Invitation to Ruin (10 page)

He felt a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. Freedom? What kind of freedom was she thinking of? Did she wish to take lovers? Was she already planning to carry on with the man she’d been dreaming of?

“You may live however you please, madam, as long as you do not disgrace the Wickham name, and that includes taking any lovers once you become my wife.”

She gasped. “That is not what I meant, Anthony. I would never dishonor you or myself with such behavior.”

He briefly closed his eyes at her words. She may think that an easy promise, assuming as she did that she would be sharing his bed. Yet as the long, cold, lonely years passed by, how strong would she be then? God, he was a cruel man.

He gave her a cool glance. “I thought that might be what you wanted your freedom for. I will not tolerate infidelity
from my wife. I require to know that any children we have are actually my own.”

He did not give a damn what she did with her life, but she would not share her body with another. He wanted Richard’s children to inherit the title, not some by-blow.

“You like children then?”

He did not like where this conversation was heading. Her question tore at his soul. He did not want to lie to her. He worded his reply carefully. “I like children, yes.”

Her face broke into a radiant smile, and her other hand drifted to her stomach. “I have always wanted children. It is one reason why I have agreed so readily to this union.”

He cringed; he could not bear the thought that he may have got her with child. That was his worst nightmare. He would have to banish her to Glenforay if a child was born. He wouldn’t risk subjecting a child to a man with his dark soul. He believed, deep down, he was his father’s son. That was the reason he’d been so careful in his liaisons with women. He always withdrew, ensuring his seed never took root.

Over the years, he’d fought so hard not to succumb to the evil of his upbringing, but what if a child was his tipping point? Perhaps it had been his birth that had set his father down the path to darkness. Hadn’t their mother said he’d changed once his sons had been born.

This was so unfair. Melissa had done nothing wrong except be in the wrong place at the most inconvenient time.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the approach of a man on a fine black stallion, Lord Dashell.
Perfect. Just what this afternoon’s ride needed. The first person to approach would have to be the man of her dreams, the man she would likely turn to for comfort
.

Anthony hardened his features.

What did he care? She was to be his wife in name only. She could pine her life away for all he cared. As long as she remained faithful to him, she would not suffer.

Anthony’s grip on the reins tightened further; the horses
neighed in protest. He could not name the emotion suddenly gripping his innards at the sight of the intimate smile Lord Dashell gave Melissa, and worse, he felt the beast in him rising, fast and furious, as she returned it.

“Miss Goodly, how lovely to see you this afternoon.”

He should have heeded Rufus’s words. Dangerous at any time, he recognized he was becoming more so. He wanted no other man near her, especially the man who she dreamed of taking to her bed. The emotion and sexual hunger rising together were unforeseen, a fireball streaking through his gut, burning his blood, sharpening his appetites.

He could not believe it—he was jealous. He went absolutely cold, frightened out of his wits.

Then he let vent to his fury, how could he be jealous of a woman he’d not wanted or desired? A woman, who if he got her pregnant, threatened his very sanity.

Because she’s yours, a voice in his head whispered.

He was so consumed with anger he’d missed her initial greeting to Lord Dashell. She was attempting introductions. “Lord Dashell, may I present Lord Wickham”—she hesitated for a few seconds—”my betrothed.”

Lord Dashell did not even try to hide his surprise.

Anthony’s fingers curled into tight fists until his knuckles turned white, watching the look of horror and then anger flit over Dashell’s face. Dashell it seemed did have his eye on Melissa.

With barely concealed contempt, Lord Dashell’s eyes raised to his and he said, “Lord Wickham and I are well acquainted. Congratulations, Wickham. What act has brought this unexpected turn of events to pass?”

Anthony gave a lazy smile, hiding his inner turmoil. “When I see something I want, I go after it.”

Melissa gave a start beside him, the movement so small hopefully only he’d noticed it.

Anthony knew Dashell disliked him intensely, ever since he’d lost his favorite mistress to Anthony almost two years
ago. Anthony couldn’t even remember her name, but it obviously still irked Dashell.

