Miranda's Dilemma (11 page)

“Yes, my trust. That which I earned with my innocence.”

“Out of the question, especially with Froster so willing to provide for your immediate living needs.”

“Froster is willing to provide for me no more.”

Aunt Cassandra paled. “What do you say?”

Miranda went rigid. “He attempted to force me.”

Aunt Cassandra blinked at her. “Force you?”

“Did I not say so, plainly?”

“He was to be your protector, with a protector’s privileges and rights. I do not understand your use of the word
force
.”

“He became too forceful.”

“You denied him something he wanted?”

“I will not tolerate force.”

Aunt Cassandra sighed and flipped her fan open and then began to fan her face. “All my work, for nothing. And you have turned every other offer down.” She fluttered the fan rapidly; it become a blur of multicolored silk and glitter of the gems that studded it. “You too often forget that you are merely a duke’s natural daughter. You are not a duchess.”

“I won’t be forced.” Miranda’s jaw stiffened. “I won’t be abused like Mama.”

“Oh, you are being as foolish as your addle-brained mama! You must learn to handle your gentlemen and please them so that they have no other wish than to please you. And if you share yourself generously with your chosen protector, they will have no need to resort to force.”

Miranda gaped. “You cannot believe that.”

“It is the way of our world, Miranda. You had best learn the rules of this world and know your place in it.”

A sinking feeling crashed through Miranda’s belly. Alone. She had never before felt this alone.

“Miranda!” Aunt Cassandra said sharply.

Miranda startled at the unexpected tone as well as the displeasure glinting in eyes lightly lined with kohl that had suddenly gone flinty hard.

“You haven’t simply made a muck of things for yourself. I was counting on my percentage from Froster’s largess as well.” She snapped her fan closed. Two spots of vivid color flared on her cheeks.

Miranda shrugged. “I shall sort it all out, somehow.”

“How?” Aunt Cassandra said, loud and cuttingly. “You said that you vexed the Earl of Danvers as well.”

“There are other gentlemen.”

“You have insulted and alienated practically every other available nobleman in Mayfair. It was a fine thing before. It made you seem hard to attain and gave you allure. But now that you had settled on a protector and then sent him packing because he offended your delicate sensibilities with his carnal needs…he will tell, Miranda, he will tell everyone. No man will want to provide for such a cold, shrew of a mistress.” Her eyes narrowed. “It is not like you to behave so emotionally. What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s Winterton,” Miranda blurted. “He waited for me as I walked from the mews in Soho. He says that he’s bought the house I rent for Mama and all the land it sits on. He says I must pay three times what that land is worth or he will evict Mama at the end of this month.”

“Let him. You’d be a fool, Miranda, to pay thrice what that land is worth. You’d be giving that wily old fox exactly what he wants.”

“But Mama loves her house by the sea. She has finally found peace there. The doctor has her stabilized now, but he stressed how important it is that she not be given any sudden shocks or changes to her routine. How can I tell her that she must move away from the house she loves?”

“Pah! You coddle your mama too much, and these doctors are as big a fool for her as you.”

“Winterton aims to do more than that.”

“Oh yes?” Aunt Cassandra said, her voice gone harder.

“He said he would strike at me, that he would ruin me, utterly ruin me. He said that I would not know from where or when this blow would come.”

“Did he really?”

“He…he sent boys to attack me.” Shame burned Miranda’s face. Shame at her weakness, shame at her gullibility.

“Boys to attack you?”

“They approached me during the evening, when the others were engaged in the orgy in the main chamber.” She spoke those words carefully, for Aunt Cassandra had been duly engaged in that orgy, frolicking with a lady whom she was fond of and a much younger man. But Aunt Cassandra did not always like for her more personal exploits to be spoken of. “I guess after my confrontation with Froster and another distasteful one with Danvers…”

Aunt Cassandra interrupted her, shaking her head and making a loud clicking noise with her tongue. “What will I do with you, my girl?”

“I was hungry for a friendly face, a kind word.” Miranda spoke rapidly, as though through speed she could force Aunt Cassandra to see how it had felt for her in those moments. “They asked me to have a drink with them. A friendly drink, they said.”

Aunt Cassandra raised her brows and dropped her chin. “A friendly drink? With mere boys? And pray tell me, did you even know these boys?”

Miranda held her hands out, palms up. “They were just boys!”

“What happened?” Aunt Cassandra’s tone was cold as December.

