Rules for a Fake Fiancé (Rogues Gambit #1)

Chapter Thirteen

Fake intimacy in small ways. Give him a nickname, a token, or an intimatepromise.

T revor was not a man who wrote well. He had friends who were great orators, others who could craft a sentence like a sculptor cuts marble. When he’d promised to write Mellie daily, he’d imagined missives filled with reassurance and clever anecdotes. Simple stories to buoy her spirit and make her smile.

He pictured her smiling when she read his letters. It was one of his favorite fantasies. Well, one of his nonsalacious fantasies.

But when it came to writing these gems, he failed miserably. They contained statements like: “I went to the tailor today. He says I am a fit man.” Short, simple sentences less eloquent than his tailor bill. Clearly, she’d engaged herself to a dullard.

The only thing he’d managed in the two weeks of forced absence from Mellie was to send their engagement announcement to the paper. It had been published the next day with more eloquence than he could manage. That had the added benefit of delaying his creditors for a time since Mellie’s dowry was well-known.

Then he’d been flooded with invitations and visits from friends all wanting to know about his mysterious love affair.

He’d promised Eleanor to keep his answers short, giving only the barest details. She wanted anticipation to build before tonight’s ball where Mellie would be revealed to the world at large. Or at least, to the ton . Lady Redhill had been prevailed upon to give the ball. And as she was also the woman who designed Mellie’s clothes, everyone anticipated a grand theme. Or at least a spectacle.

What Mellie thought of this was a complete mystery to him, for as bad as he was at writing, she was arguably worse. She told him in equally simple sentences about this fitting or that visit to the milliner. She spoke in numbers more than words, as if life were some sort of mathematical formula.

“We had three trips today. I bought four hats and a pair of walking boots. The cost is the equivalent of two downstairs maids for a year. Or a month’s worth of my father’s chemicals. I cannot think this is necessary, but Eleanor told me twenty-two times this morning that it is.”

There was only one missive that contained more than accounting. It was a response to his prosaic question about her dress. Her answer had been that she “enjoyed the process.” He had no idea what that meant, but she seemed as startled as he was by the statement.

After that, he was subjected to two pages of detailed notes on the chemical treatment of fabrics. Apparently, she and the duchess had found a common interest in fabric cleaning. Mellie had recorded a small portion of their discourse, and he had to dredge up all he remembered of various chemicals and cotton to follow her missive.

Good God, would they ever be able to convince anyone that they were in love? If their letters were proof of anything, it was that they were the most unloving couple in London. And given the level of animosity between couples in the ton , that was a bleak assessment indeed.

Which was why—three days before Mellie’s come out—he arranged to accidentally stumble across the women during a shopping trip. He needed to find his footing with Mellie before her presentation. And he had the perfect idea of how to do it.

He found her exactly where her letter said she’d be: leaving a fan shop on the way to the haberdashery. She trailed behind Eleanor and the duchess as they discussed something. Probably the correct way to hold a fan or what to do if a ribbon falls off or some other such nonsense.

He didn’t care because finally, after much too long, he got to look at Mellie as the sunlight finally illuminated her…and knocked the breath from his lungs.

He wasn’t sure what he expected. Perhaps that she would be as downcast as he had been. Perhaps her cheeks would be sallow or her demeanor tentative. That was how she’d been the last time they’d been together. He did not expect her to be happy.

What kind of cad was he to be shocked by her happy expression? She was smiling. Her lips were curved sweetly and her steps were light. Eleanor and the duchess separated for Mellie to join them as they apparently said something, and Mellie laughed in answer.

Laughed!

While he had spent the last eleven days and nights worrying about the agony she must be enduring! After all, she was not used to the polite rounds, to shopping and endless discussion of fashion. He’d assumed she’d be near broken from the dancing and deportment lessons. And just because she knew Latin and Greek, that didn’t mean she could understand French at all.

And yet here she was laughing in the middle of the street as if…

As if she hadn’t missed him at all.

“Mellie!” he called out. “Fancy seeing you.”

Eleanor’s head shot up. She’d given him strict instructions to stay away, but even she couldn’t control a chance meeting on the street. She scowled at him, but he barely noticed. His attention was on Mellie.

Her gaze caught his immediately, and her mouth opened in surprise. Was she excited to see him? It was hard to tell because his own breath was tight as his gaze tried to take in all of her at once. Lord, he was acting like it had been years since he’d seen her.

She was dressed stylishly today. Her hair had been cut and fashioned in a simple style that nevertheless brought attention to her pert chin and sweet eyes. The colors she wore were strong, not faded, and the dress hugged her lush form. He could scarce credit that she was the same girl from the country who had poked a hole in her bonnet two weeks ago. And her current frock bore no resemblance to the faded sacks she usually wore when helping in her father’s laboratory.

“You look fantastic,” he said.

