Marissa Day

by The Seduction of Miranda Prosper

  Mother stood. “Shall we go find out if we are still going to be able to make something of you?”

  I should have expected you to say something of the kind. But even so, as Miranda got to her feet to follow her mother, she had to pinch the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stop the prickling behind her eyes.

  The morning room was small but comfortable. The bay windows opened onto the well-groomed gardens and admitted a wealth of summer sun. Mother had decorated the place with her usual excellent taste, and the creams, pinks and yellows of the furniture and hangings were cheerful without being too dainty or overly fussy.

  In the middle of all this stood Corwin. He appeared to Miranda as he had the moment he first stepped into the ballroom: composed, elegant and devastatingly handsome. This morning his spotless breeches and linen were topped by a plain buff waistcoat and blue coat that—in Miranda’s opinion—set off his strongly formed shoulders and arms to perfection. His cravat was simply tied and did nothing to distract from his wonderfully masculine features.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Quicke. Miss Prosper.” Corwin bowed to Mother and to Miranda with the same expression of cheerful politeness on his face, but Miranda did not miss the mischievous gleam in his dark eyes.

  “Good morning, Mr. Rathe.” Mother briefly gave Corwin her hand.

  “Good morning, Mr. Rathe.” Miranda made herself speak politely as she dropped her curtsy.

  Mother looked from her to Mr. Rathe. Miranda could tell she was performing one of her rapid internal calculations. Despite her misgivings about Miranda’s own conduct, that calculation evidently came down on the side of accepting the man she believed—not incorrectly—to have already compromised her daughter. He was, after all, handsome and, to judge by his clothes and comportment, clearly well-off.

  “Won’t you sit down?” Mother flashed one of her dazzling smiles and gestured to the overstuffed chair by the window. “The girl will be in directly with coffee.”

  “Thank you, madame.” Corwin bowed again before he took the seat offered. “I trust I find you ladies well this morning?” He spoke to them both, but Miranda caught his eyes lingering on her for an extra heartbeat.

  “Perfectly well, thank you, Mr. Rathe,” she murmured, and did her best to make herself mean it. The truth was her heart was beating like a drum and had not slowed at all since she’d heard mother read his card.

  “We are both enjoying excellent health, thank you,” said Mother. “It must be the wonderful weather we’re having this summer. I don’t believe I can remember so many pleasant days.”

  Miranda felt she had moved into some kind of strange other-world, listening to the man she had made such passionate and dangerous love with calmly discussing the weather with Mother, while Mellon came in bearing a tray of coffee and muffins. All was as it should be, but at the same time, it was on some level utterly unbelievable.

  After Mother had allowed an interval for Corwin to butter his muffin and comment on the excellence of the coffee, she got down to business. “Do tell me something about yourself, Mr. Rathe.”

  Miranda felt something close to panic rising in her and she shot Corwin a nervous glance. He met her eyes easily.

  Don’t worry, she thought she heard him say. I have this in hand.

  Oblivious to this exchange, Mother prattled on. “I’m sure I spoke to my entire acquaintance at Lady Thayer’s last night, and no one seemed to know a thing about you.”

  “I’m not surprised at all,” returned Corwin pleasantly. “You see, Mrs. Quicke, I’m not the sort of character many people of standing choose to associate with.”

  “Oh?” Mother rested her chin on her hand. “And why on Earth should that be?”

  “First of all”—Corwin looked carefully about the room, then set down his cup and saucer so he could lean in closer to her—“I am actively employed.”

  “No.” Mother laid a hand on her bosom while Miranda struggled to keep a straight face.

  “Yes.” Corwin nodded solemnly. “My father owned several large tracts of land in the Canadian territories, and after I left Eton, I was sent out to manage his properties there.”

  “Goodness!” This time Mother was genuinely surprised, and intrigued. “Mr. Rathe, you do not mean to tell us you’re a—what is the term?—a ... a ... cowboy?”

  Miranda tried to picture Corwin on horseback, in a leather coat with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his long hair. In her imagination he rode a white stallion across a flowering meadow with forests and mountains rising up to either side. She had to stop. The image made it next to impossible to breathe.

  Corwin caught her eye and raised his brow just a fraction, as if to say, “I know what you’re thinking.” A deep blush burned across Miranda’s cheeks.

  “My father made his money in the fur trade,” Corwin went on to Mother. “He was one of the original investors in the Hudson’s Bay Company, but afterward he turned to raising horses and cutting timber.”

  Corwin paused for another sip of coffee. “My time in the wilderness was reason enough for the ... fastidious to keep away from me, but there is worse to come.”

