The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection 6

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  "Maggie and Hugo are well and truly gone, so Bart, we’re going to need to age you a lot to get you to be Prospero. We will also have to swap the Ariel and Caliban roles, needless to say. So Daniel, you’re Caliban."

  Hugo laughed. "Made for that part, aren’t I, Boss."

  "And Sebastian can be Ariel."

  "Oh, I say, I’m just supposed to be the manager—" he protested.

  "I can’t think of anyone else who glows with a hidden golden light, so no arguments. Becky, Liz and Milly can work out their parts now that Maggie is gone. Let’s go, Bart."

  George lifted the burlap sacking that disguised the timber in scenes where it was not needed, and then picked up a large log Then he came down to the center stage and began.

  "There be some sports are painful, and their labour

  Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness

  Are nobly undergone and most poor matters

  Point to rich ends. This my mean task

  Would be as heavy to me as odious, but

  The mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead

  And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is

  Ten times more gentle than her father’s crabbed,

  And he’s composed of harshness. I must remove

  Some thousands of these logs and pile them up,

  Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress

  Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness

  Had never like executor. I forget:

  But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,

  Most busy lest, when I do it."

  Miranda now entered from stage left, and behind her, unseen by both of them, Bart in the role of Prospero.

  Miranda gave George a most pitying look. "Alas, now, pray you,

  Work not so hard: I would the lightning had

  Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile!

  Pray, set it down and rest you: when this burns,

  ‘Twill weep for having wearied you. My father

  Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;

  He’s safe for these three hours.

  George shook his head. "O most dear mistress,

  The sun will set before I shall discharge

  What I must strive to do."

  She held out her hand to him. "If you’ll sit down,

  I’ll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that;

  I’ll carry it to the pile."

  George was steadfast in his refusal. "No, precious creature;

  I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,

  Than you should such dishonour undergo,

  While I sit lazy by."

  Miranda smiled up at him tenderly. "It would become me

  As well as it does you: and I should do it

  With much more ease; for my good will is to it,

  And yours it is against."

  Bart now advanced slightly to deliver his line while the couple in the centre of the stage looked longingly at each other. "Poor worm, thou art infected!

  This visitation shows it."

  Miranda was still gazing at George, in the role of Ferdinand, with tenderness. "You look wearily."

  "No, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me

  When you are by at night. I do beseech you—

  Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers—

  What is your name?"

  "Miranda.—O my father,

  I have broke your hest to say so!"

  She blushed and wrung her hands, and turned away from the young swain.

  George took her around the shoulders with both hands, and gently turned her to face him once more. He stroked her cheek until the breath caught in her throat in earnest.

  "Admired Miranda!

  Indeed the top of admiration! worth

  What’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady

  I have eyed with best regard and many a time

  The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage

  Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues

  Have I liked several women; never any

  With so fun soul, but some defect in her

  Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed

  And put it to the foil: but you, O you,

  So perfect and so peerless, are created

  Of every creature’s best!"

  She shook her head. "I do not know

  One of my sex; no woman’s face remember,

  Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen

  More that I may call men than you, good friend,

  And my dear father: how features are abroad,

  I am skilless of; but, by my modesty,

  The jewel in my dower, I would not wish

  Any companion in the world but you,

  Nor can imagination form a shape,

  Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle

  Something too wildly and my father’s precepts

  I therein do forget."

  She tried to leave him again, but he stayed her with one hand, clasping hers in his own tenderly.

  His eyes never leaving hers, he recited, "I am in my condition

  A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;

  I would, not so!—and would no more endure

  This wooden slavery than to suffer

  The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:

  The very instant that I saw you, did

  My heart fly to your service; there resides,

  To make me slave to it; and for your sake

  Am I this patient log—man."

  "Do you love me?" Miranda asked, and held her breath as she awaited the answer. She knew what it was, but still she needed to hear it. Needed to hear George say it, and for her to really, truly believe it in her heart at last.

  George knelt before her now, unashamed of his genuine feelings for her. Past caring what anyone said, he declared, "O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound

  And crown what I profess with kind event

  If I speak true! if hollowly, invert

  What best is boded me to mischief! I

  Beyond all limit of what else in the world

  Do love, prize, honour you."

  Miranda began to weep in earnest, and tried to dash the tears away with her wrist. "I am a fool

  To weep at what I am glad of."

