The Mad Lord's Daughter (29 page)

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Authors: Jane Goodger

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BOOK: The Mad Lord's Daughter
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Diane stared daggers at this man she loved, wondering if she could choke some sense into him. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I simply do not understand why falling in love with a beautiful girl is such a tragedy.”
“Because now everyone will know she is a bastard, for they damn well know I would never sanction such a thing otherwise. And until his madness took over, John believed as much as I do that love does not live past the first fuck.”
Diane flinched, for she was unused to hearing such language and certainly not from a peer.
Lord Braddock swore again, this time beneath his breath. “I apologize,” he said curtly.
Diane let out a weary sigh. “Regardless of your invalid beliefs, you cannot be as obtuse as you are acting. After last night’s ball, there is no one in London who isn’t talking about your niece and speculating on her parentage.”
“I haven’t heard a thing,” he said, outraged that she would suggest such a thing.
“No, you would not have. But I did. I do have some friends who are unaware I am Miss Atwell’s chaperone, and I heard from two that the Duke of Waltham’s by-blow was attempting to pass herself off as your niece.”
He turned startlingly white. “Why did you not tell me last night?”
Diane let out a weary sigh. “Hadn’t we all been through enough?” she asked, feeling unaccountably on the verge of weeping. “Waltham also sent her several baskets of flowers this morning, which I promptly had thrown in the garbage. You could never have known Melissa would look so much like her half sister. Unfortunately, enough people have met Lady Caroline that their likeness cannot be easily overlooked. Especially with Waltham’s sending her flowers the day after her first ball. He signed his name.”
George walked behind his desk and sat down heavily, resting his head against his palms in a gesture so defeated, Diane couldn’t help feeling badly for him.
“How has it come to this?” he asked, looking up at her. “I was only trying to honor my brother’s last wish. How did it all get away from me?” He gave her a searching look. “Nothing about these past few months has gone as planned.” His eyes flickered lightly over her face. “Nothing.”
“Lord Braddock. George. May I be frank with you?”
He gave her a small smile. “When have you been anything but?”
“No matter what you believe or don’t believe about love, I’m telling you right now that John and Melissa love one another. Their love may not last; you are right about that. We’ve both seen too many unhappy people to believe it always does. But I have seen love,” she said, thinking of her own parents.
“He wanted my blessing. I couldn’t give it.”
“You can, my lord,” she said briskly. “And you must.”
“It is unfathomable to me, how he could be so swayed by a pretty face.”
Diane fought another surge of anger. “Do you really have so little faith in your son that you think he would believe himself in love with Melissa simply because she is lovely? My God, you must have loved your wife to distraction to have become so utterly jaded.”
He lifted his head sharply, his eyes filled with undeniable anger. “You are wrong,” he said succinctly.
“Am I?”
“Don’t you see that proves my point? I was young and foolish, not much younger than John, and I allowed myself to believe in such fairy tales. I was a fool. I am not bitter; I am a realist, so please do not look at me with pity.” He slammed a fist atop his desk. “
Goddamn
you.” He’d quite lost his temper, but Diane was having none of it.
“Are you finished?”
He took a few bracing breaths before nodding.
“I was not looking at you with pity, you great fool of a man. I was looking at you with love. So if anyone is to be pitied, sir, I would say it is me.”
“You can’t,” he said roughly. “You don’t.”
“Of course, you are right, Lord Braddock. You are always right about all things.”
“I have never made such claims.” He looked downright aghast.
“It is just that you are so opinionated. And if anyone dares to offer an opposing opinion, you are ready with a long list of reasons why they are wrong.” Diane felt weary of a sudden. “I did not wish to turn this conversation toward myself. I am here to discuss Melissa and John and to urge you, for once in your life, not to act like an ass.”
With that, her back straight, her eyes dry, she walked from the room.
