by Heather Boyd
Another footman appeared with a tray and set it on a table. “Thank you, Goode,” Christopher said as he hurried across and lifted the lids from his evening meal.
When the footman was gone, Miranda sat across from her son and served him. “How do you possibly know that servant’s name already? I’ve not even seen him.”
“Addison told me about the new man the last time I came. He’s told me ever so much about life here and about my grandmother.” Her son peeked across the room to the dowager with a smile.
The old woman huffed again. “Well, good night, young man. Do not wake me in the morning with all your wild comings and goings.”
Christopher ran to her, kissed her wrinkled cheek, and ran back to the table again. “I’ll try not to.”
When the dowager’s shuffling steps couldn’t be heard anymore, Miranda glanced at her son curiously. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Christopher shrugged. “She’s lonely.”
“I see.” Christopher must see a great deal more than Miranda did of her mother-in-law. Loneliness was the last emotion she’d expect.
Christopher destroyed his dinner in a few short minutes, then yawned widely. “Can I go to bed now?”
“Now?” She looked at him in alarm. “It’s barely seven o’clock.”
He smiled sleepily and climbed into bed, then looked around him with a satisfied expression on his face. “I’m home now. I want to hurry up and sleep in my own bed for the first time ever.”
Miranda smothered a laugh and went to him, grinning. Christopher had always looked for the brightest moment in a long day. “Yes, you are.”
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then tucked the bedding firmly around his little body. Her heart ached still that she might have lost him. She would take a long time to recover from the fears of the past few days.
He wriggled his arms free and looped them about her neck. “You’re home too, you know.”
“Yes, my love. So I am.”
But home wasn’t the warm place it was for Christopher. This place never would be hers, and she would always be the interloper. Miranda trudged back to her bedchamber and summoned April to help her undress for the night. When she was ready for bed in her primmest nightgown, she dismissed the girl so she could be alone once more with her thoughts. She drank the vile potion to calm her heart and, like Christopher, she climbed into bed ridiculously early, forgoing her supper. She was simply too upset to eat anything.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“So what do you think?” Kit prompted at Christopher’s continued silence. The boy had been staring too long and the proprietor was beginning to fidget.
“May I pick one up if I am careful?”
“Of course, young master.” The proprietor of Gable and Son’s Silversmiths beamed as he lifted the lid on his display case. Inside, a dozen small pewter soldiers lay at rest on a black velvet tray. Craftsman’s work and not inexpensive to boot. Kit was impressed that the boy asked permission first.
Christopher gently lifted one, turned it around in his nimble fingers as he studied it, then just as carefully placed it back. He grinned at Mr. Gable. “They’re smashing.”
Kit’s son said smashing quite a bit. He hid another grin, overcome with pride that his child was polite, inquisitive, and knew exactly when praise was needed. Kit assessed his new plan once more. A list of activities that grew longer by the minute. “We will need infantry, cavalry, and artillery if you have them to take today.”
Mr. Gable gaped in astonishment, an expression Kit had seen more often than not over the past three days, which he’d spent spoiling his son during their daily excursions around the great city. Kit had made a list of all the birthdays, holidays, and treats he should have spoiled the child with in the first years of his life. Material possessions were easy to come by in London. Recovering the time lost was not.
They’d spent every moment together from sunrise to sunset, and Kit had even sat with him last night, long after he’d fallen asleep, just so he could say with certainty that his son twitched in his sleep before growing still again. Kit’s mother thought him mad, but Kit had been denied so much of Christopher that he’d promised himself he wouldn’t miss another moment. If only their days were longer.
He glanced at his pocket watch, noticing the hour was growing late. Tonight he planned nothing more special than to watch Christopher eat his evening meal. Tomorrow they would dine with his guardians, and he would deal with them once and for all. He just didn’t know what he needed to say to them. His anger had cooled, replaced by disappointment in Miranda and in himself.
She should have known his nature, but if he’d never told her his feelings or understood them enough himself, then he could see how she might not realize his attachment for Emily only went so far. The mistake had cost them their marriage and happiness.
Kit settled the bill and when it was apparent that packing the soldiers would take time, he arranged for delivery, his mind half on the task.
“Father?”
Kit smiled down at Christopher, and lifted one brow. “Yes, son?”
“Are we going home soon?”
He nodded, signing his name on the bill with an enthusiastic flourish of the pen. He couldn’t deny that having a son made him happy. Christopher’s existence made his life complete. “Once our business is concluded.”
Christopher worried his lip and when they left, Kit noticed his son hurried to the carriage ahead of him and didn’t delay climbing inside as he occasionally did when he saw something else of interest.
When Kit joined him, he couldn’t help but notice the boy appeared anxious still. “Is something the matter?”
“I missed her today.”
Kit looked down at his hands as his stomach tied in knots. He’d monopolized the child, kept him apart from Miranda with their many outings and expeditions. Miranda remained at home, content as far as he knew, seeing Christopher in the mornings and late in the evenings. But since the day Christopher had burst into his life, he’d avoided his wife and even his friends, preferring to get to know his son instead. He didn’t know how Miranda’s heart fared and he was quite frankly afraid to ask.