  Bart seemed oblivious to the nuances on stage, and delivered his lines without hesitation, while George rose up to face her once more. "Fair encounter

  Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace

  On that which breeds between ‘em!"

  "Wherefore weep you?" George asked softly, brushing the tears on her cheeks away with his thumbs.

  The next lines resonated in her soul. "At mine unworthiness that dare not offer

  What I desire to give, and much less take

  What I shall die to want. But this is trifling;

  And all the more it seeks to hide itself,

  The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!

  And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!

  I am your wife, it you will marry me;

  If not, I’ll die your maid: to be your fellow

  You may deny me; but I’ll be your servant,

  Whether you will or no."

  George bowed before her. "My mistress, dearest;

  And I thus humble ever."

  "My husband, then?" she said breathily, caressing his jet black locks.

  "Ay, with a heart as willing

  As bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand."

  He offered it to her now, and she kissed it.

  "And mine, with my heart in’t; and now farewell

  Till half an hour hence."

  She gave him his hand, then with a lingering caress on his cheek, she began to move away.

  "A thousand thousand!" George sighed after her.

  She was supposed to leave the stage, but Miranda paused and turned.

  She stepped
back up to George, and removed the chain from around her neck. He held his breath as she unfastened the clasp and slid the diamond ring off, and pressed it into his hands.

  "My husband, then?" she said breathily, caressing his hard jaw.

  He kissed her hand, and slipped the gold and diamond band onto her left ring finger.

  "Ay, Miranda, with a heart as willing, As bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand."

  He offered it to her now, and she kissed it.

  "And mine, with my heart in’t. Only there will be no farewell. I’ll be yours forever, George."

  "Forever and ever. Amen."

  He kissed her then, and everyone gathered around to offer their joyous congratulations. Only Sebastian looked worried.

  Miranda met his gaze and smiled, but she knew they had every reason to fear.

  But not today.

  Or tonight....

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Miranda suggested supper out at Simpson’s to make up for George's abortive first attempt to get engaged to her. They dressed in their best finery and he was pleased to see that she held her head high. He was sure he had never loved her more in his life than when she graciously gave signatures to admirers who approached the table. He knew the effort it cost her to appear in public and was amazed at her inner strength in trying to overcome all that had befallen her.

  "Your parents named you perfectly," he commented at one point, taking her hand in his own. "You really are something to be wondered at. I'm sorry I never told you sooner. Things might have been so different then."

  "I wish it too, but only so that we would never have this, well, shadow over my head. This forced distance between us. I want to live a normal life, be happy with my beloved like other women. I just don't know--" She bit her lip, and he saw tears begin to well up.

  "Pray love, don't upset yourself. Ah, and here's another admirer," he said heartily, to distract her.

  She blinked and put on her best smile, but now George could see it was forced. Yet he felt a renewed sense of hope that as Antony Herriot had said, in time, her natural good spirits would push the dark episode out of her mind and allow the light of all the love in her life shine through.

  Miranda smiled and chatted, penned her signature on cards and playbills, even the Simpson's menu, but all the while, her mind was whirring. Revenge. Revenge. Revenge. Whoever had done this to her, she would find them out. Oxnard and that man…

  Then she reminded herself that she was there with George for a special occasion. A very special occasion. One based on love, not anger. One that was about to set her entire future on a new course, if she dared step onto the ship he was offering her, to set sail for new adventures, as it were, as his wife. That she loved him, she was more sure than ever. That she could ever make him happy, she had most serious doubts.

  Yet he did seem happy when they were together. And she had seen for herself his distraught appearance, near despair when he had thought her gone forever. Ever since they had met the night of her orange seller lark, he had been omnipresent in her life. So much so that even a mere trip to see her sister, with whom she had always been so close, held no attraction compared to being with the compelling man who now sat before her gazing at her with eyes full of the dark promise of passion, held in check, but only barely.

  Well, tonight, all that would change, for better or ill. She wanted to free herself from the fetters of her foul prison and soar as she had the night he had nearly made love to her in the dressing room at the theatre. She as Cleopatra had felt every inch the queen, a divine goddess as he had worshipped at her feet and then worked his way upwards with lips, tongue, fingers…

  She could feel a scorching heat flood her whole body at the recollection. Oh, thank God. That fiend Oxnard might have robbed her of her maiden's gift, but he had not robbed her of her womanly desire forever.

