As the children sent up a loud cheer, and even a supposedly drowned Mr. Grundy joined in with the hurrahs, she made a daring leap off the makeshift ship.
Her sword caught the edge of a billowing sheet. It tangled in the material and jerked her off balance. She tumbled into the sheet and fell to the ground, rolled across the grass as the sheet wrapped around her, and landed directly at the toes of a pair of highly polished boots.
Lying on her back, she raised her eyes slowly with embarrassment, squinted against the bright sun, and met the scowling gaze of…Sebastian Carlisle.
Oh no.
Suddenly shouts and panic broke through the group of children. Instead of helping her up, they scattered into the rows of sheets, through the garden, and away. All of them fled like rats on a sinking ship, along with Mr. Grundy, who gave her a polite doff of his cap before disappearing around the side of the building.
Cowards. Miranda groaned, wrapped up like a pirate mummy, now completely defenseless. With him of all people. Oh, the humiliation of it! She’d much rather have walked the plank herself.
The concerned frown darkening his face deepened as he leaned over and offered her his hand. “Are you all right?”
She sighed and tossed away her wooden sword before she decided to use it on him. “I’m fine.”
With no other choice unless she wanted to flop on the ground like a fish to free herself from the sheet, she took his hand, and he helped her to her feet. His reproving expression as he reached up to remove her pirate hat told her as clearly as if he’d shouted it from the village green that the duke didn’t approve of their roughhousing.
Well, so what if he didn’t? The children were hers to oversee, and they deserved time to play and to simply behave like children. The adult world would grind away their enthusiasm and innocence soon enough. The way it had apparently done to him.
“What were you doing out here?” He darted a questioning glance at the ship’s deck that the children had fashioned roughly from old boards, small barrels, and boxes. “Why weren’t the children at their studies?”
“They were at their studies.” She yanked her hat away from him. If he thought she’d let him cow her simply because he saw her in that flimsy dress last night, he had another think coming. Although, she considered with an inward grimace, he’d seen a lot more of her than that out of that dress. Still, she would not be intimidated by him. Lord Panther or not. “They’re studying Shakespeare.”
He blinked as if he hadn’t heard her correctly and glanced down at the skull and crossbones she’d sewn onto her hat. “Shakespeare?”
“They’re acting out the pirate scene from Hamlet.”
His brow lifted patronizingly. “There is no pirate scene in Hamlet.”
“Well, there should have been,” she countered and bent down to pick up her sword. It was all she could do not to let out an irritated humph of annoyance. “Shakespeare mentions pirates in act five but never shows them, so the children wrote their own pirate scene.”
“I see.” His lips twitched, although she couldn’t have said whether from irritation or amusement. “So you’re teaching them to rewrite Shakespeare.” He paused, barely a heartbeat, but there was a world of disapproval in that beat of silence. “I’d hate to see what you’d do with Milton.”
Miranda bit back the urge to tell him that the children had been working hard all morning and needed a break from being cooped up indoors. That she’d spent all morning herself in the dusty, cramped, dark basement while the children had been diligently doing their maths. That he of all people should understand how draining it was to do nothing but toil, given all his responsibilities and how he spent nearly all of his time with his nose buried in the account books and in lists of everything that needed to be done for the estate and Parliament.
But after the embarrassment of last night, she wasn’t certain that she needed to justify any of her behavior. Certainly not to him. Lord Panther, indeed.
So she folded her arms across her chest, the end of the wooden sword pointing at him, and asked, “What brings you to the orphanage?”
“Actually,” he murmured, “I came looking for you.”
Her eyes widened. “Pardon?”
He was—she gulped—looking for her? His words curled heatedly through her as unbidden memories rushed over her from last night of that same low voice purring in her ear, telling her how lovely she looked, how much he wanted to dance with her…
And what a goose she was! Because he certainly didn’t mean that he’d come looking for her, just as he hadn’t meant all those things he’d said last night when he thought she was someone else. So why would he be—
“We need to talk.” He grimaced as he pushed the end of the sword away from him and lowered his voice. “About last night.”
Panic instantly tied her stomach into knots. Had someone found out what she’d done? What they’d almost done? She crushed the felt hat in her hands as she forced herself to keep breathing and not faint.
He reached beneath his redingote and withdrew her red slipper from where he’d tucked it into his waistband at his back, then dangled it in front of her by its long ribbon. “You left your slippers behind last night, Cinderella, and I don’t want you trying to sneak back into my room to retrieve them.” His eyes gleamed teasingly at her. “You might accidentally end up in the wrong room again and frighten Quinton to death.”
Fresh humiliation flooded through her. Glancing around the little garden to make certain that they were hidden from sight behind the rows of billowing sheets, she made a quick grab for her slipper. Her fingers just missed as he lifted it up easily out of her reach.
Drat the man for being so tall! And broad. And muscular.
“Give it to me, please,” she said in that same no-nonsense tone she used with the orphans and held out her hand.
But he kept it out of reach, just beyond her grasping fingers. “Not until we talk.”
