Keepsake (The Distinguished Rogues Book 5) (18 page)

Kit dug his finger into his cravat as unaccustomed nervousness filled him, and he eyed the door longingly. “I would never consider pawing through Miranda’s life by going through her possessions. I never cared for my mother’s prying when I was young and will gladly give Miranda that same consideration. She will confide in me in due course.”

Emily frowned and straightened again, drawing closer. “If Miranda does not come, you would be well within your rights to be sure her behavior brings no further shame on the family name.” Emily circled him before she looked about the room as if for listeners. “You could peek and no one would know. Besides, should you decide her character is unsuitable to be your marchioness, you would need some sort of evidence should you wish to petition for divorce. You should marry someone worthy of your regard this time. Someone who adores you and would never be an embarrassment.”

Kit pressed his lips together. Divorce again, and from a source he’d never suspected would consider that an option for him. He’d thought she understood that he wanted Miranda as he’d never wanted another woman in his life. He shook his head. His mother might be entirely correct in that Emily had assumed a closer relationship was possible between them without Miranda in the picture. But he was disinterested in Emily in that way. Miranda lived and he’d never let her get away again.

He met Emily’s gaze firmly, hoping she understood his wishes clearly by what he said next. “If I didn’t attempt to declare Miranda dead before she returned, then I certainly would not trouble myself for the scandal a divorce would bring upon the family now. I am married to Miranda and wish to remain so.”

“I see.” Emily nodded slowly, then looked about the room again. Her shoulders lifted as she sighed. “Where did you say that book was?”

Relieved that the conversation was over, he pointed across the room. “Over there on the lectern. Let me collect it and we can return to your brother to see what mischief he’s gotten himself into.”

As she turned, the shawl around her slipped and fell to the floor. Kit bent to pick it up and hand it back, but she appeared oblivious to the loss and had moved away. He hurried after her, shaking it out. “Your shawl, madam.”

“Oh, thank you, sir,” she said with a smile that made her eyes glow with unmistakable warmth, proving she’d not given up hope. “What would I do without you?”

Kit stepped back quickly. “Perhaps its time to find out. You’ve been a widow long enough, don’t you think? I know of several fine gentlemen who always have a ready smile when they see you at parties.”

She laughed softly. “Do you now? I told you that one love was enough. That’s all I have room for.”

But whom did she love? Kit was almost certain her marriage to Brighthurst hadn’t been a grand passion. Their relationship had been for mutual gain. Kit had never much cared for the man himself but had kept that to himself.

She turned back the cover and paid fierce attention to the new book he’d found in Gilbert and Hamilton’s charming bookshop. The pages had entertained him for hours, and he had considered allowing Emily a chance to borrow it. Given his suspicion that Emily was pining for an offer of marriage from him, he decided to withhold the invitation.

At least for the present until he could persuade her to look elsewhere for romance.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Miranda hated her husband with a renewed passion that eclipsed her previous ill feeling toward him. He’d stolen her possessions from Mivart’s Hotel and brought them here of all places. He had every keepsake of Christopher’s childhood beneath his roof. He’d suspect Christopher’s existence if he looked through her trunks. He would ask questions. If she couldn’t distract him and he learned she’d borne him a son, he would demand to see him immediately.

She stared up bitterly at the façade of Taverham’s London residence. Martin led the way, helping her out of the carriage and uttering soothing words of encouragement and cautioning her not to worry too much. He’d endured without complaint the brunt of her temper and despair that afternoon since the discovery of Christopher’s disappearance and the shock of Taverham’s theft, only muttering an occasional reminder that she needed to calm herself.

“Remember what I said.” Martin drew closer so his words would not carry. “If you feel threatened in any way, you may come to me no matter the hour. I’ll alert my staff to shelter
 
you should I be away from home.”

Miranda gripped Martin’s hand tightly. “I will. Thank you. I will endure the first night.”

Martin snorted. “Hardly your first night in Taverham’s bed, is it?”

She smacked his chest as she saw the humor lighting his eyes. She had confided in him about sharing a bed with the marquess before marriage, and when Christopher had come along he’d never judged her for being a silly fool. “Mind your manners. That was the past, not the future.”

He shook his head. “My dear, you are the most confusing woman I’ve ever met. Behave and all will be well.”

“Am I not always a proper lady?”

“Always, and I will challenge any man who dares besmirch your character by saying otherwise.” He let her go. “I will send out discreet inquiries tonight and I will call on you tomorrow to strategize our next step. Now go in, smile at your husband, and don’t let him see how upset you are unless you plan to be truthful at last.”

Miranda drew in a deep breath. “He won’t fool me into confiding in him. He’ll never even notice my distress.”

Martin shooed her inside without another word.

Miranda climbed the stairs to Taverham’s house, Peter Landry trailing behind, and before she could even knock the door was flung open. Beyond the butler, Taverham stood waiting. She crossed the threshold and let out a breath, surprised to find herself relieved.

She handed her bonnet and gloves and reticule to the butler. He was familiar to her—Addison, she thought his name was, but couldn’t be sure. “Thank you.”

When she raised her eyes and met Taverham’s, her world tilted just the slightest amount. Last night she’d made him wild for her and retreated before he could claim more intimacies. Tonight? Miranda didn’t think he’d let her escape him twice. She was too tired, too upset, to worry about what he might do next.

A growled
wife
was all the greeting she received.

She curtsied and pasted a smile on her face. “Husband. Did you pass a pleasant day?”

“No, but that was your intention anyway.” He walked toward her and held out his hand. “Come. Supper has been delayed long enough while we waited your return.”

“Wait.” She gestured to Mr. Landry, who’d followed close behind her. “See to it that my man is given a place.”

Taverham appraised her servant from head to toe, his expression critical. “A groom?”

