The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  George was delighted. "If that’s what the ladies and gents want, it suits me just fine."

  "Are you in a hurry, or can you stop for tea?"

  George shook his head. "We have a performance tonight. Then a special occasion. I’m taking Miranda to Simpson’s to ask her to marry me."

  "Well, I see. This is all rather sudden, isn’t it?" he said bluntly, his brows knitting.

  "Yes and no," George said. "I’ve wanted to be with her ever since we met."

  "Still, marriage is a big step."

  "I know. That’s why I’ve never done it before now," George said directly, wondering at the strange look on the other man's face.

  "And what about the length of the engagement?" Lawrence asked, wondering if he could do something to stall George until he could consult with Miranda’s brother and sister about this surprising turn of events.

  "Oh, I had hoped a short one."

  "I say, you’ve not been sampling the wares—" he demanded despite himself.

  George darkened with ire. "Not that it’s any of your damned business, but no, I haven’t. But I’m no saint or monk either. I love and need Miranda. I would be grateful if you would receive her in your house as my wife, but if you choose not to—"

  His brows knit. "Now I never said—"

  "You didn’t have to," George said tightly.

  Lawrence put one hand on his shoulder. "I have nothing against you, George, despite our, shall we say, colorful past, you, me and several of the other Rakehells. We are certainly in no position to cast stones. I was merely trying to point out that the two of you don’t know each other all that well. Wait at least another month or so and, then, well, talk to her."

  "Talk about what?" George asked in confusion.

  "Anything you fancy."

  "We talk all the time."

  Lawrence sighed, and risked some of the truth to try to head George off before he did anything too hasty. "I know it sounds odd, but I really am thinking of both of your best interests. The truth of the matter is that I really didn’t know my wife very well when we married. It was a mad stirring of the loins. My haste was something I regretted for a long time afterwards, though the regret was due to my own blind stupidity and blundering actions which wounded my wife, rather than anything she ever did. She was truly blameless. It was my own fault for believing in my own correctness that nearly caused me to lose the woman I love more than life itself. I could have had a Heaven on earth, and I created my own hell by not trusting her and trusting to love. So that's the lesson I'm trying to impart to you. That there can be no love without trust."

  "I do trust—"

  "Does she trust you?" he asked softly.

  "Of course," he said with a thrust of his chin, though even as the words left his lips, George felt a pang deep in his heart. How could she ever trust a man like you.... You 've been lying to her since the day you met.

  Lawrence sighed. "Trust is much harder to keep than love. Take my word for it. Please, George, I wish you all the luck in the world, but take the advice of a old married man. Talk to Miranda, before it’s too late."

  "Talk to George, before it’s too late," Philip insisted.

  Miranda had gone home to get a good gown and matching accessories for her evening out.

  "We talk all the time. We act together, for Heaven’s sake," she said with an exasperated roll of her eyes as she allowed herself to be led into the parlour.

  Philip shook his head. "You need to tell him who you really are. What you’re doing here. You may think you want to fit into this world of his, but believe me, it can be nasty, brutish and short. Violence begets violence. And you really know so little about him."

  "I know all I need to know," she said, lifting her chin.

  Philip sighed. "The knowledge of the heart is a good thing, but it doesn’t always serve. Sometimes we can get dazzled or deceived by what we think we know, what we believe we see. Or lead ourselves into seeing."

  "What are you trying to say? That I’ve fabricated all of George’s good qualities because I want him to be my white knight? That I’m living in some fantasy world I’ve created for myself, with George as my hero?" she said with a touch of asperity.

  "Haven’t you?" he asked softly. "All of this started out as gathering material for a novel and a prank with Georgina Jerome. Now you’re the toast of the London theatre, and are being wooed by a half dozen men, showered with presents and attention. But it’s all an illusion."

  "Maybe my old life of being the perfect housewifely little mouse was the illusion, and this more worldly and pragmatic Miranda is the real me."

  He patted her hand, his dark eyes glowing. "As always, I think the truth is somewhere in between. My dear, I like George very much. Too much to want to see him hurt. And I certainly don't want to see you come to any harm. You need to tell him the truth."

  "I rather suspect Viola already has. I’ve seen them whispering and—"

  "You have no cause to be jealous. He loves you. That’s why you owe it to him to be candid."

  Miranda stared. "Did he say anything to you—"

  Philip shrugged. "If you think about the way he behaves with you compared with any other woman, you’d know."

  "But he and Viola—"

  "Are old friends, and she’s married."

  "She practically told me I was a, well, a, er, cock tease last night," she said, blushing.

  Philip’s brows shot up. "Did she? That was too bad of her. Or is she angry because Sebastian too is smitten with you?"

