The Price of Indiscretion (4 page)

“—and an irritating fellow,” she enjoyed saying. “Please, let us continue our walk.” She placed her gloved hand on his arm.

Sir William’s hand left his sword hilt. His lips curled in smug satisfaction, as if he thought that at last she had come to her senses. “He is forgotten.” Leading her away from the group, he asked teasingly, “So you are one of those upstart Americans? Is that why you know his kind so well?”

Lady Overstreet skipped a step to catch up with them, obviously anxious to encourage the liaison. “Her father was a prominent man there,” she trilled proudly. “A great landowner—”

Alex’s snort of disbelief could be heard all over the docks.

Sir William stopped. Slowly he turned to face Alex. Miranda did not want this confrontation, not when she had so much to lose.

“Please ignore him.”

“And have him sully your family’s honor? I think not,” Sir William answered.

Completely unrepentant, Alex said, “Did I offend? Sorry, I had forgotten how prominent Veral Cameron was. Or how much land he owned. How large was the estate, Miss Cameron?”

Alex was going too far. Miranda’s own pride rose to the surface.

“Everyone respected my father,” she said, staring Alex right in the eye. “They came to him for advice, including members of your
tribe
.” That was true. Because he was the operator of a trading post, trappers, Indians, and landowners depended on her father for news.

“Tribe?” Sir William repeated, surprised. He frowned at Alex. “Are you an Indian?” He looked at Alex as if observing a naturalist’s specimen under a glass. “A real one?”

Now it was Alex’s turn to be uncomfortable. Everyone, including the dockhands, scrutinized him for signs of “Indian.”

“Your hair
is
long,” Mr. Hightower observed. He looked to his fellow officers with the Englishman’s assumption of superiority. “Thought he was one of those Moors. You never know what they are wearing under those headdresses. What tribe are you, Captain?” he demanded bluntly.

“Shawnee.” Alex answered the officer, but his hard gaze was on Miranda. He didn’t like having the tables turned on him at all.

“I’ve heard bloodthirsty stories about them,” Mr. Hightower said, sounding as if he were ready for a cozy chat with a monster.

Alex pulled his eyes away from Miranda. “They are all true,” he told the officer.

“Even the scalping?”

“Especially the scalping.”

Mr. Hightower’s face paled, but Alex had already moved on to other matters. He frowned at Senhor Esteves. “I will see you on my deck within the hour.” It wasn’t a question but a command.

Miranda expected the harbormaster to take offense. Instead, still holding her parasol, he bowed and murmured it would be his pleasure.

Without another word, or glance in Miranda’s direction, Alex turned on his heel and walked back toward his ship. He’d gone no more than a few steps when Senhor Esteves called out, “Captain Haddon, I am having a small gathering this evening at
minha casa
, my house, in honor of Lady Overstreet and her ward, Miss Cameron. Perhaps you will join us?”

For the briefest moment, Alex looked at Miranda. Was it her imagination, or did she see something in his eyes that betrayed the strong feelings they had once held for each other?

Sir William’s drawling voice interrupted the moment. “Yes, do come,” he said in his bored tone. “We shall build a fire, and you can teach us how savages dance around it.” It was a deliberate set-down, a way of belittling Alex in front of everyone—especially Miranda. Sir William was no fool. He must have sensed something lay between them.

Eyes widened and jaws dropped at the insult. Everyone froze, anticipating a fight.

However, instead of being offended, Alex smiled. An enigmatic smile. It confirmed louder than words that he and Miranda had a history, one the others could only guess at.

“I would be more than happy to teach you to dance, Sir William,” Alex said. “Except I don’t know any steps, Indian or otherwise.”

He had chosen not to fight over her.

Alex started back for his ship. He had gone no more than a few steps when he began whistling. Miranda recognized the tune. It was a lively reel, one that, in a forest clearing, she’d once taught him to dance to.

She wished she could box his ears.

