“But … we will talk about this, won’t we? I need some time to think, but I really want us to come to some sort of … understanding.”
Cupping her face, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “I would like that.”
Resting her hands over his, she pressed a sweet, lingering kiss against his lip. When they pulled apart, Roger felt warmer, less uncertain, and far more hopeful.
It wasn’t until he opened his eyes and gazed beyond her that the sensation of being watched stole over him. Had he been more aware of his surroundings, less caught up in what felt like a pivotal moment, Roger might have noticed it sooner.
The party seemed to have died down, with fewer guests inside the drawing room. But several of them were crowded around the doors, peering out into the night at the spectacle of Roger Thornton kissing the widow, Lady Hughes.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, feeling as if the wind had been knocked from him.
“What?” Miranda asked. “What is it?”
He could only stand there and stare back at those who had witnessed their tête-à-tête, his sister and Lord Lovett at the forefront with their faces fixed in expressions of dismay. His heart dropped into his gut as Miranda slowly turned to discover what Roger already knew.
They’d been caught … and now everything was ruined.
Chapter 10
Miranda stared at the wall, tracing the patterns of the floral paper and trying to figure out where she had gone wrong. At what point had she forgotten herself so completely? She’d allowed herself to be publicly compromised. Taking a courtesan as a lover was supposed to have been a discreet diversion for her to enjoy, but it had now become a liability for not only herself, but Ursula. Her daughter would carry the stain of her indiscretion, and Miranda didn’t think she could ever forgive herself for that.
And what of Roger and his family? Poor Emily’s expected marriage proposal might be withheld now that her brother had been caught in a scandalous position.
Burying her face in her hands, Miranda groaned and chastised herself for a fool. There had been no way around it—at least half the guests had seen her kissing Roger on the terrace. Upon looking into a mirror, she had discovered the mussed state of her chignon and a few hedgerow leaves tangled with the strands. It wouldn’t have been difficult for anyone to guess where they had gone and what they’d been up to.
The door to the parlor she had hidden herself away in swung open, and Mary, Maud, and Joan filed in. Tense silence filled the room as Miranda came to her feet to face her friends. Mary and Joan seemed sympathetic, while Maud’s knowing gaze clearly said ‘I told you so.’
“Mary, I am so sorry,” she said, unable to raise her voice above a hoarse whisper. “I have embarrassed you in your own home and—”
“Stop it this instant!” Mary insisted. “I am certainly not embarrassed and will toss every single person in this house out on their ear if they speak ill of you.”
Shoulders slumping, Miranda looked to Joan. “Where is Roger?”
“Returned to his chambers, I suppose. He wanted to speak with you, but we insisted you be given time to think.”
“What are you going to do?” Maud blurted before Miranda could respond. “The word will have spread to the rest of the party by breakfast, and it won’t be long before the entire ton hears of this.”
“She knows that,” Joan snapped, leveling a glare at Maud. “For goodness’ sake, Maud, she’s had a difficult enough evening without you browbeating her.”
“I was simply asking—”
“I don’t know what I will do,” Miranda interjected before the two women began bickering. “I only know … I must speak with Roger. I need to know what he thinks … how he feels.”
Mary raised her eyebrows. “Do you think he would marry you? It’s the most efficient way to put an end to the talk.”
“You could tell everyone you were secretly engaged and merely sneaked out to the terrace for a private moment,” Joan offered. “You are a widow, so such intimacies will be forgiven.”
“She barely knows him,” Maud argues. “And he’s a … a courtesan.”
Miranda wanted to argue that she knew Roger far better than she ever had Lord Hughes, but knew it would be wasted on Maud.
“Talk of marriage is premature,” she replied. “Besides, I do think this is a conversation better had between Roger and I.”
At the firmness of her tone, Maud clamped her mouth closed and Joan nodded in agreement.
Mary took her hand. “Come. I will walk you to his chambers. Everyone should be abed by now, but just in case …”
Miranda allowed herself to be led along, understanding the wisdom in not going alone. If anyone saw her, it would only add fuel to the fire. With Mary at her side, she would appear as respectable as possible given the circumstances.
They managed to reach Roger’s door without incident, Mary lightly knocking before retreating down the corridor. Roger appeared on the threshold within seconds, stripped to his breeches and shirt, hair standing on end as if he’d been worrying it with his fingers.
“Miranda,” he said, taking her arm and pulling her inside. “Thank God.”
He turned to lean against the door as she paced to the center of the room and turned to face him. “Are you all right? There wasn’t time for us to … and Emily?”
She winced at the disarray of her thoughts spoken aloud. There was so much to consider, to say, and Miranda had no idea where to begin.
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Emily is … shocked, but understanding. Lovett seemed more sympathetic toward her than anything else, so there’s hope for them. But … we should talk about us.”
“Yes,” she agreed, wringing her hands and trying to ignore the sound of her own heart pounding like a drum. “I suppose everything has changed now. We were to speak of our feelings, but now there’s more to consider.”
“Nothing has changed for me,” Roger said, suddenly pushing away from the door and coming toward her. He took her hands, and only when she registered how warm his were did she realize her fingers were like blocks of ice. “The way I feel about you … I kn-know there hasn’t been m-much time for us t-to become acquainted, but … I think we have g-gotten on w-well together.”
