So Wild A Heart

by Candace Camp

  He let out a growl of frustration, startling a passerby and making the man move quickly to the opposite side of the street. It seemed too bizarre, too absurd, that she could possibly be the fetching woman who had rescued him last night. He had been in his cups, of course, and he’d had only a hazy memory of the woman’s face, but he’d remembered those wide, expressive gray eyes and the way they had lit with laughter and excitement. How could she have been the same person as that drab, infuriating creature he had forced himself to propose to this afternoon?

  It had been the woman from last night who had responded to his kiss. He had felt the warmth and excitement in her, the same passion that yesterday had sent her flying into the midst of a fray. He smiled a little as he thought about the kiss, remembering the warmth of her lips, the sweet eagerness. He wasn’t sure why he had done it—he had wanted to get back at her in some way. She had been so infuriating, so cold and controlled, so contemptuous of him, that he had wanted to show her that he had the upper hand. And he had done so, despite the slap. The slap only showed how much he had struck a nerve with her; he suspected that she was more furious at herself for responding than anything else.

  He knew, too, that he could make her respond again. Hell, if he put an effort into it, he could make her fall in love with him. Devin knew that he could be charming. There had been many women over the years who had succumbed to that charm—even some who most people would have said were far too circumspect to have anything to do with a rake such as Devin Aincourt. Generally, he simply did not make the effort to woo a woman who resisted him; there were too many others who were quite happy to climb into his bed…and there was, of course, Leona, who always retained first hold on his affections.

  But this time, he thought, this time it just might be worth the trouble. So the American wench thought that he was poor husband material…. Any other proposal would be better than his. He wondered how she would feel about that after a few days of determined wooing. The smile that touched his lips at that thought was not pleasant. He would be charming and attentive; he would seduce her with great care and tenderness. It wouldn’t be difficult, not with the kind of passion that he had felt in her this afternoon. And when he had her deeply in love with him, telling him that she wanted more than anything to marry him…well, then he would smile and say that he was sorry, he never offered more than once.

  Just the thought of the scene brought him a great feeling of satisfaction. He was, he thought, a wicked man at heart, just as Leona had said last night. Breaking the American chit’s heart had a great deal more appeal for him than marrying her.

  He changed the direction of his path, heading now for his sister’s town house, a stately white affair that took up most of a block in Mayfair. The footman knew him and merely bowed as Devin walked past him and took the stairs to his sister’s sitting room upstairs. He was relieved to find her alone rather than receiving callers, frowning over a framed circle of needlework.

  She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and a smile broke across her face. “Dev!” She rose quickly to her feet and started toward him, holding out both her hands. “I am so happy to see you—although I should scold you for what you did last night, or, I should say, didn’t do. It was terribly embarrassing. I felt a fool trying to tell Miss Upshaw that you were really a very nice man.”

  “No need to lie about me, Rachel,” Devin said with a smile, greeting his sister with a kiss on the cheek. “You know I am anything but a nice man.”

  “Well, everyone else in Town will tell her that. I was hoping to present a counterargument. But it was a little difficult when you did not even have the courtesy to show up.”

  “Well, I made up for it today. I went to her house and asked her father for her hand.”

  “Dev!” Rachel’s green eyes, a warmer, feminine version of her brother’s, lit with delight. “You never did! Really? Oh, I am so happy. I liked Miss Upshaw on sight. I think she will make you a wonderful wife. I know this is the right thing—you will be so happy.”

  “Not if my happiness depends on marrying her. She turned me down.”

  “Turned you down?”

  Devin chuckled. “Well, it soothes my wounded feelings somewhat to see you look so shocked at the notion. I am sure our esteemed mother will tell me that it serves me right.”

  “Well, it probably does,” Rachel admitted. “But, oh, this is so disappointing. I had really hoped…”

  “Don’t give up hope, my love. I have a plan.”