But he could not put that off forever. They were married and forever bound to each other through Christopher. He had demanded she had to live with him if she wanted to see their son. He couldn’t ignore her existence. “We’ll be home soon.”
The boy smiled broadly, face pressed to the glass the whole way home. When the carriage stopped, he bolted from the carriage to reach her, running almost as fast as he’d managed when he’d left Hyde Park that day. He quickly disappeared inside and Kit followed, laughing as he went.
Addison hid a smile as he took Kit’s hat and gloves. The butler had quickly learned to step aside when Christopher was in a hurry. “You have correspondence on your desk, my lord.”
“Anything else I should know about?”
“Lady Taverham left, about an hour after your departure today.”
Kit’s stomach dropped to his toes; his hands grew icy cold as he glanced upstairs in shock. Miranda couldn’t leave. He loved her.
He’d always loved her.
He set his hand to his stomach, utterly shocked by that discovery. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Despite everything that had gone wrong, the mistakes they’d both made, he did love Miranda. He loved her so desperately that he’d follow her anywhere she went. He grabbed his hat and gloves again. “Call the carriage back. Did she say where she was going?”
Addison frowned. “She went home, my lord. At least that is what she said to me, but it is a day earlier than planned. I’m sorry if that wasn’t what you wished for.”
Kit couldn’t understand why she’d leave without at least saying good-bye to their son. He’d be distressed. He might cry, and Kit wasn’t sure how to comfort him. “Miranda should have stayed here with us.”
Addison’s eyes widened in shock. “Forgive me. I meant to say the Dowager Marchioness
Taverham departed this morning, bound for Twilit Hill. Oh, I am so sorry. The dowager left a note for you in your study.”
Kit stumbled back a step as relief slammed into him. Miranda was still here. The woman he loved. The woman he wasn’t even sure he could live with, let alone without. He couldn’t believe how even that complication filled him with joy. They still had a chance to make this marriage work.
He left Addison and retreated to his study, conscious that he was more relieved Miranda remained in his life than he expected to be. His desk was piled high with correspondence, likely invitations for parties and balls and opportunities for people to gawk at them some more. Kit ignored them all and picked up his mother’s note. Short and tersely worded, she bid him good-bye and good luck in his marriage and then bluntly suggested she’d like a babe in arms next. Preferably a granddaughter.
He sat down quickly. Could Miranda safely deliver a child with her troubled heart?
Kit pursed his lips. He’d wanted to hold his children in his arms while they slept and did those things small humans did. He’d wanted to see Christopher that way, but since he was ten now that would prove impossible. The next best thing was for Miranda to have another child.
He didn’t know whether she’d ever agree to that. He glanced at the letter again and noticed a last line he’d overlooked reading. Emily knew about Christopher before Miranda returned.
Kit swore. How could Emily know about his son? He had certainly never confided in Emily or even Acton that his relationship with Miranda had been profoundly intimate. Why would Emily say nothing of the matter? He’d thought they were friends. The best of friends.
All he’d ever wanted was his family—a wife and child to love him and make his lonely life complete. He’d thought Emily was on his side these past years. He could barely believe she’d keep him in the dark about a son, even if his mother had sworn her to secrecy. She could have—his pulse raced—she might have set the fire that had almost killed his son. The moment he thought it, he feared it to be true.
He left his study at a run, sprinting up the stairs to reach his child. He listened for Christopher or Miranda’s voice on their floor and only relaxed when he heard their soft laughter. He stopped in the hall a moment and caught his breath. As irrational as his fears might be, he couldn’t shake the idea that Christopher needed his protection desperately, even now.
He followed the sound of their voices and found them in Miranda’s bedchamber, curled up on her settee, heads together and talking softly. They looked so happy, and guilt ate at him that he’d denied them so much time this past week.
Christopher was telling her all his news, a jumbled-up accounting of one of the best days of his life. He smiled at the scene, heart aching with regret for what might have been, but also with hope at what could be if they worked at their marriage together instead of against it.
They were both fine and safe. They would stay that way too for as long as he lived.
When Miranda noticed him loitering at the door, she straightened quickly as if she were afraid to be scolded and set a distance between herself and their son. Her behavior gave him pause. Why did she have to be so lovely and yet so completely unfathomable? He strolled in uninvited. “Mother left?”
“Yes. She said her good-byes to me at nine and should be well on her way to Twilit Hill by now.”
Kit drew closer, noticing Miranda’s face was very pale today despite her elegant appearance. The family jewels to match her ring encircled her delicious neck. Her hair was simply styled. The low-cut bodice of her gown made his mouth water.
He wondered why she’d dressed so formally, but he appreciated the view. “I trust the arrangements for tomorrow’s dinner with my guardians will go smoothly without her?”
“Tomorrow?” She glanced at her gown in dismay. “Your mother said they were coming tonight. I should have known any help from her was simply to make me look foolish.”
