50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (15 page)

Her eyes widened, and she looked slightly horrified. “Oh Trevor, I couldn't,” she whispered. By which he took it to mean she couldn't wear it when they weren't truly engaged. But he shook his head.

“My grandfather didn't respond to my request for the ring. And he wasn't at home to me when I visited.”

He watched as her lips formed a perfect
O
of understanding. It was exactly as they'd predicted: his grandfather was opposed to the match. That was, after all, the plan, so that it would be easier when she cried off. But it still infuriated Trevor that he hadn't been able to get the signet ring for his fake bride.

“It's better this way.”

“The hell it is. I'll not have you slighted, Mellie. I…” Damnation, he was doing this wrong. He fumbled to remove the jewelers pouch from his pocket. Then he held up her hand and pressed it into her palm.

“Trevor—”

“Wait. Please.” He covered her hand with his, preventing her from looking at the contents of the pouch. “Before you look, understand that I meant it as a bit of whimsy. Once I realized that my grandfather wouldn't give me the ring, I thought…I thought this would be funny. But now I realize how silly the idea was.” This was her engagement ring, after all. People would judge her by the ring she wore. “There are two rings in there. One for me and one for you. To let you know that you are not in this alone.”

She looked at him, wariness in her expression. Except when he looked closer, he realized she did not seem worried. More…well, there was a misty kind of smile on her lips. Far from reassuring him, that made him feel all the more anxious.

“Mellie, I swear, I wasn't making fun of you. I'd never make—”

“Oh, for God's sake, man, let her look.” That came from the duke who was standing close enough to overhear every word. Along with the duchess and Eleanor.

Trevor shot them an annoyed look. This was meant to be a moment between him and Mellie. But there was no help for it, especially as a gong sounded, no doubt to signal their supper was ready.

“Mellie—”

“Trevor. Let me see them.”

He had no choice, did he? Not only Mellie, but everyone else in the
ton
would see it tonight. Might as well get it over with. So he withdrew his hand and waited with his belly knotted as she carefully opened the pouch and let two rings fall into her palm.

She looked at hers first. It was an emerald set in gold, but fashioned to look like a cricket. Sweeping antennae flowed over the stone, then back and around to encircle her finger.

His ring was equally fanciful. It bore two round diamonds, fashioned to look like enormous fly eyes. In this case, the wings of the fly became the circle of the ring.

“It's the Cricket Princess and the Bug-Eyed Duke,” he said, worried when she hadn't spoken. “I thought—”

She laughed. A musical chuckle that became a full trill of laughter. It was much like he'd imagined she'd react when reading his letters, and yet it was so much prettier than he'd pictured. The sound flowed strong and happy, and he could not believe his eyes when she held both rings up to the light.

“These are wonderful, Trevor!”

She started to put hers on, but the duchess stopped her with a loud, “Tut tut!”

And when Mellie paused to look at their audience, Eleanor explained.

“He's supposed to put it on your finger.”

Normally, he hated such silly formality. What did it matter who put the ring on her finger so long as she wore it? But in this, he agreed with tradition. With as much gravity as he could manage, he took the ring from her, then lifted up her hand and slipped it onto her finger. She looked down at it while he looked at her.

There was laughter in her eyes, he was sure. And a smile played about her mouth. “I love it,” she whispered.

“But it's too small,” said Eleanor in disgust.

Mellie held up her hand. “It fits me perfectly.”

“But it's supposed to go over your glove, not underneath it.”

Trevor shook his head. “No. The signet ring goes over the glove. This is Mellie's ring. I hope you will keep it forever.”

The duchess snorted. “Well, of course she'll keep it forever. It's her engagement ring.”

Which would be true if they were going to get married. He and Mellie shared a look of silent misery. Who knew what her real husband would think of such a thing? But it didn't matter as Mellie then held up his hand.

“And shall I put on yours, Mr. Buggy Duke?”

He groaned, but he extended his finger. “I do hate that name, you know.”

“That's what makes it perfect,” she said as she slipped it on. “There now. We're a pair.”