  “A plan?” The look Rachel turned on him was tinged with suspicion. “What do you mean? A plan for what?”

  “For turning the tables on our Miss Moneybags,” Devin replied lightly. “I intend to woo the chit. Get her to take back her refusal.”

  Rachel frowned. “But why? I thought you didn’t want to marry her anyway? I would have thought you would be glad she turned you down.”

  “Glad to have an American nobody tell me I was not good enough for her?” Devin asked coolly. “I think not, dear sister. I am happy not to shackle myself to her, but that doesn’t mean I was pleased to be rejected.”

  Rachel’s frown deepened. “Devin…”

  “What?” He looked at her with great innocence. “I thought you would be happy for me to make a push to fix her interest.”

  “I would be if I thought you were serious. But it sounds as if it is a game for you, and it seems a cruel game.”

  “Don’t worry about the American. Just think of all that lovely money waiting for us to snatch it up.”

  “Devin! You make us sound so…”

  “So what? Mercenary? Well, aren’t we? Haven’t we always been aimed in the direction of money? Was it not the prime objective of your marriage? And Caroline’s? Haven’t I always been the slackard who would not do his family duty of wedding an heiress? The Aincourt coffers, after all, are a bottomless pit.”

  “I hate it when you talk that way,” Rachel said, her face saddening. “Caroline and Richard loved each other. He has been heartbroken ever since her death, and you know it.”

  “I know.” His face softened a trifle. “And I am a wretch to remind you of your own sacrifice. Especially when I have always been too selfish to match it.”

  “I don’t want you to sacrifice your life, Dev. I want your happiness. That is all that I care about.”

  “Well, it will make me happy to win over your Miss Upshaw. And that is why I want you to have a party and invite her to it.”

  “Have a party?”

  “Yes. A party which I shall attend—and where I will endeavor to repair the damage I have done to Miss Upshaw’s opinion of me.”

  Rachel gave her brother a long, considering look. The hard light in his eyes frightened her a little, and she wondered if she would be doing the American girl a serious disservice by helping Devin try to charm her into accepting him. But then she thought about Miss Upshaw and their conversation of the night before, and it occurred to her that Miranda Upshaw was capable of holding her own with anyone, including Devin.

  “All right,” she said finally. “I shall throw a ball for Miss Upshaw. She can scarcely refuse to attend a party designed to introduce her to the Ton.”

  “Thank you, dear sister.” Devin threw her a playful bow. “I am eternally in your debt.”

  “I shall hold you to that promise,” Rachel retorted in the same vein, then added, more thoughtfully, “It will be interesting to see which one of you wins out.” Perhaps, with any luck, they both would.

  5

  Miranda turned first this way, then that, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Behind her sat her stepsister and stepmother, observing her. Her father paced impatiently up and down the hallway, sticking his head in from time to time to see how things were progressing.

  “You’re beautiful,” Veronica said, gazing up at her with stars in her eyes.

  “She’s right,” Elizabeth agreed. “That seafoam green sets off your hair perfectly. I am so glad we decided to get it.”

  �
��I am, too,” Miranda admitted. The dress was lovely. Made of layer upon layer of the palest green gauze, scalloped around the hem, it did indeed look as if she were rising from a layer of sea-foam. Tied by a wide silver ribbon beneath the bust, it accentuated the firm thrust of her breasts, and the low, round neckline showed off their creamy tops to advantage. Around her shoulders she wore a wrap of silver, so thin as to be almost nonexistent. Her chestnut hair was swept up and artfully arranged in a cascade of falling curls, through which a matching silver ribbon was twined. She did, she thought with a satisfied smile, look her best. Lord Ravenscar would not find her plain or dowdy tonight.

  That, she knew, was the main reason why she had decided to attend Lady Westhampton’s ball tonight. When she had first received the invitation, she had told her father flatly that she would not go.

  “It is only a ploy to force me to meet Lord Ravenscar again, and nothing could impel me to do that,” she had said, ignoring Joseph’s pleading expression.

