The Scandal in Kissing an Heir (7 page)

Chapter 7

“W
ould you care for a game of cards, my lady?” Laura asked two days later.

Rebecca shrugged. She’d been feeling miserable all day. Not just from her shoulder wound, which still pained her, but from the hopelessness she felt at the thought of what awaited her. Mr. Neville still hadn’t returned, and Rebecca had begun losing hope that he would.

Laura, who was making a clear effort to be more positive, had told her that he could have been delayed by any number of things. But even if he did return, who was to say that her aunt and uncle wouldn’t turn him away? They might do it just to spite her. She certainly wouldn’t put it past them—especially not her aunt. She could well imagine her taking perverse pleasure in seeing Rebecca married off to an old relic. It was disheartening.

“How about a play?” Laura continued. “We could reenact
Twelfth Night
. I know how much you love that piece.”

Rebecca forced a smile. “True. It always makes me laugh.” She paused as she met Laura’s hopeful expression, then nodded. “Very well,
Twelfth Night
it is.”

They had just started on act five, scene one, with Laura saying, “Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither?” when a soft tapping sound came from the window. Both women turned to stare. “Did you hear that, my lady?” Laura asked.

“It’s probably just a bird,” Rebecca said, eager to get on with the play. They were getting to her favorite part. “To fetch my poor distracted husband hence,” she continued. “Let us —”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Whatever it is, it’s really quite distracting,” Rebecca said, hands folded in her lap as she stared toward the window. Since it was late evening and dark outside, it was impossible for her to discern the source of the noise from her current position, especially with oil lanterns and a fire lighting her room.

“I’ll just have a look, shall I?” Laura said as she walked across to the window and looked out. She must have been unable to see anything, for she leaned closer, so close that her face was almost pressed up against the glass. There was a beat, and then she suddenly pulled back with a shriek.

Intrigued, Rebecca sat up a bit straighter. “What is it, Laura? What did you see?”

Laura turned toward her, ashen-faced. “Do you believe in ghosts, my lady?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Rebecca frowned. “Of course not, Laura.” Determined to investigate, she rose and tightened the sash of her dressing gown. “What is it with you? Ghosts indeed.”

“Well, then perhaps you’d care to explain how a man might be levitating outside your window.”

“A man
what
?” Skeptical but unwilling to dismiss Laura’s claim, considering how shaken she looked, Rebecca approached the window. She was certain that there had to be a logical explanation for this, but if there wasn’t and it was indeed a ghost, then she had every intention of seeing it for herself.

“Do be careful, my lady,” Laura warned as Rebecca went closer.

It wasn’t until she was all the way to the window and blocking some of the light from the room with her body that Rebecca finally caught a glimpse of a blurry face. She flinched a little but quickly regained her composure and continued her approach until the face sharpened around a pair of familiar eyes. Lord help her if it wasn’t Mr. Neville. How he’d gotten up there she dared not imagine, but her heart made a funny little leap at finding him returned. He had not forgotten about her after all.

Feeling almost giddy with the pleasure of her discovery, she undid the latch and opened the window just enough for her to pop her head outside. “Good evening, Mr. Neville,” she said, amazed by how nonchalant her voice sounded—as if his standing there perched on one of the last rungs of a rickety ladder had been the most natural thing in the world. “How are you doing?”

“Quite well,” he said, smiling up at her. “As you can see, I’m having a bit of an adventure.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” A bit of choked-back laughter from below drew her attention to two men holding the ladder steady. “And I see that you’ve brought friends with you.”

“Mr. Shaw and his son Gerard,” Mr. Neville said as he let go of the ladder with one hand and waved toward the men below.

“Pleased to meet you,” Rebecca called down to them.

“Shh!” Mr. Neville quieted her. “It took a lot of effort for me to accomplish this feat. I’d rather not ruin it so soon by being found out.”

“Is that so?” Rebecca asked. She finally allowed herself a smile—one of pure mischief. “And what exactly would you expect me to do upon discovering a dangerous intruder at my window?”

“Dangerous, eh?” One of Mr. Neville’s eyebrows shot up.

“Terrifying,” Rebecca said, her face once again serious to underscore the sarcasm.

“I don’t suppose a cup of tea is likely?”

The absurdity of Mr. Neville standing there on that ladder in the cold, looking up at her imploringly as he asked to be invited for tea, made it impossible for Rebecca to keep a straight face. Grinning back at him, she shook her head with resignation. “What about Mr. Shaw and his son? What will they do while they wait for you?”

The look on Mr. Neville’s face suggested that this was a part of the plan he hadn’t considered. Turning slightly, he looked down at their upturned faces. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to come back and fetch me in an hour?” he asked.

“Add a couple of shillings and we’ll be happy to,” Mr. Shaw told him.

Mr. Neville looked back at Rebecca. “Move aside, please, my lady. I’m coming in.”

Given his size, Rebecca had to admit that she was quite impressed with how nimbly Mr. Neville entered her room through the window, landing on his feet with the stealth of a cat.

“My lady, this is highly irregular,” Laura said from somewhere behind Rebecca’s right shoulder. “I realize that you mean to marry him, but to invite a gentleman into your bedchamber . . . it’s scandalous, not to mention the punishment that will likely befall us all if your aunt and uncle find out.”

Rebecca turned toward her maid with a smile. “But they won’t find out, Laura. Besides, this is hardly any worse than you suggesting that I drugged you so I could escape your care and attend the ball. Yes, it may be unconventional, it’s true, but you’re here to protect my virtue.”

