by Ava Stone
“This again?” Devlin barked, bringing his fist down on the desk that had once belonged to their father. “We have discussed this.”
“No,” Miranda countered, holding her head high. “You have discussed this. You haven’t listened to me, Devlin. All I want to know is what happened to Tessie, and Woodsworth can tell me.”
Her brother rose from his desk, his nose flaring like that of an out-of-sorts bull. “You are not to go near Woodsworth, Miranda. I don’t know how many times I’ve said that, but this will be the last,” he growled. “You will not sneak out of this house in men’s clothes. You will not enter gaming hells. You will not go to Woodsworth House. You will act like a lady, and you will encourage Casemore, if he truly is pursuing you. He may not have his brother’s pristine reputation, but the man does come from a good family. You could do worse.”
That was the edge of enough. Miranda folded her arms across her chest and glared at her brother. “Harrison Casemore can go to the devil, and you can too.”
“I’ve already been there.” A muscle twitched in Devlin’s jaw. “You think I want to be Marston? You think I wouldn’t rather Simeon and Father still be here?”
Miranda’s gaze dropped to the floor at the mention of Simeon and Papa.
“But they’re not,” Devlin continued. “And it’s been left to me to ensure yours, Alessandra’s, and Penny’s futures.” He inhaled deeply as though to rein in his temper, then he released that breath and said, “Go to your chambers. I don’t want to see you until we head for St. Austell house tomorrow.”
Miranda turned on her heel and started for her chambers, irritation rolling off her in waves. If Devlin would just listen for once! If he would only try to help her find out what had happened to her friend… Go to your chambers. I don’t want to see you until we head for St. Austell House tomorrow.
Hmph. It really was too bad for Devlin that he’d been so specific in his directives. So she couldn’t sneak out of the house looking like a man, hmm? Well, then she’d just have to sneak out of the house disguised as someone else, because one way or another, Lord Woodsworth was going to answer to her questions. Besides, refocusing her attention on the dissolute marquess should keep her mind off of a certain Herculean gentleman.
“Harry,” his old friend Albie Potsdon complained as he sank against the squabs and looked at his watch fob, “I wanted to play Hazard some time tonight.”
“You always lose at Hazard,” Harry replied, peeking out the window of his brother’s coach. “I’m doing you a favor.”
“A favor?” Potsdon protested. “How exactly are you doing me a favor by spying on Martston House?”
Harry kept his eyes trained on the home in question. “You can’t lose your blunt if you’re here with me, now, can you?”
“What exactly are we doing here?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Harry had no right, no reason, to keep a vigilant eye on Marston House. Just a feeling that he should be there. And despite the fact that she hated him, he was still drawn to her. He still wanted to make sure she was safe. Although, he’d rather not be alone while he did it, and Potsdon had always been fairly amusing. “Waiting.”
“For…” Potsdon prodded.
For Harry’s destiny? His old friend would laugh him out of the coach if he said such a ridiculous thing. “A girl.”
Potsdon laughed anyway. “A girl? Harry, if you’re looking for a girl—”
But whatever his friend meant to say died on his tongue when Harry grumbled, “There she is,” under his breath.
Damn it to hell. He knew it. He knew she’d do something reckless. What was it with her affinity for disguises? Last night a fop and now a maid? There was no doubt in his mind the little maid who’d darted out from the mews and was now scampering down Curzon Street towards Berkeley Square was Miranda Bartlett. He’d know the shape of that bottom anywhere.
“Harry,” Albie said, craning his neck to see out the coach window, “I’m pretty sure that’s a maid, not a girl.”
Oh, she was a girl, and if Harry had played things differently today, she might have been his girl. He tossed open the coach door, climbed from the conveyance, glanced back at his friend, and said, “Morris can take you on to Gioco’s now.”
Before Potsdon could utter another word, Harry shut the coach door behind him, then dashed down Curzon Street after the shapely little maid. With his longer stride and faster speed – and the fact that he wasn’t in a confining dress – he caught up to her in no time.