Instead she smiled brightly at Lady Overstreet. “He is rude.” It was the most dismissive, severe cut she could give Alex. To say any more would be to raise suspicions.

“Absolutely,” Sir William said. “And now that the Indian is gone, let us talk about more pleasant matters. I would be honored if you ladies would allow me to escort you to Senhor Esteves’s home this evening.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Senhor Esteves hurried to say. “I am sending a cart and driver for them.”

“Senhor Esteves, what a kind gesture,” Lady Overstreet said, “as is holding a soiree in my ward’s honor. Miss Cameron and I would be happy to attend. Of course, I am certain that as host you will have many different tasks to attend to before the affair.”

Senhor Esteves’s smile turned to a quick frown. “I will not be so busy. I can escort you.”

“But I wouldn’t think of asking you,” Lady Overstreet countered smoothly. “I’m certain Sir William and Captain Lewis will be happy to fill in your stead.”

Both gentlemen quickly agreed, and Senhor Esteves had no choice but to accept the arrangement. He bowed over Lady Overstreet’s hand. “Well, then, if you will excuse me, I shall see you this evening. My servant will send word to you later, Lady Overstreet, of what time the cart will arrive.”

“Thank you,” Her Ladyship said.

The pilot took a moment longer to bow over Miranda’s hand. “So beautiful,” he said quietly. “Your eyes are the color of the deepest sapphires. A man could get lost in them.”

But before Miranda could respond to such a lovely compliment, Sir William said brusquely, “Yes, yes, quite true. Don’t forget to be on the savage’s deck in an hour.”

“He’s not a savage,” Miranda answered. “And I thank you, Senhor, for your many thoughtful gestures.”

The pilot gave her hand a squeeze of approval before releasing it. He offered her parasol. “Until this evening,” he murmured.

“Yes, senhor,” Miranda said.

He walked off, the young man that was his nephew and several others falling into step to follow him.

“You have an admirer,” Sir William said, clasping his hands behind his back. His junior officers sniggered their agreement.

“Only one?” Miranda asked, as imperial as a duchess. The sniggering stopped, and Sir William smiled his approval.

“Oh no,” he said, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. “You have many more than one.” He kissed the backs of her fingers.

Miranda could have encouraged him. She was well aware of Lady Overstreet’s smiling approval. But she was also very aware that Alex could see them from his ship, and she was suddenly uncomfortable.

“The sun is quite hot,” she announced, pulling back her hand. “Perhaps we should go in.”

The smile vanished from Lady Overstreet’s face to be replaced by a disapproving line. However, she did not argue. “Yes, we should.” She smiled at Sir William. “Until this evening, sir?”

“Of course, certainly,” he answered, his voice a touch cooler than it had been before.

Miranda didn’t care. She needed a moment alone to review what Alex had said to her. There had been undercurrents that she didn’t understand…or perhaps that was her guilty conscience at work. She had done him wrong, and now apparently had paid a price in seeing him again looking so strong and healthy.

Captain Lewis escorted them back to the
Ven
ture
. As they walked by Alex’s ship, Miranda couldn’t resist a peek to see if he was on the deck.

Several sailors stood at the rail and watched her pass, but Alex was nowhere to be seen.

She was relieved to reach the
Venture
’s gangway. She murmured a thank-you to Captain Lewis for taking them on the walk and headed straight for her cabin, anxious to be alone.

Unfortunately, Lady Overstreet had other ideas. She followed Miranda and, without invitation, walked right into her cabin. The room was so close, the two women, the hard bunk, and Miranda’s trunk filled it. There was no way Miranda could escape, especially after Lady Overstreet shut the door.

“You mentioned in New York that you’d had an indiscretion,” Her Ladyship said. “We just met him, didn’t we?”

M
iranda hated the flash of guilt that went through her. She clutched the parasol tightly. “You did.”

Lady Overstreet’s gaze narrowed, her lips pursing in disapproval.

