Minor Indiscretions by Bárbara Metzger

Mrs. Tolliver's benefit; he'd drink the sugary brew if it killed him. Yes, life would be interesting with Angel in his care. She might poison him, but he would never be bored.
    "Another biscuit, milord?" Mrs. Tolliver offered.
    "Yes, thank you. Delicious," he replied, but he was watching Miss Ashton lick crumbs off her lip, and his smile widened. His Angel, whom he had never managed to put out of his mind, was one and the same as the corrupt, conniving Miss Ashton. A fallen angel, indeed! As soon as this other matter was concluded… He replaced his cup on the tray.
    Mrs. Tolliver left with a minatory glance at the nob who seemed to be devouring her mistress with his eyes. "I'll be just outside the door, miss."
    Melody should not have had the scone, for it was stuck in her throat, or maybe that was a sob. She would not, not ever, cry in front of this imperious, sanctimonious lecher. She reclaimed her self-control, straightened her posture, firmed her chin.
    "Now, my lord," she declared coolly, "now that we have positively ascertained that you have not come to Copley-Whitmore to offer me carte blanche, perhaps you will explain exactly why you are here."
    "Cut line, ma'am. You know damn well I came for the child."
    Whatever Melody might have expected, and truly she was beyond anticipating any of this improbable conversation, that was not it.
    "You came to adopt a child?" she asked in disbelief. What would a degenerate seducer want with a child, and how could he think anyone would consider him a fit parent? "Why, pigs would fly before I let you near one of the little ones."
    He colored at that, but replied, "Give over, do, Miss Ashton. We both know I don't mean
a
child, I mean
the
child you have in your greedy clutches."
    "Greedy? Why, I'll have you know how hard I have been trying. I gave up my—"
    One long-fingered hand waved dismissively. "Spare me the histrionics, Miss Ashton. I've seen how you live. I have also met your mother here and there over the years. I do not know what rig you have been running, but you will not get another groat from me or my sister. Nor will there be the least hint of scandal touching my family name."
    "Oh, it's fine to drag my name through the dirt as bachelor fare, so long as no mud rubs off on you and yours. Is that it, my lord?"
    "No, Miss Ashton, that's not it at all. Your family
has
no name to speak of, unless you consider blackmailer and extortionist enviable designations."
    "Blackmail?"
    "Please, Miss Ashton, that wide-eyed innocence won't wash; I won't fall for the same faradiddles twice. Now, I am growing weary of these little games, so shall we place our cards on the table? You have in your dubious care a child, a girl, I believe, whose provision my sister has been supporting with, I might add, ample remuneration for your debatable efforts. The point is moot. Such monies were not enough to satisfy you, and you sought to embarrass my family by publishing the child's existence, unless, of course, your silence was rewarded. Have I stated the problem succinctly enough? Here is an equally simple solution: you will hand over the child without any more roundaboutation, or I shall immediately bring charges against you and your mother for extortion, with your own letters as evidence. I believe blackmail is a deportable offense."
    Blackmail? Melody sank back in her seat, trying to make sense of his words. That part about extortion had to be an error, a misunderstanding. There was obviously a child, however, whose very being must not be disclosed, or Lord Coe would not be here. The child was plainly a by-blow then, and— Poor Meggie. It had to be the wispy little girl with hair so light she'd reminded Melody of Corey instantly. Meggie's eyes were more turquoisy, she reflected, and the child's makeup held nothing of the rugged vitality of this man who sat at ease across from Melody, idly brushing at his waistcoat, waiting for her reply. How very sad it was for little Meggie to be the unfortunate