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Realizing what he’d done, Mélisande reddened. “Your Majesty, I—”
George held up a hand for silence. “The decision is made. You will wed your fiancé before you depart England.”
Mélisande was torn between joy and misery. The man she adored beyond all reason was to become her husband, yet it had cost her the only home she’d ever known. She had to know... “And who will assume my”—she paused and swallowed—“the Wilmington title?”
The king’s gaze moved to David. “I’m of a mind to make young Pelham here the next Earl of Wilmington. Despite his prodigal behavior, he is extremely intelligent and capable. His uncle spoke of him frequently in favorable terms. And I know you trust him.”
David’s head snapped up, along with everyone else’s. “I—I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”
“We shall make it plain,” the monarch said with good humor. “The current countess has chosen to wed a foreigner and abdicate her position. Immediately upon her marriage to Lord Gravina, she will forfeit the earldom. As the Wilmington title has no other heir, we will create you the new Earl of Wilmington. It is as simple as that.”
George glared at each of them in turn. “We see no need to expose the real reason behind our decision. In fact, we hereby command that this matter never be spoken of again outside this room.” He looked to Mélisande and smiled. “I assume this meets with your approval?”
Mélisande nodded, dumbstruck. The tumultuous emotions of the past several months slowly gave way to a new feeling of lightness. Turning to Alessandro, she smiled, tears stinging her eyes. The warmth of his gaze reached out to envelop her, immediately followed by his arms.
After a moment, she turned to David. His face was, for once, easy to read: he didn’t know whether to feel sorrow for her loss or joy for his gain. “You are the best possible choice,” she told him quietly. “All my life you’ve been like a brother to me.
You love the Wilmington lands just as Papa did. You know them. And now they are yours to care for. Take the gift with my blessing, and be happy.”
“Melly,” he croaked. “I cannot—”
“You can,” she cut in. “And for my sake you must. I could not ask for it to be given into better hands.” She raised her palm to forestall any further objections. “I have but one condition: that you marry Charlotte before I leave England. She will make a fine countess, and one day, a fine duchess!”
Wedding invitations were sent out a week later, causing tongues to wag at the indecent haste of it all, for the ceremonies were to happen a mere month hence. Even so, not a single person declined, for the Countess of Wilmington was to marry the most infamous seducer in all of Europe, and England’s most notorious rake, her former betrothed, was to marry as well. It was scandalous, and therefore not to be missed.
The weddings were held at Kensington House, and the king himself gave away Mélisande. The avid crowd watched as she became the Duchess of Gravina and Miss Stanton became Lady Pelham. Immediately following the ceremony, Mélisande relinquished her English title. In the next breath, Pelham and Charlotte became the Earl and Countess of Wilmington.
It was a momentous event indeed.
People lining the streets cheered as the carriages bearing the newlyweds at last rolled away from the palace grounds, away from the ongoing celebration fête, away from the well-wishers and joyful pandemonium.
Mélisande sighed in contentment as she leaned against Alessandro. Though she was leaving England’s shores tomorrow, never to return, she was truly happy. No more lies, and no more fear. It was intoxicating, this freedom.
With a wicked little laugh, she arched a brow and slipped eager hands beneath the skirts of her husband’s jacket. “I have a confession to make,” she whispered into Alessandro’s ear.
“Another? What is it this time? Are you related to the Russian Empress? I assure you I would not recognize any shared birthmarks, if you are.”
She could not help but giggle, despite how her blood was heating as he dropped little kisses down her throat. “I instructed the driver to take the long way back.”
“Did you? But why would you wish to prolong our journey?”
She leaned back and smiled down into his twinkling eyes. “Because your shameless wife has a rather shameless proposal for you to help pass the time.”
It was an invitation no former roué could refuse.
ITALY, 1757
ALESSANDRO ROLLED OVER to gaze at his wife. Her beauty and grace had only deepened in the nearly seven years that had passed since their wedding day, and still she consumed and fascinated him.
As though she’d felt his stare, Mélisande smiled. He watched the slow, sensuous curling of her lips. It was the same siren’s smile that had intoxicated him the day he first saw her. Leaning over her, he kissed it, the beginnings of desire stirring in him once more, though they had made love only a few hours ago.
Releasing a throaty laugh, she withdrew to stare at him, her eyes sparkling.
He gazed back at her with growing suspicion. “And what mischief do you hide behind those jewels this morning, amora?” he asked. “Come, you know you cannot keep a secret from me. I know how to get it out of you,” he teased, reaching for her again.
“Well, I should hope it isn’t too much mischief—we certainly have enough of that already,” she quipped, batting at his hands. “But I can’t imagine having much choice in the matter, especially given the impish nature of our other two...”
His heart began to beat a little faster. “You are with child?”