“No. A place in the house. I would have him abovestairs where he can be of greatest use to me.”

Her husband’s brow rose at her request, but eventually he nodded in agreement. “Addison, see to it immediately.”

She smiled in relief as Peter Landry moved toward the servant’s stairs. “Now that’s settled, I should change first.”

He stared at her, his eyes narrowed as he inspected her. “As you are is good enough. Come, I’m hungry.”

He drew her toward the dining room she remembered from a previous brief visit. Nothing had changed too much since her last time to this house. Taverham’s ancestors still looked down on those passing before their disapproving faces. Haughtiness appeared ingrained in each generation of Taverhams. What would they make of her son when his portrait was hung upon their precious walls and he was smiling?

Taverham paused a moment, his gaze darting in each direction of the hallway. Suddenly Miranda was in his arms again, her lips claimed, her length pressed tightly against Taverham’s heated body. He devoured her mouth, tongue sliding against hers in a sensual dance as she belatedly remembered his intention to claim ten years’ worth of kisses. Miranda had mistakenly thought he’d wait for the privacy of a bedchamber before he attempted to claim the next. She wasn’t to be so lucky.

He released her as a footman appeared then disappeared. “You taste unbelievably good,” he whispered against her lips. “Good enough to eat.”

Miranda swallowed the hard lump forming in her throat. Compliments came easily to his lips and she wouldn’t fall for them. Compliments she’d once believed as truth, especially when they were alone and he whispered them with a soft smile lighting his eyes, had once made her think he cared. To hear them now hurt and she looked away, squeezing her eyes shut to block him out. She couldn’t bear Taverham’s attempts at seduction coming so soon on top of finding Christopher missing. She wasn’t a good mother nor a compliant wife. She was failing on all fronts, and there was no one to blame for the mess but herself.

“Miranda? What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t be fooled by Taverham’s concern. He just wanted her available to kiss and make love to when he wanted. He wanted his heir. Well, so did Miranda. She swallowed and glanced up, hoping her eyes didn’t give away her feelings. “Supper?”

For a moment, Miranda thought he’d hold her there in the hall and question her. But then he smiled ruefully, held out his arm for her to take, and dragged her toward the dining room. Miranda had dined here once with her father and Taverham’s three guardians, who had arrived unannounced and insisted they had every right to stay. Taverham had been furious, but when it came to his guardians, he had not had the ability to send them away. At least tonight’s dinner couldn’t be as uncomfortable as that one.

A footman in sharp black livery opened the double doors smartly, and Kit dragged her through. She stopped and looked at the table with a sinking heart. What she hadn’t expected was to find the room filled with three familiar and unwanted faces. The faces she’d most dreaded to see were already ensconced in Taverham’s household. She smiled at them, hiding just how much she detested both Lady Brighthurst and her brother Lord Acton, not to mention the Dowager Marchioness of Taverham. Had one of them conspired to remove Christopher from the succession?

The dowager marchioness sat at one end of the table and nodded regally, though her gaze flittered over Miranda from head to toe. She’d not been given a chance to change for dinner, so Miranda was sure she looked less than presentable to that lady’s exacting standards. It was Taverham’s fault, so she beamed at the woman. The dowager’s eyes widened only a fraction in shock at her response to silent criticism. Miranda was sure her face would split apart if she ever encountered something that pleased her and turned away.

Lord Acton and Kit’s lover, Lady Brighthurst, stood on the far side of the table, leaving two places empty for Taverham and Miranda to sit near each other. At least no one else was expected to dine with them. The siblings, Taverham’s dearest friends, would be bad enough. The pair had been close at the time of her marriage and appeared to still be in each other’s pockets to this day. As she inspected them, she wondered if Acton and Emily were the well-dressed couple who’d discovered Mr. Fenning had harbored her son and forced him to burn down the house.

Neither appeared friendly toward her. Neither spoke.

Taverham held out a chair for her on the unfilled side of the table, set closest to him, and then took his seat nearby. “Supper can be served.”

The footmen went about the task of filling glasses and laying napkins on laps while Miranda’s skin crawled in the heavy silence. The dining room was so opulent and reeked of so much power that she felt adrift and very shabby by comparison.

The dowager sniffed the air as if a bad smell lingered in the room. “Where have you been, madam? Explain yourself.”

Miranda sipped her water, aware that Taverham had groaned softly. She didn’t expect any help from him and it seemed he still allowed the old dragon to rattle about in his gilded cage. She drew in a breath and let it out slowly as the footmen laid out the first course. She would not give the servants fodder for the gossips as answering honestly surely would have done. She picked up her soupspoon and ignored her mother-in-law.

The dowager marchioness slapped her hand down on the table. “I will not be ignored in my own home. You will answer to me and do it now.”

“Mother,” Taverham growled but said no more on the subject.

“Well, I for one have had enough of this lady’s scandalous behavior,” the dowager complained.

Miranda set her spoon aside and pressed her napkin to her lips. The servants were listening, every ear trained for her response. She met her mother-in-law’s gaze with unwavering confidence, as she hadn’t been able to do as an expectant bride. “This is Taverham’s home, is it not, and supper, not an inquisition. I have no intention of answering any question you demand of me, or anyone else’s, for that matter, when they are so rudely put. I owe you nothing.”

“You will answer to him,” Lord Acton said then scowled fiercely, attempting to intimidate her as he bounced in his seat as if about to leap across the table and do her harm. Unfortunately it worked. After discovering someone had attempted to kill her son, she had little trust left. There could be a cruelty about some men, hidden for the most part but certainly felt when they were denied what they wanted most.

She did not know what Lord Acton was capable of, and she could not let down her guard around him. She turned her gaze from Acton and tried to slow her breathing to normal.