Miranda seemed to sense his presence and glanced over her shoulder at him. Her hazel eyes widened in surprise at the exact moment she stumbled forward. Harry reached out his hand, capturing her arm and pulled her against him, saving her from tumbling to the ground.
She felt so perfect against him, her back to his front, his arms wrapped about her middle, anchoring her to him. Her labored breaths made lascivious images dance in his mind. He could have gone on holding her like that forever, relishing in the feel of her body against his, if she hadn’t spun in his hold and glared up at him. “What do you want?”
To kiss her again. To toss her over his shoulder once more. To lay her beneath him and claim every inch of her. Damn it all to hell, he’d lost his mind. “Have you taken a position in service, Miranda?” he said instead.
She pushed against his chest until he released his hold on her. “What I do is none of your concern.”
But she was wrong about that. Everything she did concerned him. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, even knowing how much she hated him. “Still that determined to make Woodsworth’s acquaintance, are you? No mind to your safety. No mind to your reputation. You’ll willingly ruin yourself just to meet the ne’er-do-well? Is that it?”
She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Understand that she was clearly infatuated with the blackguard? No, he couldn’t quite understand that and never would if he lived to be a hundred. “Why, Miranda? Explain it to me.”
“So you can teach me another of your lessons?” She shook her head. “No. I’ve learned all I intend to from you, my lord.” Then she turned on her heel and started to walk away from him.
Harry easily caught up to her. He grasped her arm and pulled her to a halt once more. Then he dipped his head toward hers and whispered in her ear, “I only want to help you. That’s what I wanted ever since the moment I first laid eyes on you.” He released his hold on her and softly ran his hand up her arm.
Miranda shivered slightly, which made Harry’s heart leap just a bit. Perhaps she didn’t hate him as much as he feared. Perhaps…
“Tell me why you want Woodsworth, Miranda,” he urged.
She tilted her head to better see him. Her hazel eyes looked so tortured, he felt it in his bones.
Miranda was certain she was bound for Bedlam. Why would she tell him anything after the way he’d treated her in the park today? She ought to stomp on his foot and bolt the rest of the way down Curzon Street. But he looked so forlorn, so sincere. She didn’t have anyone else she could trust. But did she dare trust Harrison Casemore?
She glanced around up and down Curzon Street. She didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean she could speak openly. Devlin could stumble upon them out in the open like this. Miranda tilted her head toward the mews and tugged Harrison in that direction. As soon as she felt certain they couldn’t be seen from the street, she heaved a sigh and threw all caution to the wind. “My friend is gone,” she said, watching his expression carefully.
“Gone?” His green eyes narrowed as though trying to make sense of what she said.
“Missing. Theresa Birkin. It’s as though she vanished into thin air. But Woodsworth knows where she is. I know he does.”
Harrison’s mouth fell open. “You think Woodsworth has done something with your friend?”
At least he didn’t dismiss her with his next breath as Devlin had done. “I know it.”
He raked a hand through his dark hair. “You have bee
n trying to meet Woodsworth because you think he can tell you what happened to your friend?”
Miranda nodded, waiting for him to laugh or tell her how ridiculous she was, but all he did was frown.
“Miranda Bartlett, you need a keeper. Do you know that?”
Well, that was hardly a complimentary thing to say. She folded her arms across her chest.
“How fortunate you are,” he continued, “that I’m available and willing to take on the position.”
“I beg your pardon?” She gaped at him.
Harrison pulled her into his arms, then he tilted her chin up toward him and kissed her just as he had done in the park that day. Miranda’s breath caught in her throat, but then she breathed in his sandalwood scent and her eyes fluttered closed. He nibbled on her bottom lip, then swept his tongue inside her mouth.
