Miranda's Dilemma (5 page)

Froster fell silent.

The servant came with their tea and poured them each a cup.

Froster poured a heavy dose of cream in his tea, then gulped down the liquid. He set his cp on the saucer with a clatter and nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly it. I will do it.”

Chapter Five

Miranda spent the afternoon doing a little necessary shopping, and now she walked from the mews to her rented rooms in Soho. Sunlight glinted on brass accoutrements and as she squinted against the glare, she could just make out the outline of a    carriage. The vehicle was so fine that it seemed quite out of place in this part of town, at this time of day. She placed a hand to her brow to shield her eyes and squinted again to get a better look.

She recognized the crest and her stomach sank.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Not now. Not today.

However, she should have expected this. He never let her have peace for long.

And Carrville was gone.

She straightened her spine, determined to stand tall, though her body began to shake and her palms to sweat.

He’s just a man.

Just a man.

The carriage rolled to a stop.

A cramp knotted her belly, and she fisted her hands on her shopping bag handles…

The years swept away and Miranda was a child, watching the footman in his bright gold and scarlet livery alight from his seat then walk towards the door of Winterton’s grand carriage.

Mama’s rising excitement was like an element of the wind itself. Miranda could feel it clear to her own bones, pounding in her blood. The intensity of joy in Mama’s eyes scared her. The jumble of confused emotions sent energy surging in her limbs.  The tense energy impelled Miranda to lift her skirts and run ahead of everyone else, bounding down the drive, ahead of everyone else. She stopped just short of the carriage, panting for breath, sweat cooling on her face.

A man emerged from the vehicle, his tall frame draped in an expensive wool black greatcoat, the many capes flapping in the breeze. His blond hair glinted like gold. His face, hard-boned, appeared sculpted from granite. Everything about Winterton spoke of hardness, from his sharp, penetrating gaze to his strong, square jaw and his powerfully muscled body. But he emitted an air of intelligence and unquestioned authority that frightened her far beyond even his hard stare. A shiver of instinctive alarm snaked down her back. He gazed down at her with cool, pale green eyes so like her own. “Miranda,” he said simply, emotionless.

Jerked back into the present by his deep voice, she met his icy green eyes. She took a deep breath to suppress a shiver  and lifted her chin “Your Grace.”

He nodded, then he glanced up and down the street, before addressing her again. An amused smile barely touched his thin, hard mouth. “Not quite up to the standards to which you had become accustomed, eh?”

“It will do for now,” she replied.

He studied her. “Proud Miranda. So proud.”

“Should I hang my head in shame?”

“After what you did?”

“I did nothing but protect her.”

“Ah, what a lioness you have become. How bravely you roar. But Carrville is gone now.”

“You’ll stay away from her.”

He raised his brows. “You actually believe that I have any desire to return to a woman of her years?”

“I don't know what you want. I am just warning you.”

“The rent on your mama’s cottage is rather expensive, yet I hear you have turned down every offer of substance you have received from the noblemen of Mayfair.”

“That’s my affair.”

“You may regret your pride. It is about to become very cold in Sussex.” He paused. “Very cold indeed.”

Her stomach knotted. “You’ll stay away from her!”

“I should have sent for the watch. Every day I regret not having sent for them.”

“You wanted to avoid a scandal. You didn’t want anything to tarnish your grand, old name.”

“You'll never understand that. It is a name you will never bear. You’ll never know how much that fact pleases me.” Clutching the brass handle of his walking stick, he shifted his weight.

Her attention was drawn to his left leg. The stiff, odd angle sent a shudder through her.

“I am not afraid of you,” she said, speaking slowly, careful not to reveal her inner shaking.

“You should be, Miranda.”

She swallowed back the acrid, dry-mouth fear.

“When given a choice, I asked the physicians to attempt to save my leg. And they did, but at a dear price. Do you know what it is like to have your own flesh rotting from the inside out? Smelling the scent of your own petrifaction?”

She found herself drowning in twin pools of green, a mirror of her own eyes filled with hate.

Acid lurched into her throat. She took two steps back and her hands shook.

“Weeks,” he said. “Weeks of agony. I was out of my head, raving with pain and fever. I allowed my brother and my wife to control the situation. I caved to their desire to avoid scandal.” He leaned closer. “But if I had been in my right mind, I would have called for the damned watch.”

“And then, by the time I had come to my senses, you had run to Cassandra, and she had placed you into Carrville’s keeping.”

Miranda swallowed convulsively.

“He protected you so well, didn’t he? Where is your protector now?”

“I was justified in what I did.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed again, trying to ease the hoarseness. “You should have never tried to come back.”

He pursed his lips. “She was making a fool of herself with that young man. She needed to be brought to heel.”

“She was no longer yours to bring to heel!” Miranda spat the words past lips that trembled now with equal parts fear and rage.

“I have purchased her house in Sussex.”

“You what?!”

“I have purchased her house in Sussex. It’s very nice land. I think I shall develop it and raise sheep.”

“You have no need for more land.”

“You have a month to find a new home for her, Miranda.”

Miranda couldn’t believe this was happening. Yes, she had known he was a danger to her. But somehow, she just hadn’t imagined him coming after her in such a very
private
, painful way.

But she had been deluding herself.

She had been craving peace. Safety.

What a fool she had been.

He shifted his weight, as he leaned on his walking stick. “You always could pay me the balance, along with a little profit to make it worth my while.”

“How much?” she demanded.

He named his price, thrice what the whole estate upon which the cottage was located would cost, including the vast expanse of land and the old dilapidated manor house.  She felt the blood drain from her face. “That property is not worth that much.”

