My Three Masters (11 page)

“Clearly I’m the only one who knows how to think logically
in a crisis,” she said, then slanted a teasing look at her husband and lover.
“Men are always going off half-cocked. It’s a good thing you have a woman
around.”

But the Marquis was too eager to get on the road to take
offense at her insult. “I’ll meet you in the stables.”

They left shortly thereafter, the Marquis and the Countess
in the Dorchester gig, and the Earl on horseback. He claimed he was too furious
to suffer the confinement of a carriage. The Marquis was hard-pressed not to
aim a punch at his worried, ruddy face. That concern ought to be for Miranda,
not for a pair of chestnuts, no matter how prime.

“Are you all right?” asked the Countess, laying a tender
hand on his knee.

“I’ll be better when I set eyes on her and make sure the
bastard hasn’t done any more damage,” he said grimly. “Damn Dorchester for
manhandling me like that. If she’s hurt…”

“Right now he’s just trying to find her and make all
possible speed away from here,” said the Countess. “He won’t have time to hurt
her. And she’s not the innocent she was three years ago. She managed to survive
on her own all this time. How many gently bred sixteen-year-olds would be able
to do that?”

“But did you see her face when she saw him? She could barely
move a finger. She’s terrified of him.”

“Don’t underestimate your girl.” The Countess patted his
arm.

“My girl?”

“Clearly you’re in love with her. Must I be the one to
explain everything to you?”

“I’m not in love,” he growled. “I’m concerned for her
welfare.”

“So you’re not in love, you’re in ‘concern’.”

“Sure. Or perhaps I’m in ‘affection’ with her. You’re far
too free with the word love.”

“And you’re not free enough. Do you not love me?”

“Insofar as I’m capable of such an absurd emotion, yes.”

“Oh Gerard. You’re not only capable of it, you’re in a fair
way to exploding with it after the long nightmare with Angelique. If you
weren’t a loving man, do you think I would have let you touch me that night? Or
all the nights thereafter?”

“So few women can resist,” he began, forgetting his tension
enough to wink at her.

“You might be surprised,” she said tartly. “Do you think
Miranda would have succumbed to you, after her years of caution and all she
suffered at that man’s hands, if she didn’t sense a loving heart beneath the
cynical exterior?”

“How do you know—”

“I know. I saw her face. I saw your face. You’re both
precious to me.” She leaned forward and gave his ear a gentle cuff. “Now take
care not to make a muck of things again.”

Chastened, he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips.
“As always, you’re an extraordinary woman, my dear Alicia. We’re all fortunate
to have you.” He added a leer, which made her chuckle.

A shout from up ahead interrupted them. The Marquis twisted
around to peer out the window. “He’s got them! Dorchester’s blocking the path
of the curricle. Come on, man!” He rapped the roof of the gig with his walking
stick. “Pick up the pace. Can’t let them get away!”

“The Earl won’t let that happen. Even if the Viscount should
try to flee, those horses know which side their bread is buttered on.”

But the Marquis barely heard her. “There she is! She jumped
out of the curricle. She’s running toward us. Oh my daring sweetheart!” He
opened the door of the gig, which was still rattling along at a spanking pace,
and leapt out.

Never was I so happy to see another person as I was to see
first the Earl, arriving like an avenging angel on horseback, and then my dear
Marquis, bursting forth from a carriage as though he’d sprouted wings. I ran
toward him and he swept me into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, my sweet. They never should have let him take
you.” He kissed me all over my face, and it felt wonderful.

“They didn’t. I ran away. It was my mistake, I should have
trusted them. But the Viscount is so tricky, I didn’t know—”

“I won’t let him hurt you, I vow.”

My heart swelled. So this was what it felt like to have
someone fight for you. “I know you won’t. I—I love you.”

His eyes blazed into mine. But the Viscount, curse his black
soul, chose that moment to arrive at our side. The Earl, leading his horse,
followed hotfoot.

