“What the devil is going on?”
The thunderous, furious male voice had both girls jerking their heads around. Lord Rothgard stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, a crowd of servants gathering behind him.
“Lady Rothgard has swooned,” Miranda said even as Rothgard’s daughter cried out, “Papa, she has injured Mama!”
“For pity’s sake.” Rothgard signaled to one of the maids. “Fetch Lady Rothgard’s vinaigrette.” The maid rushed off. Rothgard looked at Miranda. “My wife is prone to the vapors. Please release my daughter. She is just seventeen and somewhat excitable.”
Miranda let her half sister loose, and the blond girl stumbled sobbing to the sofa where her mother slumped. “What have you done to Mama?”
“Hush, now, my sweet. She will be right as rain as soon as Bridget returns with the vinaigrette.” Rothgard looked up at the sound of running feet. The little maid returned, panting. He took the vinaigrette from her and walked over to the sofa, where he flicked over the tiny silver box and waved it beneath his wife’s nose.
The countess gasped, sniffled, then jerked awake. “Heavens, what happened to me?” She looked around, saw Miranda and paled.
“Oh, Mama!” Rothgard’s daughter threw her arms around her mother, then glared at Miranda. “I told you to leave London. Why could you not listen? Do you not see how much you hurt her just by being here?”
“What do you mean, you told me to leave London?” Miranda asked.
“You got my notes,” the girl said.
“You sent those?”
“The first time Mama saw you at Mrs. Weatherby’s, she swooned. And I know why. It is because you look like her.”
“Her?”
“Your mother. Fannie Fontaine.”
A stricken look crossed Rothgard’s face, and he dismissed the servants, handing the vinaigrette to one of them. “Off with you now. Back to your duties.” As they scattered, he closed the doors to the drawing room, then strode around to the sofa where his daughter sat with his wife. “Miranda, tell me what this is about.”
“As I said—” Miranda started.
“She—” Rothgard’s daughter began.
“Silence.” Both girls quieted, and Rothgard looked from one to the other. “This is going to be quite confusing with the two of you possessing the same name.” He pointed at the younger girl. “You, Randa. What is the problem?”
“Her,” the girl snapped. “Just seeing her breaks Mama’s heart. I want her to go away and leave us alone.”
“I have been receiving threatening notes warning me to leave London,” Miranda said, choosing not to reveal the physical attack in the alley. “Apparently your daughter sent them.”
“I am appalled at such behavior!” Rothgard said. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Randa.”
“She does not belong here.” Randa pointed a finger at Miranda. “Her mother was a whore who tried to take you away from Mama!”
Stunned at the attack, Miranda could only stare at the younger girl, cold anger firing in her belly. With effort, she refrained from spewing forth her own venom.
“Miranda! How dare you say such a thing!” The countess gaped at her daughter with horror.
“Where did you ever hear this tale?” Rothgard gritted out.
“From Papa Stone.”
“My father?” Lady Rothgard gasped.
“He told me the story while he was so sick, when I was the only one he had to talk to. He told me how that actress tried to lure you away. He took care of her, though. He paid her to disappear, her and her brat.”
“Miranda Juliet Titania Evers!” the countess exclaimed. “I am appalled to hear such filth come from your lips!”
“It is the truth.” Randa sent Miranda a scathing glance.
“So that is what happened.” Rothgard looked at Miranda. “I never knew why Fannie left so abruptly. But if my father-in-law was involved…well, he was a ruthless man.”
“He paid her to go,” Randa said. “And told her he would have her killed if she did not leave London and never return.”
“Dear God in heaven.” The countess sank back against the cushions. “I can believe this of him; he was determined we would wed, Stephen.”
“I know.” Rothgard’s face looked to be carved from granite. “Randa, Penelope, this young lady is Miranda Fontaine. She is my daughter, and I intend to acknowledge her as such.”
“Papa, no!”
The countess gave a gracious nod. “As you wish, Stephen.”
“She will also become engaged to the Duke of Wyldehaven, once the appropriate documents are signed. That could be advantageous for Randa.”
