Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3)

by Natasha Blackthorne

  She ran to him and took his hand. He continued to gape at her, with that same disbelief. She pulled his hand to her cheek and pressed it. “I am not sorry. My friend gave me a precious gift and I saw how beautiful that act could be.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I want that for us. I want to experience that for us. I am determined to overcome my distaste.”

  He jerked away from her. “How Miranda? By continuing to watch them?” He chuckled, a harsh, mirthless sound. “By joining them.”

  “No, no! Stop twisting this into something it is not.”

  “What isn’t it, Miranda? Do you pretend that it wasn’t a most dire breech of our trust?”

  “I didn’t think of it that way,” she replied, stricken.

  He nodded. “Because of the debauchery of your former life.” He came to her and stroked the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “It’s not really your fault. It was Cassandra Jones and Carrville. They debauched you when you were too young to know better.”

  “You still don’t understand. It wasn’t like being at one of the orgies. I know the difference. I do have discernment.”

  He shook his head, moving it slowly as though the motion pained him. “You’ve broken my trust and you’ve done it for nothing.”

  Coldness seized her inside. “Why do you say that?”

  “I have no wish for that act as you call it, from any woman. Not even you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Adrian turned from Miranda, unable to keep staring at her white, stricken face. He focused on setting out his shaving materials but he was so angry with her that his hands shook slightly. He couldn’t possibly shave himself without nicking his face. He cursed having decided not to bring his valet and he debated whether or not to ask to borrow Drake’s valet.

  No. He would ask for nothing, ever again, from Drake.

  He would send Miranda to stay at Jon’s cottage in Devon, Jon wouldn’t mind. Jon would keep her safe.

  A flash of white in the washstand mirror caught Adrian’s attention.

  Miranda straightening the bed.

  Miranda so gloriously, unselfconsciously naked.

  I love her. God, how I love her.

  That love made what she had done all the harder to bear. The actual fact of what she did, that wasn’t so bad. But it was the greater knowing that she still clung to the reasoning and habits of her previous life. The life that Cassandra Jones had taught her.

  It wasn’t Miranda’s fault that she’d been forced into a courtesan’s life. It also wasn’t her fault that he happened to despise a courtesan’s licentious, mercenary ways.

  “You had secrets too, my lord.”

  He turned and found her sitting on the bed, wrapped now in a bright green woolen shawl. “Aye, I did, my lady.”

  “Your secrets had the power to destroy us.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no way to rationalize this away, Miranda.”

  She hugged her shoulders. Her hurt, lost expression seared him to the bone. He might never be alone with her like this again. He was letting his hurt and disappointment spoil their last moments of intimacy.

  He couldn’t help it.

  She deserved to know why he reacted so harshly. He had withheld so much from her. He went and sat on the bed, again. But he made no move to sit close to her or to touch her.

  She drew her legs up and hugged them, as though protecting herself against him. She rested her chin on her knees. “What now, my lord?”

  “I told you that Cassandra Jones was my father’s long-term mistress and, unfortunately, his love.”

  Miranda bobbed her chin against her knees.

  “I’ve told you of her mercenary greed, how she drained him, both financially and emotionally, and drove him to drink and to an early grave.”

  “Yes.”

  “I told you all of that but I never told you the real reason that I despise her so much.” He paused. How would she take what he was about to reveal to her? Would she think less of him? Perhaps. He needed to take that risk. Because despite his great anger and disappointment with her, he loved her. He didn’t know, right at this moment, how he would possibly reconcile his love with his newfound realization about Miranda’s character.

  But he owed her a full explanation.

  He forced himself to continue. “The day I turned eighteen I drank a little too freely. I made advances to a housemaid who was, understandably enough, repulsed when I cast up my accounts in the gardens before I could consummate our new friendship. I wandered in the gardens for a while. It was here that Cassandra Jones found me. She—” Distaste washed over him. He took a deep breath. “She offered herself to me.”

  Miranda looked up, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Aye, she offered herself to me. As I stood there, staggering on my feet and my cock harder than an iron spike, she knelt and unfastened my trousers and she took me into her mouth. God, Miranda, she was beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I don’t think I saw a woman more beautiful until you. I was young and very lusty. But this was my father’s mistress. His love. How could she come to me, knowing that he loved her? It took everything inside me, all my self-control and well, that was fairly scant in those days, but I pushed her away. I despised myself. I despised her. But more than anything else, I despised our world where women sold love with mercenary intent and men so gladly paid.”

  With her heart still reeling from the shock of what he’d revealed to her, Miranda swallowed hard against a sudden rise acid in her throat. “It’s not always that simple, Adrian.”

  “I understand that you were forced into the trade, because of Winterton, because of your mama. I thought that you were different, at heart.” He took a long, deep breath, calming himself so that he did not allow his emotions to show too much in his tone, in his choice of words.

  But disappointment leached bitterly into his bones.

  Into his soul.

  He cupped her face with one hand. “I do still love you, Miranda. I don’t think there’s anything that you could possibly do to change that. But I am forced to look at you differently than the way I have since we became lovers. It’s my fault, not yours. I fooled myself into believing that you were something else than you are.”

