The Scandal in Kissing an Heir (5 page)

Chapter 4

H
eaven help her, she was in pain. While the doctor had assured her aunt and uncle that she would survive, having a lead ball extracted and getting stitched up afterward had still hurt like blazes.

“Did you at least enjoy yourself last night, my lady?” Laura asked. The maid was sitting at Rebecca’s bedside, eyes filled with concern.

Rebecca took a deep breath and exhaled it. “Yes,” she said, her eyes closing at the memory of it. She could still see Mr. Neville’s handsome face as he smiled back at her. “It was spectacular.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something,” Laura said. She shook her head. “I never should have agreed to let you go. Lord, you could have been killed!”

“It would still have been worth it,” Rebecca muttered, too low for Laura to hear. After returning home, she’d been locked inside her room with a promise from her aunt that the next time she ventured outside, it would be to entertain Lord Topperly and the Duke of Grover.

“You
will
marry one of them,” her aunt had said. “Naturally, we will decide which of them will suit you best. After everything you’ve put us through—embarrassing us by showing up at the ball the way you did—I daresay we’re looking forward to being rid of you!”

“All I wanted was the chance to find a husband of my own choosing,” Rebecca had said. “Why won’t you let me do that? Have you no desire to see me happy?”

“Happy? By God, you’re as spoiled as your mother was—always making demands. It’s
her
fault my brother’s dead, and yet I took you in after they both perished in that fire, even though you’re just as unlikeable as she was. You ought to be grateful that I’m even capable of finding a man who’s interested in you, given that unfortunate coloring of yours. Why, you look as if you haven’t bathed in a year, and yet I have worked a miracle, finding not one but two titled gentlemen willing to be your husband—old ones, even, whom you’ll soon outlive. If you’re smart about it, you’ll hurry up and give the one you marry a son as soon as possible to secure your own position. Now get to bed—the sooner you recover, the sooner we can get the matter settled.”

Her aunt had then left, locking the door behind her and leaving Rebecca to wonder exactly how long it would take before her aunt and uncle deemed her fit enough to meet with her suitors. No more than a week, she imagined.

With little comfort to be had in light of what her future probably held for her, Rebecca had been overjoyed to discover that Laura had managed to convince the Griftons that she’d played no part in Rebecca’s escapade. The cunning maid had actually told the Griftons that Rebecca, being of the sound mind that she was, must have switched the laudanum-laced tea that Laura was supposed to serve to pacify Rebecca when she was at her worst with Laura’s untainted cup. She’d apologized profusely to them for not keeping a better eye on Rebecca, going so far as to claim that Rebecca obviously didn’t know what was best for her and that it was obvious that the Griftons were only trying to do what was in Rebecca’s best interest. They’d swallowed the fib without further question.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance that a handsome young gentleman might call on you soon?” Laura asked. “I’d hate to see you married to either of the men that the earl and countess have selected for you.
Why
they refuse to find someone who’s closer to you in age and whom you might actually stand a chance of happiness with, I cannot imagine.”

Rebecca groaned, her shoulder aching as she turned a little so she could better see Laura. “They probably don’t want to bother with the hassle of going to the City and dragging me from one ballroom to the next when there are already two gentlemen willing to take me off their hands here, and with no extra expense—you know how fickle they are.”

Laura nodded. “That’s true, though I still have this niggling suspicion that there’s more to it than that. They’re too insistent.” Her brow creased as she shook her head. “There’s something odd about the whole situation if you ask me.”

The thought had occurred to Rebecca before, though she’d yet to discover if there was any merit to it. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve no reason to believe that they just want to be rid of me.”

“Perhaps,” Laura agreed, though she was looking doubtful. On a deep breath, she suddenly smiled. “So,
is
there a young gentleman, my lady? Did you meet someone last night from whom you might expect a visit . . . or perhaps a proposal?”

A slow smile captured Rebecca’s lips as she thought of the troublemaking rake. “There is one whose company I particularly enjoyed.”

A squeal of excitement escaped Laura. She quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with curiosity. Removing her hand slowly, she spoke in a whisper, as if there had been others present who might overhear. “Who is he?”

