Rules for a Fake Fiancé (Rogues Gambit #1)

Chapter Seven

If anyone ignores you, be patient. Revenge will come intime.

T revor watched in dismay as one of his oldest friends insulted his fiancée. Eleanor didn’t mean to. She was reacting to the mésalliance of himself with Mellie—a natural reaction for one of her station. As the daughter of a duke, she understood what so few did of the personal and cultural divide that separated the aristocracy from new-money cits such as Mellie.

But it wasn’t an unbreachable gap, and it certainly didn’t warrant such a massive reaction as Eleanor’s pale face and dramatic pronouncement suggested. And damn it, she kept doing it.

“Trevor, you have to reconsider. Think!” Her gaze narrowed on his face. “Were you forced? Is that why you were beaten?”

And all the while, Mellie stood there unmoving, her face composed into a cold, flat mask.

“I was not beaten,” he snapped. Then he took a breath. “Please calm yourself.” Then he took Eleanor by the elbow and turned her toward the door. “Perhaps we had best take a walk in the garden.”

“Oh yes,” drawled the duchess from behind him. “Do wander off with Eleanor. I’m sure your intended will feel so much better, being abandoned like that.”

He shot her an irritated look, but then caught himself before he insulted the highest-ranking woman in the room. But, damn it, Mellie would feel that much worse if he had it out with Eleanor in front of everyone. Fortunately, his fiancée was of a more practical mindset.

“No,” she said softly. “He’s right. Some discussions require privacy for frank discourse.”

The duke stepped forward. “I don’t wish to take sides here, man—your marriage is your affair—but don’t you think Miss Smithson should be part of your frank discussion? Wendy and I can take ourselves off, can’t we, love?”

The duchess pushed to her feet, ready to leave with her husband, while Trevor looked to Mellie for guidance. Did she want to be part of a humiliating argument with Eleanor? Or would she rather he deal with it himself?

She gave no clue as to her thoughts. She folded her hands before her and looked down, like a damned servant in front of her betters. He couldn’t blame her for that, but hell, it gave him no idea how to proceed.

In the end, he had to decide, and frankly, this was not something he wanted said in front of Mellie. “I won’t be but a moment. I swear.”

She looked back at him, her eyes nearly blank as she nodded. “Of course. I’ll wait here.”

Trevor stifled a curse and nodded, then he allowed Eleanor to guide him out the parlor door and to the back of the house. They didn’t go outside but moments later walked into a cozy room meant for intimate family discussions. It was stately; this was the residence of the Duke of Bucklynde after all. The décor had less velvet, a great deal more browns from the wood, and none of the impressive knickknacks of history that were placed about the receiving parlor.

And it wasn’t the least bit comfortable.

He took a breath, trying to feel his way into the conversation. He needn’t have bothered. Eleanor took that on herself. She grabbed both his hands, squeezed them warmly, and spoke in a sincere voice.

“We have known each other since the cradle, traveled in the same circles, and shared the same friends since the beginning. No one knows better than I the stresses you face as the heir to a dukedom. It is a daily struggle of appearances and moderated words and not a single moment to think on what we want. On what we require as people who laugh and love and wish just like the lowest bootblack.”

“Eleanor,” he began, but she shook her head, revealing a desperation he hadn’t seen in her before.

“Hear me out. I know the pressure and the constant pain of biting one’s tongue, of wishing to scream at the unfairness of it all. You are a man and have more freedom to fight back, but that means very little when the usual pleasures don’t satisfy.”

He frowned. “Usual pleasures?”

She huffed. “Come now, Trevor. You’re not the kind of man to lose himself in drink or women. You don’t gamble, and you hate politics. What is there left but your science experiments?” She said “science” as if she were speaking of a hobby like embroidery or gardening.

“Don’t be insulting,” he snapped.

“I’m not trying to be!” she shot back equally irritated. “I know you want to prove something to your family. Truthfully, I don’t know how you’ve held them off for so long. But Trevor, that’s no reason to throw away your entire future for a science chit.” This time she said the word “science” more like kitchen scraps.

