50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (12 page)

He lay in the bed, his mind drifting through scenarios. And for the first time ever, he allowed himself to contemplate marrying her in truth. Many a man would happily trade his title for a lifetime of passion between the sheets.

No, that was a lie. Else there would be dozens of courtesans now named Lady This or Countess That. And even if that did happen, could he truly pick his duchess simply on her prowess in bed?

Of course not. He owed more to his family name. Mellie was a cit. He didn't like the term, but it was appropriate. She could certainly trade her dowry for a title, but his family was neither disgraced nor impoverished. There was no reason for him to stoop to her class for his bride, and every reason to make sure that his wife understood what was required of a woman who would become a duchess.

Mellie did not know these things, as Eleanor had made pains to point out. And even if she could learn them, there was no escaping the rest: her birth was common, her mother a lunatic, and her father an eccentric. Certainly, he adored both Mellie and her father, but that was no reason to bring them into the family.

The gossips wouldn't stop with poking at her true history. They would make up all sorts of nonsense, and it would continue every day of their lives, renewed each Season, and brought out with extra imagination on special occasions.

Mellie would crumple under the strain. No woman could handle constant criticism, no matter the training. Besides, he wasn't anxious to become the man who failed his title.

In short, marrying her wasn't proper behavior in a gentleman. There were well-founded reasons to marry within one's class, so as delightful as Mellie was in the bedroom, he could not hurt her so deeply as to subject her to a lifetime of being reviled by his family.

He could not.

He'd never despised being a gentleman more.

Be careful of other women. They can be your greatest allies or your worst enemies.

Melinda liked to sleep in. Certainly she enjoyed morning sunshine, and everyone liked the early song of birds at the window, but late-night brandies and even later visits from future dukes left her lingering long in her bed. Or at least that had been her plan.

Eleanor knocked politely on her door then sauntered in. That was bad enough given that Melinda was buried deep in the covers and hadn't bid her enter. But the woman started talking as if they had been in the middle of a conversation, which was decidedly not the case.

“I don't mind telling you that this is a task I begin to relish. It has been ages since my own come out, and one forgets how exciting firsts can be. The first ball gown, the first dance.”

The
first
orgasm.

Mellie felt her face heat, and she buried herself in her pillow. She'd spent the first half of the night waiting for Trevor to knock on her door, and the second half reliving every second of the way he had touched her. She had thought sleep would bring an end to her salacious remembrances, but instead it had given fodder to a host of erotic dreams that still had her wet and throbbing in places that had never throbbed before.

“Tut tut. None of that.”

Mellie had to bite her cheek to keep from giggling. “None of that” was right. No proper girl would allow what she had done last night, and yet she knew that if Trevor so much as winked at her, she would be rushing off to do whatever he suggested.

“Come, come,” Eleanor continued as she came to the head of the bed. Melinda burrowed deeper. “No hiding from this. We're going dress shopping. You cannot say you'd rather laze in bed.”

Good point. Mellie frowned into her pillow as she thought about it. Did she love dress shopping? It was fun to pick out fabrics and the like. And she had a rather good time with the seamstress at her local village. They would discuss clothing in an academic way, mostly about her uncle's fabrics and how women used them and why. It was basic information from someone who had learned that Mellie valued her opinion. And that was fun.

“Trust me,” Eleanor continued as she tugged at the coverlet. “I have it all planned out.”

Melinda groaned. Another smart plan from someone who didn't know her or understand the least thing about what she wanted. But in this case, that was probably the point. After all, Melinda had no idea how to appear a prancing bear in front of the
ton
, so she might as well leave that in Eleanor's hands. The image of the elegant Lady Eleanor leading a bear by the string had her smiling enough that she peered out from beneath the covers.

“That's it,” Eleanor encouraged. “Perform your ablutions. The duchess will be here in a moment to take your measurements. She used to be a seamstress, you know, though we don't speak about it. And then Lady Redhill is joining us for morning chocolate before we head to the shop to look at fabrics.”

Mellie pushed up from the covers. “In a moment? How much of a moment?”

“Five minutes, ten minutes, an hour? Who knows? Though she does have a shopkeeper's attention to time, so probably five minutes. Or less.”

Bloody hell. She was not dressed for a duchess! Meanwhile, Eleanor was apparently pleased to have roused her, but not so pleased as to give a smile. Instead, she inspected Mellie's features closely, even going so far as to tug open the curtains such that the room was flooded with sunlight.

