Keepsake (The Distinguished Rogues Book 5) (19 page)

“Come now, Miranda, surely you can appease our curiosity a little,” Lady Brighthurst pleaded, her eyes skipping to Taverham’s with a soft smile that didn’t bother to hide how highly she regarded Miranda’s husband. “Kit has been very generous and patient with you.”

He’d been generous? Hardly. Miranda wanted to scream.

The pair sickened her. It was too much even now after ten years of knowing about their affair. Her chest tightened with the old pain she’d thought lost and long buried. Try as she might, Miranda could not sit by and watch the pair flirt. She was no longer the daughter of a merchant but a marchioness. It was past time to put her title to good use. “I do not recall ever giving you leave to address me by my given name, Lady Brighthurst. I still do not.”

“That was unkind, Miranda,” Kit protested.

Miranda ignored him and stared the woman down, little caring that she was now making the scene she’d promised not to have. Coming home to Taverham was bad enough without seeing his lover here, flaunting their mutual affection across the mahogany of what was supposed to be her home too.

Emily patted his hand. “It’s all right.”

“Please,” he begged. “Let’s all just eat our supper and enjoy having Miranda back where she belongs.”

Miranda turned her head slowly to glare at her husband as the soup bowls were cleared away and new plates placed before them. He appeared almost as uncomfortable as she felt but likely for far different reasons. Miranda did not care if she offended his lover. She was no longer interested in pleasing anybody but her own son, and until Christopher was here, she would make all the waves she liked.

When she glanced down at her own plate and saw pork had been served to her without regard for her dislike of the meat, she knew how little she mattered in the scheme of things. She pushed back from the table and tossed her napkin aside. “Would you excuse me?”

Miranda stood and, before Taverham could insist she stay, walked from the room as regally as she could manage. Her hands shook and she gripped them together before her churning belly. She would not ask him for directions even if she had no idea where she was going. The marchioness’s bedchamber had to be upstairs someplace. She’d find it eventually.

At the foot of the stairs, Taverham caught her and spun her about. “I apologize. Mother must have changed the menu when I was busy elsewhere. She does that from time to time if the housekeeper can’t find me. Please come back and I’ll have something else prepared for you.”

His hands stroked up and down her arms but did not soothe her.

“I will not. The meal is just a small portion of the problem between us. Your friends will never accept me, and your mother is determined to put me in my place. I warned you how it would be. I don’t need to live here to be married to you.”

“You belong with me.” He bit his lip, a gesture of uncertainty that she’d never seen him wear before, and then slipped her arm through his. “I won’t lose you over a mistake. Things will become more settled soon, you’ll see. Let me help you get situated for the night. You don’t know this house, do you?”

Why couldn’t he just leave her be? She wasn’t interested in a house that best resembled a palace. “There was no need to worry about what my money saved from ruin. Your staff has done you proud.”

“Our staff,” he corrected.

Miranda shook her head. “Nothing here requires my attention when the dowager marchioness is in residence. Let us leave it that way.”

“No.” He tugged her to the steps and started up them, one arm lodged behind her back so she couldn’t resist. “Everything must change or there was no point to our marriage. I will not accept that outcome and neither should you be willing to.”

At the top he curled her arm through his and they strolled through the upper-level hallway. Taverham pointed out rooms and amenities previously unknown to her congenially enough, but Miranda tensed anyway. When they came to his bedchamber, he walked her past the door without opening it. He stopped at the next one, an adjoining room. “Your room was ready hours ago, though I must confess I did leave it to your maid to unpack your trunks.”

Relieved but unable to show it, Miranda rubbed at her temple as her head began to throb. “My maid? I don’t have a maid.”

He smiled. “I noticed the lack, so I took pains to employ one. I hope you’ve no objections when you see her.”

Not returned more than an hour and he was already trying to smother her in how things must be done his way. Miranda did not take his presumption well. She dug her nails into her palms to keep from screaming. She could have purchased new dresses very cheaply to make up for what clothing had been stolen. There were other hotels in London that wouldn’t rudely deny her entry as Mivart’s had done that afternoon.

He nudged open the door and allowed her to walk in first. Miranda feared what she would find. Another of the dowager’s cast-off servants who cared nothing for her but the gossip she could supply to the other servants of the house. Yet when she looked, Miranda saw no haughty abigail across the room but the tiny girl from Mivart’s Hotel. The one that talked far too much. The one she had instantly warmed to.

Taverham nudged her arm gently. “She said her name was April. As for the rest, I’ve no idea. Her suitability and experience I leave for you to judge, but I thought you might like a familiar face, someone you’d already met, taking care of you over a complete stranger. She can always be taught to do things your way.”

 
Miranda’s throat tightened and she swallowed the unexpected feeling of gratitude. Taverham had actually done the right thing for a change. She wouldn’t have believed it possible without the proof grinning at her from across the room. April might be a little lax in her manner, but Miranda had requested her over others at the hotel during her stay because she had potential. How had Taverham discovered that preference and why had he bothered to care? It was difficult, but Miranda decided she had to say something. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He kissed the back of her hand, a lingering kiss that promised so much more than it might appear to the maid. Then he turned her hand over to kiss her bare palm and his tongue skipped across her skin lightly. He lifted his head suddenly to peer at her hand and the burn scar resting here. Miranda closed her fingers over her palm, hiding the unsightly blemish from his view. The burn had happened so long ago that she had almost forgotten how she’d come by it. The reminder was all she needed to regain her bearings.

Christopher had given it to her with a hot fire poker. An accident, of course, when she’d not watched what he was doing with enough care.