 
 
George sat for a long moment staring at the closed door as if paralyzed. “Foolish woman,” he mumbled after a time, then stared blindly at the paperwork on his desk. He felt a rather foreign ache in his chest, and thought, for a moment, that he was ill. And then, with a small, disgusted sound, he realized that the ache in his breast just might be his heart, completely thawed and able to feel pain for the first time in nearly thirty years. He let out a strangled sound.
She couldn’t love him. He refused to believe it.
Refused.
He was too old for such nonsense. How dare she say such a thing to him when she knew full well he had absolutely no interest in reciprocating those feelings.
“Love,” he said, making the word sound like a curse. “Poppycock.”
And then he let out a small chuckle. What gall Diane had, telling him such a thing without even the smallest bit of warmth in her voice, as if she’d been rather appalled herself. He had to admire her courage, standing before him and arguing and then admitting to him that she . . .
“Loves me,” he said softly. The ache that had dwelt in his heart for so long eased just a bit. “Bloody hell.”
Chapter 19
John supposed he deserved it, but damn, Charles could hit hard. He gazed in his mirror, his valet behind him looking concerned and just a bit angry (it was difficult to shave a man when he sported a large bruise on his jaw). “Not broken,” he said, waggling his jaw a bit. Though it hurt like hell, he wasn’t angry with Charles, and he certainly hadn’t reciprocated.
He’d been surprised when he’d returned to his town house to learn that Charles was waiting for him in his study. He’d gotten out: “Charles, my God, I’m so sorr—” before his friend’s fist hit his jaw with such force, he slammed against the wall. He was momentarily stunned as Charles shook out his hand, looking quite pleased with himself.
“S’pose I deserved that,” John had said, gingerly touching his jaw.
“I suppose you did.”
“I want you to know I went to my father before I knew of your engagement with the intention of offering for her. That’s when my father told me of your plans. I love her.”
“And you don’t think I do?”
John had stepped away from the wall and walked to a side table where he poured two generous portions of brandy. “I know you do. She’s a difficult girl not to love.” He had offered Charles the snifter and been relieved when his friend took the drink.
“Hell, John,” was all Charles had said before tossing it back. Somehow that summed up how both felt about the situation. By the time Charles had left, they had come to an unspoken agreement to remain friends.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I think she’ll be happier with you,” Charles had said.
“I do hope so.” John had offered his hand, and Charles had taken it without hesitating.
It couldn’t have ended better, John thought, even though his jaw ached. Now he could marry Melissa with a freer conscience.
He stepped from the mirror with a sheepish grin on his face when he caught sight of his valet’s frown. “It couldn’t be helped, Walter. Do you think it’ll be gone by week’s end?”
Walter tilted his head and studied the bruise. “Hardly, sir.”
“Hmm. That’s too bad. I’m getting married in five days, and I wanted to look my best.”
 
 
Melissa had not seen John all day and was going mad with worry. It seemed so very long ago that she’d sat with Miss Stanhope in the parlor; it was as if she were in some awful state of limbo. It was nine o’clock at night, and no one had disturbed her since she’d removed herself to her rooms several hours ago pleading a headache. The house seemed unusually quiet, the only sounds the distant striking of a grandfather clock that chimed lightly on the quarter hour.
Having spent nearly her entire life confined to a set of rooms, Melissa found it difficult to keep herself cloistered now. She still wore the same dress she’d donned that morning, a mint-green creation that was far more cheerful than she was feeling at the moment. She remained dressed only because she was trying to garner the courage to speak to her uncle herself. If he wouldn’t listen to his son, perhaps he would listen to her.
What if her uncle had convinced John not to marry her? What if he simply could not endure hurting his father? She paced back and forth, chewing on her thumbnail, and stopped suddenly at her door. Staying in her room was solving nothing. She must know what had transpired between her uncle and John. Pulling open her door, she let out a small scream to see a tall man standing outside it.
“Oh, goodness, Uncle, you frightened me near to death,” Melissa said, gasping.
“I could say the same for you,” he said on a laugh. “I was just about to knock when you yanked the door open. I need to speak to you. If you wouldn’t mind coming with me to the library.”
