by Heather Boyd
She quickly handed her breakfast tray to April. Likely no one yelled at Twilit House unless it was the marquess, and he never sounded as panicked as that voice had been. As she rose to an upright position, the door to her bedroom was flung wide.
Christopher grinned at her. “Mama.”
Miranda shrieked and flung herself across the bed as Christopher raced across the room and into her arms. Her son had finally found his way home to her. Miranda drew him against her tightly and rocked him from side to side wildly. She’d believe this moment a dream except he smelled of horses and sweat and the boy she loved with all her heart. “My boy. My darling little man. Where have you been?”
Christopher tightened his grip around her neck and clung. “Waiting for you. I was so afraid you’d never get better.”
“Nothing could keep me away from you.” Miranda drew his head back, brushed his long hair away from his face, and kissed his forehead soundly. “I’d never dessert you. I love you so much.”
Miranda pulled him toward the bed and waited till he sat down, ignoring how April stared and listened to every word. “Come back later,” Miranda told her swiftly.
When April disappeared into the next room, Miranda ran her hands over her son’s head, brushed his soft cheeks, and stared into his pale green eyes. “You’ve grown so much.”
Christopher laughed. “And you’re still in your nightgown. Are you sick still?”
Miranda nodded. “It comes and goes. Finding you missing from Mr. Fenning’s care did nothing for my peace of mind.”
Christopher dipped his head. “We said we would only return together.”
She brushed his long hair back from his eyes and lifted his chin so she could stare at him. She couldn’t recall him ever wanting to grow it so long before and hoped he wasn’t overly attached to it. She smiled at him warmly, heart filling, bursting with love for him. She drew him closer to her side and wrapped an arm about his shoulders. “I know what I said, but dear God, where have you been? I’ve been so afraid I’d lost you. You look like a street urchin, except you are somewhat cleaner.”
“No one looks twice at an urchin.” He scrunched up his face. “First I went to the orphanage cousin Agatha and Grandfather supported. I’ve lived with Agatha for the past year since she married Lord Carrington.”
Miranda gasped. “But I was there, in that house, not two days ago.”
“And I was here speaking to him. I came at once. I saw your name mentioned in the paper and everyone was talking of you that morning. We missed each other.”
Miranda hugged Christopher close against her again as she thought over her previous conversations with Martin. “I’ve not heard mention of a child of your name among the Carrington children or in any of my correspondence.”
“I chose another name. I’m Simon to everyone else.”
“Oh.” That explained quite a lot about how he could be with Agatha and still be so well hidden. But… she rubbed her forehead at how complicated matters would be now. “Agatha will be upset with you over the deception. With us both probably. Did you tell her who you really were?”
“Not once, though I did consider it when she cuddled me when I was sad. When I missed you the most she was the nearest thing to having your arms about me.” Christopher shrugged. “I like her, but she’ll understand she cannot keep me.”
“I hope so.” Miranda drew her son close and rocked him in her arms. “I missed you, my dearest love. We have all the time in the world to be together now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Kit froze outside the door to his bedchamber as Miranda’s shocking words carried into the hall. He’d followed Simon’s dangerous run all through Mayfair on horseback since Carrington was burdened with his children and too slow to follow the surprisingly fast child as he tore through the busy streets. He was puzzled that the boy had come here of all places. The front door had been wide open and he followed the voices of those lingering in the halls.
Yet the moment he’d realized Miranda was entertaining a man in his bedchamber a fury unlike anything he’d felt before consumed him, and he didn’t care one whit for Carrington’s runaway son nor where he’d gone.
Around him, a half dozen upper servants had gathered, trying now to look busy polishing the bannisters and dusting paintings instead of eavesdropping on the scene inside.
Miranda hadn’t even done him the courtesy of closing the door so the servants wouldn’t hear every word she spoke to the one she truly loved.
Miranda had her lover in his very bed. How dare she flaunt her affairs so brazenly beneath his own roof as if he were nothing? As if their marriage didn’t matter. As if she could do whatever she wanted. Well, he’d not stand for it.
He shoed the servants away with an impatient flick of his hands, astonished to find some in tears, others dazzled by the conversation taking place inside the room.
He crept closer, determined to find out who it was that claimed his wife’s heart. He wouldn’t let her know how badly she’d hurt him, but he would insist she leave immediately. He’d throw her out onto the street if she didn’t go willingly.
Just outside the doorway, he paused to draw a steadying breath before he took three more steps to cross the threshold.
His wife lifted her face away from the little man she held tightly against her breast. Kit gaped at her. This was whom she loved?
“Kit,” she said, a smile brightening her entire face regardless that her deception had been discovered.
The man in her arms twisted around and Kit found himself face to face with Carrington’s ward, Simon. Kit blew out a breath as relief slammed into him. Miranda was not meeting a lover. He’d been utterly mistaken to suspect her of duplicity. “You gave us all a scare, young man. Your father will be furious with you for the fright you just gave him.”
He glanced between the pair when they said nothing to that but continued to touch each other as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Simon claimed to know no one in their society and had never acknowledged any connections. How could he know Miranda so well as to be almost sitting in her lap? In fact, he might as well be as they were so close together. He glared at Simon. “What the devil are you doing on my bed, boy?”