It took a moment, but Laura eventually nodded. She had good reason to react the way she did, Rebecca realized, for not only was she not acquainted with Mr. Neville but, as she’d correctly said, having a gentleman of any kind visit an unmarried lady in her bedchamber was unseemly, and a rake was far worse, regardless of whether or not a chaperone was present. Of course, Rebecca’s circumstances were a bit more unusual than most, and Laura knew that. Rebecca was well aware that Laura would do whatever she could to protect her, but she also knew that Laura wanted her to be happy. “It’s all right,” Rebecca told her. “But now that the gentleman is here and with no means of leaving until his companions return with the ladder, perhaps I ought to introduce you. Laura, this is Mr. Neville.” Turning to her guest, Rebecca added, “Mr. Neville, I’d like for you to meet my maid, Laura. Had it not been for her, you and I would never have met.”

With warmth in his eyes and an inviting smile, Mr. Neville stepped toward Laura. He reached for her hand, bowed over it and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. Straightening, he said, “It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Laura.”

Rebecca hid a grin. She’d never seen her maid turn so red before. Of course, she couldn’t blame her for it. Mr. Neville was a striking man indeed. Swallowing hard as she fought to ignore the flutter in her stomach, Rebecca turned away from him and headed toward a small table with two chairs. This was ridiculous. She’d always considered herself the reasonable sort, but lately she’d been getting all flustered whenever Mr. Neville was near. Looking for a distraction, she started busying herself with the tea. “Was the front door too obvious a choice for you?” she asked, desperate for the stability a bit of light conversation might offer.

He didn’t answer her immediately but came to stand beside her instead—a little closer than what most would consider appropriate. With a reprimanding cough from Laura, he distanced himself a little.

Rebecca pressed her lips together to stop from laughing as she pushed one newly filled cup across the table before pouring the next. “I must admit that I’d begun to think you’d never return, yet here you are, stealing through my window in the dark.”

“That is because there is something I must tell you,” he said.

Rebecca tilted her face toward him, her hand still resting on the teacup. “Why do I get the feeling that things did not go as you had planned in London?”

“Because your instinct isn’t wrong—as unfortunate as that is.”

Pushing her cup slowly across the table, Rebecca lowered herself onto one of the empty seats, while Mr. Neville did the same. She took a sip of her tea. “I’m sorry,” she said, even though
sorry
didn’t come close to describing the way she presently felt. “I don’t know what you were hoping to achieve by going to Town, but I do hope you will tell me your reason for doing so.”

Crossing his arms, Mr. Neville rested them on the table and leaned toward her. “I know I allowed you to believe that all would be well when we last spoke . . . but now . . .” He shook his head and sat back against his chair. “It isn’t going to be as simple as I had hoped.”

Rebecca blinked—once, twice and then again. “I don’t . . .” she managed.

“I paid a visit to your uncle this afternoon,” Mr. Neville said, his eyes never leaving Rebecca’s. “It appears the Duke of Grover is quite determined to have you.”

“But when you were last here, you said you believed that everything would work out,” Rebecca said. She was doing her best to remain calm even though her heart was now fluttering wildly in her chest. “What’s changed?” The fear of knowing was there, creeping along her every nerve as it made her tremble. She wasn’t used to being afraid of anything, usually avoiding the state altogether by taking matters into her own hands, yet it had just become alarmingly clear that the hope of happiness she’d dared allow herself was being torn to pieces. “Tell me,” she said, bracing herself for the worst. As reluctant as she was to hear the truth, she needed to know precisely why her uncle had turned down Mr. Neville’s suit.

With his jaw set in a firm line and his eyes boring into hers, Mr. Neville said, “They are, in effect, auctioning you off to the highest bidder.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Surely her ears deceived her. Not even her aunt and uncle could be that callous.

“The Griftons,” Mr. Neville said, “are eager to get as much out of your marriage as they possibly can. They know that Topperly and Grover are both quite desperate to have you, so they’re biding their time, I believe, until they’ve achieved the highest possible sum in your stead.” He leaned forward a little. “When I met with your uncle last, he explained that Topperly has offered him ten thousand pounds and Grover twelve thousand in exchange for your hand. Additionally, they are both willing to fund the renovations Roselyn Castle requires.”

Rebecca gasped, astonished by the amounts and the audacity.

“When I went to London, it was to procure the necessary funds required to ensure your hand. Doing so took a little time, and in the end my efforts were to no avail; Grover increased his offer to fifteen thousand this morning.” Mr. Neville clenched his jaw. He looked truly vexed. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I cannot compete with that, not without my uncle’s assistance, and he has refused to get involved.”

In spite of everything, Rebecca couldn’t help but smile. Here was a man with no obligation toward her whatsoever, who had done as much as he possibly could to try and save her. “Thank you,” she said. “You have done more for me than most would have done had they been in your shoes. You are a true friend, and I will never forget your kindness.”

Reaching across the table, Mr. Neville placed his hand upon hers—a startling gesture, since neither of them was wearing gloves. The spark that lit in her chest was instantaneous, bursting outward in hot little embers that raced across her skin until she felt herself trembling. Instinct told her to pull away, yet she couldn’t seem to move, his gaze holding hers with deep intensity. “Come to Gretna Green with me,” he whispered. “Let me save you from this nightmare.”

It was tempting, especially when he looked at her in such a beseeching way—as if she was the most incredible woman he’d ever set eyes upon, as if he would love and cherish her forever . . . as if she stood apart from all the other women he’d ever been with. This, of course, was fantasy, and a distant voice warned her of it. He was not the sort of man who would ever be happy with one single woman, no matter what he might say, and though he’d been nothing but pleasant toward her, she feared he might be employing his skill with her right now in an attempt to manipulate her. She could not trust him, but she was still curious. “Why are you really so eager to marry me, Mr. Neville? I do not accept that it is merely because no other virtuous woman will go near you, for that is not a proper reason. It doesn’t explain your haste.”