“Unhand her,” ordered the Viscount. “You have no right to
touch my ward. She’s a lady, whether she currently looks it or not, and
shouldn’t even be in the presence of such as you.”

“Are you sure? Didn’t you have her earmarked for men exactly
like me?”

My guardian went pale. “What lies has she been telling you?”

“That mark on her face gives her quite a bit of
credibility,” drawled the Marquis.

“And the fact that you stole my curricle means
you
have none,” added the Earl.

“I didn’t steal it. I simply borrowed it in the pursuit of
my legitimate interests.”

“Legitimate, eh?” Storm clouds gathered in the Marquis’
black eyes. His arm tightened around me. “If we’re keeping things legitimate,
let me say this. I would like to humbly request the Honorable Miranda Hampton’s
hand in marriage.”

My mouth fell open.

“Oh Gerard, how wonderful!” The Countess had arrived, her
hands clasped in apparent joy. “I knew you loved her.”

He didn’t deny it; nor did he confirm it. He simply stared
into my guardian’s eyes, daring him to turn down the mighty Marquis de
Beaumont.

“Your previous wife has been dead, what, a month? If that?”

“We’ll wait an appropriate amount of time, but we can make
the engagement official right away. I demand no dowry and my own financial
situation is more than satisfactory.”

“He can buy and sell you ten times over,” said the Earl
matter-of-factly. I felt dizzy at this turn of events.

“But, Marquis,” I whispered. “Have you taken leave of your
senses? You don’t want to marry me.”

“Nonsense. Now that I’ve thought of it, I think it’s a
splendid idea,” he whispered back.

But my guardian had the stubbornness of a mule. “Your suit
is not accepted, my lord,” he announced. “You’re far too old for her and you’re
a widower. My friend and neighbor, the local Squire, has expressed interest in
Miranda on behalf of his son Tom, should I manage to find her. I’ve already
given my consent.”

Tom.
I swayed and the Marquis held tight to my arm to
keep me upright. Tom still wanted to marry me, after all these years? And now
my guardian had given his consent? I didn’t understand any of it. But I knew
one thing.

It was too late.

I could never marry Tom now. I was no longer a virgin. Not
only that, I loved the Marquis, even though he hadn’t said anything of the sort
to me. “No,” I said. “I’m very sorry, but I must decline to marry Tom.”

“You have no say in the matter,” hissed the Viscount. “The
marriage settlement is already drawn up. And if you make too much of a fuss, I
haven’t forgotten those earrings. Would you rather go to prison or marry Tom?”

I pressed my lips together. How could I announce my lack of
virginity before the Countess, the Earl and the Vicious Viscount?

“I suggest you reconsider,” said the Marquis, in a quiet,
dangerous tone.

“I suggest you listen to him,” said the Earl. “When he talks
like that, you’d better watch your step.”

“I’m her guardian, and until she turns twenty-one, she needs
my consent to marry.” A smile of utter smugness spread across his bulbous face.
He looked a bit like a smirking onion. “And you, sir, will never have it. Hand
her over.”

The Marquis tightened his hold on my arm.

“I have no intention of ‘handing her over’. She’s a grown
woman who’s been grievously harmed by you. We won’t let you get away with it.”
The Marquis took a step toward the Viscount, shoving me behind him.

“Stay where you are,” warned the Viscount in a thick voice.

My stomach tightened. I knew that tone. I knew what he was
capable of. I clutched at the Marquis’ coat. “Be careful,” I urged, hanging on
to him so he wouldn’t go any closer to my mad guardian.

He took one more step, and then a deafening sound made me
cry out and release the Marquis’ coat. He staggered, and I realized something
wet had sprayed me. I wiped my face and it came away red.

Still I didn’t understand, until the Marquis crumpled to the
ground in front of me. I gaped at the Viscount, who stood before me holding a
small, ivory-handled pistol with smoke rising from it. The stench of sulfur
filled the air.

“Good God, man, you’ve shot the Marquis!” The Earl dropped
to his knees next to my fallen hero. I wanted to, as well, but the Viscount
trained the pistol on me.