The sunlight showed her blush, and he smiled at the familiar sight. He’d often made her cheeks color from both embarrassment and frustration, and he adored the sight.

But before either of them could say more, Eleanor stepped between them. “Go away,” she said. “We discussed this. You cannot see her.”

“On the contrary,” he said as he stepped around Eleanor. “I can escort you ladies to the haberdashery. No harm in that. After all, don’t I owe you for a broken garden bonnet?”

“You do indeed,” Mellie said.

Oh, how he’d missed the full sound of her voice. She was speaking in warm tones and her expression was happy as she put her hand on his arm. But when he made to draw her closer, she resisted, keeping the appropriate distance between them.

He sighed. “I can see that Eleanor’s deportment lessons have taken effect. You needn’t be so prickly with me, you know.”

“Yes, she does,” Eleanor growled as she kept pace with them.

“Let them be,” the duchess interrupted as she came up on Eleanor’s other side. “You and I can go pick hat styles. I’ve got an idea that might be a little bold, but I think it will serve.”

“And who will watch them?” Eleanor countered.

“Every miss and mister on the street,” the duchess said. “Not to mention every lord, lady, and—”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Eleanor huffed. “She’s supposed to be a mystery.”

“And I,” inserted Trevor with clear annoyance, “am well known for escorting young misses when they shop. No one will think this the least bit odd.”

It wasn’t true. Since the announcement of their engagement, he and his mysterious bride were a common topic of conversation. Any woman on his arm would be inspected closely. And from Eleanor’s dark look, she knew it.

He grimaced. “I shall take her to the apothecary and tea shop behind the haberdashery. We will be entirely respectable the whole time.”

Eleanor frowned. “What shop? I don’t know—”

“It’s not fashionable,” he said. Then he glanced significantly at Mellie. “But it is fascinating.”

Her brows rose at that. Good. He’d intrigued her. And just as he’d hoped, she supported him with a perfect response.

“I’m done in, Eleanor. I should love a spot of tea.”

Eleanor grimaced. “And here I thought country girls had the constitution of a—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Trevor interrupted. “I will not take kindly to a comparison regarding my fiancée.”

Her frowned shifted, adding confusion to the expression. No doubt she was wondering where his sudden protective instincts had come from. He’d never been one to cut up stiff at any statement, provided it was funny. And Mellie would know that they didn’t think her a horse or a mule or whatever animal Eleanor was about to name.

But he didn’t think it funny, and he’d never liked Eleanor’s attitude toward country living. So he simply held the woman’s gaze until the duchess snorted.

“Never mind them. They’re just going to have tea. The maid will follow them.” Then she firmly pulled Eleanor into the haberdashery.

Finally! Mellie’s two protectors left her in Trevor’s duplicitous care. Yes, he was being a cad because the moment the ladies disappeared, Trevor tugged Mellie in the opposite direction from where he’d indicated.

“Wait,” she gasped. “I thought we were going to a tea shop.”

“We are,” he said, moving as quickly as he could manage without drawing undue attention. “It’s just not where I thought it was a moment ago.”

“You mean you lied.”

“I mean I haven’t seen you in forever and I’m terrible at correspondence. I mean…” He slowed his steps so he could look at her more fully. “I wanted a chance for us to talk like we used to. I’ve missed you.”

She shook her head. “We never talked before. You were always with my father cutting me out.”

“Not true. You inserted yourself every time. We had rip-roaring fights about all manner of things.”

“Yes,” she huffed. “Fights!”

“Yes,” he countered. “Academic discussions.”

“Disagreeable arguments where you were wrong, but you refused to listen.”

“Not always.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you remember your first attempt at a dog powder for fleas?”

“It was a first attempt!”

“The house stank for months! And I told you that would happen, but you didn’t listen.”

He grinned. “I’d forgotten about that. Oh lord, that was funny.”

“That’s because you didn’t have to live with it. You went up to the main house without even a thought to us.”

“Not true,” he said with a chuckle. “Nanny scrubbed me with lye every day for the next week until the smell went away.”

“That didn’t work in our home.”

He looked at her face, seeing the swell of her cheek as she smiled. Her hand was relaxed on his arm and as harsh as her words were, she seemed to be enjoying the memory.

“Didn’t you spent the rest of the summer learning how to swim?” he pressed.

“It was the only way to escape the stink.”

He smiled, the memory returning. “I taught you. I spent as much time there with you as I could find.” Thankfully, he’d been too young to make the lessons scandalous. They both had been.

“You taught me how to stop drowning. That’s not exactly swimming.”

“Sure, it is.”

“I’m still a terrible swimmer.”

“Then I’ll teach you properly this summer.”

They both quieted at that, abruptly recalled to the present. There would be no halcyon days of swimming this summer. Not with them both grown and certainly not if she were engaged to someone else.

