Miranda flinched. “I can hardly be considered a spinster at twenty, Beatrice. And your Season will not happen for at least another year, so I wouldn’t concern yourself yet.”
“Ha!” Beatrice moved toward her in three long steps. “How can I not concern myself? You are already denying Penelope gowns! If you get your way, I will neither be fashionable nor desirable by the time I step into Society!”
Miranda opened her mouth to speak, but Beatrice extended a finger into her face and waggled it.
“And a spinster is made by her actions, not her age,” Beatrice snapped. “You could have married a dozen wealthy men—”
“It was hardly a dozen,” Miranda muttered.
Her sister continued, unhindered by the interruption, “—and saved us from this trial in the first place, but you refused. You don’t want to be happy!” Beatrice’s lip began to quiver and her blue eyes filled with tears. “And you refuse to let any of the rest of us be happy, either!”
Miranda sighed as her sister gathered up her skirts and flew from the room, slamming the door behind her with a jarring bang. If Beatrice didn’t do the very same thing every other day, Miranda might have been moved, but today she was too tired to play her sister’s childish games.
She stared at the financial figures again. God, by the time Bea came out, they might not have enough money for food, let alone gowns.
The door clicked and it took everything in Miranda not to set her head back on the desk and sob. She couldn’t take one more tantrum. She simply could not.
But it was Penelope who stepped into the parlor, not Beatrice or their mother. The two girls exchanged a weary smile. At least Miranda could depend on Penelope. Her best friend and confidante…at least on most subjects. There was still one secret even Penelope didn’t know.
And if Miranda had her way, she never would.
“I have tried to convince Mama to return the dresses, but she refuses.” Penelope sank into the chair across from Miranda with a weary sigh. “I’m sorry.”
Miranda shook her head. “I never believed she would acquiesce. And I should be the one apologizing, not you.”
Penelope sat forward in surprise. “You? Apologize? Whatever for? Since Father died six months ago, you have been the only person keeping this family from being tossed out on the street as paupers. I realize that even if Mama and Beatrice do not. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Miranda pushed to her feet and paced to the window. She looked outside and bit back a curse as she watched three servants planting new rose bushes. When had those been ordered? Drat it all, that simply meant more money draining from their depleted resources for frivolous things that only her mother would dare call necessities. Her head began to pound.
“As Beatrice points out daily, I could have taken offers of marriage from several men who were all in the financial position to save this family from ruin. If only I had, our problems would not be as pressing now.” Miranda continued to stare outside, but she hardly saw the gardens anymore. “Because of my decisions, your Season will not be what it should. And then there will be Beatrice, not to mention Winifred!”
Penelope got to her feet and came to wrap an arm around Miranda. She squeezed and Miranda was filled with comfort, albeit briefly.
“Ignore Beatrice. If you tell her the sky is blue, she argues it just to hear her own voice. And Winifred is only sixteen. She still has her head in the clouds. She isn’t even thinking of a Season yet. As for me, I certainly do not blame you for not taking those offers. For one thing, they were all made long before you knew of our…” She hesitated. “Our situation. And two of the gentlemen were quite awful. The other was, well, you didn’t love him. You want love.”
Miranda winced. No, she wanted passion. But she wasn’t about to tell her sister that. Nor was she going to tell her exactly how she knew so much about the subject of passion.
Erotic images began to invade her mind, as they did more and more often this time of year, but she pushed them aside. Not now!
“Women of our position cannot hope for love. I was selfish and now we are all paying the price.” Miranda sighed. “I simply didn’t realized how dire our situation had become until Papa died. By then I was already labeled as a woman who refused proposals. A spinster in training. I doubt I could obtain another offer even if I tried. Certainly not one from a man with the ability to help us.”
Penelope squeezed her arm. “How bad is it, Miranda? Tell me plainly.”
Miranda turned on her sister and frowned. She’d kept the bulk of the details from her siblings, but the weight of the truth was beginning to grate on her. And there would be no hiding it once she had to start altering the comfort of their everyday lives. Already she was beginning an inventory of items that could be sold without rousing her mother’s suspicion. Sadly, there wasn’t much left in the house that fit that description. Her father had done very well in clearing out those things, himself. If her mother realized just how much of her beloved jewelry was already paste…
“If we do not find a way to bring money into this family soon,” she whispered, “we could very well lose everything, including our home.”
Penelope paled. “Oh my. I knew it was bad, but I had hoped we were in a slightly better position than that.” She paced away a few steps as she lifted a fist to her heart. “Oh, Papa…how could you be so foolish?”
Miranda nodded in silent agreement, ignoring the pain of loss that still troubled her when she thought of her father. Her feelings about the man were mixed, at best. Anger and grief, warmth and pain combined.
“What can we do?” Penelope’s soft voice interrupted her musings.
Miranda rubbed her eyes. “A good marriage may be the only way.”
“My good marriage, you mean,” Penelope whispered.
