Rules for a Fake Fiancé (Rogues Gambit #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Be hard and calculating like a man. Do not let feminine emotions enter your head or worse, yourheart.

M ellie tried not to pace in the upstairs parlor of the Redhill home. Normally she would sit quietly with her hands composed in front of her. Her father had trained that position into her from her earliest memory. He believed hands folded in quiet repose was the best position for a quiet mind. The two of them had practiced it every day until she could sit in silent meditation for nearly an hour. And yes, it usually did quiet her mind.

But to sit now would crush the feathers on her dress. To sit now would suggest that this riot of emotions was a bad thing. She enjoyed them. In fact, she had never felt more alive in her life.

Or rather, never more alive when doing something proper.

Lord, she did love thinking about Trevor and the wonderful things she still wanted to do with him. She felt the ring on her finger, hidden beneath her glove. It was solid and whimsical at once. The idea that he wore a matching ring made her grin. She’d wanted so desperately to kiss him when he’d given this to her. She’d wanted…well…those were not the thoughts of a proper woman, so she tried to put them away.

She focused instead on her coming presentation to the ton. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought this day might come.

Lady Redhill had declared two weeks ago that the Cricket Princess wearing a feathered gown needed an equally dramatic presentation. So while everyone entered the ballroom in the usual fashion—Trevor included—she was to wait upstairs until summoned. It would be right before the dancing began. At that time, she would be announced to the ton , then Trevor would escort her to Lord and Lady Redhill.

After the greeting, Helaine and her husband would open the ball with a dance: a waltz. Trevor and Mellie would be the second couple on the floor. Everyone would be looking at her, everyone wondering about this strange cit in feathers who had captured the heart of a future duke.

She ought to be terrified. She ought to be embarrassed. After all, she was wearing feathers, for God’s sake. But she wasn’t. She was elated and excited and filled with a giddy terror. It was wonderful, and all she wanted to do was laugh before falling into Trevor’s arms.

Joy. Oh, such joy as she had never felt before. If only time would speed up and Seelye would knock.

Knock, knock.

She gasped and spun around. Was it time already?

The door opened, and a man stepped in. He wasn’t Seelye. He wasn’t even the Redhill majordomo, or any servant that she could tell. He was tall with dark, curling hair and a physique handsomely displayed in black evening clothes. His face was cut in angular lines, which emphasized the bump on his nose from where it had been broken at some point. And his dark brown eyes were particularly handsome, though it was his mouth that drew the eye. Full lips when she might have expected severe, and a curve at the edges that grew when he looked at her.

“You’re not Redhill,” he said. His voice matched the angles of his face—gravelly and sharp, but his smile softened the tone. And the frank appreciation of her dress made her flush with embarrassed pleasure.

“No, sir,” she said, belatedly remembering to curtsy. “I believe his lordship is downstairs greeting guests.”

“Well, he would be, wouldn’t he? Except he seems to have disappeared, and as I had some urgent matters to discuss with him, I thought I’d catch him. But I seem to have caught you instead.”

She had no answer to that, so she lifted her chin. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone her name. Not until she was announced. At the time, she’d thought Eleanor’s dictate ridiculous. Who would see her but the servants? This man, apparently. She smiled and folded her hands before her, secretly pressing her ring against her finger. This was her first true ton meeting, and she needed the reassurance of Trevor with her, if only in the form of a hard cricket ring.

“Allow me to present myself. Mr. Carl Rausch, at your service,” he said.

She dipped her chin. “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”

“No need to tell me who you are. You’re the mysterious Miss Smithson. And I must say, you’re living up to expectations.”

She arched a brow. “We’ve only just met, sir. I cannot have lived up to anything.”

“On the contrary,” he said as he leaned negligently against the door frame. “You are indeed beautiful. I believe the betting books were in your favor on that. Trevor was never one for ugly girls.”

She kept her expression calm, but internally, she winced. Part of her couldn’t help wondering if that was one of the reasons Trevor told her they wouldn’t suit: because she wasn’t beautiful enough.

“And Miss Smithson, I’m afraid I have a secret source. You see—I know your uncle.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Yes, he and I have had some dealings regarding his mill.”

