The Earl and His Virgin Countess (2 page)

Ignoring his hand, she stood. “Would you be so kind as to help me out of the maze? I need to check on my aunt.”

“Of course.” He gestured for her to follow him. As before, he navigated the rows of manicured bushes without hesitation. “Are you staying ’til midnight for the unmasking?”

“Is that what happens?” Miranda shook her head. “I don’t think I want to reveal who I am to everyone.”

“No?” Andrew paused at the maze entrance. “You came out with the Big Bad Wolf. You can’t be scared of anything as slight as taking off your mask.”

“Scared, no. I simply have no interest in the ton discovering who I am.” But fear hadn’t played into her decision. She gnawed on her lip. In the moonlight, she looked over his face, his well-chiseled chin with the slight appearance of stubble, the aristocratic nose, and then into his eyes. “Is that what you are? The Big Bad Wolf?”

He touched his nose. “My nose seems normal enough. So, Red, if you won’t allow me the pleasure of seeing your face at the strike of twelve, pray tell me your name.”

“Miranda Beauchamp.” She waited for any sort of response at his discovery that he stood before his future wife.

Instead, he smiled. “Pleasure to meet you. Shall I return you to your aunt?”

“That’s all?” She prayed her voice didn’t sound as shrill to his ears as it did to hers. The contents of her stomach churned, and her mouth began to water. The world spun briefly, nearly leaving her unable to catch her footing. Nothing on the earl’s face gave any recognition to the name. Deep within her, red-hot anger and hurt began to build.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Does my name mean nothing to you?” she demanded rather loudly, and, when he stepped back as if she were from Bedlam, her blood boiled.

He couldn’t even be bothered to remember the name of his betrothed? She balled her hand in a fist. His words of appeasement fell from his lips upon her deaf ears. Years of frustration and loneliness surfaced.

Without thought, she let the fist make contact with his flawless nose. “You son of a donkey’s ass.” Running into the ballroom, all she craved was the solitude of her bed and a large, steaming cup of chocolate.

***

“What in the bloody hell happened to you?”

Not the greeting Andrew, Earl of Windenshire, expected upon arriving at the London home of his friend, Lord Simon Winston. But the last twenty-four hours could be described as anything but expected.

“A masked lady with a wicked jab caught me off guard.”

Simon leaned in for a better view of Andrew’s black-and-blue eye. “Not Little Red from the maze last night?”

He shifted uncomfortably under the inspecting gaze. “Yes, the very one.”

With a whistle, Simon touched the edge of the bruise. “That is impressive.”

Wolfe, Duke of Foxhaven, whom Andrew hadn’t even realized stood nearby, peered over Simon’s shoulder. “Interesting. I can see Railey inducing fits of violence in a woman, but I never imagined it your style. Speaking of the viscount, where is he?”

Simon made to touch Andrew’s face again. “I saw him briefly last night at the ball, but couldn’t track him down on such short notice.”

Swiping at Simon’s hand to prevent him from probing the foul eye again, Andrew snapped, “Do you mind? That hurts, you git.”

Put out, Simon lowered his hand, but didn’t back up. “What the hell did you do to irritate her?”

“Apparently, I should have claimed a familiarity with the woman, but did not. In her fit of vapors at my insult, she decided to call forth her inner Gentleman Jackson.”

“Well done, indeed.”

“And the lady with the iron fist. What’s her name, so if I should see her in the ring, I will place my wager on her?” Wolfe chuckled.
Damn him
.

Andrew groaned. He had to own up to one of the most embarrassing parts of the situation. “That is the strange thing; I can’t remember. I have tried to recall the moments about the event, but to no avail. The name is there, but as if in a fog, I can’t make out.”

Patting him on the shoulder, Simon chuckled. “She hit you harder than you thought if she has addled your brain so. Wolfe, do you remember that time Lord Tenley got punched at Eton so hard he didn’t remember his own name or who hit him? Eventually his name came back, but he never did remember the fight.”

“Gentlemen, there is a wedding to attend to…. Oh dear! Can you even see out of that eye, milord?” A blonde woman Andrew didn’t recognize placed her hand on Wolfe’s shoulder. The intimacy of the gesture wasn’t lost on Andrew, even with damaged vision. “Perhaps a poultice would be called for. After Simon’s vows, I would be happy to make one for you.”

