“Do you know who I saw riding, just the other day on Rotten Row?”
Goodness, she’d nearly forgotten about Ridley.
“I’ve no idea.”
Rotten Row was something Miranda tended to avoid, as riding there had been a favorite activity of her mother’s. She did love Hyde Park though. Colin used to take her there after they’d visited the museum or attended a lecture. Once he’d taken her for a lemon-flavored ice, laughing as she took a bite and succeeded in getting some on her nose.
Then he kissed her, his mouth cold and tasting of lemon.
Ridley continued to speak, the smell of wine on his breath quite noticeable. The peppermints did not mask the scent of his overindulgence at dinner. She thought it ironic that Ridley always informed anyone who would listen that she was a chatterbox.
Would he allow her to retire to the country after they were wed? She studied his profile as he continued his recitation of the people he’d seen riding on Rotten Row.
Probably.
He would want her dowry, and an heir of course, but mostly Ridley was concerned with money. She heard whispers before leaving London that Ridley’s latest mistress was an actress at Covent Garden. Very beautiful and very expensive.
I could always change my mind and choose Hamill.
Lord Hamill offered her his standing in Parliament, and Miranda thought it likely the elderly man would allow her to maintain her independence. The stumbling block, of course, was that she would have to give him an heir. Which meant sharing a bed with the man. Had she been a complete innocent, she may not have balked at the marriage act with Lord Hamill.
The unfortunate thing, Miranda mused, was that she was not innocent. Her ruination at the hands of the Earl of Kilmaire had been very thorough.
Too damn thorough.
Miranda stumbled, catching the heel of her slipper in her skirts.
Ridley deftly caught her about the waist, pulling her close against him.
She realized as she apologized for her clumsiness, that Ridley had maneuvered her into a secluded area, right beneath a large weeping willow. The gardeners lit torches along the gravel path, but Miranda noticed with some trepidation that none glowed along this section. She hadn’t yet accepted Ridley’s suit, and Sutton would not accept the viscount until she did.
The moon peeked from behind a cloud, shining enough of its pale light to discern the desperation on Ridley’s face.
And determination. He’s very, very determined.
A cold trickle of dread ran down her spine. It appeared Lord Ridley would attempt to force her hand.
His fingers dug into the soft skin of her elbow as she tried to wrench away from him.
“I think we should turn back, my lord,” she stated primly.
“Now, Miranda,” his eyes narrowed, “it’s not as if I’ve never stolen a kiss from you. There was a time when you fairly threw yourself into my arms.”
Miranda felt herself redden and was grateful he couldn’t see it. She’d once been so sure that Ridley could make her forget Colin. That she could fall in love with him. Her plan hadn’t worked of course, for Ridley’s kisses left her cold.
“Come now, it’s time for you to accept my suit. You’ve been dangling yourself in front of me for years, Miranda. Teasing me.” His hand moved possessively against her back.
He was right of course. She had been leading him around.
I didn’t mean to.
“Lord Ridley,” Miranda began, unsure what she should say. Did she have any other choice? It would be Ridley or remain a spinster. Just now, watching the wolfish glint to his features, Miranda thought it would be best to remain a spinster.
“Edwin.” A waft of alcohol soaked his words. “We will soon be wed. You should call me by my Christian name. Little tease.” His hand fell to her hip and he squeezed hard enough to make her wince.
“Lord Ridley,” she emphasized, “you are a bit foxed. I think it would be wise to return to the house.” Miranda stepped back, freeing herself and picked up her skirts. She would leave Ridley in the garden.
Ridley would not be deterred. He pulled her toward his chest, caressing the curve of one breast as he did so.
Miranda gasped in outrage. He’d never been so forward before. A couple of stolen kisses, little more than a peck, was all he’d bestowed on her up until now.
I should tell him I’m already ruined, though it’s likely he won’t care.
“Let go of me, Lord Ridley. You forget yourself.”
“Miranda,” his voice was silky and warm in her ear. “I’ve enjoyed the chase, truly I have, but I believe,” he pulled her against him roughly, “it’s time I finally caught you.”