And he felt it. He felt as if they were well matched. For better or worse, they were in this together. So he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss first to her ring, then again to her palm. In that one gesture, he tried to express all of his better nature. He wanted to say that he was a gentleman and would treat her as the lady she was. He would honor her and stand by her side no matter what happened.

But even as he pressed his lips to her palm, he realized the futility of it all. He was not a gentleman, because this engagement was a lie. He was not honorable because he still intended to teach her the joys of her body as soon as he could find a way.

And no matter how beautiful she was, tonight's guests would make it their mission to make her feel odd, outcast, and wholly unworthy.

Be hard and calculating like a man. Do not let feminine emotions enter your head or worse, your heart.

Mellie tried not to pace in the upstairs parlor of the Redhill home. Normally she would sit quietly with her hands composed in front of her. Her father had trained that position into her from her earliest memory. He believed hands folded in quiet repose was the best position for a quiet mind. The two of them had practiced it every day until she could sit in silent meditation for nearly an hour. And yes, it usually did quiet her mind.

But to sit now would crush the feathers on her dress. To sit now would be to suggest that this riot of emotions in her mind was a bad thing. And truthfully, she rather enjoyed it. She had never felt more alive in her life.

Well, never felt more alive when doing something proper.

And that thought naturally brought her to Trevor and the wonderful things she still wanted to do with him. She reached for the ring on her finger, but couldn't truly see it because of her glove. Still, she felt it on her finger, solid and whimsical at once. The idea that he wore a matching ring on his finger made her grin. She'd wanted so desperately to kiss him when he'd given this to her. She'd wanted…well…those were not the thoughts of a proper woman, so she tried to put them away.

She tried to quiet her mind while standing, but failed utterly. She was about to be presented to the
ton
and in a spectacular fashion. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought this day might come.

Lady Redhill had stated two weeks ago that the Cricket Princess wearing a feathered gown needed an equally dramatic presentation. So while everyone entered the ballroom in the usual fashion—Trevor included—she was to wait upstairs until Seelye came to fetch her. It was to be just before the dancing began. At that time, Seelye would escort her downstairs and hand her off to the Redhill majordomo, who would announce her to the
ton
. And then Trevor was to climb the stairs to escort her down to Lord and Lady Redhill.

After the greeting there, Helaine and her husband would open the ball with a dance: a waltz. Trevor and Mellie would be the second couple on the floor. Everyone would be looking at her, everyone wondering who was this strange cit in feathers who had captured the heart of a future duke.

She ought to be terrified. She ought to be embarrassed. After all, she was wearing feathers, for God's sake. But she wasn't. She was elated and excited and filled with a giddy terror. It was wonderful, and all she wanted to do was spin around and laugh before falling into Trevor's arms.

Joy. Oh, such joy as she had never felt before. If only time would speed up and Seelye would knock.

Knock, knock.

She gasped and spun around. Was it time already?

The door opened, and a man stepped in. He wasn't Seelye. He wasn't even the Redhill majordomo, or any servant that she could tell. He was tall with dark, curling hair and a physique most handsomely displayed in his black evening clothes. His face was cut in angular lines, which emphasized the bump on his nose from where it had been broken at some point. And his dark brown eyes were particularly handsome, though it was his mouth that drew the eye. Full lips when she might have expected severe, and a curve at the edges that grew when he looked at her.

“Goodness, but you're not Redhill,” he said. His voice matched the angles of his face—gravelly and sharp. But his smile softened the tone. And the frank appreciation of her dress made her flush with embarrassed pleasure.

“No, sir,” she said, belatedly remembering to curtsy. “I believe his lordship is downstairs greeting guests.”

“Well, he would be, wouldn't he? Except he seems to have disappeared, and as I had some urgent matters to discuss with him, I thought I'd catch him. But of course, I seem to have caught you instead.”

She had no answer to that, so she lifted her chin. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone her name. Not until she was announced. At the time, she'd thought Eleanor's dictate ridiculous. After all, who would see her but the servants? This man, apparently. So she smiled and folded her hands before her, secretly pressing her ring against her finger. This was her first true
ton
meeting, and she needed the reassurance of Trevor with her, if only in the form of a hard cricket ring.

