The Price of Indiscretion (19 page)

Miranda dropped her hands, stunned that it had been Charlotte who had rejected Thomas. “I do,” she said.

“No, you don’t—not if you are ready to take up with Haddon again.”

“It’s different here,” Miranda said. “No one cares about his ancestry.”

“Or that his father is a traitor?” Charlotte suggested, reminding her of Sir William’s gossip.

Miranda dismissed that with a curt wave of her hand. “His father has no bearing in this. Charlotte, it’s different now. For one thing, Alex is very wealthy. He’s offered to take care of my family. You’d never have to worry again.”

“Money was the least of my worries,” Charlotte flashed back. “I want to be respectable, Miranda. I don’t want people looking down their noses at us. I’ve noble blood in my veins—as do you! Don’t you ever hunger for the deference that comes from respect?”

“It hasn’t been easy for any of us,” Miranda murmured.

“No, because we’ve always been on the bottom. Always.” Charlotte walked around to the end of the table before leaning forward and saying, “But you’ve had a chance to make everything right. And not only are you going to toss aside a title, respect, and security—but you are also making an enemy who, from what everyone says, will ruin all of us. Is this what you want, Miranda? Will you ever be happy in Alex’s arms knowing the cost?”

There was the core of the problem. Miranda couldn’t.

“You really told Thomas to leave?” she asked.

Charlotte nodded.

“Did it hurt?”

“I felt as if my heart was ripped out of my chest.”

Miranda remembered lying beside Charlotte in the loft they shared over the trading post and hearing her cry deep into the night. At the time, Miranda had been too lost in her own misery to understand her sister’s.

“I love him,” she told Charlotte.

“I know, dear. What I’m asking isn’t easy, but the duke is not an evil man. Someday you will find happiness with him.”

Miranda glanced at the chair broken into pieces…and came to her decision.

If she couldn’t have Alex, well, then, what did it matter whom she married?

“I will write Alex and explain,” Miranda said. Her throat closed. “I hate hurting him again, Charlotte. He’ll think I’ve betrayed him.” Her knees gave, and she sank down to the floor. The tears came. She couldn’t stop them. She wouldn’t try. They came from deep within her, from her dearest hopes, her secret dreams, and erupted in sobs that racked her whole body.

Charlotte dropped down beside her and threw her arms around her. Miranda buried her face in her sister’s shoulder and didn’t even try to stop crying.

She cried because she was losing Alex and because he would never know how much she loved him. She cried for her sisters who had suffered because she’d lacked strength all those years ago to follow her heart. She cried for their parents and for their love that was cruelly ended by the violence of the wilderness.

A second set of arms came around her. Constance had joined them. “I’m so sorry, Miranda. So sorry,” she whispered.

Miranda drew back and looked into her youngest sister’s face. She appeared so young, whereas right now, Miranda felt a hundred years old. “It’s not your fault,” she told Constance. “Or yours,” she said to Charlotte. “It’s just never been the right time for Alex and me. It never will be.”

“I wish—” Charlotte started, but Miranda stopped her by placing her fingers over her sister’s lips.

“You don’t need to say anything. Just promise that the two of you will make happy marriages. Don’t let what I’m about to do be in vain.”

She didn’t wait for their answers but rose to her feet and left the room. Isabel was out in the hallway with a look of concern on her face. She held baby Diane, who smiled when she saw Miranda. This was Alex’s godchild. Miranda realized she would not see the child again or Michael and Isabel after she married. “It might be wise if my sisters and I move to another establishment. I’m certain Phillip will approve.” She had no problem using the duke’s given name. He’d become just a man in her mind.

“You don’t have to do anything quickly,” Isabel said.

Yes, she did,
but Miranda wouldn’t argue that right now. “I need a message sent to Alex.”

Isabel turned to Bolling, the butler, who had come up the hall toward them. “We need a footman to deliver a message.”

“Very well,” he said.

“There is paper and pen in the morning room, isn’t there?” Miranda asked.

“Yes,” Isabel answered.

Miranda didn’t say more, but left to go the morning room. She sat at the dainty secretary in front of the window overlooking the garden. Paper and ink were in a drawer.