Like a dog with a bone and unable to let it go, Simon asked, “Are you sure a woman did this?”

Andrew narrowed his good eye. “I was there. I assure you, she was a woman.”

“I want to meet her trainer.” Wolfe laughed and lifted the feminine hand on his shoulder to his lips before placing it in the crook of his arm. “Andrew, I don’t think you have had the pleasure to meet Lady Elizabeth Hamilton—Llysa, my future duchess.”

“It’s a pleasure, milady.” His bow, normally graceful and low, had to be cut short by the pounding behind his eye. In the course of twenty-four hours, two of his closest friends had fallen to the parson’s trap. Yet Andrew’d had no idea either had been interested in, let alone courted, a woman. The adoration plain to see in both his grace and Llysa showed theirs was not an arranged marriage, and Andrew suspected they knew each other far better than they should.

“Lord Windenshire, it a pleasure to meet another of Wolfe’s friends. I am sure we will be seeing much of you after the wedding.” Her attention remained on Wolfe, the pure love and joy brightening the room before she turned her attention to Simon. “Simon, your bride is ready.”

“Time to get your leg shackled,” Wolfe added, but his gaze focused on Llysa.

“Happily.” Simon headed for the door then paused. “Andrew, in the left-hand drawer of my desk is a writing set. Can you bring it so we can sign the marriage registry for the clergyman?”

Waving them off, Andrew approached the opulent baroque-style desk at the far end of the room. He opened the drawer, pulled out the quill set, but with his perception off, managed to brush quite a few papers to the floor. Crouching, he ignored the throb in his head and collected the scattered pages. An expensive envelope with a deep red wax seal caught his attention. Though broken, the embossed E on the seal stood out. He placed the letter back on the table and the name on the envelope jumped out at him. Madame Evangeline.

Leaning back on his heel, he glanced through the open doors to the other room. Simon stood before the parson with his bride at his side. Next to him, Wolfe played second, his attention moving back and forth from the clergyman to Simon’s fiancée on the other side of Chandra, herself soon to be the new Marchioness of Breckinridge.

Two lords, both engaged within a short time, and at least one had acquired the services of the elusive and expensive 1Night Stand service. Andrew suspected Wolfe had, too. If one had enough money and was in need of a discreet liaison for a night, no one did a better job of arranging one than Madame Evangeline. Not that Andrew knew much more about the secretive woman than a reputation only whispered about, other than her uncanny ability to bring two people together for an unforgettable evening that often went beyond that night. Since first learning about the woman a few weeks prior at a weekly poker game with the other lords, he had let curiosity get the better of him. Unfortunately, not many would admit to contacting Madame Evangeline, let alone using her services. But the few who did said she was the best.

Picking up the card that had fallen out of the envelope, he pocketed it. Since his friend obviously no longer needed it.

After making sure he’d put everything back in its rightful place, Andrew joined the wedding party in the other room. With the previous night’s ordeal still fresh in his mind, perhaps he should follow Simon’s lead, stop trying to find a woman within the ton, and let a professional handle it for him.

Eventually, luck had to be on his side.

Right?

***

Tears flowed, but whether from the pain in her knuckles, or the sadness in her heart, Miranda couldn’t say. After arriving alone back at her aunt’s house, she’d spent the rest of the evening under the covers, crying into her pillows in hopes no one would hear her. Embarrassed and feeling betrayed, she didn’t think she could handle the servants’ gossip as well. Since Miranda had snuck off the night before with Lord Windenshire into the garden, her whole sense of who she was had collapsed. Everything she had ever done or been taught had been a lie. She had wasted her life on a dream, been a naïve fool to believe what everyone told her without question.

“There you are.”

“You found me.” Wiping the tears from her face, Miranda smiled with what she hoped would pass as anything other than heartbreak and disillusionment under her Aunt Sarah’s watchful gaze. “You’re up early.”

“Silly gel, I have only just arrived home.” Sarah sat on the edge of the bed. “So how did your walk in the garden go?”

Easing up in the bed so her back rested against the cushioned headboard, Miranda plucked at a thread on one of her pillows. “You saw that?”

