The Scandal in Kissing an Heir Read online

  “Hmm? I beg your pardon, Your Grace?” the earl asked. He was partly deaf and rarely heard what anyone was saying unless they spoke loudly enough.

  “I was merely remarking on how lovely Lady Rebecca’s hair is,” Grover shouted back. “Such a bold color against her unblemished skin. I find it quite striking.”

  “Oh yes, yes indeed,” Topperly agreed.

  “Now, I know a decision has yet to be made,” Grover added, his voice once again soft so that Topperly wouldn’t hear, “but I thought you’d be pleased to know that I’m just as functional as any young buck and with a very healthy appetite. You won’t be disappointed in that regard.”

  Oh dear Lord, she was going to be sick.

  “Let’s pick some daffodils,” Rebecca said. It was the first thing that came to mind as a possible means of distraction. If only they would soon leave. Didn’t people their age require a midday nap? Disengaging herself from their arms, she crouched down and began collecting the flowers while both men watched. She didn’t mind Topperly’s presence so much. He came across as a harmless gentleman who merely sought a bit of company in his old age as well as someone who’d be capable of looking after him. His reasoning behind seeking a young wife made sense, but that didn’t make Rebecca any more eager to accept him as her husband. Perhaps she was being selfish, she reflected, but she couldn’t help it; she was too spirited and adventurous to be the least bit tempted by the idea of nursing an old man in his dotage, no matter how much money he’d leave to her once he departed this earth. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled up at him, silently wishing him many more years of good health.

  Grover, on the other hand . . . She turned her attention back to her task when she caught a disturbing leer upon his lips. The things he said to her and the way in which his eyes were forever inappropriately fixed upon her person made her skin crawl.

  “I hope you took my meaning seriously before, Lady Rebecca,” Grover said as he bent down to pluck a daffodil from the flowerbed, his forearm brushing against the side of Rebecca’s breast as he did so. “I mean to beget at least one son off of you before I die. I hope you’re fit for the challenge.”

  Swallowing the sharp rejoinder that threatened to escape her, she smiled tightly. “I shall do my best to be a dutiful wife to whomever I marry.” Rising, she then offered him a large bouquet of daffodils. “Would you please carry these for me?” She might have to suffer his company and his rude behavior, but at least she’d just thought of a way to discourage his touch—for now.

  “Would you care for some tea?” she asked when they arrived back inside and a maid relieved Grover of the daffodils he carried.

  “Perhaps I can offer both gentlemen a brandy in my study instead,” Rebecca’s uncle said as he stepped out into the hallway and gestured for the earl and the duke to follow him. “We have some business to discuss.”

  “Yes, of course,” Grover said. “A brandy would be most welcome.”

  “Indeed it would,” Topperly agreed.

  Both men turned to Rebecca, bowed to her and excused themselves, the door to her uncle’s study closing behind them.

  Expelling a sigh of relief over not having to entertain the pair any further, Rebecca turned toward her aunt, who’d entered from the parlor. “I suppose you will escort me back upstairs now?”

  “Don’t be impertinent,” her aunt snapped. “That Neville fellow arrived while you were in the garden, and against my better judgment I granted him entry. He brought flowers, as you can see—a lovely bouquet that I believe will look splendid on that little round table in my bedroom.” For an instant, her eyes took on a dreamy look, but then they sharpened and narrowed, and she took a step closer to Rebecca. “Apparently he wishes to see you, to ensure that you have recovered after the shooting.”

  In spite of her aunt’s harsh words, Rebecca’s heart soared. Mr. Neville had come to call on her, just as she’d hoped he would. What a blessing it was that her aunt had not turned him away. Eager to see him, she stepped toward the door. Her aunt held her back, a firm hand staying Rebecca’s progress. “Before you get too excited, I thought you ought to know that your uncle and I are leaning toward the duke. He will make a very prestigious match for you, you know.” Lady Grifton’s mouth tilted in a smug smile, her eyes filled with venom. “As for Mr. Neville, I expect you to send him on his way for good.”