It took a long time before Miranda could put her thoughts together to compose a message. She made several attempts at explanations before she finally wrote—
We mustn’t.

She didn’t even sign her name. She hadn’t the heart. Alex would know what she meant.

After sealing the note and giving it to the footman, she went up to her room and lay down. She had no appetite for food. She might have napped; she couldn’t tell. She stared at a point close to the blue and white pottery wash pitcher until the footman returned from the
Warrior
.

When she answered his knock on her door, he informed her that the message had been delivered.

“Did he have a response?” she asked anxiously.

“No, miss, he didn’t.”

Of course not.

At the appointed hour to depart for Colster House, she presented herself downstairs, perfumed and powdered, wearing one of the dresses Alex had purchased for her. It was the finest of the group, a white gauzy gown with a deep white embroidered hem. The same embroidery edged the neckline and the area beneath the bodice. She didn’t bother with a fan or scarf, as Lady Overstreet would have demanded, but pulled on gloves made of the same thin gauzy material as the dress.

Alice arranged Miranda’s hair in a cascade of curls with a white ribbon woven in and out among them. Miranda chose not to wear any adornment around her neck and only pearls in her ears.

The pared-down effect of her dress was stunning. She appeared her own woman, comfortable with her own fashion.

When she came downstairs, everyone complimented her on how fine she looked. She smiled, she spoke, but inside, she didn’t feel anything.

She was aware that her sisters and Isabel watched her with some concern. Michael would not meet her eye. His jaw had a tight set.

She hooked her arms with Charlotte and Constance. “Come, let me introduce my beautiful sisters to society. Not since the Gunning sisters have they seen anything like us.” Alice had helped dress them in clothes from Miranda’s wardrobe, and they’d never appeared lovelier.

Their response to her was weak smiles of their own. Obviously no one who climbed into the coach felt good about this betrothal. There was little conversation on the ride across town.

And although she knew it wouldn’t be a welcome topic, Miranda had to ask Michael, “Did you see Alex today?”

His blood brother looked out the window a moment before saying, “Briefly.”

“How is he?” Miranda realized she would spend the rest of her life hoping for tidbits of information about him.

“Preparing his ship to set sail. He’ll leave on the tide.”

Miranda sat back in her seat. Of course.

There was a long queue of carriages waiting to arrive at the duke’s London town house and a crowd of idlers and spectators lining the street in front of the small park. The Severson coach was waved forward, and the duke’s footmen ran alongside to ensure that they opened the door the minute the vehicle stopped and that none of the riffraff could get close.

As Miranda was helped out of the coach, she was conscious of people craning their necks and staring. Her name was a whisper in the air. She almost felt like royalty as she climbed the stairs up to the front door where Phillip waited. He wore black evening dress with a white waistcoat and was everything a duke should be.

“You look lovely,” he murmured to Miranda, although she doubted if he truly noticed what she was wearing.

He bowed over her sisters’ hands with the same distant politeness and didn’t linger in his conversation with Michael and Isabel.

“The Prince of Wales will be here this evening,” Phillip instructed Miranda. “You all know how to act?”

“Yes, we do,” Miranda said, a touch offended and waiting a beat before adding, “Your Grace.”

His gaze narrowed a bit, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he took her arm and led her and her sisters around the room, introducing them to everyone.

The names ran together in Miranda’s head. She’d never remember them all, and this evening she didn’t care to. All she did was smile. It was what was expected. Beside her, she sensed Charlotte’s smile growing more and more fixed.

The prince arrived. There was a flutter of excitement and then anticipation as he made his way across the room to her. Here was something. She and her sisters were being introduced to the Prince of Wales. The people in the valley back home would be impressed.

Miranda wasn’t.

Instead the hairs at the nape of her neck tingled. Her pulse sped up a beat, and she knew she wasn’t alone.
He was here.

Slowly she turned toward the double doorway before the short set of steps leading down into the receiving room. She wasn’t surprised to see Alex standing there.