A moan escaped her as her tongue touched his, and she slid her hands up the stone wall of his chest, finally settling them at the base of his neck. He pulled her closer and closer to him until her breasts were pressed against him. Her nipples strained against her chemise and desire pooled low in her core.
Harrison’s lips left hers as he kissed his way to her jaw, just as he’d done that afternoon. Miranda steeled herself for another one of his lessons, cursing herself for falling into his trap once again. Why did she let him affect her this way?
“Marry me, Miranda,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her neck, sending tingles racing across her skin.
Miranda sucked in a breath. She couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. “You want to marry me?”
“Mmm.” His lips trailed further down her neck and his hands moved further down her back.
“Are you mad?” she asked.
Harrison heaved a beleaguered sigh, then he lifted his head to gaze down at her. “That is a distinct possibility.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me,” she said, ignoring his barb.
He gently caressed her cheek and said, “I know that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met you. I know that I wanted to crash my fist into Woodsworth’s face when I thought you were infatuated with him. I know that the touch of your skin and smell of your lilac scent drive me to distraction. And I know that no lady’s kiss has ever made me profess such things before, Miranda.”
She blinked up at him. Did he really mean all of that? She’d never dreamed of hearing such a profession from any man. She’d known from the beginning he was the sort she could fall madly in love with, and that thought still terrified her. “I don’t know you,” she said cautiously.
“There’s an easy way to remedy that.” Harrison gently touched his lips to hers once more. “Are you unaffected by my kiss, Miranda?”
Hardly that. She’d never imagined she could feel the things she did in his arms. “You leave me breathless,” she admitted, though it probably wasn’t wise to say so.
A satisfied smile settled on his lips. “So glad to hear it,” he said, then kissed her again. When he lifted his head, desire shone in his green eyes, warming her to her core. “Marry me, Miranda.”
Though her heart urged her to say yes, Miranda didn’t quite trust that particular organ. She heaved a sigh instead. “I can’t focus on my future, Harry, not until I know what happened to Tessie.” After all, she would be the worst sort of friend to abandon Tessie now. What would that say about her character? That her longtime friend was easily forgotten after a few kisses and a proposal, even if the man was one she wanted more than her next breath?
“Your loyalty commends you, even if it does put you in danger.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “If I get the truth from Woodsworth, will you marry me then?”
A lump lodged in Miranda’s throat, so she nodded her answer instead.
“And you’ll promise not to try to meet him on your own? You’ll trust me enough to get the truth from him?”
Miranda nodded once more, her heart nearly overflowing. He would find the truth; she could see it in his countenance. After weeks of trying to discover the truth, Harry would help her. He’d see this through, she knew it.
Miranda threw her arms around his neck once again.
Light poured in through Miranda’s windows and she couldn’t help the smile that settled on her face. She hadn’t imagined last night, had she? She hadn’t imagined Harry’s kisses, his proposal, his heartfelt profession? She certainly hoped not, though it did seem like a dream in so many ways.
She sighed, staring up at the ceiling above. Harry truly was her Hercules. Strong, handsome, and noble. Even if he failed to get answers out of Woodsworth, he’d at least taken her seriously. He was going to help her, which was more than Devlin or anyone else had done. And then there were his kisses…
Miranda sighed again.
She was going to marry Lord Harrison Casemore. She was going to marry Harry Casemore, and she was going to kiss him the rest of her days and nights. That particular thought would have terrified her as far back as a week ago. She’d been so wary of men and their motives; but now… Now she couldn’t wait to see Harry today. She couldn’t wait to kiss him once more, to let her hands explore his muscled chest, to feel his arms tighten around her again.
A scratch came at the door, breaking Miranda from her reverie. “Come,” she nearly sang.
A moment later, her lady’s maid Nettie strode into the room, a look of annoyance on her face. “Happy this morning, are you, Miss Miranda?”
More than happy. Miranda smiled at the servant. “It is a good morning, Nettie.”
