“Lady Fairborough hasn’t said a word.”
“Clever of her, isn’t it?” Bianca chuckled. “Exactly what Mother would do if she was encouraging a match.”
“She’s certainly not . . .”
Bianca’s brow rose.
“I will admit . . .” Miranda chose her words with care. “There does seem to be something between us, although I am not entirely sure what it is. I don’t know that we suit one another. He is so dreadfully annoying. And I daresay he feels exactly the same way about me.”
Bianca laughed.
“What do you find so amusing?”
“Your indecision.” She grinned. “You weren’t the least bit indecisive about John.”
“I never had any doubts about John.” She sniffed. “We were perfectly suited from the first moment we met. There was never a disagreeable word or discordant note between us.”
“Pity.”
“What?”
Bianca shrugged. “There’s a great deal to be said for the passion of argument as well as the passion inherent in setting things right.”
“It scarcely matters.” Miranda shook her head. “Once Lord Stillwell knows that I have deceived him, he will never forgive me. He values honesty, especially in women, which I suspect has to do with his former fiancées.”
“Then don’t tell him.”
“You said it yourself. This is bound to come out soon. And then . . .” She shuddered.
Winfield wasn’t anything like John. But then she had begun to realize, neither was she. She had always thought John had given her the freedom to be herself, and in many ways he had. But she had never disagreed with him and surely there were any number of times when she should have. Rather, she avoided confrontation, anger, raising her voice. Life was so much easier that way.
But not nearly as exciting. The thought popped into her head unbidden. And wasn’t doing battle with Winfield exciting? Wasn’t it—wasn’t he—challenging and exhilarating? And hadn’t she indeed been having a great deal of fun?
And when they gazed into one another’s eyes, wasn’t there something that snapped between them like the sparks from Lord Salisbury’s electricity? Something compelling and rare and eternal? Something that might never come her way again?
But what if she was wrong? What if everything she was coming to feel was only because he was so good at what he did? In spite of his claims that his reputation was not being actively enhanced, he was reportedly an expert in seduction. What if she was just another conquest? What if he broke her heart?
“The only thing you can do at the moment, however, is try to figure out what it is you want.” Bianca’s gaze met hers. “Or possibly who.”
Miranda stood on the terrace, gazing out over the Millworth gardens, silhouetted by the deepening twilight. She looked not unlike the figurehead on a grand sailing ship of a century ago. Brave and strong and determined. A fanciful notion, of course, but no less accurate for the whimsy of it.
Win moved to stand beside her at the stone balustrade. “May I join you, or are you plotting your next assault on all I hold dear?”
She smiled but continued to gaze out over the grounds. “I would never admit to that. Surprise, you know, is everything in an assault.”
“Oh, well then.” He leaned back against the balustrade and studied her profile. “I must say, you are shockingly pensive tonight.”
“Shockingly?”
“It’s rather disconcerting. You are generally not the least bit pensive. At least not to my knowledge.”
“I daresay there are all sorts of things you don’t know about me.”
“Perhaps.” He chuckled. “Although I thought I was coming to know you quite well.”
“Have you really never been in love?” she said abruptly and turned toward him.
He stared. “Why would you ask that?”
“This afternoon you said that you knew love was a fragile and elusive thing from poetry and not from experience.” She studied him carefully. “I took that to mean you had never been in love.”
“Well, then you know my secret.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fairly sure.”
“But if you have never been in love how would you recognize when you weren’t?”
He drew his brows together. “I have no idea. I just assumed I would know when I was.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” He huffed. “Birds and butterflies would be flitting about. The sun would be shining. A choir of angels would be singing in the heavens. You know, the usual sort of thing.”
“Now you are being sarcastic, whereas I was being quite serious,” she said in a lofty manner.
“It’s a ridiculous question. How does anyone know when they’re in love?”
“I would still like an answer.”
“I don’t have an answer.”
“How can you have had three fiancées and never have been in love?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped. “Luck? Fate? Timing?”
“Even so—”
“How did you know when you were in love with your husband? I assume you were in love with him.”
“Of course I was and . . .” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that your second question? About my marriage, that is?”
“Yes, yes, it’s not the question I had intended, but yes.”
“Oh.” She paused. “What question did you intend?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t thought of it yet, but I suppose this one will do. How did you know when you were in love with your husband?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just did.”
“Aha!”
“Aha?”
“When I said the very same thing, when I said I just assumed I would know, you would not accept that answer.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Therefore I cannot accept yours.”
“Now you’re being childish.”
“I am not,” he said, though he did feel rather like a child at that.
“Well, that’s the only answer I have.” She shrugged.