“Come here, Miranda. That’s right. He’ll be fine, it’s only
a flesh wound in his shoulder. Best place for a gunshot wound. I’m sure it’s
not his first. Now step toward me, girl.”

I had to edge around the Marquis to do so. Agonized, I
glanced down at him. He was holding his arm and cursing ferociously, which made
me feel quite reassured. I knew wounds well enough to know that the most
grievously injured rarely had the wherewithal to swear quite so loquaciously.

But then, seemingly from nowhere, the Countess appeared
behind the Viscount, the Marquis’ walking stick held high overhead. She swung
it down on my guardian’s skull with a mighty crack. The Viscount staggered,
dropped the pistol and fell to his knees.

“Go, Miranda! Take the Earl’s horse and ride as fast as you
can! We’ll take care of the Marquis, you can be sure of that.”

The Viscount cursed even more viciously than the Marquis and
began to rise to his feet.

I didn’t wait any longer. I flew toward the Earl’s horse,
clambered onto his back, and dug my heels into his flanks. The last thing I
heard as I galloped away was the Earl saying, “Oh I say, Alicia. Haven’t we had
enough horse theft for one day?”

* * * * *

Sweetbriar Manor—A week later

Rose simply couldn’t be consoled. Her sad cries echoed
through Sweetbriar Manor, expressing perfectly the sense of loss the Marquis
felt. He lay in his chamber while the Countess and various maidservants fussed
over him, bringing more pillows, beef broth and a horrifically ugly salve for
his wound.

“It’s insult added to injury,” he grumbled. “It smells like
a wine barrel gone bad and mixed with manure from the stables. What does it
contain, eye of newt?”

“Oh be still,” snapped the Countess, her own patience worn
thin. “Why don’t you simply admit the true cause of your miserable spirits?”

“Being shot in the shoulder isn’t enough?”

“If Miranda were here, fussing over your arm, you’d
willingly stand before a firing squad.”

“That’s an absurd exaggeration.”

“Ah-ha!” She pounced. “Exaggeration, perhaps. But where’s
the outright denial?”

“I miss her healing skills, that’s all,” snarled the
Marquis. “If she were here, I’d have no pain to speak of. Your kitchen staff
makes a fine roast pheasant, but they fall short in the putrefying wound
department.”

“It’s not putrefying,” said the Countess through gritted
teeth. “It’s healing quite well. The physician seemed pleased. Besides, would
you really want Miranda to come back when that might put her back in the
Viscount’s clutches? She’s safer on the run.”

The Marquis closed his eyes. “I do keep telling myself that.
It would help if I knew for certain that she was safe. Any word from the Duke?”

“No, but he’s been in London for nearly a week now. He should
be back soon.”

“So lovely for you.”

The Countess left with a flounce of her pink muslin skirts,
leaving the Marquis to mull over the fact that it would be so much easier to be
happy for Alicia and Warrington if he had what he wanted.

He could lie to himself no longer. He wanted Miranda,
especially now that he’d taken her virginity and felt the glory of possessing
her soft body. His marriage proposal had been entirely spontaneous, but as soon
as he’d spoken the words, he’d known it was what he wanted more than anything.

His only regret was that he hadn’t included any reference to
love in his declaration. He would have, if he’d been alone with Miranda. But
the hell if he was going to bare his heart before her devil of a guardian, not
to mention the Earl and Countess. Surely she knew how he felt. Why else would
he have gone to such lengths to rescue her from his clutches? Why, he’d thrown
himself in front of a bullet for her. Would he ever have done such a thing for
Angelique?

Perhaps, but only to save his own honor. This had been for
Miranda and only for Miranda.

He felt his forehead. Surely he was feverish? Maybe the
fever had existed before the gunshot. What else could explain the way Miranda,
with her big, clear eyes and the quiet manner that masked such strong passions,
had infiltrated his thoughts? Not only his thoughts, his entire system. He felt
starved without her nearby. It made no sense.