He allowed her to precede him down the hall and stairway, and she used every bit of discipline she had not to ply him with a dozen questions. It was his stern countenance more than anything, however, that kept her silent. He did not seem to be in a jovial mood, and she feared she was about to learn there would be no marriage to John.
When they reached the library, he indicated a chair for her to take. To her surprise, John sat in a matching chair, looking as pensive as she felt. The expression on his face, a mixture of despair and dread, did nothing to make her feel better about this interview. She gave him a tentative smile, which he returned in a rather miserable way, as her uncle sat across from them.
Her uncle looked from one to the other, his eyes steady, his hands folded in front of him, resting lightly on his lap.
“You have my blessing.”
The two remained frozen for a moment, as if not quite believing the words that had just come from the older man’s mouth. Then John leaped up, an expression of complete joy on his face. “Father, do you mean it?”
“No,” her uncle growled. “I don’t. However, it has come to my attention that I may be mistaken. Or at least that I should allow you to find out for yourselves what I found out years ago. So while I am not pleased with this outcome, I give you leave to marry and make yourselves miserable in five years’ time. Or sooner.”
John walked over to his father, and Lord Braddock stood as the two men gave each other a hearty embrace. John grabbed his father’s head roughly and said in a jagged voice, “Thank you, Father.”
Then John turned to Melissa, a broad smile on his handsome face, and she flew into his arms with a squeal of pure joy. She kissed his cheek soundly, then pushed back, feeling happier than she could ever remember. Turning to her uncle, she smiled up at him, knowing he was struggling mightily not to smile. “Thank you, Uncle. I shall make it my life’s work to prove you wrong about love.”
“Hmph.”
“Oh, come now, Father. You cannot remain so cynical when proof of the existence of love is standing in front of you.”
“I simply see two fools,” he said with a grumpiness that seemed rather forced.
John reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a ring, showing it first to his father. “If I may, Father,” he said. George looked at the ring with a wistful smile.
“Of course,” he said gruffly.
And then John got down on bended knee, making Melissa laugh in delight. “Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
“I would,” she said with a firm nod.
“Father, turn away. I’m going to give my fiancée a rather improper kiss.”
“Why don’t I simply leave the room? For no more than five minutes,” he ended with a warning note.
Once his father had left, John pulled Melissa into his arms and gave her a deep kiss that made her legs go weak. “It was my grandmother’s ring,” he said. “And by all accounts, she loved my grandfather until the day she died.”
Melissa gazed down at the beautiful ring, a large oval emerald surrounded by diamonds. “I could tell it held great meaning for your father. Thank you.” She brought her head up for another kiss. “I want to make love with you,” she whispered against his lips, teasing him into another smile.
“As do I. Which is why I spent today obtaining a special license. Will five days be enough time to prepare?”
“Miss Stanhope will kill me,” she said, but she was grinning. She simply couldn’t stop it. “And if she doesn’t kill me then the modiste will. I don’t know if it’s possible to have a gown readied in time.”
“It will be ready,” he said firmly, pulling her to him for another staggering kiss. “I’m afraid if I have to wait any longer to have you, I will perish.”
Melissa let out a laugh. “You will not
die
, John.”
“I will. I can wait five days to have you, but no more.”
The door opened without warning, and George glared at the happy couple, who reluctantly stepped back from their embrace. “We’re to be wed in five days, Father.”
“Impossible,” Lord Braddock said.
“I’ve already obtained a special license,” John said, waving the document triumphantly. “Which, by the way, was no easy task.”
“Don’t you realize how much scandal is already attached to the two of you? I think it rather imprudent to marry so quickly. Perhaps in September when . . .”
“Let them marry when they choose. There will be no less scandal in September.” All three turned to see Miss Stanhope standing at the door.
Lord Braddock glared angrily at the interruption. “This is none of your concern,” he said, and Melissa was taken aback by the anger in his tone. Diane turned pale but for two spots of pink on her cheeks.