He was dressed in black evening clothes as fine as any the duke owned, except he didn’t wear a neck cloth. No, around his neck was the silver collar of the Shawnee.

And he was waiting for her. He had come this far. Now he expected her to come to him.

M
iranda almost took a step toward Alex. A hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her.

She turned and found herself looking into Phillip’s face. He’d seen Alex, too. He nodded to a gentleman who stood not far away from them. The man was burly, with long sideburns and a nose that had been broken several times. No tailor could conceal the bulk of muscles beneath his jacket.

He began moving across the room toward the door. Miranda turned in alarm, ready to warn Alex—but he wasn’t there. Instead, two dowagers in matching purple turbans stood where he’d been, each of them a bit nonplussed to have the bruiser climb the steps to approach them.

Nor were she and Phillip the only two to have noticed Alex. Charlotte had seen, as had Michael. They each stood in different sections of the room, Charlotte beside Constance, Michael with Isabel. They all knew he was here. And by their expressions, Miranda could tell that they had their regrets.

That was all well and good, but she was the one who had to live with the decisions she made.

Phillip leaned close to her ear. “What’s mine, I keep,” he told her quietly, and released her wrist to return his attention to what the prince was prattling on about. As Phillip commented on how he agreed with the Prince’s opinions on proper evening dress, he appeared as if he’d already dismissed the incident.

Miranda knew differently.

As did Charlotte. She moved through the crowd and stepped close to Miranda to whisper, “You’ll have to earn His Grace’s trust again.”

“I don’t care if I ever do,” Miranda answered, and smiled at Lord and Lady Oglethorpe, who wanted to take some credit for her splendid match since they’d hosted the musicale the other evening. They weren’t interested in the truth. In society, the truth rarely mattered. All they wanted was some idle chatter, and she realized this was what her life would be like.

Empty.

Empty talk, empty days, empty life.

The smile on her face was growing harder and harder to hold.

Michael approached carrying a glass of the potent punch Phillip was serving. Miranda accepted it gratefully. His fingers brushed hers. She looked up.

“I may have been wrong about you and Alex,” he said quietly.

“That I’m not good for him?” Miranda shook her head. “On that score, your point was valid. I’ve hurt him deeply. He’ll never forgive me. Not this time.”

“Why do you think he is here, then?” Michael asked.

She didn’t answer. It would have been senseless. Instead, she complimented the Prince of Wales on the shine on his boots, giving him a new topic of conversation.

The rooms were crowded to the point of stifling, especially here in the long gallery of the receiving room where Phillip and Miranda stood. In spite of all the furniture having been removed, another person couldn’t have entered the room, but still they came. No one of importance in England wanted to miss this evening.

Miranda wondered if Phillip’s boxer had found Alex. She doubted it.

Phillip interrupted her worries by saying, “I believe the time has come for our announcement.” He sounded ill at ease.

He wasn’t a bad man, but one accustomed to getting his own way, and she had a moment of conscience. Placing her hand on his arm, she said, “You deserve better.”

“Aye, I do. But this is the way it is,” he answered, smiling a greeting at someone else as he spoke. “And really, Miranda, my life will be no different than before. My heart isn’t touched.” He said this defensively.

“I wish that it was,” she murmured. “Then you would know how I feel.”

His response was a frown. Before he could speak, the Prince of Wales said, “I should have seen her before you, Colster. Pretty filly here. Your children will be stunning. Damn lucky girl that Colster has taken a liking to you. Related to the Earl of Bagsley, eh?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Miranda murmured.

“Didn’t know him,” the prince said in his blunt way. “Well, let’s get on with it, Colster.” He meant he was ready for the announcement so that he could be on his way. It was known that he found such affairs as Phillip’s boring and probably preferred the company at his club.

Phillip gave a signal, and the servants began moving through the crowd with trays of iced champagne. He left Miranda’s side to cross to the most prominent place in the room, the carved marble fireplace. He called for attention, and the crowd grew quiet.

Charlotte and Constance moved closer to Miranda as if to protect her. Her suspicions were confirmed when each of her sisters took her hands.

Leaning close, Charlotte said, “We held hands the night the Indians searched for us.”