  “What are saying, Adrian?” Her voice was hoarse with anguish.

  “What I am saying doesn’t really matter. These are our last moments and I do still love you, desperately, with all my heart and soul.”

  Her lovely mouth dropped open. “Our last moments, what do you mean?”

  “I must go to Mayfair and I may well meet my executioner there.”

  “But Drake says he has a ship ready to take the three of us, you, me and Davey, to South America.”

  “I am not running to South America.” He scowled at her, feeling the scathing revulsion of her words. “Do you really think me such a craven coward that I would run and leave Brentwood to face the shame of having such a blackguard for a father? No, I must face this and attempt to tell my side.”

  “But Drake says you cannot possibly get a fair judgment in the House of Lords. Too many hated your father and loved Winterton. And many others were afraid to stand up to those who would condemn you.”

  “I shall have to take my chances, Miranda.”

  “Then take me with you.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want you to have to go through all of this as well. And it would be better for the scandal and for appearances if you modestly retreat in the country. I want you to go and live at Jon and Anne’s cottage in Devon. It’s quite nice there.”

  “It’s quite nice there?” She gaped at him in disbelief. “You say that as though I am going for a pleasure visit.”

  “What else would you have me say, Miranda? It will give me comfort to know that you are well-taken care of. Jon and Anne will always look after you and Davey, I trust them.” He couldn’t help narrowing his gaze. “But stay away from Rebecca and Drake, it is clear they do not have your best interests at hea
rt and may well lead you into dire trouble one day.”

  “I see.” Miranda cast her eyes down.

  He tipped her chin. “Now kiss me, my love, and wish me luck.”

  ****

  As anyone might have predicted, Adrian had been taken into genteel, house arrest almost as soon as he set foot in Mayfair. Upon hearing the news, Miranda left Jon and Anne’s country cottage and set out for Mayfair herself. If Adrian could have his sentence lessened to manslaughter, he could plead the privilege of his rank and escape penalty. But he could not escape the hangman’s noose if the charge were murder—especially premeditated murder.

  After stopping at Sutherland House to freshen herself and change clothes, she went to see her aunt, Cassandra Jones, for the first time since their angry parting at Adrian’s country house, Applewaite.

  Cassandra swept into her withdrawing chamber, dressed in emerald green silk, cosmetics flawlessly applied to make her look young and beautiful.

  But for the first time, she was showing her age, the sunlight showed harsh lines about her eyes and mouth that no amount of rice powder could soften.

  “Miranda,” she said, simply.

  “Cassandra,” Miranda replied. She would never again honor the woman with the title “aunt” when addressing her.

  “What brings you here today?”

  “I want—no, I need the money that you stole from me.”

  Miranda referred to the money that had been raised from the auctioning of her virginity. Money that Cassandra had promised to save in a trust for her but later revealed that she had taken it for herself.

  “I don’t care that you say you’ve spent it,” Miranda continued. “You can damn well mortgage this townhouse and sell your jewels to pay me back what you took from me.”

  Cassandra nodded.

  That surprised Miranda; she had expected denial and angry retorts.

  Cassandra sat in her favorite wing chair, upholstered in gold colored velvet. She sighed. “Oh I am tired. Always tired these days.” She frowned. “You need money. You think money is the answer to Lord Danvers’ current troubles?”

  “What else?”

  Cassandra shook her head. “No, think Miranda. These men are wealthy, powerful. You have almost nothing to offer them.”

  Miranda compressed her lips. “You’d do anything to justify your theft.”

  Cassandra closed her eyes. “The money is in the account.”

  Miranda gasped. “What?”

  “Oh, my darling girl. I told you that I didn’t have it because I did not wish to see you throw it all away on your Mama’s endless troubles, you are far too softhearted by far. I also didn’t wish to see you throw yourself away either.”

  “Throw myself away?”

  “On a penniless waste like Danvers.”

  “Oh, a waste, eh? I know what you did to his father, bankrupting him with your endless demands.”

  Cassandra waved, dismissively. “He was well on his way there when I met him. If not me, then he would have spent the remainder of his wealth on another woman. Why not me? He was such a whining, overgrown puppy. He demanded everything. Why shouldn’t I have been compensated?”

  “It was the death of him when you left.”

  “He was dying when I met him. He longed for death. Some people are like that, Miranda. As I said, you are far too soft-hearted.”

  “I know what you did to Danvers.”

  Anger flared in Cassandra’s eyes. The woman had always hated being confronted with any of her sins, especially the more sensual ones. “His father was acting like a complete jackanapes! He deserved a little betrayal.” She shrugged. “It was the boy’s birthday. I would have thought that he would count himself the luckiest of eighteen year olds.” She made a wry expression. “He didn’t. That’s all. No harm done.”

  Miranda gaped at her. “No harm done?”

  “Oh, I have no patience with these idealistic men and their delicate sensibilities. Danvers is a dreamer, I was always convinced of that, no matter how cold and hardened he pretended to be. Such men are a sore trial on a woman. They expect too much and never allow themselves to simply be happy in the moment. But you have decided to throw your lot in with him.”

