Rebel Baron (4 page)

      
Miranda's gaze fixed on the subject of Elvira Horton's discourse. “My, a mere American and he received an invitation to the Moreland ball. Of course, he
is
a peer and we're but commoners,” Miranda said dryly. The way society segregated people had always offended her sense of fairness. She knew that if she had not been wealthy enough, Lady Moreland would never have deigned to invite her. Nor would she have come in any case if not for Lori.

      
“At least we're of good solid English blood. Heaven only knows how his might have been contaminated,” Elvira said. Her eyes remained fixed on the tall stranger standing at the opposite edge of the large room. “He is a handsome devil, I'll give him that.”

      
Finding herself studying the new Lord Rushcroft, Miranda was forced to agree. She could make out little of his facial features at this distance as the gaslights were turned low, flickering romantically over the assembly. But his body was lean and erect, and his elegant black cutaway coat and trousers flattered broad shoulders and long legs. He carried himself like a man to the manor born.

      
But he was as restless as she, Miranda sensed, bored with the gala, standing off to one side, evincing no particular interest in what those around him were saying. His hair appeared to be some shade of dark blond, slightly curly and cut longer than was the fashion. He was clean shaven, and that, too, went against fashion. Perhaps he was vain about his appearance, but for some reason that eluded her, Miranda did not think so.

      
His profile was striking, she had to admit—long, straight nose, high brow and firm jaw. Then he smiled in response to Georgette Mayer's flirtatious hand on his arm. Forward hussy.

      
The Widow Horton echoed Miranda's thoughts when she said, “That gauche woman is desperate to enter the peerage...or for some peer to enter her! With all the money old Mayer left her, she'll doubtless succeed.”

      
Miranda laughed. “Elvira, dear, don't be vulgar. And do give the devil her due. Georgette is accounted a great beauty.”

      
“If only the same high compliment might apply to her morals,” Elvira snapped.

      
Miranda was surprised when a sudden wave of disappointment swept her as the new baron bowed with an elegant flourish before Georgette. Then the couple moved gracefully into the strains of a waltz that had just started. As they drew nearer the secluded box where the older women not in the marriage mart were seated, Miranda was drawn to study his face. Although finely chiseled and exceedingly handsome by any standards, it was hard, even dangerous-looking. His expression seemed to hint that he had seen more than a man of his years should have been called upon to witness.

      
She'd heard stories of the incredible carnage the Americans had wreaked upon each other, brother against brother in that tragic, fratricidal strife. Miranda had volunteered nursing the wounded brought back from the Crimea and had seen that same look in their eyes. Then she saw Rushcroft's scar. It was a thin white line stretching across his right cheekbone down to his jaw. Odd that he would not grow a beard to conceal it. But then perhaps, being one of those Southern "cavaliers" whom the press loved to romanticize, he wore it as a badge of honor.

      
Who knew? Why should she care? Miranda forced her gaze away from the American and scanned the room for Lori, but before she could locate her daughter and Winters, Elvira once again distracted her.

      
“Georgette will find him easy pickings or I miss my guess. Rushcroft hasn't a shilling. His family seat is crumbling to ruins. The Caruthers men always ran to excesses. Small wonder the English branch died out, leaving an American to claim the title.”

      
“Really, I've heard nothing of the family.”

      
“Oh, pish, I know you're too busy running banks and shipyards to bother with Society. The only members of the peerage who interest you are those who owe you money.” Her scolding tone hid the fact that Elvira was in awe of a woman who dared to enter the male world of business.

      
But Miranda's attention was now absorbed by her search for her daughter, who had apparently vanished from the room. “If you'll excuse me, Elvira, I must collect Lorilee. The hour is growing late, and I have appointments early in the morning.”

      
“A pity. You really should hire some man to oversee your affairs so you could spend more time out in Society,” Elvira replied.

      
“I prefer to handle my late husband's businesses myself. It is quite stimulating...and no one will ever take advantage of me.”

      
As she bade her companion good evening, she worried about why Lorilee had disappeared—and with whom.

* * * *

      
“Please, Geoff, I really must go back. We've been alone far too long. Tongues will wag,” Lori said breathlessly as her suitor pressed another ardent kiss on her cheek. She had already allowed him shocking liberties, and only when his mouth opened over hers had she come to her senses and realized she might compromise herself beyond redemption if she were not careful.

      
“Never say you find my attentions unwelcome,” he pleaded, slowly releasing her, satisfied when he felt her trembling.

      
“No—that is, yes, I welcome your suit, but we must take care. You are the son of a viscount and I—”

      
“You are the woman I intend to wed,” he interrupted, watching in satisfaction as her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small “O.”

      
Before Lori could gather her wits to respond to his declaration, she heard her mother's voice and noted a fleeting look of annoyance mar Geoff's face. But she quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light. After all, he was the soul of gentility and had always been utterly charming to her mother. He was quite the most wonderful young man she'd ever met, so witty and sophisticated. Her very own handsome young prince who had at last declared himself.

      
“Will you do me the very great honor of marrying me, Miss Auburn?” he blurted out suddenly, as if to get the words said before fate intervened.

      
“Oh—”

      
Before she could get out the ”Yes” she wanted to shout to the rooftops, her mother slipped past the hedge and bore down on their hiding place in the shadows beneath the gazebo in the Moreland formal gardens.