“Allow me to present myself. Mr. Carl Rausch, at your service,” he said.

She dipped her chin. “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”

“No need to tell me who you are. You're the mysterious Miss Smithson. And I must say, you're living up to expectations.”

She arched a brow. “We've only just met, sir. I cannot have lived up to anything.”

“On the contrary,” he said as he leaned negligently against the door frame. “You are indeed beautiful. I believe the betting books were in your favor on that. Trevor was never one for ugly girls.”

She kept her expression calm, but internally, she winced. Part of her couldn't help wondering if that was one of the reasons Trevor told her they wouldn't suit: because she wasn't beautiful enough.

“And Miss Smithson, I'm afraid I have a secret source. You see—I know your uncle.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Yes, he and I have had some dealings regarding his mill.”

“But I have nothing to do with the mill.”

His smile widened to the point that it appeared nearly wolfish. Angular face, wide smile that showed teeth, and those rakish black locks. Mellie silently revised her estimate of him. He was not handsome, but he was vastly interesting. Especially as he spoke of her greatest accomplishment with admiration.

“I know that you are the one responsible for the bleaching process your uncle uses. I also know that you have continued to work and have an exciting new formula. And that, my dear, makes you brilliant.”

She felt her cheeks heat. Finally, someone who understood that she was smart. As fun as it was to wear a gown covered in feathers, this was true pleasure. This was someone who appreciated the years of dedicated effort she had put into science.

“Do the betting books also list me as a bluestocking?”

“Strangely, no. But I believe that is the work of Lady Eleanor. Bluestockings cannot be of the first stare of fashion, and so she has likely downplayed your intelligence.” Again his smile widened. “I believe I shall win a great deal of money when your true talents are revealed.”

“You bet on my intelligence?” She ought to be insulted, but she wasn't. He was obviously a discerning man, and so why shouldn't he make money by learning the truth about her?

“I did.” He pushed off the wall to fully enter the salon. “Do prove me correct by allowing me to introduce you to my chemical society friends. I believe you and they will have a great deal to talk about.”

“You are not a student yourself?”

“Not of the sciences, though I enjoy a mathematical discourse or two. My interests lie more in the realm of economics.”

“Money,” she said.

“And how to make a lot of it.”

He was completely unabashed in his mercenary desire, and in this he reminded her of her uncle. Though her uncle was never this handsome or this refined. While she stood there mentally comparing him to her uncle, he stepped directly before her, possessed her hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Then he continued to hold her hand as he gazed into her eyes.

“Do say yes,” he said. Only he didn't just say it. He smiled it. He teased it. No, he
persuaded
it. And her.

“Yes,” she said before she even remembered what she was agreeing to.

“Excellent,” he said as he lifted her hand even higher. There, dangling on her wrist, was her dance card. “I shall find you for our dance and then lead you to supper afterward. Most of my friends can join us then.”

“Oh no,” she said. “I'm sure I'm supposed to go into supper with Trevor.”

He arched his brows as he wrote his name on her card. “Trevor should join us then,” he said. “He always enjoys a lively scientific debate.”

“Of course he does,” she said, feeling rather dazzled by the way he simply took possession of her hand, her dance card, and her activities. It was the last part that annoyed her the most. So she pulled her card back, but not before he'd scrawled his name on the last dance before supper. “He and I are affianced, and this is our first ball together. Wouldn't it be odd if I made plans without him?”

He straightened, pursed his lips, and seemed to consider her thoughts. “I can see your point, but I'm afraid it betrays your country upbringing.
Ton
couples do not live in one another's pockets.” Then he shrugged. “But do as you wish. I have no interest in making things awkward for you. I simply thought you would enjoy my friends' company.”

Put like that, she felt like a shrew. He had only been trying to give her some scientific conversation. And given that she had spoken only of fabrics and fashion for the last two weeks, not to mention dance lessons, French lessons, and lists of names she had to memorize, she would sorely love some simple scientific discourse.