Knowing she wouldn’t receive her shoe until he decided to give it to her, she gave up and placed her hands on her hips in frustrated aggravation at him for toying with her like this. And the blasted man was most likely enjoying it, too. “I told you. Last night was a mistake.” She looked down at the ground to cover her embarrassment, although she couldn’t have said which embarrassed her more—that he’d bared her to his mouth and hands, or that she’d liked it. “I would hope that you understand how—”
“Mother and I have decided to sponsor a season for you. In London.”
Her eyes flew up to search his face. A season…oh, it couldn’t be! “Truly?” she breathed, her heart pounding with too much hopeful excitement to let her speak any louder.
With a slow smile, he nodded.
A London season! She’d dreamt of this since she was a little girl, only to give up on the fantasy at her last birthday, when she came into her majority and realized it would never happen, that she was too old. But now, for him to offer—oh, it was simply grand! She couldn’t imagine anything more special, more magical…a debut sponsored by a duchess and a marchioness, escorted by a duke, complete with beautiful dresses and fancy bonnets, quadrilles and waltzes, all kinds of soirees, dinners, breakfasts, carriage rides—
“Oh, thank you!” She laughed with happiness and threw her arms around his neck as she hugged him. She simply couldn’t believe it!
She stepped back to collect herself. Oh, she couldn’t stop smiling! Or stop the ecstatic pounding of her heart. “Thank you so much for this opportunity,” she somehow forced out past the knot of gratitude in her throat. “It’s more generous than I can express, and I know how fortunate I am to have this last chance for a season.”
“Last chance?” His gaze narrowed disbelievingly as it swept over her, as if noticing her for the first time. “How old are you?”
Her chest squeezed with irritation. Didn’t he remember the birthday party Auntie and Uncle hosted for her last November, which he and the rest of the Carlisles attended? He was terribly busy overseeing the
dukedom, but still…She sighed out, “One and twenty.”
A dark flicker passed through his eyes, and he looked at her again, long and hard, from the top of her head to the tips of her half-boots. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, although she suspected that he was seeing her, finally, for the woman she’d become instead of the girl he’d always known. And to think that all it took for him to realize that was finding her in his bed.
The irony was biting that she’d hoped for just that. Except from the other Carlisle brother.
But when his lips tugged into a faint grin as his gloved hand reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, her heart sank. She knew she was wrong, that he’d never see her as anything other than the girl next door. Even after Lady Rose’s unfortunate unmasking last night beneath those very clever hands of his.
Although why it should matter at all to her how Sebastian Carlisle saw her she had no idea. Except that it now did. Last night had changed a great deal between them.
“You deserve this season,” he told her, surprising her. Then he astonished her when he added quietly, “And you’ve earned it, with the work you’ve done for the orphanage and for the kindness you’ve shown my family. It’s the least we can do for you.”
She stared at him, speechless. She had no idea what to say to that.
“It will do Mother good as well.” His voice softened with concern. “Make certain she enjoys herself, will you? She hasn’t had an easy time since Father passed.”
At the worry in his eyes, her shoulders sagged. Drat him that she couldn’t even stay angry at him. Sebastian was sometimes arrogant and always frustratingly proper, but the man truly cared for his mother.
“I’ll do my best,” she assured him. And meant it.
He nodded, pleased by her acquiescence, although she was certain he didn’t realize that she only agreed with him because of the duchess. Certainly not because of him.
“But what does this have to do with last night?” She made a slow reach for her slipper, only for him to pull it away. Again. She rolled her eyes.
“Robert will be there. And you were right.” His gaze turned dark as midnight with silent sympathy as it held hers. “He plans on courting Diana Morgan.”
Her eyes stung, and she gave a jerking nod, unable to find her voice. She knew this was coming—had known since last fall, in fact. Someone as beautiful as Diana Morgan…of course Robert would fall for her. And her for him. How could she not, as perfect as Robert was? But knowing it was coming didn’t do anything to lessen the pain. Miranda simply hadn’t expected this moment to feel so…empty. And dreadful. She pressed her clenched hand against her chest, as if she could physically fight back the gnawing ache.
“You’ll have to see them together,” he said gently, “attend the same events, sit next to them at dinners…Can you do that?”
Another jerking nod. Suddenly, her season didn’t seem so wonderful anymore.
“I’m sorry, Miranda. I know you care for him.”
And always would.
Nodding, she looked away and blinked to clear the blurring tears from her eyes. At that moment, she didn’t know what hurt worse—that Robert had chosen Miss Morgan, or that she’d never had the chance to make him notice her. When she’d finally gathered the courage to tell him how she felt and the resolve to show him the woman she’d become, it had all been wasted. On the wrong brother. She would have laughed if she didn’t hurt so much.
Then Sebastian said, almost carefully, “I’m going to London as well.”
She held out her hand again in hopes that he would be a gentleman and simply hand over the slipper. Then she could go back inside the orphanage, hide in her office, and cry without anyone seeing. “Of course you’re going. You have to attend the Lords and escort your mother.”
“And find a wife,” he added quietly.
Her gaze darted up to his. In stunned disbelief, she searched his face for any hint that he was teasing, but found nothing in his expression but somber sincerity.