  She waved away what she believed to be an empty compliment. "Oh, now you’re being silly. He’s a perfectly pleasant young man, but he certainly doesn’t stir my blood."

  "But you stir his. Though I have to say, it is impossible for him at the moment, and if he ever knew who you really were, he would run a mile. Are you really so mistrustful of George that you fear he would only want you for your fortune?"

  "No!"

  "Then tell him. Trust him, and tell him."

  "I’m afraid if he knows that he’ll want to give me up," she admitted. "For my own good, of course. But I should be free to decide for myself what's in my own best interests."

  "It may be for your own good. There are a lot of things you don’t know about—"

  "I’m aware of that. But please, Philip, why do things have to get so serious? Why can’t I just enjoy the fun and excitement of being in love for just a little while longer?" she asked, moving toward the front door.

  "Because I lived with deception for so long. Withholding the truth. Trust me when I tell you that it changes you. It will change you forever if you don’t trust him with your heart without reservations," he warned.

  Miranda nodded. "All right, I will tell him. Tomorrow. I promise. For now I just want one perfect evening of romance with George."

  Philip sighed and gave a tight smile. "Then we shall hope you get your wish."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Miranda's innermost wishes were thwarted that night in more ways than one. Her performance was splendid, her yearning for George giving it an extra edge.

  George was more in love with her than ever, and it showed as he stood next to her or held her closer than usual in scene after scene. At their curtain call, he put his arm around her waist and smiled down at her.

  She merrily leaned into him, allowing his distended flesh to brush against her lightly. She could feel its heated burn and yearned to feel him cradled inside her body, hers nestled against his, at one, at peace at last.

  Miranda put on her evening clothes with care, and in a fit of daring, allowed her hair to flow freely down her back. She kept it out of her face with two gold enamelled pins, and left most of her make-up still on, which made her eyes look huge, dark and sultry. The she drew the hood of her cloak up and was ready.

  As soon as they got to Simpson’s he ordered lobster, oysters and champagne, with two huge steaks to follow. But they had barely popped the cork when a shadow fell on their table.

  "
Well, well, are you not going to introduce me?" Georgina Jerome asked pointedly.

  Miranda stared up at her. She was dressed to the nines in a sapphire silk gown which make her own pale blue frock look like a rag by comparison. She was dripping with jewels, and smirked over at an older man in triumph.

  Miranda made the introductions briefly.

  "So this is where you’ve been hiding. Not that I blame you, of course, but—"

  "Not hiding, no. But nor am I interested in returning to my old life when I have such a wonderful new one. I am Madamoiselle Lyon. Surely you’ve heard of me. Everyone in London has by now."

  Georgina gasped and looked as though she had been slapped. She shot a look over at her companion which could almost have been interpreted as horror, and curtsied.

  "So pleased. Yes, I can see you’ve got a much different life than you could ever have imagined. Take care."

  George stared after her retreating form and was about to begin the inevitable stream of questions when Miranda saw her brother and his wife entering in dining room, followed a short time later by her aunt, sister and brother-in-law.

  Matthew began to protest at the table he was being given, and insisted on the table for eight near them. Miranda felt her heart sink into her boots at their approach. Damnation, how could they have—

  George frowned. Damnation, what did Lawrence think he was doing? Unless he really did have an unrequited passion for Miranda and was going to try to stop him from—

  But all his concerns flew out the window in the face of what happened next. For a man he had never thought he would see again now strode into the dining room. He stood facing the room squarely, and nodded.

  George's gaze quickly swivelled to the left and right to see who he had been acknowledging. He was small, dark, ferret-faced. He took two steps forward, caught sight of George, and bolted.

  "Lawrence, I say, can you make sure Miranda is all right, gets home safely?" George shouted.

  Then he was hurdling over the tables like a steeplechaser as he tore after Edwards, the spy who had created so much havoc for them all the year before. How on earth had he come to be looking so respectable? More to the point, who had he come to such a fine restaurant to meet?

  And had it been sheer coincidence, or had Lawrence somehow been to blame? For surely he was the only one who had known where they would be....

  Lady Pemberton sniffed haughtily as the commotion died down. "What on earth was that all about?"

  "I have no idea, Aunt," Miranda said meekly, gazing at her most aristocratic-looking relative with dismay.

  "Well, I must say, that was not a particularly good impression to make on one’s new family. All the same, I have to admit he is a fine figure of a fellow."

  "Aunt Augusta, what are you doing here? Were you going to betray me?" Miranda asked, so caught up with her family that she did not even notice half of the dining room emptying.

  Matthew glared as Georgina and her companion went out.

  "Bless you no, child. We just wanted to meet the paragon who had turned your head so utterly. What is this about you taking the world of the theatre by storm? Hidden depths. You Danes always did have hidden depths."