“Let go of me. If my brother-”
“I should love nothing more,” he slurred, “then to have your brother find us. Please, scream out for him or that annoying butler you have. I’m sure the entire house party would come running. I expect Lady Dobson would lead the pack. She doesn’t care for you at all, by the way” he murmured. “You’d have no choice but to marry me. Let’s make sure that we are found in a compromising situation, shall we?”
His hand shot out pawing the front of her bodice. The fragile lace edging her neckline pulled away, making a soft tearing sound. A sloppy kiss, tasting of sour wine, pillaged her mouth.
Miranda put her palms on Ridley’s chest and tried unsuccessfully to push him away. Surprisingly, he was stronger than he looked.
“Lovely night for a walk isn’t it?” A voice, angry and laced with an Irish lilt, floated through the garden.
Ridley’s hand froze in the assault of her breast. “What the bloody hell is he doing out here?”
Miranda heard the scratch of a match before a flame burst to life, flashing light over the scar that ran the length of Colin’s cheek. With an elegant turn of his wrist he touched it to the tip of the cheroot.
Ridley let his hand fall to Miranda’s waist.
“Kilmaire.”
“My apologies if I’ve interrupted. I was just havin’ a smoke.” All traces of the upper crust accent Colin usually affected had fled.
Miranda inhaled sharply. It was rare, if ever, that Colin allowed himself to slip in such a manner. It was her father, who after witnessing Colin lose his temper once said, ‘his uncle has not done him a favor in the regard of his speech for he sounds like an Irish dockworker.’
“Do you think it wise to be here, out of sight of the house, with Lord Cambourne’s sister? Trying to steal a kiss, are you?” Colin blew another smoke ring. “Most unwise.”
“We are nearly betrothed.”
“Nearly? That’s akin to a horse losing a race by a nose or less.” Colin gave a deadly chuckle. “But, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
Ridley’s entire body stiffened at the insult, incensed by Colin’s slur. “Your speech betrays your common blood,” Ridley spat back. “The Irish are such an emotional race. Take your mother, for example. Crazy as a loon. One wonders that you are not cut directly in polite society, Kilmaire.”
“Earl of Kilmaire.” Colin took a deep drag of the cheroot. “Which is bit less common than a mere viscount.” He stepped forward and blew a gentle puff of smoke at Ridley. “Even Lady Cottingham is aware of the difference between the two.”
Ridley pushed Miranda to the side, his handsome face contorted in anger. He took a deep gulp of air through his nose which made the hairs of his moustache quiver. He resembled a frightened mouse more than a viscount at that moment.
And Colin was the large, golden cat who had trapped his tail.
“You . . .” Ridley’s cheeks bulged. “I should call you out.”
“No!” Miranda shouted.
Both men looked at her as if they suddenly realized she was still standing there.
“Let us all return to the house. Lord Ridley, Edwin,” she said softly, “you’ve indulged overmuch. We will leave Lord Kilmaire to enjoy his cheroot in peace.”
Ridley had behaved badly but Miranda didn’t
think that was worth one losing one’s life over. And Ridley would certainly be killed or maimed. Never mind that she was probably going to marry the man. Colin, though he preferred a knife or swords, was, in his youth, a much better shot than Miranda. She thought it likely his skill had only increased over time.
“Yes, Edgar, listen to Lady Miranda.” Colin butchered Lord Ridley’s name before flicking an ash off the cheroot. “I’d hate to put a wee hole in you.”
Ridley thrust out his chest like some bantam rooster, “I’ll have you know—”
Colin cut him off with a graceful wave. “Let me explain something to you, Ridley. Even if you were very lucky and killed me, which is highly unlikely, you’d never survive what the Devil of Dunbar would do to you if your aim was true.” Colin shrugged. “Lady Radford aside, I fear my connections are much better than yours.” The patrician accent returned, his words sounding as if they were cut from stone.
How long had Colin spied on she and Ridley? Long enough to hear about Lady Radford.