Fortunately, they’d arrived at the apothecary shop, and he was able to escort her inside. He even slipped the maid a coin to remain outside the building rather than trailing them inside. There was no signage on the establishment. It was too new. And yet, he had heard about it from some of his medical friends. They had been laughing uproariously about it, but he had a different opinion.

He still thought everything done here was complete rubbish, but he knew it would interest Melinda. She was egalitarian in her research, wanting to test out all sorts of folk remedies, no matter the origin. And so she would love this.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” said an older Italian woman as she curtsied to him from behind a large, scarred table.

“Good afternoon Madame Ille. I have come to speak with Master Ah-Lan. My friend here has interest in his medical knowledge.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. He believed her vision was going, but she seemed to recognize him eventually. Or perhaps she heard the drop of a shilling on the table between them. Either way, she smiled brightly and said, “This way please.”

Mellie’s brows rose in surprise as they were led through the main room, down a narrow hallway, and then into bedroom complete with a small cot, a small desk, and two chairs.

“Trevor,” she began, her voice low. “This is not—”

“Good afternoon, sir, miss,” said a deeply resonant voice.

Both of them turned to see that Madame Ille had been replaced by a man dressed in all black attire without a cravat. In truth, he looked like a London undertaker. If it weren’t for his partly Asian features, he could have stepped out of any rectory in England. Instead, his straight dark hair, exotic features (excepting a strong Roman nose), and resonant voice led Trevor to conclude he was a bastard of a half Chinese, half Caucasian pairing. A bastard merely because neither country would likely sanction such a marriage.

Either way, the man was exactly what Trevor would expect of someone practicing a foreign healing philosophy.

Master Ah-Lan stepped into the room, bowed respectfully before them, and set a rolled-up scroll on the desk. “How may I help you today?”

“Are you Chinese?” Mellie blurted without any condescension in her voice. “I’ve never met someone from your country before. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Her open delight seemed to confuse Master Ah-Lan. Did he think she was making fun of him? He was probably insulted everywhere he went in London, and so expected to be poorly treated. Trevor rushed to explain.

“This is Miss Melinda Smithson. She has a scientific mind that thrives when learning new things.”

Master Ah-Lan turned to him, his expression wary. “Have we met before, sir?”

“We have not. I learned of you from a friend.” He didn’t name the man because his friend hadn’t been kind in his description of the “heathen healer.” Nevertheless, Trevor extended his hand as he introduced himself. “Mr. Aneadsley.”

Master Ah-Lan’s grip was firm, but his expression didn’t ease, even when he bowed over Mellie’s hand. Then, once the pleasantries were over, he got straight to the point.

“What ails you?” His gaze hopped between the two of them.

“What? Nothing!” said Mellie.

“We are here to understand the basics of your philosophy. As I said, Miss Smithson loves learning new things.”

The man blinked. “This is a sacred science. It is not something taught—”

“To women?” Trevor interrupted. “Are you sure? Don’t you have a female assistant?”

Master Ah-Lan flushed. “To people who are unserious.”

“But I am serious!” Mellie exclaimed. She managed to sound both adamant and insulted.

Trevor held up his hand. “Please, sir. I have already paid Madame Ille for your time. Could you not explain the basics to Miss Smithson?” He looked to Mellie. “It involves sticking pins into one’s body.”

“Really? How is that supposed to help with anything?”

“It is not pins!” the man exclaimed, clearly insulted. “I will not be laughed at in my own—”

“But no one is laughing,” Trevor interrupted, his voice cold. “We came here, paid for your time, all in the interest of honest inquiry. Do you throw us out? You will not get more customers that way.”

Trevor rarely used his ducal voice, in part because he was a generation away from inheriting the title. But it came out now. He would not allow any man to insult Mellie, and certainly not about her scientific curiosity.

But Mellie was embarrassed. He could see the heat climb up her cheeks as she shook her head. “Never mind Trevor. I should head to the haberdashery.”

Damn it, it infuriated him that she had grown accustomed to being discounted. He might have come here expecting a ridiculous parody of medicine, but he knew she was more open-minded than he. She would truly be interested. And so she would have her lesson, if he had to resort to fisticuffs with the arrogant Master Ah-Lan.

Fortunately, he did not have to. The man ended up being smarter than he looked. He hastily bowed and apologized for the insult. Then he pulled out the desk chair and made to sit in it.

Trevor cleared his throat. Loudly.

It took Master Ah-Lan a moment to understand why, and then he hastily pushed the chair toward Mellie. “Please, my lady. Please have a seat.”

“Oh, I’m not a—”

“Don’t worry about that, Mellie,” Trevor interrupted gently. “He’s not familiar with our ways.” Then he gestured at the scroll. “Will that explain your philosophy?”

“Yes,” Master Ah-Lan said. Then he flushed scarlet. “Well, only a small part of it.”

“That is all we require,” Trevor said. Then he stood there with his arms crossed all but daring the man to disrespect Mellie again.

He did not.

No, that came twenty minutes later from Eleanor.