So Wild A Heart

by Candace Camp

  “Never mind. I need a glass of water. No, wait, coffee. Perhaps both.”

  “Yes, my lord. But first, there is the matter—”

  Devin let out a groan. His memory was coming back to him by degrees. He recalled the opera the night before and leaving Leona in a huff, then going to Richard’s house. They had played cards, finished off the bottle of port and opened another before he had finally left. It had been very early in the morning, he remembered, as he made his unsteady way home, for the sky had definitely shown signs of lightening in the east. A man of sense, he knew, would have gone straight to bed at that point, but he had not. He had been carrying their second bottle of port, which still contained some liquid, and he had taken the bottle into his study and continued to drink.

  He had also, he regretted to remember, decided to try out his drawing skills. Richard’s words had somehow implanted in him an urge to draw, to see if he was still capable of rendering a human face on paper. It had been an utterly useless thing to do, of course, but then, he frequently embarked on utterly useless courses of action when he was in the grip of drink. So he had dug out paper and pencil and had wasted an hour or two trying to draw faces—well, one face in particular. He had been unable to get Miss Upshaw’s countenance out of his mind, and he had tried to exorcise it by recreating it. He had been singularly unsuccessful, a fact which was attested to by the number of balled-up sheets of paper in the waste bin and scattered around it. However hard he had tried, he had not been able to capture the exact look of penetrating intelligence and inner amusement that marked Miranda’s face.

  Somewhere along the line, obviously, he had fallen asleep. He leaned back against his chair now and fixed his butler with a deadly gaze. “I said coffee. Forget everything else.”

  “But it is the lady, sir—I don’t know what to do.”

  “The lady?” Devin sank his fragile head onto his hands. “What lady?”

  “The lady outside, my lord. She insists on seeing you, and she seems most determined. I told her you were unavailable, but she refused to believe me, sir. I—I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Send the baggage packing.”

  “I would have, sir, but she—well, I recognized the unmistakable lines of Madame Ferrier in her dress and pelisse, sir, and her speech, her manner, well—” He lowered his voice, almost as if he were revealing a secret. “She appears to be a lady.”

  “You’re daft.”

  “No, he’s not,” said a clear voice from the doorway.

  Both Devin and the butler whipped around to look at the doorway, a movement that caused Devin’s stomach to lurch dangerously.

  “Miss Upshaw!” the butler exclaimed, obviously shocked.

  Devin groaned and let his head sink into his hands. “I should have known.”

  “I am sorry,” Miranda said, addressing the butler rather than Devin. “But I was getting rather bored cooling my heels out in the entry, and frankly, I was afraid that you might not have the nerve to awaken Lord Ravenscar. I thought you might need my help.”

  “Good God,” Devin groaned, “am I to be plagued by you everywhere, even in my own house?”

  “Rough night, eh?” Miranda said, not without sympathy, coming farther into the room. She turned to the butler. “He needs coffee, I imagine, Mr…. what is your name?”

  “Simmons, Miss. Just Simmons.”

  “All right, Simmons. Bring a pot of coffee as quickly as you can, and I think it would benefit the man greatly if you would also make a glass of my remedy. It works like a charm. Mr. Hoskins, Papa’s trade representative in the Northwest Territory, used to swear by it. Poor man, he was given to drink, and whenever we arrived there, we were as likely as not to find him sunk in a hangover. It was the loneliness and snow, you know—drove him to drink. I always made him a glass of remedy, and it made him better in minutes. First you take a raw egg, then you add a pinch of crushed black pepper, a—”

  Devin let out a pitiful moan. “No, please, I beg of you, no more description. I am sure that the cook would leave me if called upon to make such a concoction. Simmons, fetch the coffee. I shall deal with Miss Upshaw.”