“You don’t need to worry,” Miranda said. “You saw him out there. Could anyone be more imaginably rude? I have nothing but disdain for him.”

Her Ladyship shook her head. “There is something there.”

“There is
nothing
there.” Why wouldn’t the woman leave her in peace? “He’s my past. My obligations are to my sisters.”

“And you weren’t
ever
lovers?”

“I told you no.”

“But you could have been,” Her Ladyship hazarded.

Miranda didn’t trust herself to answer.

Lady Overstreet nodded, Miranda’s silence confirming her suspicions. “I’m not playing a game,” she said at last. “You and I have an agreement. Cross me, and I will see you pay. Remember, your sisters wait in New York—”

“I know my responsibilities,” Miranda returned.

“Good, let us hope you don’t forget them as you dance with Sir William this evening. Bring him up to scratch, Miranda. Let’s make this quick and clean.”

“You want me to marry
him
?”

“Wouldn’t that be a victory? To have you arrive in London promised to a knight?”

This was too much, too soon. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. It was one thing to talk about marrying some nameless, faceless nobleman. It was another to be confronted with the living person…and one she didn’t know if she liked. “What about the duke you told us about in New York?”

“Him?” Lady Overstreet snorted her opinion. “He’s sixty-seven, lecherous, and suffers gout.”

“And you would have married me off to him?”

“No, I want to marry you off to Sir William,” explained Her Ladyship with impatience.

“But he’s so pompous.”

“Pomposity often means wealth.” Lady Overstreet touched the side of her nose. “Take advice from someone who can sniff out an opportunity.”

So here it was. What she’d set out to do, what Charlotte and Constance were waiting for her to do…and it left her cold.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“I do,” Lady Overstreet answered. “Do you really think that money you have in the chest you’ve hidden under your bunk will cover a season in London while you dilly-dally making up your mind? I’ll tell you it won’t. We’ll need to rent a house in a fashionable area, a new wardrobe—”

“We bought clothes for me in New York.” They had cost a goodly amount of those precious gold coins, not to mention the few extra items Lady Overstreet had picked up for herself.

“We had to put something on your back. Some items, the gloves and stockings, and that corset, can be used in London. But everything else is of inferior quality.”

“Including the ivory lace?” Miranda had never owned anything so fine as that dress.

“Unfortunately,” Lady Overstreet said, “in London, one needs London clothes. Then again, if you snare Sir William, you could save a great deal of money and bring your sisters to England that much quicker. And isn’t that your true purpose?”

It was.

“Perhaps I will like Sir William better upon further acquaintance,” Miranda suggested faintly.

“I’m certain you will.” She reached for the door handle, Miranda stepping out of her way. “Take a nap. We want you to look fresh and young for this evening. Oh, yes, and practice a bit with your fan. I still don’t believe you hold it at the most advantageous angle. You will also be dancing with it, so you can see what I was telling you about how to carry it with a gentleman holding your hand.”

“I will,” Miranda promised, anxious to be alone. Lady Overstreet had already drilled her for hours on fan etiquette. The way Her Ladyship carried on, a person would wonder how Miranda had made it this far in her life without one.

“Good.” Lady Overstreet opened the door. Their gazes met. “I’m glad we had this chat. I’m certain you understand your responsibilities. Take a nap.” With those words, she left.

Miranda shut the door behind her, leaning against the cool wood for a moment before slowly sinking to the floor.

For years she had fantasized about meeting Alex again.

She’d played out the scene in her mind hundreds, no, thousands of times. Always, she would have righted an old wrong. She would have admitted that she
should
have trusted her own heart all those years ago.

However now, when she’d least expected it, he was here. And he had looked right through her as if they were strangers.

Her heart felt empty…and Miranda found herself mourning for what they once had. She allowed herself to remember the joy she’d felt whenever they’d met secretly. She’d lived for those moments of being with him, of touching him, and kissing him, and wanting to be so close to him, she wished she could crawl right in under his skin and stay there always.

And then she had betrayed him.