“Well . . .” Rebecca dragged out the word for dramatic effect. “His name is Mr. Neville, and he is the heir to the Marquisate of Wolvington.”

Laura’s eyebrows shot up. “He must be a handsome devil—charming too, I’d imagine.”

“Why do you say that?” Rebecca asked curiously.

“Because of the way you speak his name, my lady.” When Rebecca frowned, Laura imitated the dreamy way in which she’d spoken. She chuckled as she got up from her chair and went to fetch Rebecca a cup of tea. Looking over her shoulder, she gave her mistress a knowing smile. “I believe you’re quite smitten.”

Rebecca couldn’t lie. “I must confess that I cannot stop thinking about him, although I fear marrying him is completely out of the question—he won’t suit.”

“And why is that?” Laura asked, returning to Rebecca’s bedside and handing her the warm cup.

“Because he’s a rake who will never be able to offer me the happy family life I’m seeking. You would be shocked to hear of some of the things he’s done, but even if I chose to accept his faults, I doubt that Aunt and Uncle would approve—not when there’s an earl and a duke in the running.” “But if he’s an heir—”

“You know as well as I that they won’t care about that. All they’ll see is a man who’s presently untitled and accompanied by a poor reputation.” She shook her head, feeling terribly sad that her relatives were so shallow, but they were not the only ones, as evidenced by the scowls of disapproval Mr. Neville had received from almost everyone the night before. She took a sip of her tea before sinking back against her pillow and closing her eyes. “What am I saying? I’m talking as if I expect him to call on me, which he will be unlikely to do now that he knows who I am. I’m a charlatan, Laura, and not even a very pretty one at that, which makes Mr. Neville’s interest in me so much more suspicious. No, I’ll probably end up with Topperly or . . .” She scrunched her nose. “Grover.”

Opening her eyes, she found Laura watching her. “How many times must I tell you that you’re beautiful before you believe me?”

Rebecca forced a smile. “My skin tone is darker than everyone else’s and I have black hair. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the way other girls mocked me when I was a child. They used to call me
gypsy,
and I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them still do.”

“If that is the case, then they’ve no idea what a gypsy looks like. You have your mother’s Spanish blood in you, that’s all. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my lady. If anything, you should embrace how different you are from everyone else. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if this is what drew Mr. Neville to you in the first place. Besides, even if he is a rake, as you say, there’s always the possibility that he might reform,” Laura said. “The duke did.”

Rebecca sighed. “Yes, I suppose that’s true, but he also had good reason to do so. There’s a lot of responsibility resting on his shoulders. Mr. Neville, however—”

“Has no responsibility? You just said that he’s the heir to the Wolvington title. Surely he will need a wife and an heir of his own one day.”

“I’m sure he will,” Rebecca agreed. In fact, Mr. Neville had pointed out the exact same thing. But just because he gave her his name did not mean that he would give her his loyalty . . . his fidelity. She handed her now empty teacup back to Laura and settled back against her pillow with a yawn. “Forgive me, Laura, but I’m suddenly very tired. I think I’ll try to get some rest.”

“You do that, my lady, and I’ll go and cut some of those daffodils I promised you.”

“Thank you,” Rebecca sighed, her eyes closing to the sound of Laura shuffling about the room. The door opened and closed, silence settled over her, and she slowly drifted off to sleep, her last thought being of Mr. Neville’s smile as he twirled her in his arms, dancing.

Chapter 5

“W
hy, Lady Rebecca,” the Earl of Topperly was saying loudly as his light blue eyes slid over her figure with great appreciation, “you look exquisite today.”

One day of rest: that was all her aunt and uncle had afforded her before insisting that she ready herself for meeting her suitors. “It’s not as if you were shot in the leg,” her aunt had said as she’d picked out a gown for her to wear. “You can easily take a walk with them in the garden.”

So here she was, parading about between the flowerbeds with a relic on one arm and a fossil on the other. “Thank you, my lord, you’re most kind.”

“And may I say,” the Duke of Grover told her, his eyes gleaming as he dropped his gaze to her bosom and leaned closer to her ear, “that you look riper than ever before. Wouldn’t you agree, Topperly?”

“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.