“Sister to a duchess.” The countess contemplated the notion, anxiety fading from her eyes, replaced by a gleam of excitement.
“I will not say she is my sister!” Randa folded her arms across her chest, her expression mutinous.
“You will welcome her as your sister,” Rothgard warned, “or you will spend the rest of the Season in the country.”
Randa’s mouth dropped open, but she said nothing more, just sat with arms crossed and a pout on her pretty face.
Sensing the danger was past, Miranda claimed Rothgard’s attention. “My lord, I came here to ask for your help; however, it may already be too late.”
Her distress must have echoed in her voice. “What is it? What is the matter?” he demanded.
“This morning we learned the imposter was going to try and abduct James—or something worse. Wyldehaven has gone to stop him. Alone.”
“Curse these young hotheads! Where is Wyldehaven now?”
“At my home.” She bit her lip. “I fear for the worst, for I have lingered here too long.”
“There cannot be a worse time for Cheltenham tragedies,” he grunted, with a baleful look at his wife and daughter. “Randa, I will deal with your abominable behavior later. And Penelope…” His voice grew tender. “I regret any pain or embarrassment this may have caused you.”
Lady Rothgard’s face lit up, and Miranda realized that she truly did love her husband. And for all that Rothgard had never forgotten his first love Fannie, he appeared to care a great deal for his wife.
“It is a shock,” the countess agreed. “But we will weather the storm.” She visibly gathered herself, then offered Miranda a tentative smile. “Welcome to our family, my dear.”
“Thank you.”
“We will continue this later.” Rothgard lifted his wife’s hand to his lips. “A child’s life may be in danger, and time is of the essence.”
“Go,” Lady Rothgard urged. “My prayers go with you.”
“Thank you,” Miranda whispered.
“Come,” Rothgard said. “We will take my carriage.”
When they arrived at Miranda’s house, Rothgard indicated a rig parked to the side as they descended from the carriage. “That is the surgeon’s coach.”
“Dear God.” Miranda gathered her skirts and ran up the steps.
“Do not panic, my dear.” Rothgard easily caught up with her just as she lifted the knocker.
She tried to calm herself, but looked up hopefully as the door opened. “Travers, is all well?”
“Miss Fontaine, please do come in. Sir, may I take your hat?”
“This is Lord Rothgard,” Miranda said as her father doffed his hat and handed it to the servant. “Where is the duke?”
“I believe he is still in the nursery.” He reached out a hand as she raced for the stairs. “No, miss! Wait!” The butler turned back to Rothgard. “You may want to accompany her, my lord. It is no sight for a lady’s eyes.”
Even as she raced up the stairs, Miranda heard the butler’s comment to Rothgard. Fear tasted bitter in her mouth, and her heart pounded so loud she was certain everyone could hear it. “Please,” she whispered as she halted outside the nursery. Hesitantly, she pushed open the door.
The room was empty. But blood had sprayed the walls, pooled on the floor.
Splattered on the cradle.
/>
Where was James?
A harsh, hiccuping sob escaped her lips. She could not tear her gaze away from the baby’s blood-smeared bed. Her knees weakened and she leaned against the doorjamb, slowly sliding down toward the floor, not wanting to know. And desperate to know. Was James— Her world tilted and threatened to go black.
“Goodness, Miss Miranda. What are you doing here?” Annie came up in the hall behind her and helped her to her feet. “This is no fit place for you.”
What happened? She thought she spoke, but she could not form the words. She allowed Annie to support her, unable to rip her gaze from the bloody scene.
“Miranda, what has happened?” Rothgard caught up with her, blanched at the sight of the nursery.
“She came up here before we could clean up the mess,” Annie said. “Miss Miranda is a gentle one. This must have scared her to death.”
“What happened here?” Rothgard demanded.
“That imposter fellow came visiting, pretending he was the duke. I was with Miss Miranda, or I would have told that stiff-rumped butler not to let the blighter in here. But then after the real duke came, that fake duke got himself shot.”
“What about James?” Miranda forced the words past stiff lips. “Where is he?”