Miranda didn’t answer. She knew everyone watched her, waiting to catch her reaction when Phillip made the formal announcement.

“That night was our promise to always be there for each other,” Charlotte continued. “We are all that we have.”

Phillip welcomed his guests, thanking them for coming.

“Go to him,” her sister said.

“Yes,” Constance agreed. “Run now.”

Miranda looked at them with surprise. “What are you saying?”

“
Go,
” Charlotte said more forcefully. “I was wrong. I can’t ask you to do this. Run while you still have a chance.”

“What of you?” Miranda asked. The prince looked over at them with curiosity, as did the others standing close to them.

“We shall manage,” Charlotte said. “But we won’t be happy knowing that you can never be.”

“But what of the duke?” Miranda asked.

Phillip was just starting his remarks about the loss he’d felt years ago. It was a touching speech that caused many women in the room to surreptitiously wipe a tear from their eyes.

“I shall contrive some diversion to stop him,” Charlotte promised.

“This is your last chance at Alex, Miranda. Don’t lose it,” Constance urged.

Those were the words Miranda needed. She picked up her skirts and started weaving her way through the crowd toward the door. She heard Phillip’s voice falter and then stop.

He’d seen her. She could tell, but she would not look back—until there was a crash, and several women screamed while a man shouted.

Miranda stopped, halfway up the stairs. From here she had the perfect vantage point to catch Charlotte just as she pretended to trip. She knocked over a servant carrying glasses of champagne who fell into a group of guests. Women were exclaiming over damp feathers and ruined dresses, and two people had been knocked to the ground, with Charlotte among them apologizing for being so terribly clumsy. She appeared genuinely upset and Miranda wondered if her sister had meant to include so many people.

However, the distraction worked. Phillip
couldn’t
continue.

For a second, his gaze met hers. He knew she was leaving. She hesitated, wanting to let him know she was sorry, and then a strong hand grabbed her arm and swung her around.

Alex.

He hugged her in his arms as if he’d never let her go. He was so strong and solid. “Let’s go,” he said.

A protective arm around her, he shepherded her past the guests, many of whom weren’t aware of anything other than the disturbance in the main room. Isabel waited for them at the front door in an empty hall. The footman must have been called to duty passing out champagne.

“Michael is notifying our driver. He will take you to the ship,” Isabel said. “You’ll have to leave England. You may not be able to return.”

“What of you?” Miranda asked.

“We’ll be all right,” Isabel assured her. “What wasn’t right was expecting the two of you to sacrifice what you mean to each other. I couldn’t give up Michael, and it was wrong of me to expect you to not follow your heart.”

Miranda gave her a quick hug. “Thank you.”

Isabel drew back. “Your sisters truly care for you.”

“I know.” And they had just sacrificed everything for her.

Alex took Isabel’s hand. “Whatever I have is theirs. Please, you and Michael take care of them. Keep them safe and see that they don’t lack for anything because of this night.”

“They won’t,” Isabel promised…although Miranda sensed it was a promise it might be beyond her means to fulfill.

Still, tonight, Charlotte and Constance had acted boldly to help her. Someday she would make it up to them.

Michael came in the door. He stopped when he saw Alex. “Good God, man, you’d better go. The coach is outside.”

Before Alex could respond, Phillip’s bruiser came upon them from another room. He snorted his challenge and rushed toward them.

Michael looked at Alex. “Shall I?”

“Let me,” Alex replied. Just as the bruiser was about to put his hands on him, Alex raised his elbow, neatly catching the boxer beneath the chin.

The blow stopped the man dead. A short punch to his jaw sent him flying backward into an ornate table holding a silver centerpiece. Boxer and centerpiece went crashing to the ground. From the hallway, several guests heard the sound and turned around to see what was going on.

“Go,” Michael ordered, and Alex didn’t wait.

He took Miranda’s arm, and together the two of them ran down the steps to the waiting coach. The door was open.

“Get in, get in,” the driver yelled, holding back the horses that were catching a scent that something was afoot.

“To the
Warrior,
Batten,” Alex ordered.