  “Why must you be so cruel?” Rebecca’s voice was low and angry. “Have you no care for what my wishes might be?”

  “That’s enough!” Tightening her grip, her aunt leaned closer. “When will you learn that when it comes to marriage, your feelings are of no concern? This is business—that’s all. Now get in there and entertain the man so we can be rid of him again.”

  Steadying herself with a deep breath, Rebecca opened the door and stepped inside the parlor, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of Mr. Neville smiling back at her as she entered. “Good afternoon. What a pleasure it is to see you again.” No truer words had ever been spoken.

  “You’re even more radiant than I remember,” he said, taking her hand in his and bowing over it. He placed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles, his lips lingering just a fraction longer than what was considered proper.

  A cough from the open doorway had him straightening himself again. Turning slightly, Rebecca looked over her shoulder to find her aunt watching them with a critical eye. “You’ve fifteen minutes before my niece must return to her chambers to ready herself for another caller, who’s expected to arrive shortly, and if you think to steal a kiss in that time, Mr. Neville, I suggest you think again. This door will remain wide open.” With a stiff nod to underline her statement, Lady Grifton then turned about and marched off. Heat flared in Rebecca’s cheeks as she watched her aunt disappear from view. Fifteen minutes was not a lot of time. Her aunt had lied about there being another caller, of course—yet another reminder of the future that lay ahead, one that would not include Mr. Neville. Attempting to calm her nerves and put her feelings of desperation aside, Rebecca turned back toward Mr. Neville and gestured toward the love seat. “Please, won’t you sit down?”

  Setting his hat and gloves on a vacant chair, Mr. Neville followed her advice.

  Rebecca clasped her hands together in front of her and went to sit next to him. “I suppose an explanation is in order,” she said, not daring to meet his eyes.

  “If you like,” he told her quietly, “though I would first like to inquire about your health. How are you feeling?” His voice was gentle and soothing as he spoke.

  “Sore,” Rebecca admitted, “but at least I’m able to move about. Plus, I’ll live, which I suppose is something.”

  “You gave me quite the fright, you know. One minute we were dancing, and the next . . .” The words trailed off with a hint of despair. “Any idea why someone might want to kill you?”

  Rebecca jerked her head toward him. “You think it was deliberate?” Of course it had been. She just hadn’t wanted to think about it.

  Mr. Neville nodded. “I’m just not sure if you’re the person they were aiming at. That’s why I asked.”

  Allowing her mind to return to the evening of the ball, Rebecca thought of the other people who’d been close by at the time she’d been shot. She recalled seeing the Duke of Kingsborough and his mother, but the rest were a blur—probably because she was not acquainted with them. “As far as I know, I have no enemies and can think of no one who would wish me dead.” Pasting a bright smile on her face she said, “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Neville, but there’s really no need for it. As you can see, I’m absolutely fine.”

  A slight crease appeared upon his forehead. “When we first met, you led me to believe that your situation was somewhat desperate.” He raised his hand to stop the protest that she was about to make. “Why else would you have gone to the lengths you did to attend the ball? Why the eagerness to catch a husband?” He regarded her pensively before
speaking again. “When you told me that you were Lady Rebecca of Roselyn Castle, I didn’t believe you. How could I, when Lady Rebecca was supposed to be mad and you were anything but? Whatever reason you might have had for such duplicity can only have been born out of sheer desperation. Having met your guardians, I suspect that they have something to do with it. Am I right?”

  There was little point in denying the obvious, so Rebecca quietly nodded. “They want me to marry either the Earl of Topperly or the Duke of Grover.”

  “Bloody hell! I mean . . . forgive me, my lady, I should not have spoken like that in your presence.”

  “It’s quite all right, Mr. Neville. My sensibilities are not so easily offended, and besides, I share your sentiment.”

  “But they must be at least fifty years your senior. Why would your aunt and uncle demand something like that of you when there are plenty of eligible young bachelors available?”