Her aunt rolled her eyes. As if Miranda could have left the ballroom without the notice of the woman. “Of course I saw it, and I would have been worried if you were in the same room with the earl and didn’t take the opportunity to speak with him. I suppose you got an answer from him.”

“I supposed I did.”

“Well?” Aunt Sarah huffed. ”Don’t leave me in suspense.”

“His lordship had not an inkling of who I was.”

“He hasn’t seen you since you were…honestly, I can’t remember how old you were.”

Shaking her head, Miranda pulled the quilt tighter around herself. “No. I meant he didn’t know who Miranda Beauchamp was.”

Sarah gave her a perplexed frown. “That can’t be correct. There is a signed contract stating the two of you were betrothed as infants.”

Yes, but signed when Andrew had been but a week old, and Miranda yet to be born. “Have you ever seen the contract?” she asked.

“No, but I can’t imagine your mother lying about it. It made sense, and your father spoke at length that combining the two estates would lead to all those great things men care about; it would right a wrong, and other such drivel. To be honest, I rarely listened past the first few words. My brother bored saints. And I am no saint. And, neither was your mother. She was more of a—”

Miranda had grown up hearing how despised her mother had been by anyone who knew her. “Aunt Sarah, please, not today.” Changing the subject, she said, “I wonder if Daniel can locate the contract?”

“If anyone can tell us where it might be, it would be your idiot brother. Or the family solicitor here in London would surely have it. Shall I send a missive asking a representative to come meet with us?”

“Would you?”

“Of course, dear. Although I don’t see what difference it might make.”

It would make all the difference in the world. “I need to discern if I am free to live my life, I suppose. Am I free of my obligation to Lord Windenshire?”

“Now that is something I might be able to help you with. Are you sure you want out of the contract?”

Nodding, Miranda moved closer to her.

“Very well. The best way to get out of this marriage contract is to compromise yourself—” Aunt Sarah frowned. “Don’t look at me as if you are shocked. And you can close your mouth while you are at it, not at all ladylike. If you aren’t pure, no one will fight the legality of the agreement made between two foolish men. I am familiar with a woman who helps set up evenings between the well-to-do.”

Miranda stopped her jaw from dropping, but only just, not sure if the shock came from her aunt being aware of such a woman, or because she spoke about it so openly with her. “How do you know of this?”

“I might be your maiden aunt, but I am no maiden. I decided years ago life would be easier without a man to be chained to, and I am one of the few women of our time blessed with freedom and money to live my life the way I choose. I, too, had an aunt once. Aunt Milly left me everything she owned so I would not need a man to be reliant upon.”

“I’ve never heard of Milly.”

“You wouldn’t. My brother thought it unfair for her vast estate to go to me, a simple bluestocking. Milly’s name never crossed your father’s lips once she died.” Sarah waved a hand. “Now back to what’s important…I have actually used Madame Evangeline’s services twice. Both resulted in long-term, mutually satisfying relationships for me and the men.”

“Aunt Sarah....” Miranda’s cheeks burned, the heat of embarrassment threatening to engulf her. “I don’t think this is a conversation we should be having.”

“Don’t be a ninny. Who else is going to have this talk with you? Your mother, who ran off with that officer to the wilds of Australia? Perhaps your brother. No? Darling, if you want to get yourself out of this asinine contract, then you have to do some things you might not be comfortable with. I support you either way.”

“This Madame Evangeline…she won’t tell anyone?”

“Strict confidence. I trust her. I wouldn’t send you to anyone I didn’t trust. I love you as if you were my own daughter.”

“I love you the same.” Sarah had been more of a mother to her than Miranda’s own mother. Sarah had attended every major event in Miranda’s childhood. And, although she continued Miranda’s training to be the impeccable countess, she never bit her tongue about how she felt. “How much do her services cost?”

Waving her away, her aunt approached the yellow floral brocade drapes, pulling them closed. “Consider this a gift from me. An independence party. Besides, the pittance of an allowance your brother gives you to keep you on tight reins wouldn’t pay for it, even though, of course, it is your money and not his.”

“I can’t ask you….”

“You aren’t asking, I am offering. I think this might be the best thing to ever happen to you. How long would you have waited for the earl, had your eyes not been opened? And how many young ladies has he pulled into gardens with the intention of debauching them?”