Invitation to Ruin (19 page)

The Viscount and her cousin made a dashing couple, while her brother was worse for drink as usual. Anthony excused himself to go procure drinks for their party.

Melissa felt nervous being in the presence of Anthony’s close friend. What if he found her lacking? Lord Strathmore sat staring at her with a teasing smile on his face. She refused to let him ascertain how unsettled he made her. “Lord Strathmore, have you been enjoying the play?”

“One rarely comes to the theater to enjoy the play. One comes to be seen.” He took her hand and placed a kiss on her glove. “Please, call me Rufus. Tomorrow you will become the wife of my closest friend. I hope you will come to think of me in the same vein.”

“Have you known Anthony long?”

He gave a slight pause. “Since my last year of Eton.”

“So you were not friends from when you first entered Eton?”

“Anthony didn’t attend Eton until my last year.”

Melissa frowned; that was odd. She opened her mouth to inquire why, but Rufus changed the topic—rather quickly she thought.

“Rumor has it you visited Smithfield’s market recently. Do you make it a habit of buying slaves, only to set them free?”

Was he mocking her? She responded, unable to hide her haughty tone. “I make no apologies for helping those trapped in slavery. Ownership of another human being is morally wrong.”

Rufus raised one dark eyebrow. “How liberal of you.”

His condescending manner infuriated her. “It does not surprise me that a man like you, a man of wealth and privilege, does not comprehend the plight of slaves.” She looked him up and down. “I suspect you’ve never been forced to do anything you don’t want to do in all your life. For some of us freedom of choice is a luxury. “

“You surely do not count yourself the same as a slave?”

The knowledge that he was as big a rake as her husband ensured she couldn’t hold her tongue. “Slavery takes many forms, my lord. Women, in the eyes of the law, are little more than slaves. Subject to their husbands’, fathers’—brothers’ tempers, whims, and desires.”

Rufus nodded, his smile somewhat diminished. “However, the majority of men want what is best for their loved ones.”

“Not always.” She flashed a look at her brother. “Some are more focused on their own self-interest, giving their female relatives little choice.”

He studied her silently a moment before venturing to ask, “Given a choice, are you saying you would not freely marry Anthony?”

“Why would I freely choose to marry a man I’ve known less than a week? I am literally handing my keeping to a man I hardly know. I have simply been foisted onto Anthony to be looked after.” She shivered. “I loathe being someone’s obligation. Would you like it?”

Rufus threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Anthony, I’m sure, shall enjoy his obligation.”

“Until he tires of me. I see little difference in my position than that of a kept mistress. Except a mistress has more freedom.”

Rufus sat up straight. “You will be the Countess of Wickham. There is a big difference. You will have the protection of Anthony’s name and his wealth.”

“Money. Yes I will not want for material things.” She turned away in disgust. “You would not understand. You think nothing of using a woman and discarding her. Most women do not sell their bodies because they wish to. Without an education or the ability to work, other than on our backs, most women have little choice. Men see to that.”

Rufus still appeared horrified. “I would hope any woman I have a relationship with gets far more than simply money. Pleasure is most definitely mutual.”

She turned to him. “Pleasure does not provide the financial freedom to make your own choices. Men, by ensuring we have no education, no skills, make certain we are reliant on them.”

Rufus sat back in his chair and scoffed. “Reliant but well protected. We are the stronger sex. How would you protect yourself against an enemy?”

“By not making one in the first instance.”

“Come, Melissa, you are not that naive. There are men out there who commit such atrocities you would be ill if I listed them. How would you protect yourself against such men?”

“Do not bore Lord Strathmore with your preaching.” Cassandra leaned forward to rest her arms on the back of Rufus’s chair and interrupted their conversation. “Ignore her ranting, Rufus. She resents her life. She fumes about having never had choices, of never having freedom. Yet she’d give it all up for love. Melissa does not understand the realities of life.” Cassandra slid her arm over his shoulder and down his chest. “She has never understood the true power a woman holds.”

Rufus halted Cassandra’s wandering hand and lifted it off his chest. “That is to her advantage, I think.”