  “Now, we don’t know that.”

  “Why else would Lady Westhampton have invited us? Obviously she loves her brother dearly, despite the fact that the man is a pig. She must hope that he will be able to persuade me the second time around. Or perhaps she thinks that she can dazzle me with a taste of the glittering life of London society, hoping I will marry him just to be able to attend such parties.”

  “I am sure that wasn’t the reason. She likes you. Didn’t you tell me that you liked her?”

  “Yes. But not enough to marry her odious brother.”

  “Now, Miranda, my love, was he really that bad?” Joseph had asked in a wheedling tone.

  “He was the rudest, most arrogant man I have ever had the misfortune to talk to. Why, he barely even glanced at me the whole time he was talking. It was quite clear that he considered me far beneath him and was offering only because he was desperate. If I had to live with a man like that, one or the other of us would be dead within a month, I am sure.”

  “Perhaps he was nervous,” Joseph suggested. “Asking for a woman’s hand will do that to a man.”

  “I have never met a man less nervous.”

  Miranda had not told her father about the way Lord Ravenscar had jerked her to him and kissed her forcefully. She was not exactly sure why. She knew that such a revelation would end her father’s questions and pleadings immediately. However, she had found herself reluctant to tell him about it. It was embarrassing; she could scarcely even think about the incident without blushing. Also, she was not sure exactly how her father would react. He was not a man with an excessive temper, but an insult like that to his daughter was something that could make him fly into a rage, and if he did, she was fairly sure he might do something rash like march over to the Earl’s house and lay into him with his fists. While that was something that the man richly deserved, she suspected, having seen the Earl in action the other night, that her father would be the one who came out the worse for the fisticuffs, and she certainly did not want him to get hurt.

  But Miranda knew that there was something more than these things that had kept her from revealing Ravenscar’s scandalous behavior. She was not sure of the reason; she knew only that she wanted to keep the information to herself. His kiss had left her confused and uncertain, a condition to which she was not accustomed, and she was reluctant to let anyone see that.

  She thoroughly disliked the man, just as she had told her father, and she felt certain that even a few minutes in his company would make her furious again. What did she not reveal, however, was that she could not stop thinking about his kiss, and there was something inside her that wanted with equal intensity to experience it again. She did not want to tell Joseph, of course, but she knew that deep down she was intrigued by the thought of meeting Ravenscar once more.

  Lord Ravenscar would find no dowdy girl with spectacles tonight, she thought, and smiled to herself, taking a last look in the mirror before turning away to pull on her long evening gloves. The whole evening would be worth it just to see his expression.

  Joseph popped into the room again, evening gloves in one hand and his gold watch in the other. “Time to go,” he said, then stopped, looking at his daughter. “Well! I’ll be having to fight them off tonight, I can see that.”

  Miranda chuckled. “Thank you, Papa.”

  “Don’t you have anything you can put in that neckline to cover you up some?” he went on, frowning. “Ruffles or lace or some such?”

  “It is an evening gown, Papa. That’s the way it’s supposed to look.”

  “Yes, dear,” Elizabeth agreed placidly from her position on the couch. “It is the very height of fashion.”

  “I think it’s perfectly grand,” Veronica stuck in, sighing. “I wish I could go with you. To think of meeting all those people—the wealthiest and toniest of English society.”

  “The phoniest and silliest is more like it,” Miranda replied and ran a loving hand down the girl’s brown hair. “Just wait, you shall get your chance.”

  “Yes, your sister will see to your coming out,” Joseph promised. “Once we’ve got her all settled.”

  “Papa…”

  “You know, Joseph, you should not push her,” Elizabeth put in softly. “She does not need to marry Lord Ravenscar. Indeed, you know that I think she should not.”

  “I know, Elizabeth,” Miranda told her stepmother with a smile. “Believe me, I have no intention of agreeing to become Lady Ravenscar.”