  Rebecca shrugged. “Topperly is an old friend of my uncle’s, and Grover is a duke. Marrying me off to either of them would certainly be a feather in their caps. Aside from that, I can’t be sure. My maid and I were just discussing the matter recently and decided that it might be because they want to avoid the trouble and,” she dropped her gaze, “the expense of giving me a proper Season, since there are already two eager suitors available.”

  “You have no other relatives whom you can turn to for help? Whoever inherited your father’s title, for instance?”

  “My father’s title went to one of his cousins,” Rebecca said softly, recalling the serious gentleman she’d seen only once when she was a child. After her parents had died, she’d been long gone from Scarsdale Manor before he’d arrived to claim his inheritance. “The new Earl of Scarsdale has no responsibility toward me, Mr. Neville. He’s not my guardian, and yet it was he who provided me with my dowry when my aunt and uncle begged him to help. I thought it quite generous of him, really.”

  “I’m happy to hear that you’ve been shown some measure of kindness.”

  Rebecca allowed a smile. Mr. Neville’s aggravation on her account was endearing. “Thank you.” She looked at him with a steady gaze. “There’s no need for you to pity me, you know. In fact, I would prefer that you don’t. Going to the ball was a risk I was willing to take—quite possibly my only chance at securing a match on my own terms. And while getting caught wasn’t part of my plan, I’ve no regrets.”

  The corner of his mouth edged upward. “Aside from getting shot.”

  Her smile broadened. “Yes. Aside from that.” She paused. “I’ve been cowering away behind these ancient walls for two years, Mr. Neville. Time is passing me by, and before I know it, not even a doddering old man will want me.”

  “Pfft . . . nonsense,” he said with a shake of his head.

  Rebecca gave him a frank stare. “I’m not a debutante any longer. I’m three and twenty years of age and growing older every day.”

  Mr. Neville blinked. “You don’t look it. In fact, if I may say so, I think you’re absolutely stunning.”

  She felt her cheeks grow warm in response to his compliment. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said, attempting a pleasant smile. If only he meant it, but she knew her own appearance all too well to think him sincere. Mr. Neville was trying to flatter her—quite possibly with his own motives in mind.

  He regarded her pensively for a moment before saying, “I sympathize with you, Lady Rebecca. Your situation is far from a pleasant one. For what it’s worth, I have to say that I admire your courage—and your creativity. It can’t have been easy for you.”

  Relief washed over her. His acceptance of her in spite of what she’d done was invaluable, like a balm upon her tortured soul. “So,” he continued, “you had a compelling reason to go to the ball in search of a husband—someone who can help you avoid marrying the men your aunt and uncle are favoring.”

  “All I wanted was a chance to make a better match for myself.”

  “An understandable desire,” he said. He hesitated briefly before continuing. “Unfortunately, you aunt is not very fond of me, and frankly, I cannot blame her. Apparently she’s inquired about me since meeting me the other evening and has discovered that I have very little to recommend myself at present.”

  “I see,” Rebecca said. For the past two years she’d managed to keep her spirits high, yet in the space of only two days, she’d found all hope of a happy future dashed. It was hopeless to think she might end up married to a man as handsome as Mr. Neville. What reason would he possibly have to suffer the trouble of going up against her aunt and uncle? It would be a pointless endeavor for him to embark on, and given what he’d just said, he’d realized that marrying her would not be easy. Indeed, it would be impossible. In all likelihood, this would be the last time she’d ever see him.

  A warm hand settled over hers, and Rebecca’s head turned toward Mr. Neville. There was kindness to be found in the depths of his eyes, but there was also undeniable pity. How she longed for the heated gazes he’d given her the night of the ball.

  “You mustn’t lose hope,” he told her as he gently squeezed her hand. “I’m sure there’s a way out of this for you.”

  Pulling her hand away from his, she pasted a happy smile upon her face and rose to her feet, while he did the same. She would not allow anyone to know the depths of her longings or the pain in her heart—not when her fate was all but sealed. She would remain brave and stoic even though she felt helpless. “Perhaps there is, Mr. Neville, but not today. Now, I must ready myself as my aunt has requested and bid you a good day. Thank you so much for calling on me. It was most kind.”

