The Fairy Tale Bride (8 page)

Grimthorpe coaxed with false sweetness, his
gaze trained on Simon. "Perhaps I know her — the lovely new Duchess
of Kerstone that we knew nothing about .... " His glance slid to
Betsy, who was saying nothing further. Giving up on the child, he
turned his attention back to Simon.

"How long were you planning to keep this
marvelous news a secret? How interesting the ton will find this,
Kerstone."

All Simon's concentration focused on removing
this man from the cottage so that he could be alone with Miranda.
Her naïveté was such that he could not be sure she understood the
implication of their predicament. "The child needs to go home. She
is tired."

As if set in motion by his words, the
villagers quickly nodded respectfully to Simon and filed out of the
cottage. Grimthorpe did not.

The cottage was eerily silent with just the
three them. Poking idly at the basket of food, at the blankets,
Grimthorpe suddenly bent over and plucked up Miranda's boots. "Care
to tell me whose feet these boots might grace?"

Simon said nothing, his jaw tensed with
anger. For a moment he considered simply confessing all — he was
going to marry her, after all — though his preference was to tear
Grimthorpe's head from his shoulders.

Miranda lay frozen in the loft, realizing
that she could be discovered at any moment. The thought of the
consequences of discovery for her did not distress her as much as
she knew they should — it was Simon whose reputation she feared
tarnishing.

"Well, since they're certainly not yours, and
there is no one about ... " Grimthorpe pointedly stared at the
loft. With a triumphant glance at Simon's booted feet, he tucked
Miranda's boots under his arm. "I expect these were left by some
previous occupant?"

Simon shrugged in response to the other man's
inquiring glance, and reached out for the boots.

Grimthorpe smiled, bringing them more tightly
into his grasp. "Never mind, old man. I found them. I shall make it
my business to return them forthwith as soon as I locate the
owner."

Before Simon could react, Grimthorpe was
gone. Even though he left without checking the loft, even though
the sound of Atlas's hooves was clear as he rode away, Miranda
hesitated to move.

Simon said, with — unbelievably — the
faintest of laughter, "Come down Miss Fenster. He is gone with your
boots, I'm afraid. I suppose this might well teach me not to dare
Fate." He sighed. "Oddly enough, I am pleased you will be my
Duchess." As she scrambled down from the loft, ready to protest,
she thought that he added, faintly, "for as long as I live."
Miranda was too disturbed by the beginning of his sentence to worry
about the oddity of the latter half.

Walking home barefoot — with one turned ankle
– took quite a while. Dawn had been well broken before she arrived
at Anderlin, soaked to the skin and furious with the sanctimonious
Duke of Kerstone. At least she had retained her dignity by refusing
to allow him to sweep her up into his arms again. She wished she
could have persuaded him that she required no escort on her walk.
Instead, she satisfied herself by refusing to speak to him.

At the edge of the wood, she stopped and made
her position clear one final time. "I must insist you accept that I
will not be your wife." She looked up into his rain-slick face and
said quietly, "I am honored that you think my reputation worth the
protection of your name, but I assure you that I am no Rapunzel
trapped in a tower of shame, in need of rescue."

"You do not understand these matters, Miss
Fenster." He moved as if toward Anderlin, and Miranda let out a cry
of sheer panic that stopped him. Impatiently, he explained, "I must
discuss this with your brother."

"My brother? The very man whose elopement you
prevented just two days ago? Do you think he will greet you with
open arms when you tell him you have spent the night with his
sister?" She tried to put scorn and disbelief in her voice, but
truthfully, she did not know if Valentine would even acknowledge
the duke's words — perhaps not even the duke himself.

Her brother, the last time she'd seen him,
had been dead of heart, dead of soul, and beyond communicating even
rage or heartbreak.

"You are so certain your brother is
honorable, yet you doubt that he would do the right thing if he
were to know the circumstances of our evening together?" He reached
out and brought her to him, surrounding her with his unyielding
arms.

"Do you love me, then?" She barely dared
believe she had uttered the world, but she could not breathe in the
space between the question and his answer.