“Very well, sir. I suppose I didn't understand.”

He brightened considerably. “Excellent! I'm sure my friends will be delighted to hear about your newest formula.” Then he leaned forward, close enough for her to see the striations in his dark eyes. “I don't suppose you'd like to give me a hint. What exactly is this new recipe of yours?”

She blinked at him, making sure her expression was wide and innocent. “My uncle didn't tell you?”

“He was about to, but I'm afraid we were interrupted. We're to meet later in the month, but it would save me some time if you simply explained it now.”

Of course it would. Especially since she was sure her uncle could absolutely not have told him the recipe, as she hadn't shared it with him yet.

“Oh my,” she declared. “It's really a simple skin cream. Designed to be mixed in with a man's shaving soap. Makes the beard stand up straighter, so that it can be cut more easily.”

“Really?” he said. “I'm fascinated.”

“Would you like me to write it down for you?” She looked around then sighed. “But I have no pen or paper.”

“No matter. I have an excellent memory. Just tell it to me.”

“Mind you do it exactly.” Then she began to recite it in specific detail. Except the formula she gave him was not for a skin cream to make a man's beard stand up. It was one to make him stink. Horribly. And for days on end.

Though on the up side, it would likely kill any sheep ticks that lived on his face. That was how they'd discovered it. It was one of her father's concoctions to destroy sheep tick larvae, but they had to discard the formula because of the awful stench.

“Do you have it?” she asked.

He repeated it verbatim.

“Excellent! You should try it in your hair as well,” she said. “It makes the strands fuller. We plan to make it into a soap for balding men.”

“An excellent idea. You are most definitely brilliant.”

“And you, my lord, are…” A trickster. A seducer. “…a very clever man.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I merely recognize cleverness in others. And now, I should leave. I'm sure Lady Eleanor has a grand entrance planned, and I shouldn't like to damage that.”

“No, Lady Eleanor wouldn't like that you are up here now.”

“Then I will bid you adieu until our dance.”

She smiled and dropped into a small curtsy. By the time she straightened, the door had already shut behind him. Which left her alone to think of the man. To analyze—

“Miss Smithson? It's time.”

“Seelye. I didn't even hear you open the door.”

“Silence is highly prized in a good butler,” he returned.

In more ways than one, she should think. She wondered if he had seen Mr. Rausch as he ducked back to the ballroom. And if he had, would he tell anyone that she'd been alone and unchaperoned with him?

“Don't be nervous, Miss Smithson. Lady Eleanor knows just what she's about.”

She had no doubt about Eleanor. It was her own performance tonight that she worried about. But she didn't allow that to show on her face. Instead, she lifted her chin.

“Well then, Seelye. I suppose it's time I made a spectacle of myself.”

The butler gave her a rare smile before holding up her dark green cloak with the stylized antennae on the hood. The plan was to pull it off at the top of the stairs, thereby revealing her in all her feathered glory.

Just as she stepped into concealing garment, she heard Seelye speak.

“Mr. Anaedsley is a lucky man.” The words were spoken quietly, almost too soft for her to hear. And when she finally straightened and turned to look at the butler, his face was its usual impassive expression.

Oddly enough, the sight reassured her as nothing else. They all had their rolls to play, didn't they? Seelye was the stoic butler. She was the blushing innocent. Even Mr. Rausch was the mysterious distraction.

But what was Trevor? Was he the ardent lover? Or merely another clever schemer? She supposed she would have to get to the end of the play to find out. So she descended the stairs, belatedly realizing she was leaving a small trail of feathers in her wake.

Just how much of her dress was she going to lose before the night was done? She didn't really care about the answer. She was distracting herself as she walked the long corridor to the top of the ballroom stairs. And then she was there. Seelye passed her off to the Redhill majordomo before fading back into the shadows.

Now was the moment. She stepped to the top of the stairs, keeping her head down and fully covered beneath the cloak. She wasn't to look up until she was announced.

“Miss Melinda Smithson.”

The murmur of the crowd silenced. Someone whisked her cloak off. Then she lifted her chin and looked…