” he muttered. “Just make it sound as though we’re still talking for as long as possible, and I’ll borrow one of your father’s horses and disappear for a while. I’ve plenty of friends in France who’d welcome a long visit.”

  “I’ll just bet you do, you scoundrel. Am I to play the jilted fiancée, then?” she inquired with just a touch of acid. “You know what people will say if they find you’ve climbed out of a window rather than marry me. You might not wish to wed until you’re thirty, but I have other plans.”

  His face fell, then brightened. “Why not marry Reggie? The Stantons’ lands also adjoin yours. We could pose it as a possible solution—more of a delay, rather than a total loss. Perhaps our children will be more amenable to the idea of a marriage?”

  Mélisande allowed her expression to tell him her opinion of his suggestion.

  “It was just an idea,” he grumbled. “I thought perhaps he might not repulse you as much as I apparently do. My poor, bruised ego is much gratified to know I’m not the only one you’ve blacklisted, truthfully,” he laughed. Sighing, he walked over to stand before her, all traces of humor gone. “Then our only choice is to refuse, no matter the consequences. I already know what’s in store for me, and I’m prepared.”

  Mélisande gazed at the floor, thinking how much she hated to disappoint her parents, especially Papa. But she simply could not marry David. “Let us get it over with, shall we?”

  David went to the door and knocked. “Tell them we’re ready to talk,” he ordered the footman guarding it. Turning back to Mélisande, he gave her a hard stare. “Melly, we could always have an arrangement. I wouldn’t care, and it would be an easy way out of this whole sticky mess with our parents.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “I’ve had enough of ‘arrangements,’ thank you! And we’ve already agreed we’d be miserable living that lie. They would expect us to eventually have children, and though the rest of the females in the world might view such a task with joyful anticipation, I don’t. And neither do you,” she stressed, jabbing a finger at his chest.

  The lock rattled, making them both jump, and the door opened, admitting their parents.

  “I presume you’ve both come to your senses?” the old duke rumbled as he filed in behind Mélisande’s parents.

  “Father, I cannot and will not marry Melly,” David immediately announced, ignoring his father’s thunderous expression. “You can’t force me to marry a woman I don’t want, and I certainly won’t marry one who doesn’t want me.”

  Mélisande spoke before David’s spluttering, purple-faced father could gather his wits enough to respond. “David is like a brother to me. I would never be able to share a bed with him without feeling as if I were committing a—a mortal sin. I cannot marry him,” she finished, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  Aghast at hearing such words from a young, supposedly innocent girl, the duke’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like that of a fish, for several seconds before he broke the silence with a bellow that was likely heard all the way in the village. “By God, girl, you will marry him! No more delays, no more prevaricating! You’ll marry, and there’s an end to it!”

  “You cannot make me!” Mélisande shouted back. He was an intimidating figure, but she would not back down, she would not show fear. “I don’t want him, and he doesn’t want me!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, girl!” the duke scoffed, slamming a fist on a tea table, rattling the delicate figurines adorning it. “You don’t know what you want! Now stop this foolishness!” He turned to the earl and countess. “Wilmington, make her see sense!”

  “Now, Melly, you know your mother and I are only interested in what’s b—”

  “I swear by all that is holy, if you force me to the altar, the union will never be consummated.” Her voice shook, but her gaze was hard as she met that of the furious duke. “You will never have an heir—at least not a legitimate one!”

  “And what the devil is that supposed to mean?” the duke snapped menacingly, taking a step toward her.

  Isabelle calmly stepped between the two and faced her daughter. “Enough of this! Mélisande, you’ll do as you’re told. I promise you’ll feel differently once you are married, ma petite,” she said smoothly, reaching out to straighten the lace on her child’s gown.

  “No, Maman!” Mélisande said, jerking back. “I’ve never felt that way about David, and I never will!” Switching to French, she continued. “You think me so naïve, but I’m no innocent. I tasted desire in Versailles. I know what passion is, and I know I will never feel it for David. You could tie us together naked and my blood would not stir. I will never marry a man for whom I feel nothing but sisterly affection!”

  Isabelle’s face had grown ashen, and her voice was chill as she responded in the same language. “Who? Who dared?”

  “The one you warned me of, the Italian,” Mélisande replied, defiant.

  “Impossible!” Isabelle half laughed. “I cannot believe such a thing—you were never left alone long enough.”

  Mélisande’s mouth twisted, the remembrance of her stolen kiss with Le Renard bringing a tremor of longing into her voice. “I met Lord Orsini several times,” she fibbed. “In the library, the gardens, on the night of the ball, and again just after our audience with the king. He showed me a world of pleasure that I never knew was possible. It was magnificent.”