“But I have nothing to do with the mill.”

His smile widened until it appeared wolfish. Angular face, wide smile that showed teeth, and those rakish black locks. Mellie silently revised her estimate of him. He was not handsome, but he was vastly interesting. Especially as he spoke of her greatest accomplishment with admiration.

“I know that you are the one responsible for the bleaching process your uncle uses. I also know that you have continued to work and have an exciting new formula. And that, my dear, makes you brilliant.”

She felt her cheeks heat. Finally, someone understood that she was smart. As fun as it was to wear a gown covered in feathers, this was true pleasure. This was someone who appreciated the years of dedicated effort she had put into science.

“Do the betting books also list me as a bluestocking?”

“Strangely, no. But I believe that is the work of Lady Eleanor. Bluestockings cannot be of the first stare of fashion, and so she has downplayed your intelligence.” Again his smile widened. “I believe I shall win a great deal of money when your true talents are revealed.”

“You bet on my intelligence?” She ought to be insulted, but she wasn’t. He was obviously a discerning man.

“I did.” He pushed off the wall to fully enter the salon. “Do prove me correct by allowing me to introduce you to my chemical society friends. I believe you and they will have a great deal to discuss.”

“You are not a student yourself?”

“Not of the sciences, though I enjoy a mathematical discourse or two. My interests lie more in the realm of economics.”

“Money,” she said.

“And how to make a lot of it.”

He was completely unabashed in his mercenary desire, and that reminded her of her uncle. Though her uncle was never this handsome or refined. While she stood there mentally comparing him to her uncle, he stepped directly before her, possessed her hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Then he continued to hold her hand as he gazed into her eyes.

“Do say yes,” he said. Only he didn’t just say it. He smiled it. He teased it. No, he persuaded it. And her.

“Yes,” she said before she remembered what she was agreeing to.

“Excellent,” he said as he lifted her hand even higher. There, dangling on her wrist, was her dance card. “I shall find you for our dance and then lead you to supper afterward. Most of my friends can join us then.”

“Oh no,” she said. “I’m sure I’m supposed to go into supper with Trevor.”

He arched his brows as he wrote his name on her card. “Trevor should join us then,” he said. “He always enjoys a lively scientific debate.”

“Of course he does,” she said, feeling rather dazzled by the way he took possession of her hand, her dance card, and her activities. It was the last part that annoyed her. She pulled her card back, but not before he’d scrawled his name on the last dance before supper. “Trevor and I are affianced, and this is our first ball together. Wouldn’t it be odd if I made plans without him?”

He straightened, pursed his lips, and seemed to consider her thoughts. “I can see your point, but I’m afraid it betrays your country upbringing. Ton couples do not live in one another’s pockets.” Then he shrugged. “But do as you wish. I have no interest in making things awkward for you. I simply thought you would enjoy my friends’ company.”

Put like that, she felt like a shrew. He was offering her scientific conversation. And after two weeks of fashion, dance lessons, and lists of names she had to memorize, the idea of scientific discourse was a temptation she couldn’t refuse.

“Very well, sir. I suppose I didn’t understand.”

He brightened considerably. “Excellent! I’m sure my friends will be delighted to hear about your newest formula.” Then he leaned forward, close enough for her to see the striations in his dark eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d like to give me a hint. What exactly is this new recipe of yours?”

She blinked twice, making sure her expression was wide and innocent. “My uncle didn’t tell you?”

“He was about to, but we were interrupted. We’re to meet later in the month, but it would save me some time if you explained it now.”

Of course it would. Especially since she was sure her uncle could absolutely not have told him the recipe, as she hadn’t shared it with anyone.

“Oh my,” she declared. “It’s really a simple skin cream. Designed to be mixed with a man’s shaving soap. Makes the beard stand up straighter, so that it can be cut more easily.”

“Really?” he said. “I’m fascinated.”

“Would you like me to write it down for you?” She looked around then sighed. “But I have no pen or paper.”

“No matter. I have an excellent memory. Just tell it to me.”

“Mind you do it exactly.” She recited it in specific detail. Except the formula was not for making a man’s beard stand up. It was one to make him stink. Horribly. And for days on end. Though on the up side, it would kill any sheep ticks that lived on his face.