“Indeed?” The maid heaved a sigh. “Did you know one of my dresses has gone missing, miss?”
Miranda’s smile vanished as she slid to the side of her four-poster. “A missing dress?” When her toes found purchase against the rug, she pushed to her feet.
Nettie punched her hands to her hips, spearing Miranda with a look that would have leveled a field of approaching soldiers. “Alice saw you take it, Miss Miranda. So don’t waste your breath denyin’ it. I asked her not to say anything to his lordship, but—”
Miranda threw her arms around the servant, then she spun her around. “You are the best, Nettie!”
“Miss Miranda!” the maid protested.
But Miranda paid her no notice, only spinning faster with the servant. “I had the most marvelous evening, Nettie. You’ll never believe it.”
“In my dress?”
Miranda stopped twirling around the room, grasped the maid’s arms, and grinned her widest. “It’s in my wardrobe. Thank you so much for letting me borrow it.”
“I don’t think you understand the difference between borrowing and stealing, Miss Miranda.”
“I won’t do it again, Nettie,” she promised. After all, she wouldn’t have to. She wouldn’t need to dress up like anyone other than herself from now on. Harry believed her, and Harry would help her find Tessie. “Do help me get dressed for the day, please.”
The maid looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Miranda?”
“Never better!” she gushed. “What do you think about my gold dress today? Alessandra said it brings out my eyes.”
“Are you expecting a caller?” Nettie asked, her brow high, clearly surprised as Miranda generally didn’t care what she wore.
Miranda grinned again. “One can always hope, can’t one?” And she did hope. She hoped with every breath she took that Harry would come for her today. That he’d whisper sweet things to her, that he might let her drive his bays again, that he’d…
A knock came at Miranda’s door. “Miranda?” her sister, Alessandra called from the corridor.
“Are you awake?” Penny called a second later.
“She’s awake,” Nettie grumbled, still eyeing Miranda as though she was a foreign species of some sort.
A moment later, Alessandra and Penny filed into Miranda’s room. She grinned at her sisters. “I was thinking about my gold dress today. What do you think?”
It was
then that she realized both of her sisters wore expressions of concern. “Nettie,” Alessandra began, “leave us please.”
Good heavens. Something had clearly happened. After Simeon, Papa, and Tessie, Miranda didn’t think she could take any bad news.
The maid nodded, then quietly exited Miranda’s chambers without a word or a glance backward. As soon as she was gone, Penny rushed toward Miranda. “We missed you terribly last night. Were you all right?”
They missed her terribly at the Dewhurst soiree? Penny was certainly prone to theatrics. “I was fine. What has happened?”
Alessandra frowned. Her blue eyes looked so troubled, Miranda’s heart lurched for her sister. Had something happened with Puttenham? After all the years her sister had spent waiting for him?
“Penny,” Miranda began, though her eyes never left Alessandra, “I need to speak to Alessandra.”
“No one is stopping you,” Penny replied.
No one except Penny, who couldn’t be trusted with secrets. “Penny!” Miranda shifted her gaze to her little sister. “I need to speak to Alessandra. Alone.”
A petulant scowl settled on Penny’s face. “Why can’t I stay?”
“Because you don’t know how to hold your tongue. Look at everything that spilled from your mouth in front of Lady St. Austell yesterday.”
“I can hold my tongue,” Penny insisted. “I didn’t tell Lady St. Austell that you had to stay in your chambers last night when we saw her at the Dewhursts’.”
“You saw Harry’s sister?” Miranda asked.
“Harry?” Alessandra and Penny asked in unison as both sisters’ brows rose in mild surprise.
Heat rushed to Miranda’s face. Why shouldn’t she call him Harry, though? He was going to be her husband and that was what his family called him. “I’ve heard you call Puttenham ‘George’ often enough,” she said to her older sister.
A ghost of a smile settled on Alessandra’s face. “Does that mean Penny’s right? Your Lord Harrison does plan to offer for you?”