“I know, sir, just get yourself in.”

Miranda was already in the coach. Alex joined her, slamming the door behind him.

Batten snapped the whip, and they were off just as the front door of house opened and the duke came out on the step, followed by several of his servants.

They were safe. For now.

Miranda put her arms around Alex’s waist and held on. His coat smelled of the open sea, of freedom, and of the man she loved.

“I don’t ever want us to be apart again,” she said.

He held her close. “We won’t be,” he answered, and kissed her. This kiss was different from any of the others. It was a kiss like the one he gave her that night ten years ago when they had exchanged vows. This kiss was a pledge…one that had remained unbroken through all those years.

Breaking it off, she looked up to him. “
Ni wahsiu,
” she whispered in Shawnee. Words she had never forgotten: You are my husband.

Alex laced his fingers in hers. Their moved together to the sway of the coach. “
Ni haw-ku-nakga.
” You are my wife.

“I am,” she answered. “I could belong to no other.”

He kissed the top of her head, his hold on her tightening. Her cheek against his chest, she listened to the strong beat of his heart and was content.

The coach had to slow when it reached the London docks. They were busy with the comings and goings of sailors and trade at this hour of the night.

Alex sat up, lowered the window, and looked out. He sat back.

“Are we almost there?” Miranda asked.

“Yes, but we’d make better time on foot.” He knocked on the roof, a signal for Batten to stop.

The coach had barely slowed before Alex opened the door and jumped down. He reached out his hands for Miranda, swinging her to the ground.

Alex was right, they could make better time themselves. She followed as he ran along the pier, dodging people, crates, barrels, and pilings. Torches beside the ships along the dock provided their only light. It had been some time since she had moved this much, and she was relieved she managed to keep up with him.

The sailors aboard the
Warrior
had been watching for them. A whistle cut the air, and the men came along the side of the ship, some with rifles. Those on the dock began untying the mooring ropes.

They reached the ship’s gangway just as Miranda heard the sound of horses’ hooves bearing down on them. Alex practically lifted her in his arms and carried her up to the ship. Oliver and another sailor followed, and the gangway was pulled up. Several more sailors used long poles to push the ship away from the dock.

The Duke of Colster, his boxer, and two other riders arrived on horses just as they were drifting away. Alex pushed Miranda to stand behind him.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I already have a pilot on board, and the
Warrior
’s load is light, so her draft can handle anything the Thames gives us.”

The duke dismounted and walked to the edge of the duke. “Haddon,” he barked. “Come back here. I demand satisfaction. You will meet me, Haddon.”

Alex leaned on the railing. “I have no intention of doing any such thing, Your Grace. She’s mine. She’s always been mine. She’s my wife.”

The words startled the duke. He took a step back. In the torchlight along the pier, Miranda could see his disbelief. She stepped away from Alex.

“I love him the way you loved your Elizabeth,” she said.

Phillip walked to the edge of the pier. “I will never forgive you for this, Miranda Cameron,” he said, his quiet, authoritative voice carrying across the water. “Never.” He turned and walked back to his men, a tall, proud man who would never bend.

Miranda felt as if she had had the air knocked from her. Alex placed his arm around her. She turned to him. “My sisters.”

“He won’t harm them.”

“Can we be certain?”

“Miranda, he is an honorable man. That was his pride speaking.”

She shook her head, suddenly cold. A sense of foreboding washed through her. “I wish they were with us.”

“I do, too…but their destinies lie in a different direction from yours, my love. Don’t worry. My money and my blood brother will keep them safe, and soon we will be able to return.”

“How soon?” she wondered. “It seems I can never have all the people I love around me. I must always make choices.”

Alex brought her into his arms, her back against his chest. He wrapped his hands around hers. It felt safe here. It felt right.

“A man leaves his family and takes a wife,” he said. “And what is his becomes hers. Your sisters are my sisters now. We will return, Miranda, and they will be safe. This I promise to you.”

Alex turned and led her toward the cabin. She could feel the crew watching, and was a bit ill at ease until Alex swooped her up in his arms and stood her on top of the hatch. “This is my wife,” he announced.