Cassandra sat back in her chair, her lips pursed in anger.

Rufus under his breath whispered, “I must warn Anthony, you’ll likely be an expensive wife. He won’t have to worry
about you gambling or wasting his money on finery, but you might bankrupt him with your passion for saving the underprivileged and the shackled.” In a louder voice he added, “The Ladies Freedom Charity is obviously important to you. If you ever require funds or assistance in any way, please call on me.”

Melissa’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Thank you, my lord.”

Rufus cocked his head on one side. “You will be good for Anthony. He needs people with passion in his life, those who think of others before themselves.” He gave her a beguiling smile. “He’ll try to push you away, but don’t you dare let him. Underneath his gruff exterior is a man who is fiercely loyal and fiercely in need of love. He deserves to be happy.”

“For a renowned rake you seemed indecently pleased your friend is to marry. If the prospect of marriage is such a sought-after union, why are you not married?”

Rufus shifted uneasily in his seat. “I have a matter of honor to address before I wed.”

Melissa sat waiting for more, but it became very clear he would not tell her. “We all have something to atone for, my lord,” she added softly.

That made him smile. “I cannot believe you have done anything for which you must be forgiven.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “I am atoning for the fact I was stupid enough not to lock my bedchamber door on the night Cassandra had guests.”

Rufus broke into a loud laugh. His gaze roamed her person, not entirely appropriately. The rake was back at play. “Anthony has chosen well.”

“I do not believe there was any choice involved, my lord. We had little option but to wed.”

His eyes twinkled. “Did you? Do you think a man like Anthony, the Lord of Wicked, would be forced into a marriage he did not want?” Rufus studied her face intently. “He recognized something in you that night. He just needs encouragement to understand what it is. He shields his heart.” His
smile faded and he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You, my dear, must learn how to pierce his armor. Not putting up with his irritability and barked dictates would be an excellent place to start. He needs a woman who can manage his brooding temper, and I believe you are such a woman.”

“You wouldn’t be trying to seduce my fiancée, Rufus?” a voice from the door uttered dryly.

Rufus gave no apology; he only laughed. “Do you blame me? She is quite the most gorgeous creature here. I’ll wager you’re glad I value our friendship.”

“Quite,” Anthony said, giving Melissa a glance so warm she felt herself blush, as he handed her a glass of champagne.

“I have been busy persuading her that you do have some good points. For instance did you know, Miss Goodly, that it was Anthony who provided detailed personal testimony on the treatment of slaves to the House of Lords. It is largely due to his support of Wilberforce’s bill that the Anti-Slave Trading Act got through the House.”

“Stop it, Rufus,” Anthony growled.

“The House of Lords were not interested in abolishing slavery. However, if the Earl of Wickham, whose father ran the largest slave-trading operation in all of England, closed shop and became an Abolitionist, his peers were intrigued enough to take notice.”

Melissa nodded her head. “True. Few noblemen would bother to care for lowly slaves.” She turned to Anthony. “I admire your stance even more, considering your upbringing. It’s worthy to note that you could rise above your father’s business and see slavery for what it truly is.” She hesitated. “Did something happen to make you see the moral bankruptcy of the trade?”

Shocked silence descended on the box as if she had uttered an extremely unladylike word. Her curiosity grew when she saw Rufus and Anthony share a look.

Just then the lights lowered, ready for the second act. Anthony turned to gaze at her in the darkness. “If you want the truth—” She nodded. “I was looking for redemption.”

“Why? You are not responsible for the sins of your father.”

“Oh, but I am.” He let that sink in before adding lightly, “I have sins of my own that to this day haunt me. I can’t share them with anyone but myself. Who would want to shoulder the burden of the horrors I have seen and inflicted? It makes for lonely and objectionable company. Most of us are too wrapped up in our own sins to take on the burden of others.”

Anthony’s self-condemnation echoed in her ear, but it was the pain in his voice that unsettled Melissa. She had the urge to pull him close and stroke away his fears.

