The Perfect Kiss Read Free

As it turned out she’d been betrothed to marry Dominic Wolfe, now Lord D’Acre of Wolfestone Castle, since she was nine years old. And nobody had told her until now.
    Apparently Dominic Wolfe had returned to England for the first time in more than ten years. He hadn’t even come for his father’s funeral. But Sir John had heard he was back and had contacted him about the betrothal.
    It was legal and binding. According to Sir John, Melly had no choice in the matter. He and the old Lord D’Acre had cooked up the agreement years before. Documents had been signed and a large sum of money had changed hands—money that Sir John had spent long ago and had no hope of ever repaying.
    No wonder Sir John had been so miserly about spending money on Melly’s coming-out. The Pettifer money problems were well known. Why go to the expense of launching Melly on the marriage mart when it was already a done deal, signed, sealed, and the bride ready to be delivered?
    Sir John’s main worry had been that it looked as though the new Lord Wolfe would never come to England. Or that he’d married abroad. But he’d arrived in England still a bachelor and so the wedding was on.
    The news had shocked Melly badly, but slowly she had come to terms with it. It wasn’t as if she had any other suitors. You didn’t when you were poor, plain, plump, and intensely shy. And at least the new Lord D’Acre was young.
    What a strange homecoming it must have been, Grace pondered, to return to claim your inheritance and discover you’d also inherited a bride. He’d been only sixteen when the contracts were signed.
    That was the problem. Dominic Wolfe didn’t want a bride. Melly wasn’t sure what had gone on: her father and the family lawyer had journeyed up to Bristol, where he was staying. He had interests in shipping.
    Sir John was determined Melly would not be done out of her rights. The contract was legal and would stand. And the only way Lord D’Acre could inherit the property of Wolfestone was by marrying Melly. It was in his father’s will—he would inherit only after he had married Melly, or should she be dead or otherwise unable to marry, he could inherit the property only if he married a bride who met with Sir John’s approval.
    Lord D’Acre’s legal advisers had examined the will for loopholes, but it was watertight, apparently. At that, he’d agreed to marry her, but in a letter two days ago he’d coldly informed Sir John that it would be a white marriage—a marriage in name only. He and his bride would part at the church door. He owned a fleet of ships and had no plans to live in England.
    Melly was distraught. “It means I’ll have a house in London and lots of money but I’ll never have babies, Grace. And you know how I’ve always wanted babies. I l-l-love babies.” And her soft, plump face had crumpled with despair, and tears had poured down her cheeks.
    “Your papa loves you—he won’t force you to marry a man like that,” Grace had told her. “Just refuse to go through with it.”
    “He can, he can! He’s utterly adamant! I’ve never seen him like this before.” Melly had scrubbed at her red eyes with a mangled handkerchief. “Help me, Grace, I beg you.”
    And because she’d been protecting Melly from bullies ever since they’d met at school—and because insanity ran in her family!—Grace had found herself promising she would do what she could.
    That was how she now found herself on this frightful journey dressed in drab gray clothes, wearing horrid sensible leather half boots, and disguised as Melly’s hired companion, of all things. She could have been packing for a thrilling trip to Egypt with Mrs. Cheever, a wealthy widow and cousin to Mr. Henry Salt, the British consul general in Egypt and expert on Egyptian antiquities. With such wonderful connections, Grace had expected to have a splendid time. Egypt had been her passion since she was a little girl.
    But there would be other opportunities for