Slipping one of her hands free, Miranda raised it to cup his cheek. “We have. Extraordinarily so, I think.”
“I d-don’t have much t-to offer you by way of m-material things.”
Miranda shook her head. “I have everything material I could ever need. That doesn’t matter to me.”
“Let me say this,” he said, giving her hands a squeeze. Then, he paused, took a deep breath, and when he began speaking again, he’d slowed the cadence of his speech to repress his stammer. “I want to give you the things you wish for … the things you told me you desired that day in the snow. I want to know you, and for you to know me. I will give you passion, and fire, and affection. I will cherish you, and I would hope you could cherish me. I will do my utmost not to die so that we can grow old together. And I … I think we could come to love each other. I think, perhaps, even given the short duration of our acquaintance, I already do love you, Miranda.”
Throughout his entire speech, Miranda’s body had begun to vibrate with anticipation, her insides warming with every touching word that fell from his lips. The weight of what he was saying fell on her with that final utterance of love.
“Roger,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to confess to any feelings that aren’t real,” he replied. “For now, I would be honored if you would at least tell me you will marry me. Not just because of the scandal, but because I would do my utmost to make you happy.”
A sudden and overwhelming feeling of joy overwhelmed her, as Miranda realized she wanted to say yes. It was sudden, downright ridiculous even. She’d only just met Roger, and still had so much to learn about him. Yet, her first marriage had been built on far less. If she said yes, they would have all the time in the world
to deepen their connection and come to know one another better. It was the perfect solution to her problem. And perhaps taking this chance could lead to the kind of future she could never have imagined.
“Miranda?”
She blinked, realizing her wandering thoughts had taken her away from him for a moment. Miranda parted her lips to offer the response lingering on the tip of her tongue, when the sound of a knock echoed through the room. She flinched, while Roger whirled toward the door with a scowl pulling at his lips.
“What the devil?” he murmured, turning back to her with wide eyes. “No one can see you here.”
He was right. After what had happened, she was already tainted in the eyes of the ton. Turning in a swift circle, she pressed a hand to her churning belly as the knock sounded again, more urgent this time. Spotting an armoire across the room, she darted toward it. Turned so that she would be shadowed by its side, it was as good a hiding spot as any. Miranda pressed herself as tightly behind it as possible and gathered her skirts close to her legs. A moment later, Roger’s footsteps thudded across the room. She held her breath and listened as the door creaked on its hinges.
“Angus,” Roger said, sounding irritating. “Now is not a good time.”
The door slammed shut and Angus’s noisy footsteps paced across the floor. “I only need a moment to congratulate you, you sly devil! Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?”
“What are you talking about?” Roger snapped. “Angus, I told you—”
“I knew you were sniffing about the Hughes widow, but never imagined you could be so daring.”
“Angus.”
“Compromising her to secure a proposal? You’re a genius!”
“Angus!”
“You told us you would find a solution to our problem, and you did it. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Angus!” Roger roared, his voice fairly shaking the walls. “Stop. Talking.”
Miranda pressed a hand over her mouth, choking down burning bile, certain she would be ill any moment. Disbelief and hurt rippled through her at the evidence of Roger’s betrayal. All this time, she’d been convinced they had found something real together. Something new and frightening yet exhilarating. Yet now it would seem he had merely been after her fortune. Perhaps his earnings as her courtesan weren’t good enough for him. Knowing that her husband had left her well-off, he had decided to take it all for himself.
“What is the matter with you?” Angus said with a disbelieving laugh. “I came here to thank you for doing what was necessary for our family.”
Deciding she had heard enough, Miranda stepped out from her hiding place. Both men turned to face her, Angus’s jaw dropping while Roger stared at her with morose resignation.
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, lifting her chin. Humiliation washed over her when her voice wavered, but she managed to otherwise keep her composure.
“My lady,” the viscount said, eyes growing wide. “I … my brother and I—”
“Are sure to be disappointed,” she said, clenching her hands into fists. “There will be no wedding, now or ever. The two of you will have to find someone else to dupe with your little scheme.”
Hurrying toward the door before either of them could see her tears fall, Miranda came up short with Roger’s hand wrapped around her arm.
“Miranda,” he said, his voice quavering. “I c-can exp-plain. It isn’t wh-what y-you think.”
Snatching her arm free, she glared at him, annoyed when the first tear splashed her cheek. “All has been made clear to me. In case you still expect an answer to your proposal … the answer is no.”
Swiping at her damp face, she fled the room at a near run. Her chest burned as she came to a stop halfway down the corridor, leaning against the wall as a sob welled up in her throat. She didn’t care if anyone saw her now. Social ruin made it difficult to think of niceties and decorum when she felt as if her entire life had begun falling down around her. And all for a courtesan she had known barely a fortnight. A man she’d thought to be honest and good, open to loving her and being loved. It had all been a lie.
The hope and anticipation she’d been feeling earlier felt like a distant memory, and all she was left with was uncertainty and hopelessness.
