After The Storm (6 page)

“Do you?” Sally’s voice was light, though the corners of her mouth tightened ever so slightly. Still, she smiled and sliced off another sliver of venison to pop in her mouth.

Hugh broke his contact with Miranda and his gaze shifted to Sally. “I do. I think it a trait that ought be more acceptable.”

The duchess’ smiled wanly. “There is a time and a place for speaking one’s mind. If one chooses poorly, the repercussions can be great.”

“Ladies should be seen and not necessarily heard,” Eleanor mumbled around a mouthful of buttered squash.

“I am afraid I must disagree,” Hugh broke in as he set down his fork. “I find that rather silly, actually. What rational man wants a wife who never voices an opinion or disagrees with him? I imagine that makes for a rather suffocating marriage. Not to mention quite dull, indeed.”

“I shall remember that,” Sally replied icily, her elegant fingers curled about the stem of her goblet to draw it near.

Miranda also reached for her glass and lifted it to sip the heady ruby-colored wine swirling about the bowl. She watched from the corner of her eye as Sally turned her glare in her direction, and she fought the urge to fidget in her chair. There was no sign of Sally’s earlier warmth now. Her glare radiated pure, bright green venom.

Sarah cleared her throat to shatter the swirling tension like brittle glass. “I think you can be a success, Miranda. You simply need to keep in mind what is expected of you.”

“I only hope I can.” Miranda smiled at the dowager. “I should hate to disappoint my aunt when she’s already been so good to me.”

Sally twisted in her chair to bestow on her another chilly smile. “Why, I am sure some lucky gentleman will snatch you up.”

Miranda cringed at the malicious undertones to Sally’s words.
One desperate enough to settle for you
is what she implied.

Still, she held her temper and returned Sally’s smug smile. If Sally wished to provoke, Miranda refused to fall into her trap and make a fool of herself. “I am equally optimistic, my lady. After all, there is someone for everyone, isn’t there?”

“Well, that’s what they say. But it matters not to me, as I’ve already found mine.” Sally popped the bite of venison between her lips.

Miranda fought the urge to kick her. Drat it all, anyway. Why did the one man she felt the tiniest hint of attraction to belong to another? She murmured in agreement as Sally turned the talk to the latest gossip, but paid very little heed to the conversation. It was only when she caught Hugh staring at her again did she snap back to attention. Her belly leaped each time his gaze fell upon her. Had he said something?

No. He merely glanced her way before turning his attention to his brother-in-law, apparently as uninterested in gossip as she was.

“And I do hope you will be here for it.” Sally said, once again including Miranda in the discussion.

Though she had no idea to what Sally was talking about, Miranda nodded her head. “Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Wonderful. The Rowan ball is one of
the
fetes of the Season. Isn’t it, Duke?”

“It is.”

“I am quite certain it will be.” Miranda nibbled on her roast venison to avoid any more polite chatter.

Finally, the evening ended and she was back in her room, in bed, where she stared up at the canopy. Across the room, Mrs. Anderson dozed in an armchair by the fire, a book on the floor at her feet. She snored loudly every third breath, but Miranda paid her very little mind, as her mind whirled with both regrets and fantasies. It hardly seemed fair Hugh Montgomery belonged to another. When he looked at her she wanted to simply melt right through the floor into a contented puddle.

It was a bit strange, hearing him addressed as
Duke
, as he did not seem very duke-ish. Dukes should be stiff and imposing, with silver hair and stern expressions. Hugh was hardly stiff, though his size alone
did
make him seem somewhat imposing. Rather, he seemed very much an ordinary man. Well, perhaps not
ordinary
, but—

She scowled at the darkness around her. Even her own thoughts made little sense now, but sleep evaded her, and made it impossible
not
to think them. She’d made quite the fool of herself, though, with her inability to keep from gazing over at him. Sally wasn’t at all fooled. Her claim was being admired, and she was none too happy about it.

“Take care,” she muttered, rolling over and punching her pillow. “You’d hate to alienate the very people you need.”

Mrs. Anderson snorted and staid black linen rustled as she turned, mumbling “What?”

Miranda ignored her. “Yes. It would be unwise to let Lady Sally know you were growing butterfly-bellied at the sight of her intended.”

Terribly
un
wise. However, she couldn’t hold back her smile. Perhaps she was not in such a hurry to return to Scotland after all.