“You are, of course, correct. However, given the volatility of Melissa’s true father, I would suggest a quick and quiet wedding. We do not know how the duke will react if the banns are posted ahead of time. If she were my daughter, I would want her safely married and under John’s protection as soon as possible.”
“She is not your daughter and, again, this is not your concern.”
“Father,” John said, looking at his father with disbelief. “Miss Stanhope makes a valid point. One that I’m certain was made with the best of intentions.”
Lord Braddock’s expression was stony. “It is only that this is a family matter, and Miss Stanhope is not part of this family.”
Melissa thought she heard a sharp intake of breath from Diane, but when she looked at her, Diane appeared calm. Almost too calm, given the fact that her uncle was being unaccountably rude to her. “Uncle,” she said softly. “Miss Stanhope has become a dear friend, and I value her opinion.”
“Only because it corresponds to your own opinion,” he grumbled.
“Lord Braddock is correct. I am not part of this family, nor will I ever be,” Diane said, her words frosty. “However, I’ve never been one to remain quiet when I believe my input will benefit the outcome of an event.” She softened as she looked at Melissa. “And I thank you for those kind words, Melissa.”
“If you are finished submitting your unsolicited opinions, I would bid you good evening,” Lord Braddock said, his tone just as frosty. John and Melissa looked at each other, clearly wondering why the older couple was sparring.
“I have not finished,” Diane said.
“Then would you do so? Please.”
“Father. Diane. Would you two stop bickering so that we may come to a decision about our wedding?”
“Five days is fine,” George shouted, making everyone else in the room jump slightly.
Melissa knew better than to express any kind of happiness over that pronouncement, but she squeezed John’s hand to let him know how pleased she was. She didn’t know what was going on between her uncle and Miss Stanhope, but she was thrilled Diane had managed to persuade him.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll be heading home now,” John said. “Wouldn’t do to stay here when we’re engaged.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Melissa said, suddenly fiercely wanting to remove herself from her uncle’s and Diane’s presence. They were casting a pall on what was a glorious ending to a trying day.
She didn’t notice John’s jaw until they were standing beneath a gas sconce by the door, and she let out a small sound of dismay. “However did you do that?” she asked.
“Not to worry, love.” He looked terribly guilty about something.
“It was Charles, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” he said, holding up his hand to stop her from expressing her dismay. “But we’re still friends. I figured I deserved something like this,” he said, touching his jaw. “And it could have been worse. He could have blackened my eye, and just how would that have looked on our wedding day?”
At the mention of the wedding, Melissa smiled. “Our wedding.”
“Our wedding,” he said, kissing her on the nose. He drew her into his arms, letting out a low sound that did all sorts of wonderful things to her insides. Then she felt him stiffen, and she drew back.
“What’s wrong?” He was staring at a thick envelope with a fancy seal upon it sitting on the silver platter that normally held the home’s correspondence.
“It’s likely nothing,” he said, and walked over to retrieve the envelope. Melissa wasn’t overly concerned until she heard him curse.
“Waltham,” he said, snapping the ducal seal. “It’s addressed to you, but I hope you don’t mind.”
Melissa didn’t mind at all, for just touching something her father had touched would certainly make her skin crawl. “What is it?”
“An invitation. One I believe you will not accept. I hope you don’t mind if I go in your stead,” he said with deadly calm. He tucked the envelope into his jacket.
“Just throw it in the fire, John. Let’s pretend we didn’t see it.” She’d never seen John look so coldly determined, and she feared he would do something rash.
“This ends now.”
“Please, John. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t. He cannot hurt me once we are married.”
John laughed. “I’m not going to kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Though I wish I was the sort of man who could. No. Don’t worry,” he said, his eyes warm. He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, but his body was rigid.
Melissa let him go without another word, but she
was
worried. It was almost as if that invitation was an evil presence that should be destroyed, not held onto. When John held it, she saw a man she did not recognize—a man who could kill for something he loved.

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