“Do you have it?” she asked.

He repeated it verbatim.

“Excellent! You should try it in your hair,” she said. “It makes the strands fuller. We plan to make it into a soap for balding men.”

“An excellent idea. You are most definitely brilliant.”

“And you, my lord, are…” A trickster. A seducer. “…a very clever man.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I merely recognize cleverness in others. And now, I should leave. I’m sure Lady Eleanor has a grand entrance planned.”

“She does. And she wouldn’t appreciate that you are up here now.”

“Then I will bid you adieu until our dance.”

She smiled and dropped into a small curtsy. By the time she straightened, the door had already shut behind him. Which left her alone to think of the man. To analyze—

“Miss Smithson? It’s time.”

“Seelye. I didn’t even hear you open the door.”

“Silence is highly prized in a good butler,” he returned.

In more ways than one, she should think. She wondered if he had seen Mr. Rausch depart. If he had, would he tell anyone that she’d been alone with him?

“Don’t be nervous, Miss Smithson. Lady Eleanor knows what she’s about.”

She had no doubt about Eleanor. It was her own performance tonight that she worried about. But she didn’t allow that to show on her face. Instead, she lifted her chin.

“Well then, Seelye. I suppose it’s time I made a spectacle of myself.”

The butler gave her a rare smile before holding up her dark green cloak with the stylized antennae on the hood. The plan was to cover herself fully with it, then pull it off at the top of the stairs to reveal all her feathered glory. Just as she stepped into concealing garment, she heard Seelye speak.

“Mr. Anaedsley is a lucky man.” The words were spoken quietly, almost too soft for her to hear. And when she turned to look at the butler, his face was its usual impassive expression.

Oddly enough, the sight reassured her as nothing else. They all had their roles to play, didn’t they? Seelye was the stoic butler. She was the blushing innocent. Even Mr. Rausch was the mysterious distraction.

But what was Trevor? Was he the ardent lover? Or merely another clever schemer? She supposed she would have to get to the end of the play to find out. So she descended the stairs, belatedly realizing she was leaving a small trail of feathers in her wake.

How much of her dress was going to disappear before the night was done? But there was no help for it now as she arrived at the top of the ballroom stairs. Then Seelye passed her off to the Redhill majordomo before fading back into the shadows.

Now was the moment. She stepped to the top of the stairs, keeping her head down and fully covered beneath the cloak. She wasn’t to look up until she was announced. Two heartbeats later, her name was spoken in carrying tones.

“Miss Melinda Smithson.”

The crowd went silent. Someone whisked her cloak off. Then she lifted her chin and looked…

Oh my.

Oh goodness.

She hadn’t expected there to be this many people here. She hadn’t realized how high the steps were before descending into the ballroom. She hadn’t thought everyone would gape at her like that. Or that she’d feel like a prancing bear dressed in feathers.

This was a mistake.

A horrible, ridiculous, stupid—

Trevor started climbing the stairs. She focused on him as she might have looked at a shield or a wall to hide behind. If she hadn’t been frozen in place, she would have run to him like a child ducking behind a rock.

Then he smiled at her.

That familiar face. Charming. Freckled. With warm brown eyes that held her gaze. She’d once hated that face because it meant he was taking away her father and leaving her with Ronnie. And before that, he’d been the spoiled prince who tugged her hair before running off to chase frogs.

She had a history with this man and a shared secret, not to mention that solid, whimsical ring about her finger. This was Trevor, and when he smiled at her, she felt herself come alive. Her belly softened and her shoulders eased. No longer frozen in place, she moved to him, meeting him two steps below the top.

He bowed to her as she curtsied. Not so easy on the steps when her knees were still stiff. But she managed it as he took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back.

“My Cricket Princess,” he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.

“My Bug-Eyed Duke,” she returned.

She thought their words were too quiet for anyone else to hear, but she’d forgotten about the Redhill majordomo. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his start of surprise. He twisted slightly to look at her, and then recalled himself.

Trevor saw it too. His eyes danced with merriment as he gently set her hand on his arm. “Allow me to introduce you to our host and hostess.”