Chapter Five

“So, what did you think of your little dinner guest?”

Hugh sat back in his chair, legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles, cane propped against the chair’s arm. Sally sat practically on the very edge of her seat cushion, in the chair nearest the fire. Her eyes appeared violet in the glow of the flames, and trained steadily on him.

“You mean you wish to tell me what
you
thought of her.” He swirled the brandy in its glass. The amber liquor sparkled in the light, and he pulled his gaze from it to look at Sally. She appeared ready to burst. Masking her feelings was
not
one of her talents. She was as transparent as crystal, especially where other females were concerned. It wasn’t the first time she’d gone on a jealous tirade over what she felt was his bestowing too much attention on another woman. A bit tiresome, really, but unavoidable.

Despite her pleasant smile, she was ready to pounce. Her angelic smile might fool one less familiar with her, one who didn’t recognize the tension yanking her back ramrod straight, or the slight frown of her bow-shaped mouth. Her silvery laugh rang hollow to his practiced ears, but it was best to simply let her continue.

“You make it sound as though I was nothing more than a gossip.” She gazed at him through a lowered fringe of thick black lashes, a coy look she perfected years earlier. “Do you think me so terrible?”

There was only one answer that wouldn’t result in a rather dramatic flounce from the room. “Of course not.”

Her silk gown crinkled as she twisted toward Elyse. “What did
you
think of her?”

“I like her, actually. I find her candor most refreshing.”

Elyse was never one to worry about antagonizing Sally and Hugh grinned at Sally’s anticipated scowl. “I think you said the wrong thing, Elyse. Do tell us, pet, before you burst. What did you think of her?”

Sally bit her bottom lip, worried it for several moments before she sighed as if something heavy weighted her mind. “Well, I don’t like to gossip, but she seemed so…
mannish
…to me. Don’t you think?”

Derek chewed thoughtfully on the cigar clamped between his teeth, though his faraway expression suggested his attention was directed elsewhere. “I don’t think I’d use that particular word to describe her.”

Nor would Hugh, though he remained silent. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was to spend the remainder of a pleasant evening smoothing Sally’s ruffled feathers. It required much more than a few compliments and he was too tired to contemplate such an endeavor. Even now, she’d turned her glare on Derek, though to his credit, the man hardly seemed to notice.

Elyse shook her head, waving away Sally’s observation as if it was so much nonsense. “Oh, so she’s a bit tall. That doesn’t makes her masculine. Why, when she learns all of the proper steps, she’ll be a most graceful dancer.” She turned an impish grin to Hugh. “And you’ll probably not have to worry about losing a foot.”

“As I explained to Miss MacDonough, the feeling has long since returned to my feet.” Hugh set his drink on the table, and reached for a cigar. He lit it and stretched his aching leg, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke as he added, “In fact, I think she’d greatly improved by the end.”

Sally’s scowl deepened and a groove formed between her perfectly arched brows. “Do you plan to dance with her again, darling? Whatever for? Haven’t you helped enough as it is?”

“Enough? She’s had but one lesson and though I daresay she will improve with time, no one learns in
one
lesson, I’m afraid.” His humor faded. Miranda was already quite the sore spot with her, and he didn’t want to worsen the situation. “I think my services are going to be required for a few more lessons, to say the least. But worry not, my lady. It is nothing more than dancing. No harm in a waltz, despite what the stodgy crows might think.”

“Really? You
waltzed
with her, then?”

He swallowed a groan as her left brow crept up ever so slightly. So much for not ruffling her feathers. They were positively bent every which way now. “Several times, yes.”

She crossed her arms over her generous bosom and glared at him. “Well, I am sure it was a
lovely
time.”

“Oh, Sally, you’ve no need to be upset. It was all perfectly innocent.” Elyse leaned on the sofa’s arm to grin at Hugh. “Wasn’t it, Hugh?”

“Oh, yes. It was innocent and proper and there was no undue touching of any sort.” He stubbed out his cigar and slowly got to his feet. His left leg ached worse than usual, and he suspected an afternoon of dancing played a large part. “Do let me see you to your coach, my lady.” He offered Sally his arm. “I believe your mother is most likely half-asleep in the music room waiting for us.”