“I…I do not fully understand what happened. I began to feel…odd. They suggested we go outside for some brisk air to refresh me. But then, somehow, we were in the woods, and they were grasping at me, tearing my clothes…” Her voice broke off as with a curse. Aunt Cassandra stood. The older woman rushed at her whilst Miranda hurried to explain. “I…I managed to escape them. Lord Danvers found me. He helped me.”

Aunt Cassandra leaded down, her face a fearsome mask of anger. “Who knows?”

“Just the boys.”

“And Danvers.”

“Yes, and Danvers.”

“And his physician.”

“He didn’t tell his doctor all the details.”

“You were ill?”

“I was…”Miranda exhaled deeply, memories flashing through her mind. “Unconscious.”

“Pah! I have worked so hard to build a mystique around you, and you’re left alone for one single evening and manage to unravel the whole matter.”

“The physician says he has no idea what was in the wine the boys gave me. He says that I might have died without the purge they gave me.”

“They?”

“Lord Danvers and his valet assisted the doctor.”

“Ah, now the valet knows. They never keep secrets.”

“Goodness, I expected a little sympathy from…”

Aunt Cassandra gasped, baring her teeth, white and gleaming against her carmine-painted lips. One hand grasped Miranda’s shoulder, and the other delivered a quick slap to Miranda’s cheek, before she realized a blow was coming.

The sting was severe. Hot.

Miranda’s brain seemed to vibrate, and her jaw felt rattled to its foundations. Her mouth dropped open. “Aunt!” she cried, putting her hand gingerly to her burning flesh.

Aunt Cassandra adjusted the sleeve of her leather glove. “Whatever emotional appeal you hold for Danvers, be it sympathy, or that he feels a challenge to bring you to heel or be it just plain lust, you had better enthrall him, for he is your last hope. I am done assisting you.”

Ice enveloped Miranda’s heart. “I need my trust money.”

“Well, my dear, you cannot have it.”

Rage flashed through Miranda, and she stood in the tub, water droplets sluicing down. ”And why not? It is
my
money, earned with
my
tears,
my
pain,
my
virgin’s blood!”

“You may not have it because I need it now.”

“You need it?” She yanked a towel from the nearby wooden chair and began drying herself, her motions so angry that her skin quickly began to burn. She threw the towel back to the chair. “Explain to me by what right you claim my money?”

“Once Froster declared himself, I made certain arrangements with shopkeepers and tradesmen. I was counting on my percentage. And, you see, I cannot withdraw the orders now so you shall just have to pay me with the money in your trust.”

“That’s not legal!”

“The money is under my name, in my own account, as it always was. It is perfectly legal.”

“How could you do this to me?”

“How could I possibly trust a girl so proud, so spoiled as you? I knew your delicate sensibilities would end up ruining your chances sooner or later. I worked hard to place you at the pinnacle of our trade. I did that with my own reputation that I built for myself.” She scowled fiercely. “How dare you reply to me as though I had no right to payment for the service I have done you. I made you what you are. I have every right.” She turned and picked up the glittering silk fan she had dropped earlier. “I must think hard on how to fix this.”

Her tone was even now. Calm.

Miranda gaped at her, still reeling from both the blow and the shocking revelations. “You said you were done with me.”

“Hmm, well I was angry.” Aunt Cassandra frowned. “Oh dear me, your cheek is going to bruise, you must put a cold compress on that right away. I must decide on a new strategy.” She fixed Miranda with a sharp look. “You must take to bed right away. You cannot be seen by the gentlemen with that bruise, so you’ll need to plead illness tonight. We leave for London first thing in the morning.”

Chapter Eleven

The contents of her valise blurred before Miranda’s vision as she searched for her hairbrush. She wiped at her eyes with a swipe of her wrapper’s sleeve and then uttered a growl under her breath. She hated crying when she was enraged, but she could never help it. Finally, she found her silver-handled hair brush.

That money did not belong to Aunt Cassandra…no, “Cassandra” from now on. No loving aunt, no matter the justification, could steal money from her own niece like that.

We leave for London in the morning.

Ha! Miranda would be gone long ere that!

It was her money.

Her money!

She would do whatever she had to in order to hire an excellent solicitor. She would find out what could be done.

Suddenly, the realization of what that money was and what it meant hit her. She had earned the money whoring. The money had been paid to Cassandra Jones, not her. What “excellent solicitor” would ever want to take that case?

She closed the valise, the soft-sided case making a soft “whoosh” noise that was very unsatisfying in her current emotional state.

She never let herself think of that first time.

Never let herself think of that man.

Yet now images flooded her mind. She had only survived the ordeal by lying there with her eyes tightly closed, imagining all the wonderful things she would do for the people she loved most with that money.