“She’s not some experiment,” he stated. “She’s a girl. A human being. And what makes you think she enjoys science?”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “I have eyes, don’t I? She’s got no pretense to class, curtsies like a housemaid, and doesn’t speak unless spoken to. The only way that she could have come into your awareness was through your hobby. So who is she? How did you meet her?”

“She’s the…” He sighed, knowing he was simply proving her point. “She’s the daughter of my old tutor.”

“Mr. Smithson. The one who first got you excited about all those bugs.”

He nodded, not even bothering to challenge her thought. “It doesn’t matter how I met her—”

“Of course it does.”

“What matters is that we’re engaged, and I want you to bring her out.”

“ What! ”

He held up his hands. “Listen to me—”

“I don’t care what you say, I will not help you destroy your future. Marriage to her would be a disaster!”

Irritation prickled under his skin. Why would she assume Mellie was a disaster? Mésalliance, yes, but a disaster? “Eleanor, she’s a very nice person.”

“I don’t care if she’s Mother Mary!” Then she pressed her hand to her mouth, obviously realizing the sacrilege she’d just uttered. Neither had sat down, and so she plopped on the nearest settee, only to jump up a second later. “You don’t know how hard this is, Trevor. I am daily confronted with the…the disaster that is my family name. We used to be a respectable title, but all we are now is a joke. He’s the sailor turned duke, and we are a laughingstock.”

“Hardly a laughingstock.”

The duke had been the wonder of last season. He was still a conversation item, and his wife was no help as she was a seamstress by trade. But things had quieted down. “They seem to have adjusted.”

“And who do you think is responsible for that? Certainly not those two. They think it entirely appropriate to run squealing through the house.”

Trevor frowned, his thoughts on the sight that had greeted them when they’d first stepped through the door. The duke and duchess had seemed a tad casual with a marked lack of consequence in their manner, but nothing so crass as what Eleanor implied. “I’m sure any respectability is due to your influence. Which is why I came to you, my oldest friend, and the one most capable of helping in my hour of need.”

“Don’t try to butter me, Trevor. You don’t know how hard it is.”

“She can pay for her own come-out.”

“As if that matters—”

“And I will add in extra for your troubles. I understand you’re without great resources. Would you like a little extra income?”

She whirled around, her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “I am very well situated, Mr. Anaedsley. I remain in this house as an example of proper breeding. If it weren’t for me here, they’d have livestock to dine!”

She was exaggerating and they both knew it. But she was speaking the truth from her perspective. Anyone could see that the duke and duchess were rough about the edges. Any polish had to come from her guidance. But that was exactly why he was here.

“What can I say to convince you?”

She folded her arms. “Not one thing. Forget about the Season and forget about her mysterious science ways. Imagine instead a lifetime with her across the table every day. Does she clutch her fork in her fist? Reach for the wrong glass?”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Does she insist on making friends with the wrong people? Embarrassing you if you ever have someone appropriate to visit? You cannot live on science. Her conversation is all well and good for now, but how will you feel year after year when she does not live up to the name?” She stopped and gestured angrily at his jaw. “And what happened to your face?”

He touched his swollen jaw and shrugged. “A ridiculous brawl.” He wouldn’t call it a duel because with Eleanor, she would think pistols or swords. And this morning’s affair had not been nearly so elegant.

“A brawl. Trevor, look what she has brought you to! Think of the daily strain. Believe me, it wears on a person.”

He winced because he knew she was right. Though he’d likely never tire of Mellie’s scientific conversation—she’d learned plenty from her father over the years—a lifetime of their mésalliance would certainly become tedious.

He sighed. He would have to tell Eleanor the truth. He’d hoped to avoid it, but could see now that she had his best interest at heart. She would never agree to help him if she thought he truly was set on marriage. So ignoring propriety, he dropped into the chair nearest the fire.

“Sit down, Eleanor. If we’re going to talk plainly, I’d rather not do it on my feet.”

“There is nothing you can say to sway my—”

“It’s not a real engagement.”

She stopped with her mouth ajar. He watched her frown, then snap her mouth closed before she quickly dropped into the seat across from him. “Tell me everything.”