Simon licked his lips, a nervous gesture Carrington needed to cure him of and soon if he ever wanted to win at cards one day, and gained his feet. The boy circled the bed bravely, set his hands behind his back, and stood at attention. “I was greeting my mother properly.”
Kit rocked back on his heels, swung his gaze to his wife. Miranda only looked at the boy Simon, a smile of such love and devotion on her face that he couldn’t mistake her feelings were strong for the child. He blinked in astonishment. When he turned his attention back to Simon, he was still there, chin lifted, eyes defiant.
The boy smiled softly. “Hello, Father. I apologize for interrupting your ride in the park.”
Kit’s breath seized. His ears roared with nameless sound, then his heart shuddered, pounding painfully against his ribs. He stared at the boy he knew as Carrington’s orphaned ward, a fatherless, motherless boy these past two years that he knew of. He shook his head repeatedly.
Miranda slipped from the bed still in her nightgown and joined Simon, her hands closing over the boy’s shoulders tenderly. She grinned at him, brushed her fingers across his forehead to move his hair aside from his eyes. “I take it you two are already well acquainted.”
Simon glanced up at her. “We met last year after Great-grandfather Birkenstock died. He said very nice things about him and has always been kind to me.”
Miranda curled her arm about the boy and whispered in his ear. “Everyone is kind to you.”
The child smiled so delightedly that Kit found it painful to look upon. “You had a son.”
She nodded, her expression open and the happiest he’d seen since their wedding breakfast ten years ago. “I had your heir, as you predicted I would. Now you have everything you ever wanted from me. I hope you can learn to love
him as I do.”
Kit shook his head again to clear the fog from his mind. He must be dreaming. He must have misheard her and there was another explanation. He couldn’t be the boy’s father, or Miranda a mother. She would have told him long before this. He would have known they had a child. She should never have kept such a secret from him.
Simon turned to look up at her, jiggling in place as excitement gripped him. “Father was riding Ares again in Hyde Park. Have you seen him? He’s smashing.”
Miranda kissed the top of Simon’s head and chuckled. “No, but I’ve heard he spent a pretty penny to purchase him last year, so he must be a worthy mount.”
Her eyes met Kit’s briefly and a flicker of puzzlement appeared.
Kit shook his head and she sighed.
Simon turned back to Kit, his expression excited. “A groom at the Duke of Staines’s stables tried to teach me to ride a bit when we’ve been in the country at his home, but I’m not very good yet. When I’m grown a bit more may I ride Ares? Will you teach me to be as graceful on horseback as you? Father? I say. Are you all right?”
Kit staggered back several paces, bumping heavily into a chair and sinking into it. He stayed exactly where he was and watched in shock as the scene before him unfolded. The pair continued to chatter as if fatherhood wasn’t supposed to surprise him. Well, he was very surprised. If he had a son, he would have taught him to ride his horse long before this. They would have spent hours in the saddle together riding over Twilit Hill, the estate the boy would inherit, and would never have been an afterthought left to a servant to teach.
As he listened to Miranda and Simon make plans to spend the day together, the roaring sound grew louder again.
Miranda had lied to him. Why would she have kept the news of their son a secret? There was no reason except to cause him pain. She knew he’d hoped for an heir. They had talked about his need for a son on the eve of their marriage, well before her disappearance and several times since her return too. They had discussed plans for their children’s education and upbringing. He’d always planned ahead. Yet he’d never expected this.
The boy was his heir if they spoke truthfully. He’d had a son for ten years. Or had he?
He narrowed his gaze on Miranda as she laughed softly. She had not told him of the child for a reason. It was clear that she was fond of the child. Too fond. No Marchioness of Taverham had ever displayed such affection for their offspring. Kit’s own mother had never embraced him as Miranda was now doing with Simon.
She did love him. The boy had her heart.
But that did not make Kit a father.
He narrowed his gaze on Simon, looking for proof of parentage. The boy didn’t look much like either of them in his opinion. Sandy-brown hair, unremarkable, pale green eyes hidden behind hair grown too long. Intelligent, but that did not mean much. He could be anyone’s child.
Miranda smiled and his blood ran cold. She must be enjoying her joke at his expense. She intended to foist another man’s child on him to steal the Taverham estates for herself and the offspring of one of her many lovers, just to hurt him.
He shot to his feet, straightened his waistcoat, and smoothed his hair before he addressed the pair. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I need to speak to my solicitor.”
Simon froze, facing him quickly. “Why, Father?”
“Do not speak to me, boy.”
Simon flinched, drawing close to Miranda for comfort. As before, her arms curled about his chest protectively as she sought to comfort him in the face of Kit’s anger. The glance she speared him with was filled with disappointment. “You must do what you think is right for you, of course, husband, but you are making a mistake.”
The knife in his chest turned. Husband? Father? He’d been neither. He’d never had a fair chance. If he’d truly had a child, there was nothing he would not do to make them feel wanted, valued. He’d vowed never to ignore his children the way his parents had done to him.