A wife? Sebastian? She’d never known him to care anything for courting or the marriage market or…well, for that matter, to show matrimonial interest in any woman. Even before he inherited, he’d never seriously courted anyone, preferring the sort of trysts and assignations that were the fodder for gossipy old hens across England. But he had always drawn female attention wherever he went and unknowingly left a string of broken hearts in his wake. He was a Carlisle, after all. But a wife…
Her hand fell limp to her side. She didn’t know how she should feel about that. Or what to say…except, “Well, you are getting older, I suppose.”
With an exasperated grimace, he lowered the slipper. The time for games was apparently over.
“I need to find a duchess and produce an heir.” His eyes never left hers, but their brightness dulled. She knew how dedicated he was to the dukedom, but her chest tightened with unexpected sympathy that he should find marriage to be just another expectation to be fulfilled. Simply one more responsibility resting on his shoulders. “This season presents the perfect opportunity. I can be married by August.”
August. Standing there in the pale January sunlight, the heat of summer seemed so far away. Until she looked into his eyes, when it suddenly felt as close as next week. Why was she so struck by his decision? It was to be expected, after all. He was a duke, and he would need a son to inherit and carry on in his footsteps.
But Sebastian with a wife…Miranda simply couldn’t fathom it.
Of all the questions swirling through her confused mind, the first one that popped out before she could stop it—“But what if you don’t find one by August?”
He chuckled, the deep sound rumbling across the small distance between them and seeping into her chest, where it pulsed warm all the way out to the ends of her fingers and toes. Ruefully, she remembered once again the heat of his mouth on her body and of his soft compliments falling through her, and her heart thumped hard against her ribs.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find one,” he assured her. Then his laughter died away, and he muttered with a self-deprecating grin, “It’s amazing what inheriting a dukedom can do for a man’s popularity.”
Which should have made him happy to know that his pursuit of a wife would be easier, she considered sadly, but obviously it didn’t. He’d been so much more relaxed when he was younger, more spontaneous and convivial…more free. Alive. But that handsome young man she remembered who always had a charming smile for everyone and so easily laughed his way through the day had disappeared. And in his place now stood a duke.
For a moment, she forgot her embarrassment over last night and her frustration with him, and her heart ached for him.
He smiled at her, but the forced expression never reached his eyes. “I’ll have to beat them away with a stick.”
She held out the wooden sword. “Then you can borrow mine.”
He laughed as he took it from her and made a show of examining it, his eyes crinkling. And she couldn’t help but smile back.
“I wish you luck, Sebastian,” she offered awkwardly, “if marriage is what you truly want.”
“It is.”
But his smile faded, the momentary lightness she’d seen in him gone. Immediately, she missed it. How much happier would he be if he would simply let himself be the carefree young man he once was? If he let himself laugh more often? If he could let himself forget for a few hours each day that he was the Duke of Trent and could simply be Sebastian again?
But just as with his marriage, she simply couldn’t imagine that either.
He jabbed the tip of the sword into the ground, leaving it jutting up into the air at his side. “If you truly wish me well, then I ask you to behave yourself when we’re in London.”
Instantly, all her frustration flooded back. She crossed her arms indignantly. “I’m not a child in leading strings who needs a nanny. I’m a grown woman, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed.” The heated look he gave her sent e
lectric tingles pulsing through her, and she couldn’t stop the flutter of her silly heart. Or the confusion that swirled through her immediately in its wake. “But you have to admit that trouble has a way of finding you.”
She stared at him, stunned both at his quiet accusation and at her reaction to him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He arched a brow. “Did you not set fire to the mercantile last year?”
She was aghast! “That was an accident. A lamp was left burning on the floor where anyone could have kicked—”
“Set loose all of Mr. Latimer’s chickens, let the sheep into the barley field, ruined Mrs. Cooper’s prize pie?”
“Those were all unintentional, and you know it.” She couldn’t believe that he was attempting to use such innocent accidents against her, especially when she’d only been trying to help everyone.
He pinned her with a stern look. “Rerouted the creek?”
At that one, she hesitated, a hot blush of embarrassment creeping up from the back of her neck. Well, maybe that one was intentional. But she’d done it only to help the farmers whose fields were too far from the creek to water their crops during the drought. She’d had only the best interests of the village at heart. “That was an honest mistake.”
“I’m still picking rocks out of the south pasture.”
She winced. Good Lord, the man could carry a grudge! Was it her fault if problems seemed to pop up in her wake? Problems she had nothing—well, almost nothing—to do with? Certainly, she would agree that when she was younger she was a bit of a handful, always getting into trouble. Or rather, trouble somehow always finding her. But that had all stopped since she assumed oversight for the orphanage and found her path in life, finally having somewhere to channel all her energy. With his head always in the estate books, Sebastian simply hadn’t realized that yet.
And what was the alternative, to ignore the difficulties of the villagers and the neighbors she loved? She’d been too young to help her parents when they caught fever and died, and as long as she had the energy to help others—and it seemed she always had plenty of energy to spare—she would however she could. Oh, how could she not help someone who needed her?
If the Duke Demands Page 6