  “I think that is a wonderfully romantic name,” Veronica said, heaving another sigh of admiration. “Ravenscar. It sounds so—so wild and exotic.”

  “Mmm.” Miranda picked up her fan from the table nearby. “Far too wild and exotic for a plain thing like me, I’m sure. All right, Papa, I’m ready.”

  “Finally.” He went to his wife and bent to kiss her cheek. “I wish you would go with us, Elizabeth. It seems a shame that you’re missing all these parties.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m really not feeling up to it tonight. I want to go to the opera in a few days more.”

  “I am sure it will be much more enjoyable—and far less tiring,” Miranda agreed, also going to her stepmother and kissing her on the cheek.

  Her father offered her his arm, she took it, and they proceeded out the door and down the stairs to where the carriage awaited them outside. Her father was uncharacteristically silent on the drive over to Westhampton House, staring thoughtfully out the window.

  Finally he said, “You know, I would not want you to do anything that would make you unhappy.”

  “I know that, Papa.” Miranda reached over and patted his knee.

  “Perhaps Elizabeth is right—I am just thinking of myself and not you.”

  “Well, I am quite capable of thinking of myself, and, believe me, you will not be able to bully me into doing something I don’t want to.” She smiled. “Surely you don’t think that I have turned weak and biddable the last few days?”

  A grin flashed across his face as he swiveled his head to look at her. “No, that I don’t.”

  “Then there’s nothing to worry about. I am just as bullheaded as you, so you may argue with me to your heart’s content and you won’t budge me past what I wish to do. Now, Veronica is a different matter.”

  “Veronica!” Her father looked shocked. “Why, I would never try to bully Veronica into anything. She’s, well, she might do it just to please me and then be miserably unhappy.”

  “You see? You know with me you don’t have that worry.”

  “You’re right.” He took her hand with a smile. “It is a comfort to me to know that you never pay the least heed to me.”

  Miranda chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze.

  Westhampton House, when they reached it, was packed with people. Miranda had hung back on purpose, dithering over her clothing as she never did, because she wanted to make a grand entrance. It was disappointing, therefore, when she swept down the grand staircase on her father’s arm and realized that Ravenscar was not stand
ing at the bottom of it to watch her descent. The man had gotten the better of her, she thought disgustedly, as her eyes roamed quickly and discreetly around the great ballroom. She did not see him anywhere. Could it be that this party was all just a result of his sister’s wishful thinking and he did not plan to try to press his suit with her at all?

  It was a lowering thought. She had been counting all week on another opportunity to give the arrogant man a set-down. However, she put the best face on it that she could, greeting Rachel, who stood receiving at the foot of the stairs, with a smile.

  “Miss Upshaw!” Rachel’s green eyes lit up, and she took both Miranda’s hands in hers in a friendly grasp.

  Now that she had met her brother, Miranda could see the resemblance between the two of them. Like her brother, Rachel was tall, with a femininely broad-shouldered figure that made clothes hang beautifully on her. Her thick, lustrous hair was black, like his, and her eyes the same leaf green. But warmth made her eyes soft and inviting and touched her features with a friendliness that was completely missing from Lord Ravenscar’s face.

  “I am so glad you came this evening. I was afraid my brother’s intolerable behavior would keep you away. I can assure you that he regrets it deeply.”

  Miranda held her own counsel about that. She had her doubts about the Earl of Ravenscar ever regretting anything, but one could scarcely blame his sister for not seeing his true character.

  Rachel greeted Miranda’s father warmly, too. Beyond her stood her mother, Lady Ravenscar, who unbent enough to smile at them, although the gesture did not reach her eyes. She, Miranda thought, was more like the Earl—hating the notion that she had to stoop to allow mere peasants into her family. Miranda replied to Lady Ravenscar with as much warmth and enthusiasm as her ladyship exhibited. Then she started to move on with her father into the crowd.