Keepsake (The Distinguished Rogues Book 5) (11 page)

“If that’s what you want, I will do my best to see it happen.”

Miranda followed Virginia out into the hall with a heavy heart. She might have had a chance to slip away from her husband, but her chances now were much slimmer if she didn’t want Virginia taking offense. She shut and locked the door, then looked up straight into her husband’s eyes, so like Christopher’s but a much deeper shade of green. A little startled by the resemblance, she eased away.

“Good morning, my darling wife.”

Miranda held on to her temper and tongue by sheer force of will. She didn’t need lies or reminders of what they were meant to be. Not yet. She addressed Virginia’s husband instead of responding. “Lord Hallam. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Not so surprising to see you. Took you too bloody long to come back.”

Hallam’s blunt remark had no power to hurt her, so she merely smiled tightly and contemplated how on earth the kindest woman she’d ever known had come to marry such a fustian ogre. He must have well-hidden positive qualities somewhere that only the most patient of souls could uncover. That explained why he’d proposed to Virginia. Virginia was entirely too softhearted.

Taverham thrust out the reticule he’d taken from her yesterday, possibly in the vain hope of preventing her escape. Miranda kept little of value in it, scarcely enough to identify her to anyone, but she took it so he wouldn’t know. The purse felt heavier and she concluded he’d provided her with pin money. Her first.

Although she hated giving in, the money would go a small way to repay Martin’s expenses as he searched for information about Mr. Fenning’s whereabouts. Martin was right that she couldn’t go into the Seven Dials unprotected, especially if Fenning might not even be there anymore. She would take Peter Landry and maybe hire another man as a bodyguard for her protection. Someone loyal to her and to her money.

Before she’d gone too many steps, Taverham caught her hand and spun her about to face him. His grip was cruel as he jerked them up to look at her bare fingers. “Your ring?”

Miranda gestured behind her to her room.

His jaw clenched. “Get it and wear it now.”

Miranda glared at him in answer rather than refuse. Oh, she could easily find more reasons to hate him when he told her what to do. Bossy and stubborn were not character traits she found admirable. When Virginia slipped the key from her fingers and returned to the room, Miranda kept her gaze on Taverham. Frustrating, demanding fiend. What did she need jewels for at a time like this?

She needed their son at her side more than new dresses or any diamond ring. She wanted to tell him to get out of her way so she could retrieve Christopher, but the words stuck tight in her throat. He’d never believe her without proof, and Martin had that.

When Virginia returned, eyes downcast and apologetic, she handed the ring to Taverham because Miranda’s hands were clenched into fists. Taverham pried her fist open. “With this ring…”

Knowing resistance would lead to a worse scene, she opened her fingers and let him place it on her, uncomfortably aware that the piece fit her hand better now than it had when she’d first received it. Clearly pleased with himself, Taverham held out his arm. Miranda strode forward without his aid. There was only so much idiocy she would endure so early in the day.

 
Together they started down the stairs and swept out into the street where Taverham’s gold-crested black carriage waited to take him wherever he wanted at a moment’s notice.

Once outside, her gaze darted down the street and she spotted Martin, frozen several feet away. She shook her head the tiniest amount to warn him back, hoping Taverham didn’t see him and wonder why he was there. Martin disappeared into the crowd, and to her relief, it was clear after a few anxious moments that Taverham hadn’t seen their friend at all. Once she was at Madame’s place of business, she would send Martin a message and arrange to meet at a later time. Although her arms ached for Christopher, he could wait a few more hours until she could escape Taverham.

For now, she would suffer Taverham’s company, gleaning what information she could to help Christopher adjust to his future life.

Aware that eyes everywhere had turned in her direction, she entered the carriage and took a place beside Virginia.

Silence reigned. Not one word was spoken until the carriage stopped on Bond Street. When they stepped out, Taverham caught her hand and wrapped her arm around his. “My dear, this way.”

“Actually, no,” Virginia interrupted brightly. “Our appointment is this way, and I have no need for your aid in picking out my fashions if you don’t mind.”

He frowned. “Mrs. Denning’s salon is, I’m told, highly fashionable. Everyone says she is the best in Town and I have arranged an appointment. Lady Brighthurst and my mother raved about her just the other day. Why not a fresh start?”

“Good grief.” Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose as her temper climbed. Taverham intended to restart their marriage without mercy. She would not do things the same as everyone else in his life. She would patronize the shops she liked and to hell with his suggestions. Miranda freed herself from his grip. “I will not go there because I already have an exquisite modiste here who knows my tastes better than I do. I’ll not change just to please you or the women in your life.”

Miranda would fight with him right here on the most popular street in London just to prove he couldn’t order her about. She would make him see she wasn’t a brainless ninny without opinion and opened her mouth to do so.

Lord Hallam began to laugh, cutting off her tirade before she could start. “Well, I’m not going in there. It’s all pins and lace and yards. Does a man’s head in. Besides, I like the surprise that comes later at the private unveiling.”

Hallam’s face softened when his gaze turned on his wife and Virginia blushed a little. Miranda made the mistake of looking directly at her husband. Judging by the change that had come over Taverham’s eyes, his mind had turned to private unveilings too.

His brow rose expectantly. “Something to look forward to?”

Miranda shook her head quickly. No matter what she had imagined might happen on her return, it was clear she hadn’t convinced him they didn’t have a chance of being together the way he planned. He wanted a son but didn’t know he already had one. Taverham clearly thought that once bedded, Miranda would fall straight back into his arms without hesitation. This time around making love to him was something she did not intend to do. There was no need anymore.

Hallam kissed Virginia’s cheek. “Send word when you need me. We’ll be at Hoxham’s Coffee House for the next hour.”

