Minor Indiscretions (25 page)

"No, my lord, not a contest of skills, a real duel."

"You mean like between gentlemen?" The thought struck Corey as funny, and he chuckled.

Melody did not see the humor. She picked up the half-full glass of cognac and tossed it in his face. "There, isn't that the way gentlemen do it?" She stood with her arms crossed, while he mopped at his face with the ends of his neckcloth, painstakingly tied in the
trône d'amour
for the occasion.

"I should have known I couldn't get through a conversation with you with my wardrobe intact," he muttered into the linen. "But I do wish you would be more considerate of poor Bates and my pocketbook. I am already paying the man thrice what he is worth, just to soothe his nerves. I suppose it's a good thing you didn't slap me with your gloves. Knowing you there would likely be rocks in them." Corey reached over and took Melody's hand. He lifted it to his mouth and gently kissed the turned palm, then he placed one of the pistols in it. "Here, Angel, you know I cannot shoot you. Do your worst. I deserve it."

Melody looked at him, all rough and disheveled, then at the gun in her hand. Her lips trembled. "I cannot."

"What's this, Angel, tears?" Corey took out his handkerchief and blotted at her eyes, his hand tenderly cupping her cheek. "You don't want to shoot me, sweetheart, but you don't want to marry me either, you know. I am just not husband material. You told me yourself. I am autocratic and dictatorial, and I would be jealous, possessive, and over-protective. You would hate it, just like you hated my not wanting you to help catch the blackmailer. I would want to wrap you in cotton wool, to see you safe."

"Why? Why would you care so much?" She stared intently into his eyes, looking for the truth.

"Because I lo—like you. We are friends."

"You let your other friends come into danger. You love me," she rejoiced. "I know you do! You are just afraid to admit it."

"Of course I love you, my Melody. You are the song in my heart, but…" But those carefree bachelor ways had been making one last desperate stand, thus the bottle and the bleary eyes. Without her, though, there would be no music for his soul to dance to. "But I shall try to make you a good husband."

Melody turned away so he could not see her smile. "You have not asked me yet, my lord."

His hand on her shoulder turned her around. "Do you truly love me, Angel?"

"Of course I love you, silly. I love you too much to let you grow into a grumbly old bachelor with no one to tell you your faults and no grubby children to lower your consequence."

He kissed her then, not as he would have wished, due to his scratchy beard and sore face, but softly, a gentle promise. When he stepped back, still holding Melody in his arms, her green eyes were shining like emeralds in the sunshine. "I love you so much," she told him, "that I thought I would die if you went away."

"I was never going to leave without you, my adorable goose." And he kissed each eyelid for emphasis.

"But were you thinking of marriage this time?"

"Of course." She was grinning so he had to add, "You will just have to trust me on that. I take it that my suit has been accepted?"

"Hmm, I don't know," she teased. "Just how bad a husband did you say you would be?"

"Wretched. I am grouchy in the mornings, and I toss the blankets around all night. You would never need to worry about my straying, however. I'd be too cowardly to look at another woman, knowing your aim. But come now, madam, give me your answer. You have already shot me and doused me and subjected me to every indignity known to man. You have broken my nose and my chin. Don't say that you are going to break my heart, too?"

"Never." And this time her lips carried the promise. "Never, my lord, my love, my life."

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The bride wore ivory satin and an antique veil. She carried a bouquet of pink carnations, blue forget-me-nots, and yellow columbines. The identical flower girls wore matching dresses, one pink, one blue. Another little girl was dressed in yellow and carried the train. The bride's mother wept.

The bridegroom wore white satin knee-breeches, white satin swallow-tail coat, white brocade waist, and snow-white linens. His valet wept harder.