He strode from the room, past servants who gawked at the scene they’d just witnessed, past his mother on the stairs, who demanded an explanation for the ruckus he couldn’t speak of, and crashed headlong into Viscount Carrington and his weeping children in the entrance hall. When asked about Simon, he could only gesture to the staircase behind him. He was too furious for words.
He’d been made a fool.
He locked himself inside his study, drew out pen and paper, and drafted an urgent letter to his solicitor explaining everything he knew about Miranda. There was no choice now but to suffer the embarrassment of divorce. A very public and messy divorce that would reveal his wife’s infidelity, and his.
When he was done, he sat back in his chair and discovered his face was wet with the first tears he’d cried in his adult life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
He didn’t believe. Miranda swallowed back the unexpectedly painful hurt and hugged Christopher against her one more time. “Are you hungry, darling?”
“No. Why does Father need a solicitor?”
To annul their marriage most likely. Or at least attempt to. When Lord Louth came with her letters, and Kit’s guardians confirmed the contents as legitimate testimony on Friday, he’d be hard-pressed to win that particular battle. The cost to his reputation would be too high.
“Never mind about that for now,” she told her son, wishing not to worry him. She held Christopher at arm’s length and drank in the wonder of seeing him again. “Let me have a proper look at you. I think you’ve grown at least three inches in height since we were together last, and that hair has to go or I’ll forever be pushing it back from your face. Anyone would think you’ve been utterly abandoned if we leave it that way.”
A throat cleared behind her. A feminine sound. Old and impatient too.
Miranda turned slowly and curtsied to Kit’s mother.
Christopher bowed. “A pleasure to see you again, Grandmother.”
She lifted her quizzing glass to her eye and looked her grandson over with a sniff, leaning heavily on a walking stick. “You are mistaken, young man. I would never have a grandson who thundered about the town house as you just did. Why, you’re positively wild. I will not stand for it happening again.”
“I was in a hurry, and Addison was in my way. I will apologize to him of course when Mother gives me leave to go.” Christopher bravely took a pace forward and smiled at the dowager. “You’ll get used to my ways eventually. I’m really quite charming, or so Cousin Agatha claims.”
“Charming, and possessed of a slick tongue of the kind my son employs on occasion when he wants his way with a minimum of fuss.” The dowager put her quizzing glass away. “The pleasure is all mine. Welcome home at last, Christopher Reed.”
Miranda rocked back on her heels in shock. “You knew.”
Kit’s mother glanced at her, annoyance twisting her expression. “Do not mistake my knowing as approval of your selfishness.” She glanced over Christopher again, her eyes narrowing. “I learned you’d delivered a child, a healthy boy, quite by accident. Luckily the midwife who attended you had a weak, grasping character and could be persuaded to confess her part in the deception. But she did not know who fathered him, so I said nothing of it to my son.”
Her sharp appraisal reminded Miranda that someone had tried to hurt her son. She pushed Christopher behind her. “I won’t allow you to hurt him.”
The dowager’s gaze darted between Miranda and Christopher. She leaned forward. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have waited an eternity for my son’s child to arrive. Whyever would I hurt him?”
Miranda licked her lips. It was true that she and the dowager had never warmed to each other, but did that make the woman a danger to Christopher? She didn’t know but intended to find out. She watched the old woman’s face closely as she began to speak. “Someone certainly tried to hurt him. Someone that knew about Christopher and had his tutor’s home set alight while my son was still inside it. He is lucky to be alive.”
The dowager shut her eye
s briefly, her fingers shifting restlessly on the handle of her cane. “I would not hurt him. I swear I would not. If I’d known where he was, I would have abducted him instead and ensured the succession was out of danger. The boy belongs here, with his father.”
Despite the threat of abduction in the dowager’s words, Miranda was inclined to believe she spoke truthfully. A little of her tension eased and she loosened her grip on Christopher. She glanced down at him quickly.
He nodded. “She wasn’t the lady who came that day.”
Miranda stared into his eyes. “Did you see who it was, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” He glanced at the dowager. “Grandmother never rides and the pale lady sat a horse very well. I would know her anywhere.”
Miranda pulled Christopher hard against her. She kissed the top of his head repeatedly and rocked him to and fro. “She won’t ever come close to you again. I swear it on my life.”
“I know.” He smiled and Miranda ruffled his hair. Christopher was safe now. She’d die before she’d allow him placed in danger again.
The dowager cleared her throat again. “Now I see this impudent fellow in the right setting, at your side, I understand a little of why he wasn’t with you on your return. Your cousin’s orphaned ward indeed. I thought my son had more honor than this.”
She moved to sit in a chair, an unexpected groan passing her lips as she did so.
Christopher rushed to her side. “Is your leg paining you today, Grandmother?”
“Never you mind my leg or trying to charm me. I suggest you follow your father’s footsteps and prevent that letter from being sent to his solicitor as that might cast aspersions on your inheritance claim. He’ll never listen to me about acting rashly. He didn’t listen to my warnings when he married your mother either, and this misunderstanding is as much his fault as hers. Use your charm on him and the butler to delay the letter.”
Christopher hurried to Miranda and kissed her cheek. “I know where they will be.”