Ridley paled and swallowed. He stepped back and his stance became less threatening. Sweat beaded his upper lip, shining above the ridiculous mustache he wore.
Miranda detested that mustache.
“That’s unfair to threaten him so,” she said in a low voice to Colin.
The broad shoulders shrugged, and he blew a row of smoke rings into Ridley’s face.
Arrogant Irishman. She clamped her lips shut to keep from hurling the insult out loud.
Colin clenched the cheroot between his teeth and gave Ridley a scathing look. “Now, out of consideration for Lady Miranda’s reputation and yours, I’ll not share this little incident with Lord Cambourne.” Colin sniffed the air. “You’ve had a wee bit too much to drink, Ridley. I’ll overlook your behavior and your insults. You’re not yourself.”
Ridley pushed back a piece of hair that had fallen against his forehead. He straightened his sleeves, brushing them off as he composed himself. Turning to Miranda he bowed. “My apologies, Lady Miranda. I fear that I may have enjoyed your brother’s wine more than was wise during dinner. I believe I shall retire early this evening.”
“Of course, my lord,” Miranda gently touched Ridley’s arm. “We shall not speak of this again.”
Colin winked and slapped Ridley on the back. “No harm done, Ridley. I’ll see Lady Miranda back to the house.”
Ridley stumbled a bit, his shoes slipping on the gravel path. He gave Colin a hard look, but he wisely said no more.
Colin watched until Ridley vanished from sight before turning to her.
“That was not necessary.” Miranda’s cheeks burned with embarrassment at being caught in such a situation with Ridley. Edwin, she reminded herself. I’ve decided that despite his boorish behavior this evening, I’ll marry Ridley.
“Was I to allow you to be mauled in the gardens of your own home and not come to your aid? What were you thinking?” The upper crust accent slipped.
Miranda lifted her chin defiantly. “Quite frankly, Lord Kilmaire, it is none of your business whom I take walks with in the garden.”
As he stepped closer, moonlight fell over his shoulders, bathing the left side of his face. The scar stretched like a bolt of lightning on his cheek.
Unexpectedly, he reached out to touch her hair.
“I never told you, but I think of you when I write her.” His voice was soft and low, vibrating through Miranda.
He wrapped an ebony curl about his finger. “I adore this curl.”
“Don’t.” Miranda gave his hand a half-hearted slap. She felt the brush of his finger against her chest as he tugged on the curl, sending a burst of fire down her breasts. The awareness of him silenced the world around Miranda, as it often did, leaving nothing but Colin. She could no longer hear the night song of the birds nor the gentle ripple of the breeze through the tall grass, only the sound of Colin’s breathing as he watched her.
He tossed the cheroot to the ground and put it out with a twist of his heel. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured, bringing the curl to his lips.
Miranda’s breath caught. “About what?” Her body leaned towards him, begging for his kiss.
“I think you know.” He released the curl. One elegant finger trailed along the neckline of her gown, his face hardening as he noticed the torn lace. He moved no closer, but his finger continued the inspection of her person, moving slowly down the side of her breast to circle her hardening nipple through the silk.
Heat radiated through her.
Colin looked down at her, his eyes dark and half-lidded as his finger continued the circular motion around her nipple before lightly brushing the tip of the engorged peak. He watched the path of his finger as it left her nipple to wander across the valley between her breasts then down to her stomach.
The muscles of her stomach contracted delightfully beneath his touch. She had to bite her lip from moaning out loud, the pleasure was so intense. Her lips parted in expectation.
The brush of his lips against hers was featherlight. The tip of his tongue ran along the seam of her mouth, tracing her lower lip. One large hand splayed possessively against her stomach, holding her in place, while his other hand seemed to wander aimlessly over her body.
Miranda’s toes curled inside her slippers.
Colin’s mouth left hers, moving up the side of her jaw, even as she felt the press of his fingers against the underside of her breast.
She swayed towards him and tilted her head, an invitation for his mouth to tease the soft skin of her neck.