“Hmmm. I shall tell her to give you fifteen minutes, but not a second more. I take it the cosmetics you've designed is to fade your freckles? Or was it to ease the wrinkles?”

“I don't have wrinkles,” Melinda said. At least she didn't think she did.

“Not yet, but I do see the beginnings of one right between your brows.” To make her point, she lifted up a hand mirror to show her. And right there were two lines already bracketing her brows. And to make matters worse, they weren't even symmetrical. The one on the right was a fraction deeper and longer. Damn, she couldn't even wrinkle normally.

She rubbed her hand between her brows to smooth things down. It worked for about a second. She tried pulling at them, arching her brows, any number of things while Eleanor watched in silence. And then, about when Melinda had given up, Eleanor spoke gently.

“I have a potion that might help, though in my experience, it is a losing game. The best plan is not to allow lines to appear in the first place. That is done by adopting a serene expression at all times. In truth, that is the source of an aristocratic bearing.”

“No wrinkles?”

“Total serenity. At all times. No matter the provocation.”

Melinda stared at the woman, studying the flawless perfection that was Lady Eleanor. Her skin was pristine, almost translucent. No wrinkle, no freckle, no unsightly blemish or unattractive lump marred the perfection of her features. And given that she'd lost practically her entire family to disease not more than a year before, Lady Eleanor's perfection indicated she was either the very definition of serene or a coldhearted shrew.

No, Mellie thought, that couldn't be true. Shrews, in her experience, had tight expression and pinched brows. Which meant that Eleanor managed a serenity beyond comprehension.

“How?” she whispered, awed by the woman before her.

“Practice. A great deal of practice.”

Melinda shook her head. “I don't think I can do it.”

To which the lady allowed her lips to curve just enough for a smile, but not too much to create lines. “Good. Because in your case, it isn't necessary. Remember, the plan is for you to be outré.”

“But—”

“That means you are expected to have lines and wrinkles young. If you were outrageous
and
beautiful, the ladies of the
ton
would turn on you like rabid dogs.”

Which, she supposed, meant that she wasn't beautiful. That wasn't much of a surprise, yet it still stung to hear it spoken so baldly. But she wasn't given time to ponder that as Eleanor paused enough to narrow her eyes—slightly—before smoothing them out and speaking in a low tone.

“That is your first and most important lesson, Melinda,” she said, her words almost too quiet to hear. “Everyone in the
ton
has a plan, and I do mean everyone.”

“A plan?”

“A stratagem. A way of acting. A reason they do things.”

Mellie suddenly understood. “Like the gentleman's code.”

“Ah yes, but you will soon learn that one gentleman's code is vastly different from another's.”

That she'd already discovered.

“You must use that prodigious mind of yours to figure out their code and circumvent it. Unless of course, it aligns with yours.”

Melinda nodded, though her heart rebelled at the idea. “But that means I shall be constantly looking for hidden meanings behind every action and every word.” That would be exhausting.

This time, Lady Eleanor beamed at her enough that a faint line appeared about her mouth. “Excellent. You understand. Now hurry! Our stratagem begins in ten minutes.” And with that, she flowed out of the room. She didn't seem to walk, but just rippled her way out the door, moving like air over water.

Serenity personified. Mellie was impressed and suitably intimidated. Because that was not something she could ever do. She had always known she had no halfway point. She either retreated into herself such that she became a statue, or she invested herself fully. In her scientific pursuits. In her father's experiments. Or…

In what she and Trevor had done last night.

Full sensuality, full engagement in absolutely every aspect of their exploration. Which meant that it was a good thing she was set to become outré. She would have to commit to it, of course. She would have to learn and act her part as devoutly as she might some new chemistry exploration. But that was something she could do.

So with renewed determination, she cleaned up and readied herself to become something entirely different than the woman she was now. It was strangely easy. All she had to do was stop thinking and allow everyone else to do exactly as they pleased.

* * *

Trevor woke with a raging headache and a stiff cock such as hadn't happened since he was a teen. Dreams of Mellie, of course. One after another until he couldn't breathe without thinking he'd explode. So for the second time in a matter of hours, he indulged himself in dreams of her while stroking himself to the inevitable conclusion. And just like last night, it wasn't enough. He clearly wanted the real woman.

So with that thought in mind, he cleaned himself and dressed with more care than he had in ages. It was a difficult task to strike that balance between personal perfection and casual insouciance. After all, he didn't want to look as if he'd made an effort. Matters were made all that more difficult since he had no valet and half his body was stiff or discolored from his bout with Ronnie. His clothes were crushed, his hairbrush was missing, and he had the distinct fear that his breath was strong enough to make a dog run. Not a very auspicious beginning to the day.

