Chapter 3 #2
No such gentle emotions existed. Melody was no longer the woman who lit up his life and gave him hope. She was his enemy, and as such, she deserved only his contempt.
Looking away from her, he gave his attention to his godmother. When he saw that she wore a deep frown and watched him with narrowed eyes, he forced a smile. “Good morning. I hope my stopping by doesn’t inconvenience you.”
“Not at all,” said Lady Heathbrooke. “It’s past time you came to call.”
“Agreed.” When she raised her chin a little and gave an expectant look, he crossed to where she sat and dropped a light kiss to her cheek, then retreated a step.
“Happy as I am to see you, I must confess this isn’t merely a social visit.
In fact, I have an important matter I’d like to… apprise you of.”
There would be no discussion, the way there had been in the past. This time, he would inform Lady Heathbrooke of his decision while making his expectations clear. No one was to stand in his way.
“Will you not have a seat?” she asked him. “An extra place can be set for you if you would like something to eat.”
“No, thank you.” He’d breakfasted before leaving home. However… “A cup of tea will be sufficient.”
“Excellent.” She smiled at him, then slid her gaze toward Melody. “Can you please collect an extra cup?”
“Of course.” The hushed words drifted toward him.
His stomach clenched with the awareness that Melody crossed to the cabinet behind him and that she would soon be near enough to touch.
Her footfalls were soft. Stealth-like. The cup was set before him without his having heard her approach. A reminder of who she truly was and the fake identity she’d made him fall in love with.
Despite the fresh anger flooding his veins, he caught her hand before she was able to make a retreat and held her in place. Her gasp was audible, his godmother’s curiosity palpable.
Edward ignored both in order to say what needed saying. “I’ve asked Miss Roberts to be my wife, and she has accepted.”
Silence followed for the second or two it took Lady Heathbrooke to find her tongue. “You cannot be serious.”
Something akin to flint had hardened the old woman’s gaze.
Edward faced it without so much as flinching. “I have never been more serious about anything else in my life. Melody Roberts is going to be my wife, and that is final.”
“You will ruin both your reputations over this folly,” his godmother said. She turned her firm gaze on Melody. “How could you have accepted such an offer after the lengths I went to in order to make sure he’d give you up?”
“So you admit that you meddled in my affairs,” Edward snapped, the tether he’d had on his anger slackening.
“Someone had to use common sense when you refused to do so.” Lady Heathbrooke huffed a breath.
“You deliberately removed Miss Roberts from my life without consulting me first.” Edward did not care that the effort could have been to his advantage.
Had it worked, he might have moved on, and as a result, he might not have cared about the lies and deception.
But he hadn’t moved on. Instead, Melody’s absence had made him long for her even more.
As such, the events that followed were all the more painful. “What right did you have to interfere?”
“Edward, be reasonable.” Lady Heathbrooke’s expression was harsher than he’d ever seen it. “You’re an earl. As such, you must put the preservation of your title ahead of your own desires. Miss Roberts, while lovely, will not make an acceptable countess.”
“Perhaps not,” he mused, since Melody’s qualifications were the least of his concerns. “However, it isn’t up to you. Is it?”
Something dangerous flashed in Lady Heathbrooke’s eyes. She straightened in her seat, and, for a second, Edward was sure she imagined shooting him dead for daring to disrupt her day.
“No, I don’t suppose it is,” she said, her voice frigid. “However, I dare say Mr. Harlowe will need to be informed.”
Edward smirked. Did the old woman honestly think he hadn’t considered as much?
“Even though Miss Roberts is of an age where she does not require his blessing, I wanted to make sure Harlowe and I remain on good terms. As such, I met with him last night. He’s thrilled with the prospect of having a protégé marry into the peerage. ”
All the more reason for Edward to think this had always been Melody’s goal.
He shifted his gaze toward his bride-to-be at that moment and noted how pale she suddenly looked.
It disturbed him slightly to realize he did not care if her upcoming nuptials distressed her.
The wall that had formed between them, intended to make sure she’d never hurt him again, prevented him from sympathizing with any concerns she might have about what was to occur.
Rather, knowing she had become the pawn in his game for a change satisfied him so much, he felt his lips curve with amusement. “You should know that I have procured a special license.”
“Are you determined to make matters worse?” Lady Heathbrooke asked. “A special license will lead to questions. People will wonder at the need for such haste. At the very least, give Miss Roberts the dignity of calling the banns.”
A tiny sliver of guilt snuck its way into Edward’s conscience. He had caused the need for the special license. Perhaps…
No. He would not feel bad about what he had done. Not after the cruel way in which Melody had used him. To Lady Heathbrooke he said, “The special license is necessary after the Duke of Moorland happened upon us in the park yesterday afternoon.”
She gave him a disapproving look that would have made him feel horribly small a few weeks ago. Now it bounced right off him. But then… “Honestly, Edward, I thought you were better than this.”
Unlike her gaze, the words managed to penetrate his defenses. They settled deep in his gut where they started to fester. The effort it took to shove that feeling aside and remain on task was tremendous.
Hating the fact that he was being made to feel bad about any of this when it was Melody who was to blame, he told both women, “It could be worse. I could have let Moorland believe that I had acquired a new mistress.”
“I would never agree to be any man’s mistress,” Melody said, the words slightly strained.
“Just as well,” Edward clipped, “since you’ll be my wife instead. I’ve made arrangements with Vicar Moseby, who has kindly agreed to make time for us tomorrow morning, ten o’clock, at Saint George’s. Don’t be late.”
With nothing left to be said and no wish to stay in his godmother’s dining room one second longer, Edward stood, produced a short bow, and left.
Despite having gotten his way, he felt no pleasure, only more bitter resentment as he strode away.
His heart was in pieces, his soul shredded, and rather than try to heal either one, he’d built a prison for himself and a woman who probably loathed him.
Which begged the question: Who was he really punishing? Himself or her?