  "Never mind that now. Let me join you at your table to have supper. I don’t know what happened with George, but it must have been important for him to leave me like this," she said with a sad sniff.

  "Aye, especially since he is so jealous of me around you that he wants to spit," Lawrence said with a laugh.

  "Engaged. Who would have thought it?"

  "No, Aunt, not yet. He hasn’t asked."

  "But I thought—"

  Lawrence shook his head imperceptibly.

  "Ah, well, silly me. But don’t do anything hasty. And I have to say I did rather hope you might do even better than Juliet— Er, not that she could have, she is so happy, but in terms of a title," Lady Pemberton, said back-tracking quickly.

  Lawrence and Juliet did not take the thoughtless comment to heart, however. Lawrence began to consult with the waiter about wine, though always asking his wife’s opinion, as she was a most successful wine merchant in her own right.

  Miranda sighed as she watched the two of them. Would George be so advanced in his notions of what he wanted from his wife? Well, only time would tell.

  Alas, though, not tonight, for unless he returned soon, she was going to have to wait until morning to find out why he had run off and abandoned her.

  She greeted her brother Matthew and sister-in-law Althea now, and began to give an expurgated version of what had been going on since the fateful night she had tagged along with Kitty and Georgina to the south side of the river, and straight into George's theatre, and his heart.

  George thundered down the Strand, but a waiting carriage at the corner whisked away Edwards, leaving George cursing impotently until he noticed a cab drawing near. It was already occupied but it was slowing to discharge its passengers.

  "I’ll pay for it. Just hurry up out," he said hoarsely. "Driver, I need you to follow that man."

  The couple emerging looked at him as though he were mad but obeyed with alacrity. George leapt in, and soon they were heading through the all too familiar streets.

  George’s mind whirred. What could it mean? Edwards had caused so much trouble on Alistair’s last huge case, it was a wonder all of the men the barrister had defended hadn’t been hung. Now he was back in the country?

  He knew one thing. Castlereagh and Sidmouth trusted Edwards above all others. If he was back, it had to be for a very important reason. He wished to God he had never let the man escape custody. He had last been heard of in Guernsey. Now he was hear in London, looking prosperous. Meeting someone. Drat. If he had had someone else with him like Sebastian they could have looked over the other patrons, seen them all and tried to find the spy's contact.

  In his concerns over Edwards, he forgot all about the sultry blonde who had stopped at their table. She had certainly looked vaguely familiar, though well out of his league judging from the gown and jewels. But all his attention had fixated on the agent provocateur who was responsible for at least five deaths that they knew of.

  George’s heart picked up speed as the coach did, especially when it turned the corner and he caught sight of the other vehicle at last, which must have met with an obstruction outside the grim Bethlehem Hospital, more commonly known as Bedlam.

  "All right, Driver. Keep this distance and pace with him. Don’t let him know we’re following."

  George pursued him for over an hour, until at last he began to grow suspicious.

  "Driver! Overtake him, and give me a chance to look inside."

  George’s cab drew level and he wanted to kick himself. For the other coach was assuredly empty. The pigeon had flown, and so too had his chance to ask Miranda to marry him.

  He was sure she would be furious at the way he had left her, and with a heavy heart told the driver to take him to The Three Bells.

  Miranda was disappointed, but she had spent a most diverting evening with her family.

  "It’s good to all be together again," she said, hugging them all warmly as they returned her to Fulham House. "Do please come in and have a look around. Philip will be happy to see you."

  They ended up having a late night, for she waited as long as seemed reasonable for George to come to explain himself, and meet her family. But at last they said their goodbyes somberly, and with many urgings to let them know how she was every day, headed off in their carriage.

  Miranda tossed and turned that night, feeling cheated of her chance to be alone with George and her promised dessert at his home. She longed to be more intimate with him, but also recalled 's warning her that there could be no true intimacy without her first telling him the truth about who she really was.

  But she couldn't tell George the truth if she couldn't even find him….

  Thus she was feeling a bit jaded the next morning as she engaged in her sword practice with Oxnard and Bart. She knew she was gett
ing better every day, though in the play she was not supposed to be adept at all.

  But then neither were the swaggering braggarts Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Sir Toby Belch that she was meant to fight with during various scenes in the play.

  Miranda had hoped she would get some sort of decent explanation or apology for being left so precipitately, but George said nothing to her privately, merely called for everyone to come on stage for rehearsals to begin.

  "We’ve all been doing very well, but I feel we need to give the middle of the play a bit more poignancy, a bit less comedy. So when I say, ‘Let all the rest give place,’ at the word rest, you all depart looking concerned, and Miranda and I are left on stage all alone.