His tone was quieter, more reflective when he continued. “I offered my testimony not for any noble reason, but purely to unburden myself and cleanse my soul. Now I choose to block out the memories with pleasure. Only when I am with a woman do the nightmares dim.” He sighed into the darkness. “But the euphoria never lasts. My cloak of guilt still sits heavy upon my shoulders,” he said softly. “It will take more than my lifetime to throw off.”

Perhaps his play-acting was affecting him as much as it affected her. Melissa was taken aback to hear him sharing such confidences with her. Her fists clenched at her sides in anger, picturing the childhood Anthony must have endured to make him feel this despondent.

“So, now you know the type of man you are marrying. Now you understand how I earned my name, the Lord of Wicked. It is well deserved.”

“You are not wicked or evil or the devil, Anthony.” She would not hear him talk of himself in that way.

Anthony hesitated as if searching for the right words. “Perhaps by marrying you, some of my sins will be offset by your goodness. Just promise me you won’t let me corrupt you, too.”

She digested his admission in silence. Is that why he was so determined to marry her? It wasn’t concern for scandal, an obligation to the
ton
. He believed she could help him.

“I didn’t realize,” she said quietly, “that anyone could have had a worse childhood than me.” The remembrance made her feel rather … small. How self-involved she had become, when in fact her upbringing, while lacking in any true emotional warmth, was nothing compared to what Anthony had suffered.

Melissa reached out and took his hand. “I am more than willing to listen. You have my shoulder to lean on. Slight though I may be, I can carry quite a load. I will share your burden.”

She felt rather than saw him go still. Then Anthony shook his head abruptly, as if recollecting who she was. “They aren’t tales for a lady’s ears.” His tone had turned suddenly grim, but she could sense his despair.

Ugly or not, Melissa wanted to hear them. The man sitting beside her was a stranger. A stranger she longed to understand. To unravel the psyche of such a complex man, she would gladly share his sins.

She barely remembered the second act. Her mind was too busy contemplating his unexpected attempt at openness. By the time the carriage drew up before Sudbury House, she had made her decision.

To help Anthony—and to help her—she would be brave and embrace his need for love. She knew he might never come to love her, but she would risk it. Risk everything. Now she knew her purpose in life. It was to heal a man who’d endured a life void of any tender feelings. Void of love.

She smiled and hugged herself … A man who needed her, yet didn’t know it.

   Philip, Baron Rothsay, was now in serious discomfort, rock-hard and desperate for release. He’d not had a good whipping for days.

There was enough light from the large number of candles illuminating the room to appear as if it was broad daylight instead of nearer to early dawn. He preferred to see every
inch of the woman he amused himself with. He had to see their pleasure, and he thrived on seeing the pain he inflicted.

To him, pain was the world’s most succinct aphrodisiac. He relished the giving and receiving of pain.

He’d used the woman standing before him numerous times. If he wasn’t in such a heightened state of arousal he’d recommend they move to his town house. The room at club Spare the Rod was looking decidedly shabby. It had lost most of its grandeur since the last time he’d visited. He had not been in London for almost a year. He would be here for a week. He’d save inviting her to the dungeon he’d installed at his house for her next session.

Many would say he needed saving; however, years ago he’d sold his soul to the devil, and he had no complaints. His smile belied his true evil nature. As the devil’s follower, he had no rules to pursue. He could do what he liked, when he liked, to anyone he liked. He felt a familiar adrenaline rush at the freedom having no conscience brought him.

His partner in pain for the early hours of the morning stood in thigh-high leather boots, completely naked except for her mask. He didn’t need to remove her mask to know who she was. She’d asked for this liaison. He knew her well. He’d ridden her many times and still he never tired of her. That was unusual for a man like him. He’d learned years ago that everyone was disposable.

Perhaps it was her ferocious appetite for the perverted, the fact that it nearly overwhelmed his own. They shared equal desires for the giving and receiving of pain and pleasure. His groin throbbed thinking of her specialty, using his lighted cheroot to burn him as she rode magnificently above him. If he came before her, she’d whip him almost senseless. He’d often obliged.

Her whip hung around her neck like a beckoning diamond necklace. Not as valuable as diamonds, but the whip brought far greater pleasure … for both of them.