Taverham’s brow rose as she sucked in a sharp breath, but then he smiled quickly, asking nothing of the scar. “Now you must excuse me. I had better return to my mother’s guests. Until later, dear wife.”

A ball of dread filled her as he hurried for the door. His title was all she managed to choke out before he was gone again to be with his best friends. Later would be when he returned and joined with her in bed. She didn’t think he would let her sleep alone, not when he’d already had her before. She hoped he was with his friends for a very long time so the night might be as short as possible. Tomorrow she had to set out in search of Christopher and find him before another day had passed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Kit normally enjoyed the company of friends and encouraged them to accept his hospitality for as long as they liked. Tonight though, he was torn between good manners and the urge to suggest they leave. Mother should never have invited guests on such an important night. He and Miranda had a lot to talk about, and they could not begin until he was free.

He also suspected she was much more upset with him than she let on.

Perhaps he’d been in the wrong for taking her possessions without permission, but damn it all, she was his wife and he wanted to watch over her here and not in some third rate hotel.

He turned aside the suggestion of a third port and checked the time on his pocket watch. Would Miranda be asleep already?

An exasperated sigh reached his ears and he glanced across to the source. His mother stared at him, her expression thoughtful. “I believe I will take my leave of you young folk and retire for the night. There seems to be an issue with the staff that I must attend to.”

“Miranda and I will take care of any staff issue in the morning, Mother.” He stood when she did. Mother likely would take issue at Miranda’s man joining their household, not to mention her chattering maid. He did not want to make Miranda feel she could not employ anyone she pleased, although she could have picked someone with a less frightening appearance for a footman. “Pleasant dreams.”

She scoffed at that. “Dreams are for the young and foolish.”

“You’re not so old as to have none at all, surely, Lady Taverham,” Emily soothed, glancing between them quickly. Emily was always the one to cajole his mother into lighter spirits, although some days she had little success.

Today it seemed Emily was unequal to the task as his mother did not soften her expression one bit. Her brow rose haughtily instead. “There is but one dream I have, and it preys on my mind. Taverham’s need for an heir under his roof.”

When she strolled from the room, murmuring a blunt good-night, Emily’s face grew red.

After a few minutes where Kit struggled for something to say in the embarrassing silence, Acton rose to his feet and held out his hand to his sister. “Come, Emily. You will have to leave him at some point. Any goose can see your presence is not what he needs right now. Man’s hardly been able to hold up his end of the conversation all night, and I’m sure he has much to… to discuss with his wife tonight. I don’t envy him the chore.”

Emily’s skin turned an even brighter shade of red. Kit glanced at Acton in annoyance. He’d never confided in Acton that Miranda had been his lover before the wedding. Meeting Miranda in their marriage bed would not be a chore to Kit but a joy. Yet that could only happen if she wanted to be there of her own free will.

Emily looked dreadfully uncomfortable and he felt sorry for her. “It’s been a stressful day,” he murmured softly so she would not feel slighted.

“I imagine it has.” She grimaced. “I do find myself weary too. Good evening, Kit. Perhaps we will have a chance to talk again tomorrow at the Huntley soiree. You promised me a dance if you recall, although your wife may not like to have your attention diverted.”

“Yes, of course we will dance,” he quickly assured her. “Just because Miranda has returned doesn’t mean I cannot dance with anyone I please. We shall have a great time.”

She smiled brightly then, her eyes flaring with anticipation, and he cursed that he might have made a mistake in saying that.

He saw them headed for the door, waited a few minutes longer, then climbed the stairs to his bedchamber. His valet was waiting and silently assisted him in changing out of his evening clothes. Once he was alone again, Kit strolled toward the adjoining bedchamber’s door. His stomach was in knots, uncertain whether he should disturb Miranda at this hour to say goodnight. He had no idea of her sleeping habits, although she’d seemed to retire early when she’d been a guest at Mivart’s Hotel.

He felt very guilty for the poor welcome she’d received, and if nothing else he wished to ask if there was anything she needed.

He lifted a hand to knock and let it rap against the wood softly. Her response to come in was immediate and that surprised him. Usually she made him wait. He stepped through and approached the bed. Finding it empty was a surprise. He turned around in a slow circuit to search for her.

Miranda was sitting in a chair by the window, gazing out at London instead of sleeping.

“I thought you’d be asleep or at least in bed.”

“Your mother paid me a visit and sleep is impossible,” she told him.

He winced. “What did she have to say?”

“Oh, nothing I’d not heard before: show the proper degree of respect to the family.”

“Ah.” Kit drew closer to her but stopped when she stiffened. “I remember the lectures she gave me as a boy. Quite terrifying to live up to her expectations and to those who came before me.”

“Imagine what she might say to a wife who bucked at adhering to your noble family traditions and hasn’t delivered the heir.”

Kit pinched the bridge of his nose. There would be no son at this rate. “Is that why you’re not asleep yet? Forgive me, but I would have thought you’d not care what any of us had to say. It’s late. You should get some rest.”

“The bed is unfit for sleeping in.”

He took offense at that. The beds in his house were of the finest quality. “I doubt that.”

When Miranda held out her hand to him suddenly, Kit took what she offered. A jagged lump of stone rested in his palm.

“Another quaint family tradition you kept secret? I am so happy to have missed this experience on our wedding night. I suppose you might enjoy the discomfort, I know not your tastes now, but I assure you sleep in that bed is impossible.”

“I don’t understand.”

She waved her hand toward the bed. “By all means, disbelieve me and see for yourself.”

He tested the bed, ran his hands over the sheets, and then stripped them back to touch the mattress. He discovered a split seam and nothing more. “You’re mistaken.”

“Try lying down and see what you discover.”