“Yes, I’m afraid that is true.” Miranda sighed. “I have failed, but there is still hope for you before the whole world learns of our troubles and our name is blackened. You need a Season. A spectacular Season. And I must find a way to provide it. Actually, I’ve been thinking about that lately and I believe I may have found a solution.”
Penelope tilted her head in surprise. “Whatever do you mean?”
Miranda shook her head. “No. Don’t you worry about that. Just go and try on those gowns and make Mama happy. If she is happy, she won’t notice I’m gone.”
“Gone?” Penelope’s surprise turned to alarm. “Where are you going?”
Miranda flinched. That was one question she couldn’t answer. “I-I have something to do.”
Penelope gnawed her lip as she regarded Miranda with concern. But then she shrugged. “Very well. But be careful.”
Miranda patted her sister’s hand and slipped from the room. But as she gathered up her things, she couldn’t suppress a shiver. The thing she was about to do could either help her or completely ruin her. It was the thing she feared and longed for most.
She was about to offer a bargain to the man who had taught her everything she knew about desire and passion. The man who’d never known he was her tutor.
Ethan Hamon, Earl of Rothschild, took a long sip of sherry, savoring the flavor. God, it was good to be home. Despite the life he enjoyed in London, the few months he spent here at Hamon House were what he looked forward to all year. He had his sport, he had his friends coming and going all summer…and normally he had a lover, a new one every year.
Except this one. No woman had struck his fancy enough to make him bring them to his summer estate for long days and nights of decadent pleasure.
Truth be told, he was beginning to bore of the game. The flirting, mincing women. The pretended reluctance. The ultimate acquiescence. The manufactured passion. He wanted something…different this year.
Not that he knew what different meant. Perhaps he would recognize it when he saw it.
“My lord?”
Ethan turned to his butler with an arched brow. “Yes, Winston?”
“You have a caller, my lord. I told her you we
re not in residence, but she is insistent. She seemed to be very aware of your schedule.”
The butler sniffed his disapproval of Ethan’s lifestyle, but Ethan ignored that. He’d grown used to Winston’s airs, and since he was a perfect butler in all other accounts, it was worth enduring the subtle censure and side glances.
“She? Hmmm, very interesting.” Ethan set his glass down. “Do I know the lady?”
Winston’s mouth thinned. “She has been here before, sir, if that is what you mean. She is Miss Miranda Albright, the daughter of your late neighbor, Mr. Thomas Albright.”
Ethan’s brow wrinkled. Miranda Albright was here?
“Is her mother with her?” he asked with a shiver. Dorthea Albright was his worst nightmare and he made every attempt to avoid her at all costs.
“No, sir.” The butler wrinkled his nose before he said, “Miss Albright is alone.”
At that, Ethan straightened up. Miranda was alone? He didn’t think he’d ever been alone with the lady. Mostly because she was just that…a lady. She didn’t go anywhere without a gaggle of chaperones to scrutinize her every move.
Despite that nauseating fact, Ethan had still noticed her. He was careful about the women he chose to pursue, of course, but that didn’t mean he was immune to the charms of the ones who were out of reach. And there was no harm in looking.
So look, he did. Miranda Albright was a beauty. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes. And she was tall, with willowy limbs he had imagined wrapped around him quite a few times.
All those things drew him in, but it was something else that made her memorable. As was proper for a lady of her station, she hardly ever looked directly at him, but when she did, he always had the sense that she knew something secret about him. Something no one else was privy to.
It wasn’t true, of course. A sheltered girl like Miranda could never even begin to fathom the life Ethan led, but still…the look was enticement itself.
And now she was in his home. Alone. Demanding an audience with him.
Intriguing.
“I’ll see her,” he said quietly.
Winston let out a loud sigh that left little doubt to his disgust at that decision. “She awaits you in the front parlor, my lord.”
After the servant had bowed his way out, Ethan smoothed his coat. No doubt he looked a mess after a final week of debauchery in London and then a long carriage ride to the country. How would his little miss react when he strode into the parlor with the shadow of a beard across his chin and the scent of sherry on his lips?
Wouldn’t it be interesting to see?
He grinned as he made his way down the hallway and opened the parlor door.
Miranda was sitting in a chair by the fire, her foot twitching nervously beneath her. When the door clicked open, she surged to her feet and turned to face him. For a brief moment, her face reflected nervousness and an awareness of the impropriety of the situation.
But then she really looked at him and everything changed. Her wide, blue eyes—such a bright color that almost put him to mind of the sea in warmer parts of the world than England—slipped up and down his body. And it wasn’t a quick, nervous perusal. No, this was something else.
She lingered on every inch of his form and for a brief moment something flashed across her face that nearly set Ethan back on his heels.
Desire. Hot, heady, unabashed desire.
He realized in that moment that he was looking right at exactly what he had been searching for in every courtesan and widow in London while he sought out this year’s lover.
And it was facing him in the image of a woman he could never have without a band of gold encircling her finger.
This was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. And yet Miranda couldn’t find the strength to run. All she could do was stand in the middle of Rothschild’s parlor and stare at him. Drink him in. Think about every wicked thing she had ever watched him do.