“It is to me.” He chuckled with steely softness. “Now you tell me, is it worth that much to you?”

She gaped at him, feeling powerless. Mama loved her house by the sea. Mama’s nerves had only just stabilized. She deserved some peace.

Miranda had vowed to provide it for her.

“It hurts to lose, does it not, Miranda?”

She compressed her lips, enraged that she had allowed him to see her weakness.

“You’ll never know when or from where I will strike.” Again, he shifted his grip on his brass-handled walking stick. “But I will ruin all your chances. I will destroy you.” He paused, briefly. “That’s a promise, Miranda Jones.”

She watched him walk away, strangely dignified despite his marked limp.

****

Waning rays of afternoon sun filtered through sheer, pale yellow curtains and brightened the dark wood furnishings and wainscoting. Miranda blinked, unable for a moment to fathom that she was actually sitting in the Earl of Danvers’ spacious withdrawing chamber at his country estate called Applewaite.

Somehow Aunt Cassandra and her friends had convinced Danvers to relent. At least they had taken credit for the fact that Danvers
had
relented and allowed Miranda to accompany Aunt Cassandra here to his luxurious hunting lodge near Cambridge for the days’ long party.

Miranda had been feeling so fragile all week since her distressing friction with Danvers and then the encounter with Winterton. She’d had moments of feeling lost and hopeless.

But now she felt as though she might just be able to survive.

Well, with a little help from Aunt Cassandra…

A little excited yelp drew her attention to where a blanket had been spread upon the floor. A mother dog lay on her side, her sleepy eyes half closed as six puppies frolicked about her.

“What a good boy you are,” Froster said, his eyes were alight with happiness as he knelt near her chair, holding a liver and white-spotted puppy in each  hand. One of the pups gnawed at his fingers and he laughed, such a carefree, boyish sound.

Miranda stared into Froster’s pleasant, open face.

I could care for him. Given time, I could learn to care for this man.

“Danvers has not yet given anyone leave to select from this litter. But I have more than a passing fondness for these two fine fellows.” His eyes were so warm. Honest. As pure as innocence itself.

She smiled. “What would you name them?”

“Charlie and George.” He lifted one of the squirming animals to his cheek and nuzzled it. His face softened with affection.

Miranda felt her heart squeeze.

Yes, I could care deeply for this man.

At the thought, warmth spread through her, strengthening her. A surge of hope and renewed purpose flowed through her. For the first time since Carrville’s death, she believed that things just might be alright. Suddenly, the last brittle edge from the prior week left her nerves. She longed to feel their fur against her own cheek. She slid down from the chair to kneel beside Froster.

His eyes shone brighter, and he leaned over and brought the puppy to her face. The stroke of soft fur sent a shiver of pleasure through her.

She then reached for the animal and, taking it into her hands, nuzzled it to her cheek. The puppy squirmed, and she cuddled it gently and then inhaled the slightly musky scent of its coat. Doggy scent, she thought with a smile. Lightness filled her. Joy that bubbled up in continued shudders of pleasure.  She laughed.

“You
do
like dogs then?” Froster asked, his voice so full of hope, that it filled her with poignancy.

She nodded.

Still holding his puppy, he looked thoughtful. “My wife did not like dogs.”

“Didn’t she?” Miranda was truly curious. How could his wife have disliked something that he loved?

“She said they were messy.” He frowned. “She had no liking for messy things.”

The puppy nibbled at her neck, tickling her. Miranda laughed softly. “Well, they
can
be messy.” She placed the puppy in her lap and began to stroke its head. “But many pleasant things are quite untidy.”

“Oh yes, like what?” Froster asked, his forehead wrinkled his eyes alight with what looked like intense interest.

“Gardening, for one.”

“You enjoy gardening?”

“Oh, I do, I have an absolute passion for it.” She heard the wistfulness in her own voice. “And I love to bake and knead bread.”

He put the puppy down then reached to take her hand. “Such beautiful hands you have.” He stroked her palm with his thumb. “So, you don’t mind getting them dirty?”

“I rather enjoy it.”

A strange look crossed his face but, before she had time to contemplate it, the sound of boots on the floorboards made her look to the open doorway.

The Earl of Danvers approached , his blue gaze intense yet unfathomable.

For no good reason, she caught her breath, and her stomach did the most peculiar flip-flop.

“Ah, Miss Jones, I see you have forgotten your dignity.”

Miranda became aware of her position, on the floor, with her velvet skirts spread haphazardly about her.

He gazed down at her, a snide, amused glint in his dark sapphire eyes. “Perhaps I was not remiss in thinking you were too young a girl to grace my party. We do try to keep to certain standards of deportment and elegance.”

Indignation. Rage. Her blood boiled with the twin emotions, and she forgot her earlier gratefulness to this man for having relented in allowing her to attend. Apparently, he had done so for the sheer pleasure of making sport of her. Despite the anger pounding through her blood, she slowly lifted the puppy off her lap in preparation to arise.

The puppy squirmed, then warm wetness flowed over her fingers, a yellow stream that dampened her skirts. A fresh ripe scent followed.

Danvers chuckled. “You are definitely lacking in elegance!”

Froster, who had been watching with his mouth ajar, snapped it shut then brought out his large handkerchief with a rare flourish. He tried to mop up Miranda’s lap. But she could feel the wetness creeping through her two petticoats. She grimaced as the scent of urine grew stronger.

Danvers chuckled again. She could discern the false nature of that chuckle and it made it cut into her all the crueler.