Colin did not deny her. His lips leisurely explored the column of her throat, coming to rest just beneath her ear. Gently he pulled the plump lobe of her ear between his teeth.
“You’ll not marry Ridley,” he whispered.
“No,” she agreed.
“Chose another.”
Had he thrown a bucket of ice water over her, Miranda could not have been more surprised. Surely, he was joking.
“But you want me.” Miranda said stupidly.
“Yes. So much so that I continue to make a fool out of myself.”
His hand moved from the side of her breast to thread through her hair to the back of her head. “In spite of everything.”
Again, Colin referred to something she had done, some error in judgement, perhaps. “In spite of everything?”
He stepped back. “I’ll not lie and say I don’t care for you, but-” He shook his head.
Miranda pushed back the pain his words caused. Had she thought he would say anything different? What an unmitigated ass he was. “The words of a gypsy and your mother’s own coldness mean more to you than I do. They always did.”
A hiss escaped his lips at the mention of the Mad Countess.
“Why,” he snapped, all control gone, “must you pretend? Why can you not admit what you did?” His voice lowered to a ragged whisper. “I wish to forgive you, Miranda. I need to forgive you.”
“Since I continue to remain ignorant, will you not at least tell me of my transgressions?” Miranda’s anger matched his own. If I am to beg,” she snarled back, confused and hurt, “for forgiveness, I would at least know the reason.”
Colin’s lips drew tight and he shook his head.
“You would parade your suitable heiresses in front of me as punishment and not at least tell me what I am being punished for? You would kiss me, hold me, and then marry another?” Her breath hitched as she spoke. “And you cannot even say why?” She balled her hand into a fist and struck Colin in the middle of his chest.
“Coward. You are a bloody coward.”
He caught her hand as she made to hit him again. “Enough, Miranda.”
Wrenching violently away from him she spun, her hair flying about her shoulders.
One of the diamond clips flew out of her hair to land in a nearby rose bush.
Damn him.
“I am your bloody heiress, Colin. Me.” Miranda lifted her chin. “You would rather marry the likes of Lady Helen than admit to i
t? After you ruined me?”
“You wished to be ruined. You begged me as I recall and came to my room in the middle of the night. Crawled into my bed. What should I have done?”
Anger and pain, the likes of which Miranda had never felt, coursed through her. And shame. Shame that she had once behaved so wantonly. That the most beautiful moment of her life meant nothing to him.
She slapped him, hard, the sound cracking through the silence of the garden like the shot of a pistol.
“You cold, unfeeling bastard. Go on. Go back to Runshaw Park. Marry the beautiful Lady Helen and have your marriage of convenience. Live your life alone. You aren’t capable of love, nor do you value the emotion. Whatever it is you accuse me of, Colin, I’ve no doubt you deserved it.”
Colin’s eyes widened in surprise as her words hit home. He shook his head, backing away from her with a deep gasping breath as if she’d punched him in the gut. Desolation flickered across his beautiful face, and anguish so deep that Miranda nearly felt sorry for him.
Almost.
He took a deep ragged breath and turned from her. When he faced her again, the coldly polite mask he’d worn since his return to London had dropped back over his features.
“This conversation is over. You are overwrought.” The clipped words were full of icy disdain. He turned his back, dismissing her. The crunch of his boots filled the air as he began to walk back to the house.
How dare he dismiss her. To leave her alone and bleeding from the wounds he inflicted.
“You were right years ago, Lord Kilmaire,” she said to his retreating figure, wanting to hurt him. “You don’t bloody deserve me. In the future, I will thank you not to disturb me when I am taking air with my future husband.”
Colin halted at the mention of Ridley, and Miranda silently begged him to come back to her.
He did not.
A lone tear slid down her cheek as he resumed walking, his steps echoing in the silence of the garden.
Miranda fell to her knees, unmindful of the sharp stones that tore at her hands and gown. A deep mournful sob left her throat as she stared at the gravel of the path, her heart refusing to accept the inevitable.
Tomorrow she would betroth herself to Lord Ridley.
MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3 Page 23