Dashell’s cold blue eyes moved arrogantly over Anthony’s face before they swept indecently over Melissa’s, imprinting each delicate feature before coming to rest on her lush mouth.

The beast inside wanted to lash out at his opponent.

“You had us all fooled, Wickham. We thought it was Lady Sudbury you’d set your cap at. It would seem you’re changing hats, one wonders why? Perhaps you’re simply being very greedy.”

The implication that he’d already had Cassandra and was moving on to greener pastures was not lost on Anthony. Nor was it lost on Melissa. Her face had stained a brilliant red. The urge to jump from the carriage and pound Dashell into the ground set a fiery rage blazing inside him. He made to leap from the carriage, but Melissa’s hand stilled him.

He attacked from the front. “I did not know you were intending to call on Miss Goodly. History seems to be repeating itself.”

He felt rather than saw Melissa shrink back in her seat.

Dashell’s face flushed with color. “We have no understanding.” He addressed Melissa. “I see the rumors are true. Your brother will be pleased. Lord Wickham has a very fat wallet.”

Melissa gasped.

Anthony’s voice lowered and his tone was ice cold. “I always knew underneath that façade of nobility you had no manners. I’d move on before my patience runs out. If you’d like to discuss the topic further, meet me at my club later.”

Dashell grinned at Anthony’s obvious anger. “That won’t be necessary. I cannot see anything here I’m interested in,” he said, and turned his horse around and cantered off.

Anthony’s rage still blazed. “I apologize, Melissa. There was no need for you to hear that. Lord Dashell has a grudge against me for a matter that occurred a while back. His
words had nothing to do with hurting you, but more to do with annoying me.”

“ ‘Tis of no concern. I was silly to have thought him a gentleman.” Her soft words, filled with hurt, did nothing to alleviate his anger.

The rest of their ride was uneventful, yet they’d accomplished what they’d set out to do. Dowager Countess Millington had stopped their carriage and hadn’t wasted any time finding out the significance of the ride in the park. It would be all over London by this evening—Lord Wickham was to marry.

   As they turned for home, Melissa still noticed the anger ruminating from the man sitting like stone beside her. Gone was her charming companion. In his place was the brooding, dark devil.

He still couldn’t be angry over Lord Dashell’s appalling behavior. She’d all but forgotten it. She had no idea if she’d said or done anything to upset him, but she could see he was barely holding on to his temper.

Tentatively she placed her hand on his arm. She felt him tense at her touch. “Is there something troubling you?”

“I won’t have you flaunting yourself to attract other men. I’ll not be made a cuckold.” It was not a polite request; it was a barked order.

“You have me confused with my cousin. I do not flirt to attract men. I find the less I have to do with men, the better.”

He turned hard, coal-black eyes, flaming with suppressed fury, on her. “Make sure it stays that way.”

Refusing to be intimidated, Melissa returned his hard gaze. “It would seem the less I have to do with you would be very desirable.”

“Don’t provoke me. You’ll not like the outcome.”

Melissa shivered. What had started as a pleasant ride to get to know one another had disintegrated into bandied insults. She decided to be the bigger person. “I’m sorry. I am
not usually so defensive, but your behavior does make it hard to like you.”

He studied her for a moment. “I don’t require you to like me, just to honor your vows.”

She raised an eyebrow. “All of my vows?” He did not answer. “Because the vows require me to love, honor, and obey. I am assuming you only require two of the three?” she added sweetly.

His mouth thinned. “Love is a fallacy.” Melissa blanched. “Don’t mention the word love again,” he said flatly.

She swallowed back a retort. What on earth was the matter with the man? Their ride had been progressing amiably until the encounter with Lord Dashell. Yet, Lord Dashell had insulted her, not him. Why, anyone would think Anthony was … jealous. Her mouth dropped open in amazement as she took in the rigidity of his shoulders and the way he tightly gripped the reins.

Was he jealous?

Warmth bloomed in her chest like a bud blossoming in the spring sunshine.

A tiny sliver of hope filled her. Perhaps she could make something of this disaster. Could she make a man like Lord Wickham fall in love with her?