When Taverham made no similar move to say good-bye but stood there staring at her intently, Virginia tugged Miranda toward their modiste’s shop. At least there Miranda could look forward to an uninterrupted hour or more, discussing everything from fans to muslin and every speck of gossip between before she’d need her wits about her again. When she could, she’d scrawl a note to Martin that they’d go collect Christopher and everything would be well again.

With that thought before her, she could move on.

The little shop was exactly as she remembered—cozy, warm, and a bustle of activity that paused as the bell on the door twinkled. Madame glanced up from her patterns and her eyes widened. She clapped her hands together in delight. “
Chéri
, so it is true you have returned to set the city
enflammé
?”

Miranda laughed at the idea and drew closer. “Hardly. It is good to see you again.”

“The pleasure is with me.” Madame beamed and glanced around her shop to her workers. “Is it not correct that the Marchioness of Taverham should seek out the best seamstress in London immediately on her return to
société
?
Magnifique
. We shall be beset by orders within the space of a day and entirely run off our feet.”

Miranda exchanged a glance with Virginia and saw the merriment glittering in her eyes. Miranda allowed herself to be drawn into the excitement of meeting friends and to the corner where comfortable chairs waited for customers to take tea and eat little cakes while important decisions were made. Miranda had spent hours here on her first visit and easily found herself comfortably at home once more.

Madame clapped her hands and the women returned to their sewing and cutting. She perched on a delicate chair facing them, her hands clenched tightly together. “It is so good to see you after so long a time apart. Are you in the great city for long?”

The workers paused.

Miranda shook her head. “Not too long, I imagine.”

Madame’s face fell and she clutched her hands to her chest. “We are
désolant
. We must talk of the gown you wore to Covent Garden last night. They say it was a
triomphe
even if I did not sew a stitch myself.”

Madame regarded her with a raised brow. It was a well-known fact that she did not like to see her customers wearing another seamstress’s creations. Miranda patted the woman’s hand soothingly. “The gown came from a small shop far north of London. It is beautifully made and I wish you could meet the seamstress. In fact, I would be happy to offer you a letter of introduction. I fear the woman is struggling a little and she is quite young. She might value the guidance of an astute businesswoman to aid her. I told her all about you when we met and I thought she looked a bit wistful about being so far away from London.”

“It is a possibility I am willing to entertain. A shop such as mine requires the correct management to ensure our clients are well tended. You may write her indeed.” She straightened up, clearly having ascertained the information she needed most—that the gown wasn’t from a nearby London competitor. “How may we help you today?”

Miranda fidgeted as Virginia discussed her needs. A nightgown of the finest pink silk, a robe to match, and lacy garters completed the order. Madame scratched down her requests with a murmured word of approval as they selected fabrics and embellishments. “Oh la la, Lord Hallam has a
tendré
for the softest rose on you.”

Madam loved to gently tease her clients over their many admirers and Virginia blushed as bright as a new bride. “It looks very good on me.”

“
Absolument
,” Madame agreed. She then turned to Miranda. “And for you,
chéri
?”

Miranda winced at the turn of conversation. She hadn’t really intended to have anything made, but she could see Madame and Virginia expected her to order at least something. “What do you recommend?”

“The soft blush of rose is not for you. Not with your complexion.”

“I remember you telling me that before I married,” Miranda murmured.

“
Chéri
, you are favored to wear an
intrépide
hue of blue, or chartreuse. There is a lovely spun silk just arrived, very bold. Very original, I think.”

Madame disappeared into a back room and returned with a material so light but full of exquisite color that Miranda’s resistance teetered, then disappeared completely. “Yes.”

Patterns appeared next, spread out before her to choose. It had been so long since Miranda had access to such a superior modiste that she couldn’t decide which she liked best. She shook her head at the choices. “They are all lovely.”

Madame leaned forward and tapped a print. “That one to begin.”

Miranda lifted the print to study it. “It’s a bit daring, isn’t it?”

Madame clucked her tongue softly. “A decade married and still so unsure of your charms,
non
? Your husband will be ravenous before the first dance is over. My word,
chéri
. You will beguile him again with just one glimpse of your lush body in what I create for you.”

“I don’t think…,” Miranda began, but the modiste had whipped out her measuring tape and was studying her intently.

The Frenchwoman’s gaze lifted to hers, a question in her eyes. “I must take your measurements again before we begin.”

Miranda stood still for the measurements, watching Madame’s face grow even more serious as her hips and breasts were measured twice. Yes, her measurements had increased since she’d last stood here and she began to feel uncomfortable about that. She’d had a child. Every woman gained a little more flesh after such an event. “Too much cake?”

“Perhaps.” The modiste’s expression cleared, replaced with an amused smile. “
Monsieur
will be nibbling cake from your palm before I am through.
Absolument
.”

Miranda wasn’t sure she needed Taverham to be any hungrier for intimacy than she suspected he already was. The way he watched her, studied her with such direct attention, reminded Miranda of a caged lion. Miranda might have been his supper once, but she wouldn’t be consumed willingly now.

As she selected undergarments in similarly bold colors and styles to complement the gowns, she wondered if she knew what she was truly doing. Baiting Taverham with seductive garments, especially undergarments, without intent to please him seemed cruel. She’d never intended to seduce him. Teasing him a little seemed a fair punishment for the deception he’d carried out once if she didn’t take it too far. He was right when he’d claimed them equally attracted to the other. Yet that desire had been built on a lie. He didn’t, couldn’t, love her when he was still attached to Emily.

She could not give her body to him knowing he was deeply in love with someone else. Besides, there was no need. Once Taverham understood he had an heir in Christopher, he’d turn away from Miranda instantly.