Still, he managed and was rather proud of the result. Then he went down to luncheon with the happy expectation of greeting his fiancée. He found Eleanor instead. She was calmly stirring her tea as she stared out the window at the most boring garden he'd ever seen. Exactly two bushes of a hardy variety and neither faring too well. Not surprising. It was London after all. It was impressive enough that there was any patch of green outside this back parlor.

“Good morning, Eleanor. Is Mellie—”

“Good morning, Trevor. I trust you will be removing yourself from this household today.”

“I slept well, thank you. And you?” He frowned. Wait a moment. “What did you say?”

She set down her teacup and looked at him directly. He could detect no change from her normal placid expression, and yet there was a hardness in her eyes. “I love this house. It is one of the few remaining jewels in my family's crown. There is actual jewelry, of course, and the estate is lovely. But it is this home in London that I love. Perfectly substantial for a ducal residence, and exquisitely placed in the most exalted area of town.”

Having no response to that, Trevor found a seat and wondered if his friend had gone mad.

“It does have its quirks, though, as all buildings do. You understand, don't you, Trevor?”

No, he really didn't. “Quirks,” he echoed. “I'm sure they're delightful.”

“Not generally. Certainly not the thin walls. They are drafty, you understand, and I can hear the smallest peep of a mouse at all hours of the day. Or night.”

Oh damn. Her bedroom was right beside Mellie's. Which meant Eleanor had heard him last night. Good God. His face heated, and he was grateful for the distraction as Seelye brought him a cup of tea. Good man, that butler. Remembered his likes. But then a moment later, the man set down a hearty plate of eggs and toast, which was definitely not his favorite way to break his fast.

“Actually, Seelye, I prefer—”

“I ordered this specifically for you, Trevor. I hope you enjoy it.”

Trevor narrowed his eyes. “You know I dislike…” His voice trailed off as Eleanor regarded him calmly. Right. First off, it wasn't done among his set to argue in front of the servants. Secondly, she knew that he had a distinct dislike of eggs in the morning, especially ones such as this: thin and runny. Which meant this was his punishment for his nighttime roaming.

“You were saying?” she prompted.

“Hm? Oh yes, that I dislike, um, waiting for my food. Such a gracious hostess you are.”

Eleanor dipped her chin in acknowledgment. The translation was clear: you are forgiven for your transgression.

He tucked into his eggs with an inward sigh. A good guest always ate what was set before him. “So has Mellie risen yet?”

“Hours ago. She is busy with Her Grace right now. I doubt you will see her before you depart.”

There it was, the blithe assumption that he would be leaving. But he had no interest in departing just yet, for a myriad of reasons. First and foremost was the desire to be sure things with Mellie proceeded smoothly. This was all very new to her, and he would not abandon her to it. Certainly not to the tender mercies of Eleanor, who could be high-handed at times. And that was the nicest compliment he could think of at the moment.

“Oh, my plans aren't so cluttered as all that. And the duke has been so kind as to—”

“Is she to be married honorably or not?”

No need to belabor. Obviously, the question was about Mellie. “Married. How could you think—?”

“Then you shall be leaving directly, Trevor. You have put her in my charge. I do not chaperone mistresses or ladies of loose morals. I have the strictest standards, as you well know.”

“Of course—”

“Then you will be departing directly.”

Trevor shut his mouth with a hard clip. It took him a moment to get past his anger, but in the end he had to admit the truth. She was right. She was ten thousand times right, damn her eyes. But that didn't mean it sat well. “This is a delicate situation, as you know. I am the only one of Mellie's acquaintances here. You are strangers to her. I'm thinking of her comfort.” It wasn't a lie. But he was also thinking about other things as well, not the least of which was her desire to be better educated in certain carnal experiences.

“I don't doubt it in the least,” Eleanor said, her tone of voice indicating anything but. Then she looked up, her gaze on the butler. “Thank you, Seelye. If you would please deliver a message to the mews, we shall be needing the carriage directly.”

The butler bowed deeply. “Right away, my lady.”

Eleanor waited until the servant had withdrawn, then she turned her gaze to Trevor. But she didn't say a word. She didn't need to. He was squirming from just the force of her gaze and the weight of his own guilt. He was in the wrong. He had snuck into Mellie's room last night. He had behaved as no gentleman would. And yet, he was loathe to simply give up his position without a fight.