  “I love him, and he is my husband, if that is what you mean.”

  “Glorify it if you will. In the end, you traded a lifetime of wealth and luxury for a worthless, bankrupted title and a man who will never be satisfied with you, no matter how hard you try to please him.”

  Miranda chose to ignore the stinging accusations on Adrian’s character. She’d spent her whole life ignoring Cassandra’s stinging barbs about Mama. She supposed she would have to do the same as concerned Adrian. If Cassandra was petty and bitter, life had taught her to be that way. Experience had taught Miranda that those character traits were ingrained into Cassandra like a brand burned into a sheep’s hide. It would do no good to try and change her. Miranda focused on what was important now. On what could change her life with Adrian for the better. “If what you say about the bank account is true, I am a wealthy woman in my own right.”

  “Yes, dear, you are.” Cassandra’s look turned wistful. “Quite wealthy. I did that for you. I can look back on my life and say, I did that for Miranda.”

  A sense of confused hate and resentment warred with that nagging sense gratitude and unbreakable bond of blood that always beset her when dealing with Cassandra. No one else had ever cared what happened to Miranda and Mama except Cassandra.

  However, Cassandra wouldn’t hesitate to use Miranda’s youth and beauty in any way that she saw fit to do. It would be so easy and gratifying to vent her anger upon the older woman and then slam the door on their familial connection forever.

  Yet, there was a note to Cassandra’s voice that sent a little shiver of dread through Miranda. “That’s a strange way to put things.”

  “Too much opiate and self-reflection will do that.” Cassandra put a protective hand to her stomach. “There’s no other way to say it.”

  “To say what?” Miranda’s voice rose in dismay.

  “I am dying, Miranda. I have a cancer growing rampant in my body.”

  “Oh my God…” All the animosity of the past year suddenly seemed unimportant. Besides Mama, this woman was the only relative she had. The only person, before, Adrian, who had given even one whit if she lived or died. She ran to Cassandra and knelt before her chair and took her hand, feeling its thinness, its coldness. ”What can I do for you?”

  Cassandra put her hand to Miranda’s cheek and shook her head. “There’s nothing anyone can do for me now. I have my servants and comfits. And plenty of opiate. I shall be fine. But you, my dear, oh…” She patted Miranda’s cheek. “Please do spend the money that you earned wisely. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “But that money will not save Danvers.”

  “I must save him. I love him completely. I can’t live without him.”

  “Do remember that I told you, all those years ago, to fix your affections on women. Men are foolish and proud and selfish. Loving men leads to nothing but heartache and disappointment.”

  “I can’t help it. I love him, no matter the consequences.”

  “You know that he is being held under house arrest?”

  “Yes,” Miranda replied, surprised that Cassandra knew this much. “But I do not know whose house he is being kept at.”

  “Heathford.”

  Miranda caught her breath, hearing the name she almost never let herself think of. Heathford was the man who had won the auction for her virginity. He was the source of her current wealth.

  “He came to me. Yesterday and he asked if I thought that you would come running after Adrian or would you simply let him walk to the hangman’s noose alone.”

  Miranda gasped, horrified. “Terrible man. Evil man.”

  Cassandra rolled one shoulder up. “He is a powerful, wealthy man, Miranda. He also loves female flesh. And he has a depth of desire that women of his station can�
��t satisfy. You were too squeamish. You were a fool.”

  Miranda shuddered.

  “Go see him, Miranda. Not at his family home, where Adrian is being held. Go see him at his townhouse.”

  ****

  Miranda had no wish to see Heathford. She tried hard to seek audiences with the men who would decide the validity of the case against Adrian and how to proceed. But none of them would see her. Finally, she was forced to do something she’d sworn she would never do again.

  She had to humble herself before Heathford. She stood before him in his study at his townhouse. He was tall, his body just as powerfully built as ever despite age and silver hair. He even smelled the same, the lemon verbena cologne that made her gag and retch in her nightmares now wafting over her.

  He touched a finger to the dip in her collarbone. “Tell me dear, does Danvers know?”

  She shook her head. “I will never tell anyone the truth of that night.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I would rather let the memory die. I would rather pretend the whole sordid business never happened.”

  “Did you not tell your aunt how I had abused you.” He laughed again.

  Miranda’s face burned with the angry flush that suffused her whole body. “Of course I didn’t tell her. She would never have sent me to a monster to be raped.”

  He raised a brow. “No? Did you know that I asked for the pleasure and privilege of deflowering you the first time I’d seen you, at her home?”

  Miranda glared at him.

  “She knew what I am and what I am capable of and she said if I wanted to do that—then I’d have to pay dearly. And then she arranged that farce of an auction. But she did allow me to view your maidenly distress with her through the peepholes. How utterly you showed your emotions then.”

  Miranda had all but stopped breathing. She clamped a hand to her mouth.

  “Your father was there, too, that night.”

  She threw a hand to her mouth, sucking in a gasp of horror.

  “He was my closest friend, Miranda. And he wanted to see you suffer, though his motive was for vengeance, served in cold blood. My desire was hot, sensual.”