An Improper Duchess Page 5
A muscle flexed in Gray’s hard jaw. “If you insist on insulting the duchess, Lord Abercrombie, I will have to call you out.”
“What is happening here?” a woman cried. Lady Brownley, their hostess, pushed her way through the crowd gathering around their little tableau. She was a tiny woman, but she looked so furious she could surely beat Lord Abercrombie and Gray both into a pulp if they ruined her party with a duel. Her guests were meant to have fun, not kill each other.
Lord Abercrombie’s lips twisted in a humorless smile. “It seems, Lady Brownley, that your party has become something of an engagement soiree. Lord Grayson has just announced his betrothal to the Duchess of Gifford. I am the first to offer my most hearty congratulations.”
Lady Brownley’s startled glance flickered between Melisande and Gray. For once she seemed struck speechless. “I—well...”
“No!” Melisande cried, frantic to keep Gray from making a mistake for her sake. “No, I...”
“Forgive me for disrupting your ball, Lady Brownley,” Gray said. He held on to Melisande’s hand tightly, as if he thought she might run away. Which she longed to do, even though she knew she couldn’t, didn’t want to, break free from him.
Gray went on, “I have indeed asked the duchess if she will do me the honor of being my wife. May we beg the use of one of your private sitting rooms?”
“Of course,” Lady Brownley said, regaining some of her social equilibrium. Melisande could see in her eyes that she was calculating how best to use this curious incident. “Follow me, Lord Grayson. Your Grace.”
Gray ignored everyone as he led Melisande behind their hostess out of the suddenly buzzing ballroom. An ordinary party had suddenly become an unexpected on-dit. The handsome and sought-after Lord Grayson Sanbourne had become engaged to the scandalous—and older—Duchess of Gifford. Melisande caught a glimpse of shocked faces in the crowd, but then they left the drawing room behind.
Lady Brownley showed them to a small reading room, lit only by one small colza lamp on a side table. Gray thanked her politely before he shut the door, and they were enclosed in their own small, silent world.
Melisande stared up at him, his beautiful face sculpted into stark, austere angles in the flickering light. She didn’t know what to say. She only wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold on tightly. She hadn’t quite known how very much she missed him in the long, lonely days since they had parted.
“You didn’t have to say that. Lord Abercrombie would have tired of me and moved on to another target soon enough,” she said. She leaned back against the door and curled her fists into her skirts to keep from grabbing him.
Gray braced his palms to the door just above her head, holding her there without actually touching her. The heat of his body, the clean, spicy scent of him, seemed to wrap around her, keeping her safe.
“I didn’t like the way he looked at you. Men like him are only bullies. They never go away unless they are forced to,” he said. “What on earth were you doing with him?”
Melisande shrugged. She didn’t want to admit quite how much Lord Abercrombie had frightened her. Nor did she care to tell Gray about her foolish scheme for ruination. “I have met men of his sort before. They always give up in the end.”
“You should never have to deal with them alone, Melisande.” Gray traced a curl of her hair with the tip of his finger, and she shivered at the touch. “But I confess I had the most selfish of motives for coming to your rescue.”
“Did you?” she whispered, enthralled by the look in his eyes.
“Yes. I had to propose to you someplace where I knew you would have to listen.”
“You—wanted to propose to me?” she stammered. “But we hardly know each other.”
“I feel as if I know you better than anyone else—and you know me.” He traced the back of his hand gently over her cheek. “Can you deny that?”
Melisande shook her head. She couldn’t deny that. She had dreamed only of him ever since their night together, had longed for him. Was it possible he had felt the same? “No. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Then stay with me. Marry me,” he said urgently. “Or at least give me the time to prove to you that I can make you happy. That we can have a wonderful life together.”
“Gray, you know your mother does not approve of me—nor should she,” Melisande argued. Even as she longed so much to do as he asked, to leave this place with him now and never look back, she knew how their world would see it all. She was already much gossiped about, no matter how she tried to change that. But Gray was different. She could have used him for her scheme to ruin herself too, but she could never have hurt him that way. “I can’t hurt you like that. Your life has so much potential, there is so much you need to do.”
“My life would be nothing without you with me,” he said roughly. “I have been asked by Lord Travers to join a scientific expedition to India, which leaves in a month. Come with me. Be my wife, help me with my work. I need you, Melisande.”
He needed her. She could hardly believe the words, yet she couldn’t deny the deep, warm pleasure they gave her. She had never been needed before. As she looked up into his beautiful eyes, full of wonder at what she found there, he groaned and swept her into his arms. She went up on tiptoe and held on to him tightly.
“Kiss me,” she said, and when his lips touched hers she knew she was truly home. Scandal, the past, his family—none of it mattered at all. Not next to how she felt with him.
“Please, Melisande,” he said. “I will talk to my family, make them accept our marriage and my work. I will do anything to make you say yes.”
“You don’t need to do anything except be yourself,” she said. “I have never known anyone like you. Yes, I will marry you. I will go anywhere with you.”
He kissed her again, both of them laughing with the sheer wonder of the leap they had just taken. Melisande had no idea what would happen next in this new adventure—but she couldn’t wait to find out.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460304136
An Improper Duchess
Copyright © 2013 by Ammanda McCabe
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