No wonder he hated her.

She lowered her head and cried.

Alex held his temper until he’d reached the confines of his cabin.

He slammed the door and then, needing more of a release, he crossed to table and, with one angry swipe of his arm, wiped it clean of the charts and compass he kept there. The tools of navigation went flying. He didn’t care.

Damn them anyway. Damn all of them.

And damn Miranda for coming back into his life.

“It doesn’t matter,” he told himself. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need
anyone
.

Suddenly there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room for Alex to breathe.

He walked to the bay window at the aft of his ship. Leaning a knee on his bunk, he attempted to open it. Air carrying the rotting wood and fish smells of the wharf flowed into the room, but he didn’t care. He sat on the cotton-stuffed mattress, rested his back against the wall, and stared out at the harbor with unseeing eyes. In his mind, he was in the forest, waiting for her to appear, counting the minutes until they could be alone. He’d shirked his duties to his tribe, ignored the warnings of his friends, done everything in his power just to be with her.

Alex buried his head in his hands. He would not be a fool again. She meant nothing to him now.

However, her betrayal went deep into his soul.

Jumping up from the bunk, he began pacing the length of the room. He shouldn’t be this angry. After all, Miranda hadn’t been the first to leave him. His father had done that. His father, who had raised him to be his son. Who had encouraged him to master his studies, to study hard in Greek and Latin and mathematics. Who had expected him to excel in swordplay and riding. Who had wanted him to be the
best
in everything he did because Alex was to follow in his footsteps.

And then one day when Alex was twelve, he had returned from his tutor and found his father gone. His father, the much decorated general, had deserted his country for a Frenchwoman.

In the letter he’d left Alex, he’d said this was his chance to be happy and advised Alex to return to his mother’s people. Alex hadn’t wanted to do that. He thought of himself as English. Unfortunately, without the benefit of his sire’s prestige and money, he became nothing more than a half-breed bastard. He’d had no choice but to return to his mother’s people.

Lomasi had not welcomed her English son with open arms. She had a new husband and a family. There was no place for him in her life.

His grandfather, the chief Pluk-ke-motah, had forced her to take him in, but only after he’d been adopted by the village. In order to do that, he’d had to run the gauntlet.

Alex could still see the two lines formed by every man, woman, and child in the village, each holding a stick or club. At the end of the gauntlet was the door to a wigwam. Alex had to run for that door with the villagers beating him mercilessly. If he made it, he would be a member of the tribe. If he didn’t, he would die.

The day had been clear and crisp, the September sky a cloudless blue. His grandfather had stood beside him. He’d been told the signal to run would be a tap of Pluk-ke-motah’s club on his shoulder. Alex had anticipated the old man would give him a gentle tap. He hadn’t. He’d hit Alex with a blow so strong, it had knocked him to the ground.

In spite of the pain, Alex had climbed to his feet and run faster than he ever had in his life, the Shawnee filling the air with cries and jeers. The challenge had almost killed him, but he reached that doorway.

It had taken days to recover from the blows he’d received. Later he learned that he was one of the few ever to have run the length of the gauntlet without stopping. His tribesmen considered him to have great strength and magic.

Little did they know his “power” came from not having anywhere else to go—and being too proud to admit it.

And so he’d given in to that Shawnee side of him. He’d learned their ways with the same diligence he had once devoted to his Latin primer. His mother and grandfather could find no fault in him, and yet Alex had not had an Indian heart. He’d longed for what he had once known. He’d pretended he could live this life. He went through the motions and had been successful. He might even have followed in his grandfather’s footsteps and become one of the chiefs—that was, until he’d met Miranda.

He’d accompanied another brave to her father’s trading post. Veral Cameron had cheated his friend after clouding his thinking with bad whiskey. Alex didn’t drink and had agreed to accompany his friend to provide a clear head and get back what was owed. He’d been warned by others that Cameron hated the Shawnee.