  "Are you all right, love?" George asked suddenly, interrupting her reverie.

  "Mmm, yes, fine?"

  "You suddenly look a bit, well, overheated."

  She smiled. "Indeed. And with good cause."

  He looked around him in confusion. "I thought it rather chilly in here myself and was about to ask you if you were warm enough in that most elegant gown. It certainly does your beauty justice, the perfect setting for your dark hair and sultry eyes."

  "The cause was a memory I have of a certain evening when you were the sultry one, my dear."

  He looked pleased, and his eye took on a distant quality as he too remembered. "From our early days together, mmm, yes, I remember too. And yet now what I feel for you is so much more, well, heated and intense, if you'll forgive me for saying so. It's because now that I know you so much better, it's no longer a mere stirring of the loins. Not that it was ever mere," he added with a laugh. "I can't tell you how many cold immersions I endured at the baths just to be around you without giving way to such passion."

  Her eyes rounded. "Really? That's how it is for a man?"

  "A man in love," he corrected.

  "Then I must be a woman in love," she said with a sparkling smile.

  "Really? Oh, Miranda, do you mean what I think you mean?" he asked, allowing himself to hope as never before that they truly could have a happy future together despite both their pasts.

  "Yes, George, I do mean it. You just commented on how overheated I looked, did you not."

  "Would you like to---"

  She shook her head, relaxing against the back of her chair. "We've waited this long, my dear, surely another hour or two won't make a difference. Let's enjoy our meal. I have a feeling we won't be getting much sleep tonight, one way or the other."

  "Agreed. I want to make love with you more than anything I've ever wanted in this lifetime, but just being with you intimately, chatting, caressing, well, they mean the world to me now. So, what will you have?"

  "You’ve so generously offered me a wealth of choices ever since we met, George, so I shall let you decide."

  He kissed her hand. "We'll decide together."

  George ordered every delicacy on the menu, and they sampled each dish, chatting about the food, their favorites, drinking in each other's presence. But as much as they enjoyed the delectable repast of oysters, salmon, caviar and more, eventually the sprightly conversation began to ebb, leaving behind the sparking tension in the air that made them feel like the only two people in the restaurant.

  When George asked her if she wanted dessert, she reminded him, "The arrangement was that we should have it at your flat, remember?"

  "I could hardly forget," he said with a warm smile, kissing her hand.

  "Only Jasmine and Philip will worry if we don’t come home, so we shall have to settle for our little room."

  He smiled. "No settling about it, love. It’s our first home together, and as such I will always have fond memories of it. But you know you don’t have to—"

  "Please. I want the perfect night we were cheated out of. Just you and me, no past or future, only now."

  "I’ll pay the bill and we’ll go." He twirled the engagement ring on her finger and kissed her on the lips right in front of the entire restaurant. Then he wrapped her carefully in her cloak as if she were made of the finest porcelain, and escorted her from the restaurant, letting her set the pace.

  Once he had helped her up in the carriage, he seated himself across from her.

  At her questioning look, he said, "I am honored, humbled and overwhelmed by the love I feel sure you have for me. A love that's been growing ever since we met. I'm even more astounded in the strength of your love for me and faith in me that you wish to marry me and share the joys of the marriage bed. I know what you've endured has given you little enough reason to wish to.

  "But I give you my word, all shall be as you wish. I know I was very heated in the past, and perhaps overstepped my bounds due to my intense longing. But tonight, and for the rest of our lived together, I want you to understand that you're in charge now, Miranda. I am giving both of our futures into your hands.


  "I'll be happy no matter what you decide tonight, or for many nights to come. You have the power and control to make of our relationship what you wish." He took her left hand tentatively. "This is an engagement ring, but not a wedding band. If you want to wait until we're--"

  She shook her head. "Nay, I don't want to wait. I want you, George, only you. The rest doesn’t matter now."

  He pulled the ring off and put it back on a moment later. "I've put the ring on your finger, but you hold my life in your little hand. Just know that I want you to be sure, really sure, that this is what you want."

  She laughed lightly then. "Why, George, you almost sound as if you're trying to talk me out of making love to you."

  He laughed as well and sat back, his dark eyes gazing upon her earnestly now. "By rights I should do. You're so young--"

  "Many women have got married at a younger age than me."

  "I'm old enough to be your father--"

  "Many women have been forced to marry men far older, nearly in their dotage."