  Devin rose to his feet, using the desk as a brace, and faced Miranda. He smoothed back his hair and unrolled his shirtsleeves, only then realizing that he was without coat or even waistcoat, both of which he had thrown over one of the chairs early this morning. His ascot was with them, leaving him in a thoroughly disheveled and improper state—shirttails out, the top button undone—to be receiving a visitor, much less a female one.

  “Miss Upshaw, I am afraid this is highly improper,” he began. “I don’t know what you do in America, but in London, a lady simply does not enter a bachelor’s quarters unescorted, unless she is a rel—” His voice died as his eyes fell on the pile of wadded-up papers beside the wastebin. Hastily, he kicked a number of them under his desk.

  “It would be improper in the United States, as well, Lord Ravenscar,” Miranda assured him, her eyes following his to the balls of paper in and around the trash can. The nervous, almost guilty look on his face intrigued her, and she wondered what the papers contained. “However, I had something I needed to talk to you about, and I saw no sense in sitting around hoping you would show up at my doorstep again, or that I would run into you at the opera or the theater or some party.”

  “You could have sent me a note requesting me to call on you.”

  “And you would have come?” Miranda quirked one eyebrow in disbelief. “Anyway, I dislike waiting. I like to take charge of my own destiny, not put it in the hands of others. So I decided to call on you myself. I suspect it is a trifle early in the day for you, since it is only half-past noon, but I wanted to be sure to catch you before you left.”

  “Left? For where?”

  “I don’t know. Anywhere. Left for the day, I mean. Really, my lord, are you sure you don’t want me to pop into the kitchen and make you that remedy? You do seem to be having some difficulty keeping up with the conversation.”

  Devin regarded her balefully.

  Miranda gazed back at him, never changing her pleasant expression. The man looked like hell, she thought. It was almost enough to make one change one’s mind. But Miranda was not the sort who changed her mind easily. Once she had made a decision, as she had this morning after a nearly sleepless night of thinking about it, she was not likely to second-guess it. She was confident and ready to go forward. That was why she had decided to go directly to the Earl’s house and get the thing started.

  She knew what she wanted, and why. The only problem now was bringing it about. But Miranda was confident that she would be able to turn Ravenscar around.

  “Miss Upshaw, let me be as blunt as you seem to like to be.”

  “Please do.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “That is quite simple. I have come to tell you that I have decided to accept your proposal. I will marry you.”

  Devin said nothing. He simply stood there staring at her. It occurred to him that perhaps his ears were playing tricks on him. He had, after all, had a great deal to drink the night before.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said that I have changed my mind about marrying you. I accept your proposal.”

  “You can’t do that,” he protested. “I told you, I wouldn’t marry you even if it would save me from debtors’ prison.”

  “You offered for me.”

  “You refused my offer.”

  “A woman has the prerogative of changing her mind,” Miranda pointed out. “Besides, you can’t take back your offer. It would be ungentlemanly in the extreme.”

  “No, no, no,” Devin said, coming around the desk toward her. “One offer, one chance. That’s it. You refuse, and the offer is gone.”

  The butler reentered the room at that moment and almost backed out again after one glance at the wild look on his employer’s face. But Miranda stopped him with a look and a gesture.

  “Ah, the coffee. Set it on the desk, Sim
mons. Would you like for me to pour?”

  “No!” Devin fixed the butler with a glare. “Put the tray on the table by the couch, Simmons. I’ll pour.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Simmons quickly did as Devin directed and beat a hasty retreat, skillfully managing to leave the door open a crack when he closed it.

  Miranda followed him to the door and closed it. Devin turned to the table and poured himself a cup of hot coffee. Miranda seized the opportunity to walk softly to his desk and reach under it with one toe, nudging out one of the balls of paper that Devin had been at such pains to hide. While his back was turned, she reached down quickly and picked it up, stuffing it into her pocket. When he turned back around, she was regarding him placidly, her hands folded together in front of her.

  “May I offer you a cup of coffee, Miss Upshaw?”