Now to learn that it had been stolen from one of those very people?

It was too much to be borne. Her stomach cramped with the intensity of her feelings, and she laid a hand on her midsection. She needed to eat something, and soon. It would do no good to make herself sick with anger.

She strode to the mirror, hairbrush in hand, and began to tackle her badly-tangled curls with rapid, hard strokes. With her head tingling, she had just finished when a knock at the door startled her.

“Enter,” she called.

The Earl of Danvers entered.

She sucked in her breath and tightened her hand on the brush’s silver handle. “My lord,” she said stiffly, remembering all at once that she was still occupying this man’s private chamber. “If you’ll forgive me, I shall soon be leaving and you shall have your chamber back.”

He held up a forestalling hand. “Hush, Miss Jones.”

He turned and closed the door. The click of the lock sent a chill through her. She had not acted too wisely the past few days. She should have done whatever she had to in order to avoid being alone with this controlling, forceful man. She had allowed the pleasure of the meal and the steaming bath to distract her. Then she had allowed the confrontation with Cassandra to completely knock her off her bearings.

His boots made soft sounds as he approached her. His expression was unreadable, yet his blue eyes glowed brightly. He reached for her hand.

She stepped back and laced her hands together, behind her back. “My lord?”

“You’ve been crying?”

She knew her eyes were red and swollen. What could she say? She affected a laugh. “I’ve been angry.”

The painful admission was better than allowing him to think that she might have been crying any tears over him.

“You cry when you’re angry?”

She nodded.

“I am sorry about earlier.”

Those four words took  her aback. This was the last thing she had expected from this arrogant man. She didn’t know what to say.

“I was too forceful and I was wrong.”

“I will not tolerate force,” she said, still feeling like a fox that had been cornered. Still wary of his motives.

“I don’t want you to leave here. Not yet. Not with such hard feelings between us.”

He sounded so sincere.

Dare she believe?

Oh, God, she wanted to believe him. Every fiber of her being wanted him to be the kind of man who would apologize and who would care if there were hard feelings between them. The strength of that longing to believe beat through her blood and made her mouth go dry with fear at its intensity.

But he could be deceiving her in order to gain her trust. This man had wanted her, sexually, for a long time. She knew this. But he had also disliked her that whole time. “My lord, I don’t think that…”

“Hush,” he said, his voice pure seductive appeal. He came closer.

Her back was pressed to the dresser. She couldn’t step back any further, and perhaps she didn’t even wish to. As he leaned closer yet, she caught the faint scent of brandy and masculine body heat overlain with that woodsy spice cologne that he favored. His eyes were so vividly blue, burning into her. But her gaze was drawn to his lips, and she remembered how they had felt upon her own.

He cupped his hand along her jaw line. “Accept my apology.”

Her heart beat hard and her mouth went dryer. She was weary of him having all the power in their interactions. She remembered how lustfully he had responded to her earlier. He was a man. Just a man.

She glanced up through her lashes and fluttered them.

His pupils enlarged.

Satisfaction surged through her. She lifted her hand and caressed his lapel, moving her hand slowly along the velvety fabric. “You don’t even like me,” she said, making her voice soft as a girl’s.

He grasped her wrist, jerking her hand away. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t toy with me.”

A sense of her foolishness washed over her. But it had been working, just like with every other man. She had seen his reactions, seen his softening toward her.

This man who had judged her so harshly, who had been so cold to her for no reason, she had wanted simply to have him in her thrall for a moment or two.

Was that so foolish?

Was that so wrong?

His expression was fierce. It gave his aristocratic handsomeness a savage edge that sent her pulses racing;

In her secret heart, she had always lusted for him. Always.

“You have disliked me.” she said, this time not needing to feign the vulnerable note in her voice. “You have judged me and looked down your nose at me because of what I am.”

He shook his head. His eyes seemed to devour her face. “That’s not true.”

“It is true. I saw it in your eyes.” He leaned closer and she swallowed, hard. “I saw it before.”

“Don’t do this, Miranda. The past doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. I was the object of your judgment, your dislike. I deserve to know why. I
need
to know why before I can make a balanced decision about whether or not I can trust you now.”

He paused and blinked twice. “Don’t you know? Didn’t Cassandra ever tell you?”

“Know what?”

Your aunt broke my father’s heart. Could you imagine that I wouldn’t have some misgivings about her niece?”

She gaped at him. “Cassandra… broke your father’s heart?”

“I let my prejudice affect me. I misjudged you.” His breath blew over her cheek.

She could smell the brandy on his breath. “You’re still foxed.”