By God, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her entire, admittedly sheltered, life. But she couldn’t imagine that even the most experienced woman wouldn’t look at him and lose her wits. In fact, she knew they couldn’t. She’d seen so many of them surrender to his touch over the three years she had been spying on his trysts.
The things he had done to those willing women. The ways he had done those things…
Just the thought made her squirm as wet need flooded her thighs. No! No, she couldn’t think of that now. Not if she wanted to talk to him and not come off as an addled ninny.
“H-Hello,” she stammered, her voice cracking.
To her surprise, he left the door open wide and leaned against the entryway with one broad shoulder.
“What a surprise, Miss Albright,” he said with a hint of humor in his voice. Like he was laughing at her. He always sounded like he was laughing at her. Hot blood flooded her cheeks.
“I realize I was not expected.” She jammed her shaking hands together behind her back in the hopes she could somehow erase her nervousness.
“Nor invited,” he interjected with a wide grin that seemed to flow over his entire handsome face. “But I did not say it was an unpleasant surprise. I do admit, I’m quite curious as to the reason for your call. Would you care to enlighten me?”
She shifted nervously, staring at the open door. Why hadn’t he come inside?
“Er, it is a delicate matter I wish to discuss,” she stammered. “I would rather the servants did not hear.”
Rothschild tilted his head and looked at her closely. There was something about the way he was examining her. Like he wasn’t sure if he should eat her or indulge her. She wasn’t sure which option she preferred.
“My servants have no ears, my dear,” he finally said and remained in the doorway.
She frowned. “All servants have ears, my lord, even when they pretend they do not. You know that as well as I do.”
“I had forgotten that you are a sharp little minx, too.”
He smiled again, wolfish, but it was as if the comment were more for himself than her. She folded her arms across her chest as a barrier.
“Will you not close the door?” she asked, tilting her chin with pride.
His grin became less genuine. “No, my dear, I will not. I won’t have your Mama saying I ruined you and demanding I take your hand in marriage. I won’t be trapped, if that is what you came here for.”
She moved forward without thinking. “How dare you! Of course I didn’t come here to trap you! And my mother has nothing to do with this!” She stopped. “Well, she does, but only indirectly. She certainly did not send me here as part of some scheme.”
He leaned back to examine her. “Sharp, saucy and beautiful, too. It is a pity.” He seemed to ponder her statement for a moment, then shrugged as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “Very well. But recognize that if you are lying, I won’t marry you to salvage any blemish to your reputation. If you create a situation for yourself, you will live with the consequences.”
If Miranda hadn’t been so nervous, she might have laughed. Dear God, the man had no idea what she was about to propose. Well, he was too smug and self-assured for his own good anyway. It might be entertaining to see him completely shocked.
Terrifying. But entertaining.
“Speak Miss Albright,” he said as he poured himself a drink. “You certainly have my attention, do not lose it by staring at me silently.”
She started. She had been staring. It was hard not to with his shirt stretching over his arms when they flexed as he reached for a glass.
“Yes, of course.” She stopped, clearing her throat as she thought about the words she had prepared. She’d practiced this speech at least a hundred times, yet it still came with difficulty. “I-I must be blunt, I’m afraid, for I have little time.”
He laughed, that rich, husky sound she’d heard so many times before. Instantly her eyes fluttered shut and she stifled a sigh.
“Bluntness is my preference, for I have little patience.”
Her eyes came open. He might say that, but she knew it wasn’t true. Since the first afternoon she spied on him three years ago, how many times had she watched him lying out in that same spot by the lake and pleasure a woman for hours without slaking his own needs? That required patience and, if his groans of relief when he finally did enter his lovers were any indication, generosity.
“My, wouldn’t I like to know what you are thinking right now,” he said. His voice had gone low and soft and his gaze was focused and intense.
Miranda gasped as she turned away. Damn, this was harder than she thought it would be. Shaking, she pulled herself together. This was her last option. She couldn’t throw it away.
“I’m sure you’re aware my father died six months ago.”
“Yes.” His tone held no indication of his thoughts on the subject and she didn’t dare to look at him. It didn’t matter what he thought of her father or her loss.
“Not many people know this, but my family is in dire straights.” She forced herself to turn now, though she continued to stare at the floor to avoid his piercing, dark stare.
“I had guessed as much,” he replied.
She glanced up in surprise. Was it too late? Had news of her family shame already spread so far?
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Do not worry, my dear. I don’t think your father’s…problems are public quite yet. At least, not with those who do not have their own vices to contend with.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “Then how do you know about them?”
Ethan tilted his head. “I do not want to reveal any secrets about your father that might pain you.”
Miranda flinched. “You saw him gamble?”
He nodded, just once. “But what does your situation have to do with me? I am owed no money from his estate and even if I were, I doubt I would pursue the matter. I may have a reputation, Miss Albright, but it has never been one of a man who would make a woman and her four daughters destitute.”
Everything Forbidden Page 2