“Nonetheless, you shall have to do better.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Come now, Miranda. While I have never known love myself, I am not completely ignorant of what is supposed to occur when love is involved.”
“The birds, the sun and the choir of angels, you mean?”
“Among other things.” He slipped off the balustrade and straightened. “First.” He took her hand. “Your heart should flutter oh so slightly when he takes your hand.”
“Oh?”
“Then, as he raises your hand to his lips, and you gaze into his eyes”—he matched his actions to his words—“your breath should catch as you wait for the first touch of his lips upon your hand.”
“I see.” Her voice had the faintest breathless quality. His stomach tightened.
“You feel the tiniest stab of loss when he releases your hand.”
“Do I?”
“But then he steps near to you.” He moved closer. “So close you can sense the heat of his body next to yours”
“Can I?”
“Indeed you can.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “His hands slip around you and he gently pulls you closer. And the beat of your heart speeds up.”
“Does it?” She swallowed hard.
“And then he gazes into your eyes, his lips moving inevitably closer. And you can’t look away because in his eyes you see a reflection of your own feelings. And that, I suspect, is the final piece. That, I suspect, is when you know.” His lips met hers and he murmured against them. “And you know, when he kisses you, as he will, that it’s not just a kiss, it’s an acknowledgement of what he holds in his heart. And a promise that this is only the beginning.”
“Is it?” she whispered.
“If I am very, very lucky.” He gathered her closer and pressed his lips to hers. She hesitated, and then her mouth opened to his and she tasted of spring and promises and everything he’d ever
wanted. Everything he’d ever longed for. He deepened his kiss and she responded in kind. And for an endless moment there was nothing in the world beyond her and him and the two of them together. At last he raised his head and gazed down at her.
She stared up at him. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”
“But what does it mean?”
He smiled. “It means, my dear Miranda, that I wanted to kiss you and judging from your response, that you wanted to kiss me back.”
“Are you in love with me?”
“Love?” He hadn’t really considered love. He stared down at her. “That was not the reaction I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?”
He released her and stepped back. “I’m not sure, but that was not it.”
“I haven’t done this for a very long time, you know.” She turned and paced the terrace.
“I assumed as much.”
“Therefore you must forgive me if I am out of practice.”
“I thought it was a most excellent kiss.”
“Oh yes, well, that.” She waved off his comment. “That was indeed excellent. It might well be the most excellent kiss I have ever had.”
Ever? “Well, then I don’t understand what—”
“Goodness, Winfield, it was obviously an excellent kiss because you have had so much practice at it.”
“You did say you rather fancied a wicked man.”
“Indeed I did, which was why I was prepared for your kiss.” She stopped mid-pace and looked at him. “And it was an outstanding kiss.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “How outstanding?”
“Why, my toes curled inside my shoes.” She nodded. “That outstanding.”
“Good.”
“Which is why I am so confused.”
“No more so than I,” he muttered. “Go on.”
She resumed pacing. “How am I to know if, when my toes curled and before that, as you so expertly described, when my heart raced and I forgot to breathe, that it truly meant something of significance. If you are kissing me because it is indeed love, all those things are to be expected, even welcomed. Or did I only experience all that—”
“The toes, the heart, the breath?”
She nodded. “Was that significant, or did that only happen because you are so good at what you do?”
The woman made no sense whatsoever. “What I do?”
“Seduction,” she said with a dramatic flourish in her voice.
Damn it all. Didn’t she know him better by now? “Do you really think I would seduce you right here, Miranda? On the terrace—”
“All sorts of things could happen on a terrace,” she said darkly.
“When I have the perfect opportunity every day on the way to or from Fairborough—”
“I have often wondered if you had thought of that.”
He stared at her. “Of course I have thought of that, which is neither here nor there at the moment, and as inappropriate as that might be, it is surely not as inappropriate as seducing you here on the terrace when we are about to be called into dinner. With my family!”
“It did seem rather dangerous. Still, you are a dangerous sort, aren’t you?”
He closed his eyes and prayed for strength. “I was not seducing you. I kissed you. It was one simple kiss.”
“I’d scarcely call it simple,” she pointed out. “It was a very good kiss.”
“Indeed it was. On both sides, I might add.” He narrowed his gaze. “Given that, one might well think you have had a great deal of practice as well.”
She gasped. “I cannot believe—”
“Ahem.”
Win didn’t have to look to know that was Prescott’s way of discreetly announcing his presence. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or annoyed. Probably both.
“I assume you’re here to call us to dinner.”
“Yes, my lord,” Prescott’s voice sounded from the shadows near the door.
“Very well then. We shall be right in.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord.”
“What is it now?”
“I was told to wait for you.”