  “No, thank you. I am sure you will benefit from it far more than I.”

  Devin took a sip of coffee and waited for a moment. When his stomach did not rebel, he took another drink. When he had downed the entire cup, he thought perhaps he was ready to deal with Miranda.

  “Now…” Devin tried to fix a pleasant smile upon his face, despite the fact that his head was still pounding like thunder. “Miss Upshaw. I am not sure what has brought you to this turnaround, but if you think about it for a moment, you will realize that it is completely unworkable. You and I could never get along. We can’t stay in the same room longer than five minutes without getting into some sort of wrangle. We could not possibly be married.”

  “You must know a very different sort of married couple to think that getting along is a requirement of marriage.”

  “You despise me!”

  “Now that is a trifle harsh. I never said that I despised you,” Miranda said thoughtfully. “I found you arrogant and rather unlikeable, I will admit, but it isn’t a prerequisite of marriage to actually like one’s spouse. I am sure that your feelings toward me are much the same as mine toward you.”

  “If that is the case, then one or the other of us will probably be dead before the end of our honeymoon,” Devin commented dryly.

  Miranda smiled faintly. “I assure you, my lord, that I am not homicidal. I am also well able to take care of myself.”

  “This is absurd.” Devin set aside his empty coffee cup.

  “No. I assure you it is not. It is well thought out. I spent all last night going over it. And I can tell you that I rarely come to the wrong conclusion.”

  “Speaking of arrogance…” Devin murmured. He settled himself against the edge of his desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing his arms over his chest, and regarded Miranda with a patient, if somewhat bloodshot, gaze. “All right. Let me hear these well thought-out reasons.”

  “As I told you the other night,” Miranda began, “I had begun to realize the advantages of the sort of arranged marriage you offered me. It was not what I had expected in life, so it took a bit to grow accustomed to it. For you, the choice is obvious, however much you may dislike it. I have seen your financial statements, you know, and it is quite clear that you are teetering on the edge of ruin.”

  “You have seen my financial statements?” he asked, amazed.

  “Your uncle was kind enough to send them to us.”

  “How nice of him.”

  “Yes, I thought so. At any rate, if you hope to survive, certainly if you want to save your family’s estate, you need to marry into money—and soon. I am your best opportunity. Even a colonial nobody is better than living out your days in debtors’ prison.”

  “I won’t go to debtors’ prison.”

  “Oh, no, that’s right. You have a sister and mother off whom you can leech.” Miranda ignored Ravenscar’s furious glare. “Still, I scarcely think they can give you the lifestyle you are accustomed to out of their clothes allowance. Do you?”

  “There are other options.”

  “What? Gambling? Or perhaps you intend to get paid for leading flats into gambling hells? No, I think marriage is the only way to gain the amount you will need. And you have burned your bridges here in England. A wealthy peer has no interest in allying himself to scandal. Isn’t that true? Do you have any other heiresses to choose from?”

  “You know I do not.”

  “I would say that makes me not only your best hope but your only one.”

  “You have such a tactful way of expressing yourself.”

  “I thought that you would appreciate blunt speaking. We are, after all, discussing a business arrangement. Isn’t that right? Papa and I would settle a lump sum of money on you—not too great a one, I’m afraid, because of your well-known propensities to, well, spend it quickly. We will pay your outstanding debts, and, of course, you will also have a generous monthly allowance. I will pay for the upkeep of the houses, and Papa and I will take care of the restoration of Darkwater. I understand that the estate is in poor shape, also, and I will, of course, undertake to bring that back into some semblance of repair. I would not be surprised if it actually began to make a profit before too long. I am rather good at that sort of thing, you know.”

  “Miss Upshaw.” Devin rose, his eyes narrowed. “While you are making plans for my future, might I remind you that you will not be in control of all this once we are married? When we marry, all your money will be mine. You will not even have the right to hold property. I will be the one to decide about allowances and lump sums. You, my dear, will be in my power.” He moved closer, looming over her, his face grim. “The husband rules in England, and you will do as I say. Had you thought of that in all your little plans? I could lock you up in Darkwater and take off for London to enjoy spending your money.”