“Only slightly.” She could sense the grin in his voice. “I know what I am saying.”

“Cassandra never mentioned anything about your father.”

“Why would she mention it? Why would she want you to know anything about it?” Bitterness rang in his tone. “She behaved in a cruel and heartless manner.”

Before today, Miranda would never have believed such talk. She wouldn’t have even
tolerated
him saying such things. But now? Now she wasn’t sure of anything.

Or anyone.

No one was behaving as they had previously seemed.

Even Miranda…

The touch of his lips to her cheek sent shock through her.

She trembled as his lips moved in a line of kisses toward her mouth. The gentlest of kisses. Carrville had been kind, thoughtful with her. But she had never imagined that a man would employ such gentleness with her. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and  savored the sensation of his mouth on hers.

For several moments, he kissed her. Caressed her hair. All without attempting to deepen things. He lifted his head, and she knew that she stared up at him with dazed eyes.

“You know that I have been drinking again this evening.”

“Again?”

“Yes, I needed a drink because I began to get a headache from my morning drinking.” He laughed softly. “My former habits have come back as though they had never been gone. Like an old, dear friend.”

Concern swept her. “Should you really drink that much? That often?”

“No, I definitely should not.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Memories will give me no peace today.” He stared down at her, his eyes darkened with desire but also full of emotion.

She nodded, slowly, her gaze transfixed by his lips, her being consumed with longing for him to kiss her again.

“I fear I am going to say many foolish things.” He grinned, flashing strong white teeth. Those sensual lips curving. But his eyes were still so haunted that she could feel his pain as her own.

God. His handsomeness struck her right in the belly, where flutters of warmth stabbed deeper and deeper.

“You must know how beautiful I find you.” He feathered his fingertips over her cheek. “Of course you know. You must have known your power over men since your girlhood.”

She gaped at him, as an image of herself in the rickety cart with Mama, riding away from the house by the sea, away from the only home she had ever known. Where had her “power” over men been then?

“Miranda.” His voice caressed the syllables as his fingers feathered over her cheek again.

Never had she loved the sound of her name more.

“Make me a promise, Miranda.”

“What?” she asked, not yet dazed enough to make blind promises.

“Promise that you will never use your incredible beauty as a weapon against me. Never use it as leverage to get what you want from me.”

“I would gladly promise that, if only you will promise never to force me. Never to abandon me cruelly or leave me destitute.” She heard her voice break on the last word.

“I promise.”

At his strong, sincere tone, her knees went weak. She leaned into him.

He lowered his head and put his mouth to hers again, kissing her deeply this time, taking her breath.

When they broke apart to breathe, she put her hand to his lapel. “Tell me again,” she said breathlessly.

“Tell you what?”

She smiled. “Tell me that you find me
incredibly
beautiful.”

“You don’t really need to hear that again, do you?” His gaze burned brightly with amusement.

“I do need to hear it.” She smiled more broadly. “I do.”

He cupped her face with both hands. “You are so beautiful. So God damned beautiful.”

She melted into him then, opening her mouth to his heated kiss. When they parted this time, he put his hand over hers on his lapel. “I liked what you did earlier.”

“What?” she asked, breathlessly.

“When you took my hand and placed it on your bare breast.” He paused, moving her hand beneath the superfine wool of his jacket and pressing it more firmly to his satin waistcoat until she felt the strong, rapid beat of his heart. “No woman ever before gifted me with such an unabashed passionate moment.”

At the ardent note in his voice, she caught her breath. Pure pleasure washed over her.

“I think it is destined to be remembered as the most favorite moment of my life.”

Pleasure turned to joy. She couldn’t hold it back and she laughed. “My, you
are
quite foxed.”

He bent low, then growled and nipped at her neck.

Heated chills of pleasure washed over her. She gasped, then laughed.

“You have promised not to use this moment against me later, eh?”

“Of course I won’t,” she said, unable to keep her emotions out of her voice. She suspected this moment now might well become
her
favorite moment of her life.

“I am being selfish with you already,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“I had better let you go down to supper now.”

There was a midnight supper and a ball planned.

“I am not hungry, not in the least.” She was selfish too. She had no wish to share his company with his other guests.

“Your aunt was looking for you earlier.” He frowned. “Goodness, Miranda, your face, you look like a thundercloud.”

“My aunt found me,” she said, coldly.

“Good then.” He wrapped his arms about her once more, pressing her so tight this time that his erection throbbed against her belly. He slid his hands down to her bottom and pressed her even more tightly to that bold appendage.

A thrill raced through her. She reached up and took hold of his lapels. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”