Her scowl eased, but her eyes were still hard as she accepted his arm and allowed him to help her rise. She bid Elyse and Derek a terse good evening, and held tight to Hugh’s arm as he thunked his way out of the drawing room.

Her hand rested stiffly against his forearm, her fingers only barely bent over it. Instead of looking up at him, as she usually did, she stared straight ahead.

In the privacy of the hallway, she stopped. “Tell me true. What did you think of her?”

Her hand slid from his arm and she turned toward him, her eyes already shimmering beneath conjured tears. Stifling an irritated sigh, he managed to reply, “Why does it concern you so, what I think?”

“I saw how she practically drooled into her plate each time her eyes fell upon you. And do not tell me otherwise, for I know what I saw!”

He was in no mood for her tirade. It was late, and all he wished was to retire to his chambers without too much of a scene. With any luck, he’d be able to calm her before she worked herself into a genuine fury. “You saw nothing of the sort, my lady. Now, I have no wish to argue because of your baseless jealousy, so let’s speak of it no more, shall we? Surely there must be something else you’d rather discuss.”

She refused to change the subject. Instead, her lower lip quivered. “Do you think she is pretty?”

Tears weren’t far off, and they were to be avoided at all costs, for they meant hours of cajoling and placating, and all other nonsense he hated. “Sally.”

“Do you?”

He tapped his cane against the marble floor. Lying didn’t sit well with him, but perhaps she’d be mollified enough to forget her pout. Or so he hoped. “Fear not, my lady. Though some may find her attractive, she does not hold a candle to you.”

Sally sniffed. “Do you mean that, Duke? Truly?”

“Absolutely.” He cupped his hand against her soft, pink cheek. “Now, might we let the matter drop?”

“I know it is so silly, to be so concerned…but I hadn’t expected her to be so lovely.”

Disaster averted, he urged her on down the hallway, patting her hand as it rested in the crook of his elbow. Miranda MacDonough wasn’t what he’d expected, either. Not by half. He originally agreed to assist Elyse simply to keep her from hounding him into madness. Now, well…now, he was quite glad he gave in. He couldn’t recall the last time the very
sight
of a woman made it difficult for him to catch his breath the way Miranda did. And what was more, she even managed to make him forget the constant pains that drove up into his hip. For a little while, anyhow.

However, he kept
those
thoughts to himself. They’d surely send Sally into apoplexy.

“So, then, has your mother sent the invitations?” Sally was saying as they neared the music room.

“I beg your pardon?”

“For the house party. You
haven’t
forgotten
, have you? Why, I’ve already started putting my wardrobe together in anticipation.”

He stifled a rising groan, having forgotten all about the house party Elyse planned. It was tradition in the Montgomery family, but he’d rather hoped they’d skip it this year, what with his father’s passing and all. He’d hoped his mother wouldn’t have the heart to host it, but apparently she did.

“I’d have to ask her.”

“Ask her?”

“I am certain you’ve nothing to worry about.” He lifted her hand to his lips to brush it with a kiss. “I cannot recall a December when Thorpeton Hall wasn’t overrun with people and I daresay this won’t be the first. Now, I bid you good eve, my lady.”

“Yes…good evening, then.” Sally didn’t look at all happy as he stepped back, but he vowed not to dwell upon it as he set off toward the stairs and his chambers on the next floor up.

He welcomed the silence after the noise and chatter of a dinner party, sighing with relief as he sank down on the edge of his bed and unwound his cravat. It landed in a heap in the wicker basket beside his washstand, his fine white lawn shirt fluttered down to hide it, and he fell back into the soft tick. The quilts were warm and soft against his bared back, and the rug muffled the cane’s dull
thud
when it slid to the floor.

His yawn melted into a heavy sigh. “It shouldn’t surprise me, I’ve met this stunning creature when everyone thinks it safe to assume I will ask Sally for her hand,” he muttered at the canopy. “In fact, it doesn’t surprise me at all. It does seem to be the way my fortunes have been going as of late.”

The sixth Duke of Thorpeton. He groaned and closed his eyes. It was a title he neither wanted nor aspired to, but was one he’d been groomed to inherit. Just as he’d been groomed to accept Sally Hayworth as his wife. He’d been content with seeing his father’s wishes to fruition. But that was
before
he met a certain Scot who had the ability to set fire to his blood without so much as a touch.