Win’s jaw tightened. “Why?”
“I was instructed to do so by Mrs. Roberts.”
“Ha!” Miranda leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. “She too is obviously concerned about seduction.”
“As well as by Lady Fairborough and Lady Lydingham.”
“My, my.” She swept past him on her way to the door. “It seems that again your reputation has preceded you.”
“My reputation is greatly exaggerated!”
She snorted in disbelief.
He stalked after her, well aware that once again he had no idea of what had just happened. Once again he had the distinct feeling that he had lost some unknown game and once again he wasn’t sure if she was mad or he was.
Even worse, he didn’t know the answer to her question.
And worst of all, he was afraid to find out.
Chapter 17
Win leaned back in the chair behind the desk in the Millworth library and stared at nothing in particular. But then, he had found himself doing a lot of that lately. Miranda and her sister had left for London this morning. Already he missed her, even if the woman seemed determined to drive him mad.
Was he in love with her? What kind of question was that to ask after a kiss? One, single kiss. Extraordinary or not, that was not the thing to ask after one kiss, particularly not a first kiss. Why, there was a time in his life when a kiss meant nothing at all. It certainly wasn’t a commitment for the rest of his days.
The truth of the matter was, he didn’t know how he felt about her. And, as he had never told a woman he loved her before, that did seem a rather significant declaration to make without serious thought.
He had certainly grown accustomed to her presence. To talking with her, teasing, debating about nothing of significance as well as about matters of importance.
It was as if they had agreed to an unspoken truce on those trips to and from Fairborough. Neither brought up a topic guaranteed to infuriate the other. Not that they didn’t frequently disagree. There were books she liked that he didn’t. Artists he enjoyed that she considered dabblers. And their disagreement was as stimulating as when they stumbled onto common ground and found they both shared an appreciation of something unexpected.
Evenings with his family were enjoyable as well. They proved to be quite a convivial group. And if his mother had originally intended to nudge Miranda in his general direction she had either thought better of it or someone had urged discretion.
Two months ago he hadn’t even met the woman. Now, he suspected he knew Miranda Garret better than he had ever known any woman, indeed any person male or female except possibly Gray. Now, he could scarcely bear a day without seeing her. And now, he wasn’t at all sure what he would do without her. As much as it would be convenient to have the rebuilding completed by the Midsummer Ball, he was beginning to wish it would never be finished. Silly of him, of course.
There had as well been a few additional moments when their gazes had met unexpectedly and the very air between them was charged with desire so palpable he could almost touch it. Time itself stopped and the world vanished save for the two of them. That’s when he had found a sheer strength of will he hadn’t known he had and wasn’t especially delighted to discover as it was the only thing that had kept him from grabbing her and pulling her into his arms and never letting go. Until last night, that is.
Of course he had thought of seducing her. On the route from Fairborough, in the newly framed ballroom, at the folly, in the gardens, under the stars, in the library and, yes, on the bloody terrace. With each day that passed he thought about seducing her. Why he hadn’t so much as kissed her until today was as much a question to him as whether or not he loved her. Or perhaps one question answered the other.
He wanted the woman; tha
t was obvious. But did he love her? How was he expected to know?
He certainly did not want to make another mistake. Nor did he want to fall in love with a woman who might well still be in love with her first husband. A first husband she had thought was perfect because she didn’t know of his manipulations of the debt to Mr. Tempest. Whoever he was. Which brought to mind an entirely different problem.
Aside from all the other reasons for caution, she was still hiding something important from him. No matter how well he thought he had grown to know her, there was still something she refused to share. What that might be, he had no idea. But he would not fall in love with a woman he could not completely trust. Unfortunately, having never been in love before, he had no idea how to prevent it.
But he knew with every day and every minute in her presence, he came perilously close to falling over the edge of a precipice from which there would be no escape. At least, no escape that left him unscathed.
If, indeed, it wasn’t already too late.
A knock sounded at the library door.
“Yes?”
The door opened and Gray sauntered in, Prescott a step behind him. “Mr. Chapman is here to see you, my lord.”
Win glanced at his cousin. “How very interesting.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Gray settled in one of the two chairs positioned in front of the desk. “Which is why I’ve decided to join you.”
Win had told Gray everything he had learned from Chapman so far, and his cousin was now as curious as he was. “Show him in, if you please, Prescott.”
“Very good, sir.” Prescott left the room, closing the door behind him.
“I wonder what he has uncovered,” Win said.
“Hopefully enough to satisfy your curiosity.” Gray studied him closely. “But does it really matter at this point? Who the architect is, I mean. Given your friendship with Miranda, that is.”
“Probably not.” Still, Win did want to know.
The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) Page 19