“Of course—”

“And it’s Buggy Duke. Not Bug-Eyed.”

She giggled. She couldn’t stop it. “I think your ring speaks for itself. Bug-eyed.”

“Oh blast. I knew I’d fashioned that thing wrong.”

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was talking nonsense with her as they often did. And he was distracting her from the fact that the crowd had begun to talk. Whispers, chatter, outright giggles.

They were laughing at her. Her father and uncle were right. She was a laughingstock. And yet, with a cricket ring on her finger and her duke at her side, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not at this moment. Not as she curtsied to the Earl of Redhill and his countess.

Helaine pressed a kiss to her cheek, whispering into her ear. “We’ve almost done it. Just keep a brave face for a bit longer.”

Mellie didn’t have a chance to respond as Lord Redhill turned to the musicians and gave the nod. The opening notes were struck, and immediately the center of the ballroom appeared. People slid backward as if pushed away.

Lord Redhill took his wife’s hand, then pulled her indecently close to dance. Normally, Melinda would have enjoyed watching. The couple moved so beautifully through the steps, but it was her turn now. And if she was a bit reluctant, Trevor seemed to be eager.

In one motion, he took her hand and slipped his other about her waist. Then he had her on the dance floor. She probably would have stumbled, but he braced her. A few notes later, she was able to relax into the motions of the dance.

Of the waltz.

In his arms.

Sweet heaven, it was glorious.

In all the excitement, she forgotten what it was like to be held by him. To feel the grip of his fingers and the muscular bunch of his thighs. They weren’t supposed to touch leg to leg, and they didn’t for the most part. But even at a proper twelve inches apart—which truthfully, they weren’t—she was aware of the strength of his legs and the thrust of his steps. Forward. Backward. Sweeping her about the room until she smiled from sheer exhilaration.

“That’s better,” he said as he smiled at her.

It took her a moment to realize that he meant her expression, not the motions of the dance. “Do I look terrified?”

“No. Do you feel terrified?”

“I did. I was.”

“And now?”

Now she wanted him to kiss her. Now she was thinking of brandy in her bedroom and the press of his body against hers. “Now I hope this dance never ends.”

His arms tightened around her, drawing her even closer. She went easily, abandoning herself to the heat of his body as he moved them about the room. She found his rhythm, she matched his steps, and then she laughed. How had she lived this long without dancing? How had she ever preferred a book to spinning about a room in Trevor’s arms?

He slowed. His steps faltered, and then they stopped. But he didn’t stop staring at her. And she did not step away from him.

The music had ended. Some part of her was aware of it, but he was there, and she was so close to him that she knew when he breathed. When they breathed.

Her heart stuttered, and her chest squeezed tight.

Something was blooming inside her. Something tender and horrifying and powerful all at once. It was there, swelling in her though she was terrified at the change. She was a quiet girl. A country girl of science, and yet… And now…

She felt it burst through her consciousness like a blow to the head. Or perhaps a blow to her heart because that organ abruptly lurched inside her.

Love.

She was in love.

And while she stood there gaping at him, he turned his eyes to the crowd. It took some moments before she heard what he did, before she saw what absorbed his attention.

Clapping. The crowd was clapping.

Apparently, she was a success. Everyone was smiling at her, the newest sensation of the ton .

“That’s done it,” Trevor said with pride.

“Done what?”

He extended his arm, ready to escort her to her position on the edge of the dance floor. Already there were a dozen gentlemen lining up to greet her.

“You’re a success. And now the real work begins.”

“What?” She stumbled slightly, but he held her safe. “What work? I thought this was the hard part. This launch that made me a sensation.”

“That was Eleanor’s hard part. This is mine.”

She looked at him, too many conflicting emotions rioting inside her. She was still reeling from this burst of love. She had no understanding of what he meant.

“Trevor?”

He turned her, lifting her hand to press yet another kiss onto the back of her glove.

“The hard part,” he explained. “Helping you pick one of these gentlemen to be your husband.”

“Oh,” she said. That hard part.

“Don’t worry. Just pay attention and let me know if you think you could love any one of them.”

And then before she could say anything—before she could burst into tears—he began the introductions.