He appeared as startled as she, and then
pressed his lips together as he shook his head.

"Do you trust me enough to let me see what
you have in that leather pouch?" Again, she knew she dared much. He
did not love her, though. Could he trust her?

"Don't be foolish," he said brusquely. "It is
business, not meant for a woman's eyes." And then, to her surprise,
he whispered, "We will suit, Miranda. I am sure of it. Marry
me."

She bristled. "What does that mean? Suit? Do
you think to order me to do what you wish me to do? Think what you
wish me to think? Share nothing of yourself with me?"

He smiled and nuzzled her ear briefly, then
pulled away to look into her eyes. "Think of it, Miss Fenster –
wed, we could do as we please without cost to your reputation."

She searched his gaze as her pulse beat in
her temples. Marriage … no. The price was too high. "The thought is
tempting," she answered him honestly. If only she knew she could be
a duchess he might trust, he might one day come to love. But that
was unlikely. Her talents lay in creating mayhem out of order
rather than the reverse.

His arms tightened around her.

She pushed at his chest. "I'm sorry. I know I
would regret it within the year."

His arms dropped away, leaving her exposed to
the cold dawn. His entire expression shuttered closed, as did his
eyes. "Within six months is more accurate, I fear." He gave a small
harsh laugh. "You are right. If we can avoid this, it would be best
for both of us."

Miranda smiled, though she was not truly
inclined to do so. "There, you see, we can just pretend that this
never happened. Grimthorpe may have my boots, but he does not have
my name, nor my description."

He opened his eyes and his gaze lingered on
her face until she felt herself flush with heat, despite the
morning chill. She wondered if he was beginning to realize just how
unsuitable she was as a candidate for his duchess. With a shake of
his head, he said, "Should Grimthorpe tease out the truth, we will
marry."

Miranda shook her head. "You will see. He
will never discover that I own those boots." She grinned. "Prince
Charming had to scour the land for his Cinder Ella. I doubt
Grimthorpe has the interest to search quite so long and hard for a
woman he does not love. And you must admit he is as far from
charming as one can be."

Simon did not manage a smile, only a solemn
nod. "On that we can agree."

He seemed to want to say something else, but
she sensed the danger that he might take her in his arms again. She
did not think she could withstand the temptation a second time. She
ignored the pain in her ankle and hobbled away as quickly as she
could toward Anderlin and the safety of her family.

Not even her injury could drive away the
thoughts of him, of last night when he had kissed her, when his
fingers had gently traced the scars on her back. Perhaps she should
have agreed to marry him. Surely then he would have had to help
Valentine and Emily. But no, perhaps on the physical level they
suited very well, but he was too eager to take control of her life
for her own peace of mind. As her father and mother – as Grimthorpe
himself had learned once upon a time – she was not willing to be
forced into being or doing something against her will.

She let herself silently into the kitchen at
Anderlin and made her way down the darkened hallways to the study.
The door was locked; faint flickers of fading firelight showed
infrequently under the door jamb. She knocked softly but received
no response. She pressed her ear against the door, suddenly afraid
that Valentine had taken his own life. But then she heard the sound
of shattering glass and a muttered round of unintelligible
curses.

She decided to take it for a good sign. After
all, he had not spoken two words together since he came home in
disgrace, his elopement forestalled. Perhaps tomorrow he would be
able to deal with the problem of their dwindling finances.

Not really believing that possible, Miranda
decided she would settle for his taking breakfast and shaving as a
sign that he might soon return to a semblance of his normal
personality. If not, she would have to do something about their
finances herself — again. She closed her eyes, leaning fully
against the door as she remembered warm lips covering her own. But,
despite that memory and the problems of her family's finances,
marrying the Duke of Kerstone was not in her plans.

CHAPTER FIVE

Miranda took the bundle from deep within her
cedar chest. It was wrinkled and gray, and as she removed the items
that had been rolled within it and fruitlessly tried to shake the
wrinkles from the cloth, a smell of stale grease surrounded
her.