So he did. He told her about his grandfather’s scheme to see him wed. He said he needed time for his investment to prosper, and that Mellie needed an alternative to Ronnie. He explained it all step by step in logical detail. And when he finished, he looked at her and asked the most important question. “So will you help me?”

She shook her head slowly, not in denial, but in apparent shock. “I never thought you capable of such deviousness.”

He grimaced. “It is not my natural path.”

“Don’t cut up stiff. I mean it as a compliment. I just…” She leaned forward, catching his hands. “Are you sure you’re not bamming me? This isn’t a grand passion?”

He laughed at the idea. Loudly, and for a very long time, just to prove the point. Though he was remembering the kisses. The very wonderful, very exciting kisses he’d shared with Mellie. If he were of a silly frame of mind, he could easily form a grand passion for her. And that was what made this scheme so perfect. He could pull it off. He could pretend to the world that he’d fallen desperately in love with Mellie. Or, at least desperately in lust, and that was enough.

Apparently, his mirth was enough to convince Eleanor because she wore the kind of expression he’d learned to respect. It was a female look and indicated a devious mind at work.

“Eleanor?”

“You haven’t found a wife?”

“Absolutely not. In fact, if you could help me find Mellie a husband, I would be beyond grateful.”

She grinned. “How grateful? Just how much money has your grandfather promised when you become engaged? And how much will he pay afterward to make you un-engaged?”

He cocked his head, startled to realize that she was haggling. There was a mercenary gleam in her eye. “I believe the new duke and duchess have had an effect on you.”

She sniffed and drew back. “No need to be insulting.”

“It’s not an insult. My recent experience with poverty has shown me how important it is to mind one’s coins. I cannot see that it is any different for a woman.”

“It’s more important for a woman. Especially one who isn’t wed and who is sick of hiding in her rooms whenever Radley comes home.” She leaned forward. “Do you know they are most disgustingly in love? Constantly kissing in dark corners throughout the house.” She shuddered. “My mother is rolling over in her grave.”

“Surely it isn’t as bad as—”

“It’s worse. And I would desperately love a house of my own.”

He waited, his brows lowered as he watched a wistful expression cross her face. Dreams chased one after the other in her eyes, but he hadn’t a clue what she wanted. Eleanor was likely as open with him as she was with anyone, and yet he still had no clue as to her true thoughts. What did this woman dream of? He didn’t know, and he found that sad. After all, they’d been friends from the cradle, and yet she was always the Elegant Lady Eleanor. What did a woman who defined the best of his class think of in her private moments?

He touched her hand. “What do you want, Eleanor?”

“Money,” she said bluntly. “Lots and lots of money.”

Well, that was clear enough. So with a grin, he set about the negotiation.

*

Mellie watched Trevor disappear with the extraordinarily beautiful Lady Eleanor and tried not to groan. They were two peas in a pod, those two: beautiful, titled, and of longstanding acquaintance. She had no way to compete with that, and so she had to accept it, though fear churned in her stomach. They were deciding her fate, after all. And clearly, she had no part in the discussion.

“It’s nearly dinnertime,” the duchess said into the silence. “Do say you’ll stay to dine. I should very much love to hear the tale of how you trapped the Unassailable Duke.”

“The what?”

The duchess laughed. “Mr. Anaedsley. That’s what they call him. It’s a play on the word ‘unavailable’ because he is always available. Enjoys going to parties and the like, especially during the Season. So he is available, but no woman has been able to catch him. So he’s ‘unassailable.’”

Her husband frowned. “I don’t believe unassailable is quite the right word.”

His wife laughed. “Probably not. No one said that society girls were smart. Only that they’re marriage minded.”

The duke gave a mock shudder. “Don’t remind me.”

The two shared an intimate chuckle. It was then that Melinda noticed they were touching. Though the duke stood and his wife sat, he was near enough to stroke the back of her hand, which she stretched out for him. As Melinda sat, their fingers entwined, folding and caressing each other in such a way as to make her blush. It was ridiculous. They were just interlocking their fingers, and yet it had her thinking carnal things.

Meanwhile, the duchess turned her attention back to Melinda, though her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright. “So how did it happen?”