  It was mostly truth, though somewhat skewed in the telling. Her mother’s stricken face made her wish she had not added that last bit, but she had no choice now. She had to persist. “I came alive in his arms, Maman, and I will never settle for anything less when I choose a husband.”Silence filled the room as mother and daughter stared at one another, as everyone else stared at them.

  Mélisande’s eyes flicked to David, marking his faint smile. He knew she was deliberately misleading them, for she’d told him the whole story via letters using the secret code they’d created as children. Her true lineage, their parents’ plans for them, her encounter with Orsini.

  Her papa, who also spo
ke French, stood with his mouth hanging open in shock. If there was anything Mélisande regretted in all this, it was hurting him.

  The duke did not speak the language and was quite obviously annoyed at being unable to understand the conversation. “What the devil are you people saying?” he roared, turning helplessly from person to person. “Speak English, for God’s sake! And will someone have the decency to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  No one answered him.

  “Mon Dieu,” Isabelle whispered. “You are compromised, then?” she demanded, still speaking in French, her blue eyes turning hard.

  Anger stiffened Mélisande’s spine. Hypocrite! “Though I’ve wished otherwise since, I did not allow him full liberties. I valued my honor, Maman,” she flung back, her voice just as cold. Her mother flinched at the verbal slap. “But it changes nothing. Punish me if you like, but there will be no match between us. Ever.”

  Isabelle stared at her with a veiled expression for a long moment before turning to her husband. A look passed between them, and he nodded.

  Lord Wilmington turned and addressed the Duke of Newcastle. “I’m afraid our children are not properly suited for marriage,” he stated, his tone brooking no argument. “As such, I request the betrothal contract be voided without penalty, as both are unwilling to fulfill the terms.”

  The duke’s face paled, his eyes bulging with fury as he turned on his son. “You put her up to this, didn’t you?”

  Unperturbed, David smiled. “Though she and I are in agreement, Melly made her own decision to oppose this farcical arrangement. But even if I felt differently, Father, I would still respect her wishes. I want a wife who is happy to share my bed.”

  Knowing fully the hidden meaning behind his words, Mélisande winced. Damn David’s quick tongue! Why did he feel the need to constantly provoke his father?

  “Worthless spawn!” the duke spat. “I would disown you this minute were you not my only living heir! By George, I may still do so, and damn the succession! You’ll receive no further funds from the estate until the day you marry, and until that day arrives, I want you gone from my sight! And do not think to appeal to your mother!” he shouted, shaking his fist.

  Something dangerous sparked in David’s eyes. “Though I may frequently be found under them, I’ve never been one to hide behind a woman’s skirts, Father,” he quipped in a deceptively mild voice. “And I’ve no need of an allowance, as you well know. I’m quite content to continue making my own way in the world.”

  The lines bracketing his father’s mouth went white, but before the duke could act, David departed.

  Less than an hour later, a soft knock sounded at Mélisande’s door. Preparing for another battle, she bade her mother enter.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, her mother looked her in the eyes. “I knew you were changed after our visit to Versailles, but I attributed it to the shock of learning your true lineage. Now I know differently. I should have seen this coming. After all, you are the child of a man who is completely uninhibited in his passion and a woman who was reckless enough to follow her own desires to the very brink of ruin.”

  “Maman, I—”

  “I know what you experienced in Versailles,” her mother cut her off. “The same passion once overwhelmed me, and it has cost me much. I do not wish you to suffer as I have.”

  She looked sad and tired, and for the first time Mélisande noticed the fine network of lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes.

  “You would do well to marry David,” her mother advised, holding up a hand to forestall protest. “I know you find it an undesirable prospect now, but I ask you to trust me when I say that a marriage of this kind will save you from the sort of pain I have endured. Passion is made much of by the poets and romantics of this world, ma fille, but it is an unreliable guarantee of happiness.”

  Mélisande’s brow crinkled in consternation at her mother’s bitter tone. To all appearances, her mother led a happy, contented life.

  “I have no desire to break your heart, but I must save you from yourself,” her mother murmured sadly. “I am extremely fond of your—” She took a deep breath. “Of Spencer. He has been very good to me, and we have had many wonderful years together. But you already know that I once loved another, Mélisande. In truth, I have never stopped loving him, and I never will.”

  She paused to wipe away her tears. “I adore your papa, Mélisande—truly I do—but I’ve never loved him in that way. I wanted to, but I simply cannot. You must understand: though I had been groomed as a young woman to become the king’s mistress for my family’s gain, I knew I could never truly have him for my own. But it did not matter. Louis took my heart the moment I met him, and he has never given it back,” she whispered, her mouth twisting. “I loved him so desperately. For a courtesan, that is the ultimate folly.”