“Now don’t you fret about him.” Annie patted her arm. “The duke took him out to the garden. The little mite was all worked up with all the gunshots and whatnot. His Grace thought the flowers would soothe him.”
“He is all right? They are both all right?”
“Right as rain.”
Miranda sucked in a deep breath. Then another. James was all right. Wylde was all right.
“And the imposter?” Rothgard asked.
“Dead as can be. The surgeon has the body down the hall.”
“I must go to him. I must see for myself.” Miranda pulled away from them and raced for the stairs.
“I’ve got to find those chambermaids to help me clean up this mess,” Annie muttered.
She started to walk away, but Rothgard caught her hand. He rubbed his thumb over the black smear of gunpowder on the pad of her thumb. “Thank you for helping him.”
Startled, she slowly nodded, then continued about her duties.
When Miranda burst into the garden, she saw Wylde immediately. He sat on a small stone bench, his head bent toward the blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms.
All at once her world righted on its axis. The sky was blue, the air was warm, and the flowers smelled sweet.
“Is everyone all right?” she asked, walking toward him.
He glanced over and smiled at her. “Right as rain, as Annie would say.”
“And James?”
“He was yelling fit to wake the dead. Mrs. Cooper had stepped out to the market, so I am attempting to keep him calm until she returns.” He shifted on the bench, showing that the babe gnawed and sucked with vigor on one of his fingers. “I do not believe he has yet figured out that this is not the teat he wants.”
A startled laugh escaped her throat. “Let us hope he remains in ignorance a bit longer.” She sat down on the bench beside him, then rested her head against his shoulder. “I see you have overcome your aversion to children.”
“I was never averse to them.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. “I adore children. When I lost mine—” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “I lost my child before I even got to hold him. It was the fiercest, most desperate agony I have ever felt. I thought that by avoiding this baby, I would never feel that again.”
She reached out to stroke her finger along the child’s downy head. “I take it something changed your mind.”
“Byrne was going to kill him, shoot the babe right in front of me, and all that horror rose up again. I had never held this child, tried to pretend he did not matter. Did not exist. And again a babe in my care would be taken away. Again I would fail.”
“You did not fail,” Miranda said, smiling up at him.
“I might have, if not for Annie,” Wylde corrected. “My blasted pistol was tangled in my coat. She had recognized the imposter and helped herself to my weapons chest. She fired just as I freed my pistol and did the same. One of us killed him; I do not know which.”
“Even if you did not fire the fatal shot, you did your best to save James.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “At least this time I had the chance to try.”
“You will make a very good father.”
He smiled down at the infant. “I hope you are right.”
“Remind me to tell you about my visit to Rothgard’s home,” she said. “By this evening it will be an amusing tale.”
“Why not tell me now?”
“Later.” She bent forward to kiss the top of James’s head, then turned to Wylde and pressed her mouth to his in a soft, lingering kiss. “We have the rest of our lives.”
“We do,” he agreed, then tilted his head to the sky to watch the clouds drift by.
The sky was blue and the air was warm, and the duke’s heart was healed at last.
About the Author
DEBRA MULLINS is the author of several historical romances for Avon Books. Her work has been nominated for the Golden Heart and RITA® awards from Romance Writers of America, and the Holt Medallion from Virginia Romance Writers. In 2003, she won the Golden Leaf Award from NJ Romance Writers for her book A Necessary Bride. A native of the east coast, she now lives in California. Visit her website at www.debramullins.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Romances by Debra Mullins
TO RUIN THE DUKE
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING
TWO WEEKS WITH A STRANGER
SCANDAL OF THE BLACK ROSE
JUST ONE TOUCH
THREE NIGHTS…
A NECESSARY BRIDE
A NECESSARY HUSBAND
THE LAWMAN’S SURRENDER
DONOVAN’S BED
ONCE A MISTRESS
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TO RUIN THE DUKE. Copyright © 2009 by Debra Mullins Welch. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Microsoft Reader April 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-187809-1
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com
Debra Mullins, To Ruin the Duke
To Ruin the Duke Page 25