  “It was the least I could do,” he said. He paused a moment before saying, “Your aunt does not approve of me, but I have every intention of pressing my suit with your uncle.”

  Rebecca froze as the implication of his statement sank in, her heart thumping wildly at the very idea of it. He was going to try to marry her. There was only one question marring the happiness that filled her. Why? “Your determination in that regard makes me even more curious about your motive. And please don’t tell me that no other woman will have you, for it is not a good enough reason.”

  “I . . . I can honestly tell you that I genuinely like you, Lady Rebecca. I think we would suit quite well.”

  His sheepishness attested to his unwillingness to tell her the entire truth. Certainly this was part of it, but it was not the driving force behind his decision. For whatever reason, Mr. Neville had to marry. He’d probably decided that she would make a fine candidate—a woman so desperate that she’d likely marry anyone just to escape her aunt and uncle’s care. Now that Mr. Neville knew who her suitors were, he was probably more confident than ever that she would agree to become his wife if her uncle gave his approval. He wasn’t wrong in that regard, but Rebecca wished that there was more to it than that—that he wanted her passionately. She sighed, giving herself a mental kick. She was too romantic by half if she imagined that she would ever be able to inspire such strong feelings in a rake.

  But did it really matter? She couldn’t deny the degree with which he drew her and how much she longed to be held by him, kissed by him. . . . Surely if they married, she would have at least that much. He was frowning at her, she noticed, and she became instantly aware that it was taking her too long to respond. Oh bother. “Speak to my uncle,” she said. “And if he gives you his blessing, then I will agree to marry you.”

  A smile spread its way across his lips. Reaching for her hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed it, his eyes meeting hers as he did so. The effect made her stomach flutter, while an undeniable heat spread its way across her skin. If only she affected him the same way.

  “Then by all means, wish me luck,” he said.

  She did, without hesitation and with all her heart.

  Ten minutes later, Rebecca was still standing in the hallway when the door to her uncle’s office opene
d and Mr. Neville stepped out, his face completely inscrutable. “Lady Rebecca,” he said, smiling stiffly. “There is some business that I must attend to in London. I will return in two days with the hope of resolving everything then.” Bowing, his eyes met hers. “Fret not, though. I believe everything will work out the way you had hoped.”

  And then he was gone, leaving Rebecca speechless.

  “How did it go?” Laura asked when Rebecca returned to her room. Taking Rebecca’s bonnet from her, the maid began boxing it away in the wardrobe.

  “Topperly was harmless as always, while Grover was his usual, charming self,” she said, her voice turning bitter at the mention of the duke. Tugging at the fingers of her gloves, she went to look out the window.

  “And?” her maid inquired. “I sense there’s something more.”

  Turning, Rebecca met Laura’s gaze and immediately smiled. “Mr. Neville came to call on me as well.”

  “Did he now?”

  Rebecca nodded. “Yes. In fact, he has asked Uncle for his blessing.”

  “And?” Laura asked, her hands clasped together at her chest and hope brimming in her eyes.

  Perching herself on the windowsill, Rebecca returned her attention to the garden below.

  “I’ve no idea. When he left, Mr. Neville mentioned something about some business that needed attending to first, though he did reassure me that everything would work out to my advantage.” She met Laura’s gaze. “What do you suppose it means?”

  Laura shrugged. “I can’t begin to imagine. Men’s stuff, I suppose.”

  Rebecca frowned. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. She was suddenly terribly worried that Mr. Neville would not succeed in his efforts and that her uncle would turn him away the next time he called. It was an outcome she ought to expect, yet she found herself praying that it would not be so—that she might be allowed some measure of happiness in her life. “It’s just . . . I have a strong feeling that Aunt and Uncle are hoping to gain something from my marriage, though I’ve yet to determine what exactly. Aunt has made it clear to me that she wants me to marry the duke and that Mr. Neville will never do, so I fear that whatever Mr. Neville’s agreement may be with my uncle, it will come to naught.”