He drifted off to sleep, as he’d done frequently since that
bullet had torn through his flesh. But even sleep was no relief. She danced
through his dreams too, free and wild the way he knew she was meant to be. She
wore white and spun in circles so her long hair flew behind her. But it wasn’t
dull brown anymore, it was a glorious muted gold, the cheerful shade of a marigold
petal. Either the scar on her cheek was gone or he didn’t notice it as she
twirled and leapt, fairly floating through the air. She skipped close to him,
so he felt the warmth of her body, even heard her heart beating. Her eyes shone
with love for him, and he knew it wasn’t too late to reveal what was in his
heart.

“I love you, Miranda,” he murmured and reached for her
cheek.

So soft, for a dream. Those erotic lips curved in a smile,
and she looked so kissable he couldn’t resist drawing her down to him.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she scolded, breaking the mood. “This is
no time for kissing. And I love you too, my scandalous lord.”

His eyes opened a crack. The fever dreams of his early days
must have returned; what else could account for the fact that she sounded so
real? “What… Wh…”

“I’m sorry I had to leave you for so long, Gerard.” She held
a washcloth to his forehead. “I’ll be forever grateful to the Countess for
taking such good care of you. Though she could have given you some willow bark
tea. That would have cured you in a matter of hours.”

“You’re here.” The knowledge sank in. Miranda sat on the
edge of his bed. She wore a white sprigged muslin gown suitable for the most
demure debutante in London. She’d washed the brown out of her hair, which
proved to be a glorious shade of rosy auburn. Her face looked different too. He
gazed at her for long moments in an effort to pin down the difference. It
wasn’t the scar; that hadn’t changed. It was something more subtle.

Her wary expression had disappeared. Instead, she
looked…free.

“You came back.”

“Of course I came back. I should have been here earlier but
it took the Chancery Court a few days to fit us in.”

“Us?”

“The Duke and I. I petitioned the court for a new guardian,
as you said I should have done years ago. I…never knew.”

“He’s gone, then? Viscount Smythe?” His brain must be
operating at a slower-than-normal rate. Everything seemed to be moving at twice
its usual pace. He couldn’t take his eyes off Miranda’s lovely, level gaze.

“I’m sure he’s off tormenting some servants or raising hell
with some reprobates. But he’s out of my life.”

“But…the earrings. He’ll come after you and arrest you…” He
struggled to sit up. “If he tries again, I’ll be the one to shoot first.
Perhaps I should challenge him to a duel, come to think of it.”

“Shhh, don’t be absurd. We’d have to wheel you out there in
a cart. At any rate, the earrings have been returned to him.”

“What?” Maybe he was still dreaming. None of this made any
sense. “Did you not take them?”

“Of course I did. I needed something to run away with. They
were lightweight and easily converted into coin. Besides, I thought I had a
fair claim to them as they belonged to my mother.” A smile hovered over her
sensual lips. “I like to think my mother watched over me all these years.”

The Marquis had never been called sentimental in his life,
but he could have sworn a tear was forming in his left eye. He blamed the
fever.

“But how did you find them again?”

“My new guardian found them.” She winked. “He’s already
doing a much better job than my old one.”

“New guardian?” The Marquis frowned, not liking the sound of
that. He ought to be the one watching out for Miranda, no one else. “Do I know
him?”

“Intimately.” She burst into a full-fledged grin.

“The Duke of Warrington?”

“It turns out he’s a distant relation on my mother’s side. I
applied to make him my new guardian, and seeing as how he’s the Duke of
Warrington, the Court agreed right away. His first act as my guardian was to
trace the path of the earrings, then purchase them from the Duchess of Blaine,
who’d lost interest in them last summer when pearls went out of style. He had
them delivered to the Vicious…to Smythe along with a strongly worded warning. I
don’t believe any of us has to worry about that worm ever again.”

The Marquis fell back on the pillows. It was all good news,
and yet…and yet… “This isn’t quite satisfactory, I find. I’m delighted for you,
my love, but disappointed that I didn’t do more.”