Alex didn’t care what the trader liked or disliked. If he didn’t want to trade with the Shawnee, fine. But Alex would not let Cameron cheat them.

The meeting went well enough. Cameron had been nursing a bad head from a night of drinking. He’d paid a portion of what had been owed, and Alex had counseled his friend to leave the matter alone.

However, as they were leaving, Alex caught a glimpse of Miranda. She’d come into her father’s store and had pulled up short at seeing Alex and the brave there. It had been a chance encounter. He was certain that if she’d known they were there, she would not have entered.

In that moment something happened to Alex that he’d not felt before or since. The moment their gazes met, there had been an instant recognition between them, an understanding that they had been fated to meet.

Cameron had been furious for her interruption. Alex understood. If he’d had a daughter that lovely, he’d want to protect her, too.

Alex left the store with his fellow tribesman but instead of going home, he’d hidden in the woods, waiting for an opportunity to speak to Miranda. He’d finally found her alone as she weeded a vegetable patch.

She had not been afraid.

She agreed to meet him at the place of the two elm trees where the road forked, and within days, he’d finally understood why his father had deserted him for a woman. There hadn’t been anything Alex wouldn’t have done for Miranda. She was the sun and the moon and all the stars.

She had accepted him for who he was, and it had been a great gift to a boy who’d felt he’d had no true identity or place in the world. Of course, her acceptance was also the ultimate cruelty, because in the end she had cost him everything.

Alex stopped and looked around the cabin that had been his home for the past year and a half. It was all he’d ever wanted. All he’d
allowed
himself to want.

He had his ship, his crew, and his partnership with Michael. He commanded his own world—a world in which Miranda played no part, and he was going to keep it that way.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Alex barked.

Oliver stuck his head inside. “The pilot Esteves is here to see you, Captain.”

“Good. Send him in.” He was ready for a fight.

A moment later, the Azorean entered the cabin. Alex stood waiting. Oliver shut the door behind them.

“So, Senhor Esteves, have you come to refund my money?” Alex demanded.

Esteves didn’t answer immediately. He appeared more interested in the maps Alex had swept to the floor. He picked up the compass. “You must be careful, Captain. The seas are rough in port.” He set the compass on the table and met Alex’s gaze with a calm one of his own. He’d known Alex had lost his temper.

“What is it about old men that they think they know everything?” Alex asked.

“What is it about young men that they don’t realize how obvious they are to read?” the pilot countered, his English accented.

Alex smiled in spite of his frustrations. “What is on your mind, Esteves? I know you aren’t going to give my money back.”

He spread his hands as if begging Alex’s patience. “I wish that I could but I have expenses.”

“Expenses? A need for more bribes is more like it.”

“Captain—”

“No excuses, senhor. We both know how these small ports work. You serve as pilot and harbormaster.” He shook his head, “You are a petty tyrant who could quarantine a ship if you had a mind to. Of course, you are lax in your duties. Your nephew didn’t even take a tour of my ship. I could have had smallpox on board and no one would have cared.”

“Is there a concern?” Senhor Esteves looked around. “Perhaps I should quarantine you now.”

“And I’d hang your carcass from the bow.”

Instead of being offended, the pilot laughed. He reached down and picked up one of the maps. Rolling it, he handed it to Alex. “Come, let us be friends.”

“What do you want?” Alex asked. Esteves might be a corrupt official, but at least he was honest about it. He stooped to pick up the other map still lying on the floor. He was a fool to let Miranda get to him this way. He would put her out of his mind.

“I want you to come to my house this evening,” Esteves said.

Where Miranda would be?
“Why?” Alex asked, setting the maps on his table.

“To upset Sir William.”

Amused, Alex wondered, “Do I sense a touch of rivalry here?”

“There is no rivalry.
I
will wed Senhorina Cameron.”

Alex tapped down a sizzle of jealousy. She was nothing to him. Nothing, nothing,
nothing
. “Wed her or bed her?” he asked with a touch of contempt in his voice.