“What?”

“You and Mr. Anaedsley. You must know that everyone will want the tale.”

“Oh. Well, my cousin challenged him to a duel.”

“What!” cried the duchess.

“That explains the jaw,” said the duke.

Mellie twisted her fingers together, her mind not on the fight but the kiss they’d shared afterward. “It…um…it wasn’t a real duel. Fisticuffs, but it was a long fight. It will be a tale for generations to come.” And she was the shrew at the center of the tale.

“That sounds like a tale.”

She shook her head, feeling mortified all over again. And angry. So angry at the silliness of men. “It happened so fast,” she said. “Yesterday I was thinking of different scents to add to my creams. Today…” She gestured vaguely to her surroundings. “Today everything is different.”

The duchess smiled. “Sometimes love is like that.” Then she looked to her husband, and the two exchanged a smile, so soft and intimate that Mellie was transfixed.

Was that what love looked like? Entwined fingers, shared smiles, long looks. She would have to do such things with Trevor, but the idea of stroking even the back of his hand twisted her belly into knots. Or perhaps she was feeling something different. Something hot and needy. She didn’t know. She wasn’t used to these emotions.

She needed to change the subject. She needed to distract herself and everyone else from this confusing discussion. But when she looked back at the duke and duchess—both watching her with disconcerting attentiveness—she had no idea what to say. Her father was easy to distract. A simple scientific question, and he would be occupied for hours. And neither Ronnie nor her uncle had ever needed her to do more than nod and agree as if she had been listening to their every utterance.

But this, she realized with a growing sense of panic, was polite conversation, and she had none. There had been no need to learn it in her father’s household where she was mistress and no one visited. But now, she was in society as the fiancée to a future duke. What could she say? How did she make the silence anything but uncomfortable?

Worse, of all the people she would meet, the duke and duchess were perhaps the kindest. Unusual on their own, they would be more accepting of her oddities. That should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. If she could not speak with them, then how would she handle anyone else?

She abruptly stood, her mind whirling as she searched for a solution. But this was not a chemical recipe. There was no way to add an ingredient or set a mixture on a fire to heat. This was society, and she’d been a fool to think she could manage such a place.

“Miss Smithson?”

“This was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.” She headed for the door. “I cannot be here.”

“Oh Lord, she’s bolting,” the duchess said, dismay in every word.

“Seelye, bar the door please,” the duke called. “I fear we’ve insulted our guest, and now we must trap her here until she forgives us.”

The butler—looking like a kindly uncle—immediately stepped forward to block her path. She tried to take a step around him, but he somehow managed to be directly in front of her no matter how she moved. And then she processed what the duke had said.

She whirled around. “Oh no! You haven’t insulted me. I just…I just…”

The duchess came forward. “Never been to London before, have you?”

“Well, yes, I have. For shopping and the like. A few times.” Exactly twice.

“And here we are confusing you. We’re terrible that way. No one ever knows how to talk to us. We’re too odd.”

“Oh no, Your Grace.”

“Tut, tut. I know it’s true.”

“Oh…oh…” And that was it. That ridiculous sound over and over as the couple firmly escorted her back onto the settee. It was embarrassing. They were treating her like a lunatic child, and she didn’t blame them. But what was she supposed to do?

His Grace pressed a brandy into her hand and encouraged her to drink. She did, nearly swallowing the whole in a single gulp.

“Good girl,” he said as he might to a dog. Then he looked at the butler. “I think it’s time that we request Mr. Anaedsley join us to dine.”

“I shall do so directly,” the man intoned.

“And you and I shall talk fashion,” Her Grace said with a smile of encouragement.

Oh Lord. She had no idea about fashion. None whatsoever.

“Don’t worry,” the woman said as she patted Melinda’s hand. “I know just how to set you up right. Make all the tabbies jealous when you appear. We’ll get you dressed like a queen.”

Melinda didn’t know what to think. She certainly had no idea what to say. Somehow, in the few minutes away from Trevor, she’d been reduced to an idiot. And this time, she couldn’t blame it on anyone but herself. How had she come here so unprepared?

And how would she manage her escape?