"Are you sure you should go?" her younger
sister, Hero, asked, hazel eyes reflecting her worry even as her
nose wrinkled in distaste at the odor.

"Yes." She had hoped never to have to wear it
again. "Valentine is being stubborn. He insists that he will find a
way to keep Anderlin afloat."

"Perhaps he will." There was little
confidence in Hero's voice.

Miranda was tempted to shelter her younger
sister, but she could not. Hero was the next oldest after Miranda
and Valentine, and she must be prepared to shoulder the
responsibility of the younger girls while Miranda was gone. "He is
coming around from his disappointment. But not fast enough. He has
not stirred from the study in two days, except to bathe and
shave."

Hero protested. "If you give him just a
little more time, Miranda – "

"We've barely any flour left, and the
vegetable garden will not produce enough for eight people this
month," Miranda interrupted, trying not to breathe too deeply, as
she donned the wrinkled gray gown over her own plain blue, giving
her figure a bulkier look. "Help me with this, please, Hero." She
turned away from her sister's stricken look and quickly tied the
hideous yellowed linen cap onto her head so that it hid every lock
of hair.

As she had in previous trips, Miranda took
two balls of spun wool and stuffed them into the sagging bodice of
the gown until it was rounded and taut. One glance in the mirror
convinced her that no one would recognize her. But the final
coup de grace
was the pair of padded bags that she tied
under her skirts. Before she tightened each bag's drawstring, she
inserted two carefully wrapped sets of silver candlesticks and the
glittering ruby neckpiece that had been her mother's prized
possession.

"Oh, Miranda." Hero took the necklace from
Miranda's hands and unwrapped it from the velvet cloth that
protected it. "Must you pawn Mother's necklace? She left it to you
to wear when you are married and give balls of your own."

It was truly a work of art, with its
intricate working of diamond-eyed gold swans, each with its neck
curled gracefully around a ruby the size of Miranda's thumb
pad.

The jewels themselves held no dazzle for her.
It was the memories that the piece conjured for her – her mother,
dressed for a ball in a beautiful gown sweeping down the staircase
at Anderlin under the awed gazes of her children.

Miranda sighed. "Well, I have no better use
for these jewels, Hero, than putting food on the table. I'm afraid
Mother would be disappointed, but I don't believe I'll ever marry.
Like the girl in the tale who would do anything to release her
brothers from the evil spell that has turned them into swans —" she
ran her finger over the swans, feeling the hard smooth swell of the
jewels under her fingertips — "I would give up anything for my
family." She smiled at her sister and gave her an impulsive
hug.

Hero's eyes shone with hope. "Perhaps the
duke will come for you like Cinder Ella's prince. You'd make a
better Cinder Ella than swan princess."

Miranda frowned. "It's Grimthorpe who has my
"slippers", Hero, not the duke." She shuddered. "And I pray that he
never finds out that they belong to me."

Hero laughed. "That would certainly change
the way you told Cinder Ella's tale. You'd have one of the
stepsisters fit into the boots, then, wouldn't you? Still, you'd be
a marvelous duchess, even without boots. Wouldn't Mama just be
delighted if she could look down and see her daughter a
duchess?"

Miranda's smile died on her lips as she
thought of her mother looking down from heaven. What would Mama
have had to say about Miranda's folly? She had allowed the Duke of
Kerstone unforgivable liberties.

Worse, in her own mind, as she was sure it
would be in her mother's were she alive, Miranda had desired his
kisses, his caresses. Silently she answered the question he had not
made her answer that night. Yes. She would have allowed him to make
love to her if they had not discovered Betsy in the loft. Indeed,
she ached at the thought of what she had missed.

She knew with certainty that were he to climb
into her bedroom window, like Rapunzel's love, she would give
herself to him without hesitation. It was only marriage she didn't
want.

What kind of a wanton was she to feel that
way? If Grimthorpe had discovered her, her escapade would have
afforded a week's worth of scandalous gossip in London. Miranda
herself might have been completely ruined, but she gave little
credit to that.