  Mélisande’s world tipped once again. A courtesan? So her involvement with Louis had not even been by chance, but a deliberate thing. She’d been trained to seduce him. My mother was a...

  “I was a very lucky fool,” her mother continued, ignorant of the tumult she’d caused. Your papa married me knowing I carried another man’s child because he was in love with me. Madly so. He still is.”

  “Does he know?” Mélisande whispered.

  Her mother looked at her with sorrow. “He learned the truth in Versailles. I could not hide it from him there, though I tried. You must know that I had no wish to wound him in this way. If I could have prevented it, I would have done. I regret that visit to France with all my heart, and wish now that we had kept you ignorant of the truth. There would have been a danger in it for you, but it would have been better than this.”

  With these words, all of Mélisande’s happy illusions shattered. Everything was a lie. Not only was her own identity founded on secrets and lies, but her parents’ marriage was a falsehood as well. How could she do it? Even though he’d been willing, how could her mother have used Papa like that?

  “Now you understand,” Isabelle muttered, her voice hollow, her eyes lifeless. “My heart has been divided all these years. I was parted from the man I loved more than life itself and married to another who loved me enough to overlook it. And he has been so good to me, so very kind. I have no better friend in all the world, and I know it. But there is a vast difference between loving someone and being in love with them, chérie. How I wish I’d met Spencer first! Then I might have loved him the way he deserved.”

  Her lovely face darkened with sudden fury. “And how I wish you’d never met that Italian cochon!” she hissed, making Mélisande flinch. “Had it not been for that, that horrid roué, you would have married David, had children, and been content! But now—now your tainted blood has been awakened.”

  “Maman—”

  “It is my fault, and I accept the blame,” said Isabelle, again cutting her off. “Unfortunately, you now pay the price for my sins. And David with you.” Taking a deep breath, she returned to her intended topic of discussion. “Mélisande, now that you are aware of your proclivity for passion, you must learn to control it, to master your own desires, for your own sake.”

  Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears as she gently held Mélisande’s face between her palms. “Spencer and I would not have you marry without the possibility of happiness—we love you, Mélisande. But, like David’s father, we expect you to marry someone of similar social standing. If you find yourself attracted to someone either beneath your station or beyond your reach, you must not let your passions drive you, as I did!”

  “I understand, Maman,” Mélisande said, wanting this uncomfortable conversation to end. “I will be careful.”

  “Caution is not enough to sway passion from its course, chérie,” her mother murmured after a moment, gracing her with a wry smile as she released her. “Guard your heart well. Hold it and your passion prisoner until you find someone deserving of such gifts.”

  Her expression grew calm. “The hour grows late. I must go now and prepare for dinner,”
she announced as if nothing more than polite conversation had just passed. “Will you come down, or shall I have a tray sent up?”

  THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

  ALESSANDRO’S STOMACH TIGHTENED with unease as he walked the halls of his childhood home. He’d bravely faced men in battle many times, in both war and single combat, but this was different. Beyond the heavy doors at the end of this hall sat the only man on earth with the power to make him feel insignificant, which in his opinion was far worse than death.

  Bracing himself, Alessandro forced a careless smile to his lips as he opened the doors and strode into his father’s study.

  The Duke of Gravina looked up from his desk, impaling him with accusing eyes. “Ah, the prodigal son, at last. What took you so long?” the querulous old man snapped, a disapproving frown creasing his leathery face. “I summoned you nearly two months ago!”

  “My journey was delayed by a foul-tempered monarch and equally ill-tempered weather. Do not ask me to name the worse, for I would be unable to distinguish between man and nature by the behavior of either,” Alessandro answered with levity. “But Italy has welcomed me back with gentle arms. I’d almost forgotten how lovely it is here in spring. The countryside is so peaceful and refreshing after years spent serving the Empire in cold, noisy, filth-ridden cities like Paris and Petersburg.”

  His father glowered from beneath bushy, grey brows. “Serving? Pah! Do not provoke me with your impertinence! I have been kept informed regarding your reprehensible behavior while you are supposed to be acting as a representative of Rome. If you have served anyone, it has been yourself.”

  “It was not my intent to be impertinent, father,” Alessandro countered, maintaining a benign expression. He’d accomplished every assignment given him, achieved every goal set by his superiors. How he spent his personal time was no one’s business but his own. He let it go for the sake of peace. “I was merely trying to be pleasant.”