      
Miranda did not like the looks of what was transpiring. However, she pasted a smile on her face and nodded to Pelham's youngest son. “Mr. Winters, good evening,” she said in a perfunctory manner. Then dismissing him, she turned to Lori, who seemed crestfallen at her mother's interruption. They both began to speak at the same time.

      
“Mother, Geoff—”

      
“Lorilee, we must—”

      
Miranda carried the day. “I fear we must be going,” she said firmly. “I have an appointment quite early tomorrow morning.” She gave her daughter a quelling look, which elicited a guilty one in exchange. According to decorum and her mother, Lori knew she was not to be alone in the shadows with any young man—from Miranda's viewpoint, most especially this one.

      
“But, Mother—”

      
“Mrs. Auburn, if I might—”

      
“No, sir, you might not. We shall speak privately at a later date, Mr. Winters,” she replied in frosty dismissal, as dread of what he had just said to Lori seeped deep into her bones.
The little jackal! He's asked her to marry him!

      
Taking Lori's arm, she steered her daughter toward the sounds of music and glitter of gaslights. “You did not tell him yes, did you?” she asked, then could have bitten her tongue as soon as the words escaped her lips.

      
“How did you know?” Lori asked incredulously. Then, reading the tight set of her mother's mouth, she sighed. “You gave me no opportunity, nor Geoffrey to ask your permission.”

      
“Oh, Geoffrey, is it? And, it's marvelous that he would deign to bother with my permission since he's already taken liberties with my daughter, for which he should be publicly horsewhipped!” At the stiffening in Lori's body, Miranda once more cursed her lapse of temper. Normally, she was under so much better control. In fact, as a woman in the male-dominated world of business, she had always prided herself on how well she held her emotions in check.

      
“Mr. Winters,” Lori replied primly, “has taken no liberties which I have not allowed.” Strictly speaking, that was not true, but Lori was hurt and bewildered by her mother's intransigence regarding her charming young suitor. “You were quite rude to him.”

      
“Yes, I was. But at least he still has skin on his backside.”

      
Lorilee gasped but knew better than to make a retort when her mother was in this mood.

      
They entered the press of the crowd once again. Both women were forced to smile and pretend nothing was amiss. Miranda had to pause and bid this friend and that business acquaintance good evening as they made their way toward where Lady Moreland stood in the entry hall, saying farewell to another group of early departing guests. “Lori, please ask the footman to fetch our wraps while I thank our hostess for the evening,” Miranda instructed.

      
Obedient if not cheerful, Lorilee hurried toward a servant dressed in gaudy yellow and blue livery. So intent was she on her frustrations, she did not see the tall stranger who materialized from a doorway, cutting directly into her path. Her slight frame bounced off his hard-muscled body, and she might have stumbled backward if he had not caught her, steadying her balance, then quickly releasing her.

      
“My deepest apologies, miss,” he said, bowing gracefully and bestowing a smile. “I was not watching where I was going.”

      
“It is I who should apologize for being so clumsy. If not for your kind aid, I would’ve made a spectacle of myself tumbling onto the floor,” Lorilee said, returning his smile curiously. He spoke with a soft, drawling accent unfamiliar to her.

      
From her vantage point across the entry hall, Miranda observed the brief exchange. He was courtly and charming, young enough and titled ... Of course, he was American, she thought wryly, recalling Elvira Horton's snide remarks. Miranda was appalled to even be thinking of such a wild scheme, but she knew her daughter. For all her gentle ways, Lorilee Anna Auburn could be as stubborn as a balky dray horse, and she had set her mind on that fortune hunter Winters.

      
Already she'd spurned several far more suitable matches, both wealthy commoners and even the heir of a marquess, in favor of Pelham's boy. Miranda thanked heaven Gretna Green was no longer a haven for runaway lovers, but still, Lori could ruin her reputation if she continued to be led on by Winters. That was his game, to force her to permit the marriage after he'd destroyed Lori's chances for happiness elsewhere.

      
I shall simply have to spend more time with her, my business obligations be damned,
Miranda vowed, dismissing the fanciful idea of matchmaking between the “Rebel Baron” and Lorilee. London was, after all, the center of the civilized world, and within its five million odd inhabitants there would be the right husband for her daughter. All Miranda need do was steer her away from those who would take advantage of her.

      
As they rode home, Lori sat in martyred silence until her normally bubbly nature overcame her pique. “How did you know Geoff—Mr. Winters had asked me to marry him?”

      
Miranda's lips curved wryly. “Call it mother's intuition, dearheart.”

      
“But then, surely you can see his intentions are honorable.”

      
“Perhaps, but I do not believe you would suit,” she replied gently. “I want you to marry a man who will be kind to you as your father was to me.”

      
“Kind. What a weak word that is. I know yours was not a love match, Mother, but I do not intend to marry a man only to fulfill family obligations.” The moment the words escaped her, Lori wanted desperately to call them back, but it was too late.

      
Miranda felt them pierce her heart like daggers of ice. “Yes, I married your father for duty, but my father took great care in assuring that Will Auburn would never do me a hurt. And he did not,” she said stiffly, suddenly overcome with a ridiculous and selfish longing to have the world of choices that lay before her daughter. A world forever closed to her.

      
What is making me think this way? Visions of a tall, elegant man sweeping across the ballroom floor with a shadowy redheaded woman in his arms flashed into her mind, and she caught her breath. The sheer audacity of it—the utter folly. What madness had taken hold of her! Lori's words of apology did not register until her daughter had crossed the carriage seat and sat sobbing on her mother's shoulder.