Kit groaned. “It was tonight, but I persuaded them that a delay of a day was preferred. Mother must have forgotten there was a change of plans.”
Miranda nodded slowly, avoiding his eyes still and settling back in her chair with a defeated air. “Your mother forgets nothing. This is simply her revenge.”
“Not much of a revenge when I’m reminded of how beautiful you are.”
Miranda stiffened and glanced at their son quickly.
Christopher caught his mother’s hands. “See, Mama. You are beautiful. May I go now?”
Miranda bit her lip, her gaze darting in Kit’s direction. “You must ask your father, my darling.”
Kit frowned at her words. “Of course you can go if your mother says so. I wouldn’t mind a few moments alone with Mama actually.”
Christopher kissed his mother’s cheek, hugged her tight, and skipped from the room, looking for all the world the happiest boy that ever lived. Miranda did not lift her head to watch him go or look in Kit’s direction once, even when the doors crashed shut so loudly they both jumped.
The silence progressed until Kit couldn’t bear it. “Have you been resting?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need anything?”
She shook her head quickly. “No, nothing.”
Kit paced the room, aware that Miranda seemed very uncomfortable around him. He glanced away, troubled by the new tension between them. He had not yelled at her once since learning of Christopher. He had controlled his temper because of fear for her ill-beating heart. He had given her no reason to be afraid of him, yet her behavior was that of one who expected trouble.
Dear God, he wished he could fix them, make her love him as he loved her. He tore his gaze away from her and searched for a reason to stay near. One that didn’t involve peeling her from that gown and kissing every inch of her skin.
On her mantel was stacked a large amount of correspondence. He flicked up the first to see who wrote to Miranda, discovering a letter from Lady Ettington had not been opened and another from Lady Hallam in the same unread condition. “You have mail.”
“Yes.”
Kit shuffled through the rest of the pile, noticing all had been ignored. “Why haven’t you opened them?”
Miranda’s shoulders rose and fell slowly as she breathed deeply. “There seemed little point renewing acquaintances with people I will never see.”
“Why won’t you see them?”
She turned her face away. “You’ve always been very clear about what you want, and you made my position clear the other day. If I want to see my son, I must decline each and stay beneath your roof. No point in opening invitations if that’s the case.”
Kit jerked at the bleakness of her voice. “You may see our friends.”
“They are your friends.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Kit crossed the room and sat on a stool at her feet. Miranda looked everywhere but him, and frustrated, he touched her face to turn her gaze in his direction. Her gray eyes were weary and sad, and he leaned forward to kiss her.
She jerked away. “There’s no need to pretend you desire me.”
He smiled softly. “Never once have I had to pretend about that.”
Miranda licked her lips and swallowed. “Even so, I’d prefer you did not. You’ve got what you want now. Leave me in peace.”
“I don’t have everything I want. I want everything I don’t have yet, and that is you.”
Miranda started forward and her face blushed to a bright shade. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “I can’t do it. You don’t want me. You don’t need me. You have your heir. Don’t pretend anymore. I thought I could bear the silence, but no more. Please.”
“You mean everything to me.” He ran his fingers over her skin lightly as she sobbed again. “Let me in. Don’t push me away.”
He wanted to lift her worries from her shoulders. Her belief his affections lay elsewhere only made things worse. How had he ever botched his marriage so completely?
He pressed a kiss to her hair, cupping her bent
head gently. Even without her glorious eyes revealing her pain, he could see it in the way she held herself. She expected him to hurt her again. She didn’t know his anger over Christopher had already begun to fade, replaced by the joy of his astonishing existence. Her agitation was clear in the way she worried at her wedding ring. Now that he had the son and heir he’d longed for, she expected the worst from him. “Let me have a chance to love you.”
She cried in earnest then, and Kit pulled her onto his lap, holding her as she shook with astonishing force, as if she hadn’t cried in a very long time. Great gasping sobs that broke his heart, too. It took a long time for her to grow quiet, and when she did, Kit simply held her tightly against his chest. He kissed her brow and stood, taking her with him.
He carried her to bed and gently laid her down.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Miranda stared at her husband—hope and fear keeping her silent.
She had no idea yet what he planned to do about their marriage, their life together, but forcing her into bed didn’t bode well. She couldn’t bear any more days of being ignored so thoroughly. Being kept to the side while her son began his new life was breaking her heart.
Miranda blinked back tears and squeezed her eyes shut. She’d asked for this and yet could not deny that the end of her short, ill-fated marriage made her sad. She squeezed her eyes shut as regret filled her with pain. She was sorry. More sorry than Kit would ever believe. He’d be a good father to Christopher. She saw that now. He could take her place in their son’s affections all too easily. Neither one would miss her if she slipped away.
Her bed dipped and she started, opening her eyes once more. Kit moved into view, his expressive face serious and yet dear to her.
He moved closer, a tight smile playing around his lips. He leaned over her, bracing one arm on each side of her body so she could barely move to escape him. He met her gaze directly. “Miranda, I want you to listen very carefully because I won’t ever repeat this. I want to tell you about my lovers and you are going to listen to the truth about me.”