Melissa felt slightly sick. She’d resigned herself to a life not of her making, a life where she was a piece of property changing ownership, and now dangling in front of her was an opportunity for more. Here was a chance to attain her dream, to find love.

She glanced sideways and looked at the man beside her. His expression was hard and sensual and more than a little fierce. Yet, he did not scare her. She wasn’t fooling herself. A man like Anthony would not succumb to love easily. He would see it as a weakness, something to be avoided at all costs.

She gave a small smile. But she had two things on her side: time and proximity.

Shortly she would become his wife, locked to him for a lifetime. If she had to go to hell and back to do it, she’d find a way to make her husband fall in love with her.

But where should she start? How did you make a man, not just any man, a rake, a renowned lover, fall in love with you? She needed to learn as much as she could about the private and reclusive man beside her.

Perhaps his brother could be of help. Richard seemed very keen for this wedding to take place. She’d start with him. What secret was Richard hiding? Why did he want his brother wed so desperately he’d compromise her to force the issue?

Like everything she tackled, she wasn’t about to rush in. If Anthony sensed what she was up to, he’d freeze her out of his life before she had any chance of claiming his heart.

No, she needed to do her research. She needed to find out as much as she could about the man who in a few days was to become her husband.

She risked a gaze at her betrothed. His anger had begun to dissipate; his jaw was less taut.

“I believe we are to attend Lady Cavendish’s ball tonight.”

Anthony turned to look at her. “Yes, I’ll escort you and your cousin.”

“Will your brother be attending?”

Anthony eyed her suspiciously. “I do not know. My brother and I are no longer on speaking terms.”

Melissa bit her bottom lip. This wasn’t going to work. Anthony was still too angry at his brother to be of any help in learning Richard’s whereabouts.

But his mother would know. She’d start with Lady Wickham. She’d know where her other son was hiding.

T
hat evening, the entourage walked into the Cavendish ballroom and joined the queue waiting to greet their host and hostess. As they descended the stairs, the whispers behind twitching fans started. Melissa could well imagine what the other guests were saying. She had her arm through Lord Wickham’s, and on his right, so did Cassandra.

She knew the men were praising Lord Wickham’s skill in keeping the ravishing beauty on his right as his mistress, while marrying the plainer, quiet, demure cousin on his left. A raving beauty to bed for pleasure and a wife to bed to provide the much-needed heirs.

Melissa lifted her head high and kept her eyes looking directly ahead, hoping her cheeks had not colored. Never had she wished so fervently for the floor to open up and swallow her. Cassandra played up her part and was spitefully pleased with the
ton
‘s interpretation of events. To reenforce the perception, Lady Sudbury stroked her hand down the arm of Anthony’s jacket until he bent his head and let her whisper something in his ear.

At his gruff laugh there was a surge of activity; the array of fans were fluttering wildly.

This evening was going to be torture.

The line of guests shuffled forward until, with the pleasantries completed, they could move fully into the ballroom. Letting go of Anthony’s arm, Melissa began scouring the
room trying to see if Anthony’s mother or brother were present.

“Are you looking for anyone in particular?” he asked, his voice radiating about as much warmth as a snowflake.

Melissa turned to look at him. Her traitorous breath caught in her throat. How did he do it? She tore her gaze away from the intoxicating sight of him, trying to quell the fluttery sensation developing in her stomach. He was so handsome this evening. The white on black ensemble set his physique off to perfection. The material was tight enough to be considered indecent. Yet Melissa would wager every woman in the room longed to run their hands over the ebony velvet. She longed to feel the hidden strength beneath the soft fabric, the urge as overwhelming as the man himself.

This evening, in his finery, he screamed Lord of Wicked. His silver-gray eyes seemed to deliberately issue an open invitation, a temptation sent to make her sin. Every married woman in the room envied Cassandra, while the young debutantes were miffed they’d not been as brave as Melissa and caught him in matrimony. Her legs felt as if she’d just ridden at full gallop all day. She didn’t dare return his avid gaze. She wasn’t brave or courageous or fearless enough to accept—yet. She let a satisfied smile curve her lips. But she was his.