  His eyes were fierce, his posture menacing, but Miranda held her ground. “Lord Ravenscar, I must tell you that once when I was with Papa buying furs in the wilds, I was face-to-face with a rather large black bear. Your attempt at intimidation pales by comparison.” She sidestepped him and moved away.

  “Whatever you may think,” she said calmly, turning around to face him from several feet away, “I am not stupid. Nor is my father. First of all, the bulk of the family fortune belongs to my father. He will pay for what he sees fit as he sees fit. He will pay your debts and restore Darkwater. I can assure you that he will do exactly as he pleases in that regard. You seem to have a misconception that Americans are stupid. Or perhaps it is his friendly manner that fools you. But, believe me, you will never get a penny out of my father other than what he wants to give you. As for my personal fortune, if you think that I would give up the money I have worked to accumulate over the past ten years just for the pleasure of marrying you, you are very much mistaken. Before I marry, my money will be placed in a trust, the trustees of which will be my father, my attorney and Hiram Baldwin. As you might suppose, they will invest it as I order and distribute it as I order. Should you be so foolish as to try to lock me up anywhere—or so lucky as to be able to do so—I think you would shortly find yourself without funds.”

  Ravenscar’s eyes flashed, and his body went rigid with fury. “Do you think that you can control me this way? That you can make me dance to your tune because you have money?”

  He crossed the space separating them in two quick strides, and his hands clamped around her arms. His eyes blazed down into hers, and he was so close she could feel the heat of his body. His breath rasped in his throat. His intensity and fury were like a tangible force. “No one owns me, least of all you.”

  A thrill ran down through Miranda. The truth was, she generally frightened men; there was something exhilarating about facing a man who had no fear of her. She returned his gaze, glare for glare, her body taut.

  “You think you are safe because you can set up trusts?” he went on. “Because your father and every other man you know jumps to do as you say? I am not one of them. Perhaps no one bothered to mention that, amid all my faults, there are a few things at which I am skilled. I am a crack shot, Miss Upshaw.”

  Miranda gazed back at him levelly
. “Are you threatening me, Lord Ravenscar? Perhaps someday we should have a contest. When I accompanied my father on trading expeditions, we went to some of the wildest places on the continent of North America, places where there was no law and never had been. I learned how to use a gun at an early age. In fact, I was taught by one of the best backwoodsmen in the country.”

  Devin stared at her, then, unexpectedly, began to laugh. He dropped her arms and moved away, saying, “I am sure you were, Miss Upshaw. Anything else would be uncharacteristic. Next you will tell me that you know the art of fisticuffs, as well.”

  “No. That I do not. My size and strength generally kept me at a handicap. However, I was taught by trappers how to use a knife to slice and skin and kill, as well.” She gazed back at him blandly.

  “Touché.” He shook his head. “You are without a doubt the most unusual woman I have ever known.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment,” Miranda said briskly. Her breathing was still a little uneven. It unnerved her that he could affect her so, but she was not about to let him see that. “I think perhaps you misunderstand me. The truth is, I have no wish to control you. My only limit is on your spending my money, and I think you will find that limit not an onerous one. I do not force people to do what I want. I generally find I am able to accomplish that with reasoning.”

  He chuckled. “Still, you get your way.”

  “I often do,” Miranda admitted. “I do not insist upon it, however, certainly not in a marriage. However, I have as little desire as you to be ruled by another, so I have taken steps to prevent it. That is all.”

  “I see.” Devin nodded.

  “Does that offend you?”

  “Of course.” A glint of humor flashed in his eyes. “Actually, once the slap in the face is over, I think I feel…relieved. I am, as you may have guessed, terrible with money. Witness my present predicament.”