Miranda spent the remaining days of the house party shut away from the rest of the guests. She took meals on a tray in her room and refused to see anyone who came to visit her other than Mary, Maud, or Joan. They each took turns looking in on her, staying for games of piquet or needlepoint sessions. Once she had filled Mary in on what she had overheard between the Thornton brothers, no one forced her to speak of it again. She assumed Mary had told the others, but even Maud made an effort to keep conversation light.
On the morning of Twelfth Night, she ordered her maid to pack her things for the journey home and sent word to the governess to prepare Ursula. Wearing her carriage dress and matching pelisse, there was nothing left for her to do but sit and wait. The other guests would remain for the evening’s festivities before departing the following morning, but Miranda had no reason to stay. She ought to have left after her falling out with Roger, but had been too paralyzed with sadness and disbelief.
Staring at the bed, she studied the stack of notes that had come from Roger over the past few days. Anger heated her face and the back of her neck, but it was the surge of longing that bothered her the most. Each note had been short but concise, apologizing for what he called a ‘misunderstanding’ and asking her to give him a chance to explain. Each one had been signed ‘Love, Roger’, making that sickening feeling return to her belly.
Why did she feel this way? Their affair had lasted such a short time. Had he really gotten so far under her skin that she would now sit around bemoaning his loss? It made no sense.
Standing, she paced to the window and heaved an exasperated sigh. This was ridiculous. Roger Thornton was a liar and, apparently, a very talented swindler. She ought to be relieved to have escaped his trap.
The snow had ceased days ago, and the sky was clear for once. She hoped for a swift journey home so she could closet herself away with Ursula and nurse her wounds. Perhaps in the spring they could escape to the cottage that had been part of her dower’s portion. It was small but efficiently staffed and perfect for her and her daughter to find some peace. By then, she might have decided on how to live out the rest of her life. Talk would die down, and a return to London would be possible, eventually.
She had a plan, albeit an undesirable one. But what else was a woman to do once she’d been publicly shamed?
Miranda whirled at the knock on her door, thinking it might be a servant with word that her carriage was ready to transport her home. But when she opened the door, it was to find two of the Thornton siblings awaiting her.
It took a moment for Miranda to recover from the shock, and in that split second, Emily Thornton marched through the doorway, dragging the viscount by his arm.
“I beg your pardon for the intrusion, Lady Hughes,” she said with an apologetic look in Miranda’s direction. “But when I heard what had occurred between you and Roger, I couldn’t allow it to stand.”
Miranda closed the door and turned to find Angus staring at her as if terrified of her wrath. “Miss Thornton, this is not necessary.”
“But it is,” Emily insisted. “You see, I know both my brothers more than anyone else does. Roger isn’t a fortune hunter or a seducer. But Angus, however, has a propensity for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong and speaking without a thought to who he might hurt with his words.”
“Your brother’s words might have hurt me, but they were the truth,” Miranda replied. “I suppose I ought to thank him for exposing their plans before I made a grave mistake.”
“That’s just it,” Emily said. “There was no plan. Tell her, Angus.”
The viscount cringed at the command in his sister’s voice, his face flushing beet red. “Lady Hughes … first, allow me to convey my sincerest apologies—”
>
“Get to the important part,” Emily grumbled, elbowing him in the side.
With a grunt, Angus rubbed at his ribs. “My brother and I made no plans concerning you or any other widow. The truth is, our family has been in debt for a long time, mostly due to my own foolishness. Roger has always been the bedrock of our family, holding us together, finding solutions. When I lost Emily’s dowry, he vowed to find a way to mend my mistake, but he never told me how he intended to go about it.”
Miranda frowned, digesting his words. They aligned perfectly with the story Roger had told her concerning his reasons for becoming a courtesan.
“Then why did you congratulate him for his ‘genius solution?’” she challenged. “Why did you speak of him using trickery to snare an heiress so your family’s problems could be solved?”
The viscount lowered his gaze, running a hand through his hair in the same anxious gesture as his brother. “That was an assumption on my point … an idiotic one. I saw that Roger was showing interest in you, when he’s never paid so much attention to any woman. I made a guess as to why he might have pursued you, but I was wrong.”
Miranda pressed two fingers to her temple, her head aching as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Her heart and mind were pulled in different directions until she felt stretched taut, unable to decide what was real or true.
“Lady Hughes, Roger is shy and reclusive,” Emily said. “I believe you might already know that. Angus is right that he’s never openly pursued any woman for fear of exposing his … his stammer. If he has taken a chance on you, it isn’t for the sake of a fortune. It’s for something far more important.”
Miranda backed toward the bed, sinking onto her rear as her legs became boneless. Her fingers brushed against the pile of notes, each one signed, ‘Love, Roger’ in a neat, efficient hand.
Had she been wrong about Roger, about what they’d shared? A voice in the deep recesses of her mind screamed that she had known it all along, yet caution and logic told her not to be impulsive. Could she truly trust that Emily was telling the truth? The girl was desperate for her dowry so she could marry Lord Lovette. The viscount’s estate and livelihood were on the line. This could just be part of a joint plan on all their parts to entrap her, and she was falling for it.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 153