  “You fascinate me, Mr. Rathe,” said Mother, and she sounded as though she meant it. “Please, do go on.”

  “When my father died, I sold out his shares in the land and the ships, and instead took a government position. So, you see, I am now that lowest of creatures, the civil servant.”

  “How perfectly scandalous!” Mother clasped her hands together delightedly. “But the sale of your properties must have left you the possibility of a gentleman’s life?”

  Corwin slid another glance toward Miranda. This time she found herself perfectly calm. She had no idea whether Corwin was telling Mother the truth or a complete fabrication, but whichever it was, it struck exactly the right chord, and Miranda did not see any reason to interfere.

  “Actually, it was the sale of horses to His Majesty’s government for use in the late wars that finally settled my fortunes,” said Corwin. “But I found a life of idleness did not suit me. My mind is of a restless nature and requires employment.”

  “You must find England terribly dull after life in the wilds.”

  “I assure you, madame, my life there instilled in me a deep appreciation for a sound roof, a dry bed, an absolute lack of wolves and bears, and”—he held up his muffin—“good, solid English cookery.”

  They all laughed at that. Corwin finished the muffin, wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. “Miss Prosper, the morning is very fine. I was wondering if you might consent to take a turn in the park? With your permission, of course, Mrs. Quicke.”

  Mother bowed her head regally, and turned shining eyes toward Miranda. Miranda found she suddenly had to deal with the unexpected sight of her mother for once not being disappointed in her.

  Miranda got to her feet. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Rathe. Thank you.”

  Corwin offered her his arm, and she laid her hand on it lightly. With an additional bow toward her beaming mother, he led her away.

  Nine

  “You have both charmed and amazed my mother.”

  “Have I?” returned Corwin innocently. “Good. That will make any number of things easier.”

  The morning was gorgeous, and it was not only Miranda’s elevated spirits that made her think so. The summer sun shone down from a rare, clear blue sky. Around them, the park’s flowers all seemed determined to show off their best and the air was filled with the scents of roses and greenery. It was lovely to be strolling through this space of ordered perfection with her hand on Corwin’s steady arm.

  It was still a little early in the day for the majority of the ton to be out, so they had the park’s rolling greens almost to themselves. Louise, who was supposed to be chaperoning them, had discreetly and most improperly asked if she might be permitted to visit the greenhouses, and Miranda gratefully gave her consent.

  Miranda’s bonnet dangled down her back on its loosely tied ribbons while she braved the possibility o
f freckles to let the sun’s rays touch her face and the summer breeze play through her elaborately arranged tresses. The day was too beautiful to hide from.

  Besides, Corwin was smiling at her.

  “Was it true, what you told her?” asked Miranda curiously.

  “About my background? Every word.”

  “It seems so strange, knowing what you are ...” She faltered, but Corwin only smiled and drew her hand a little closer around his arm.

  “Sorcerers are not creatures apart, Miranda. Unless I want to try to keep myself entirely by magic—a feat which is intensely difficult and prone to many dangers—I require money, shelter and companionship.” He smiled meaningfully and laid his hand across hers. Although they both wore gloves, she felt his unmistakable warmth against her. “Just like any other man.”

  It would have been so easy to let herself drown in the deep gaze he turned toward her, but Miranda was determined not to be distracted. She wanted so much and yet knew so little. It was time to rectify that. “And Darius?”

  “Darius had a rougher time of it,” said Corwin. “His family was less ... tolerant than mine of a son who did not fit the mold. My father decided to send me somewhere I could ... ‘run it off’ was his phrase, if I recall correctly. Darius’s father, on the other hand, kept him on a shorter and shorter leash.”

  She remembered the danger and the power in Darius’s manner. “What happened?”

  Corwin’s jaw hardened. “Darius did what bored and overly controlled young men frequently do; he turned to drink and gambling. These were pursuits his family could at least understand, so they did nothing to check them, nor did they recognize that they were, for Darius, a form of slow self-murder.”

  He was not speaking to her now, but gazing down the gravel path in front of them. She could feel the suppressed anger coursing through his veins, and she understood it. The thought of Darius, who was so strong and magnificent, falling into dissipation was almost too much to consider.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Corwin gave a wry chuckle. “He tried to cheat me at cards.”

  Miranda felt her eyes almost start out of her head. Of all the offenses one gentleman could commit against another, cheating at cards was ranked among the worst, almost demanding a duel.

  “He was very drunk at the time,” Corwin went on. “So much so that when I accused him, he took a swing at me, and what began as a personal matter quickly dissolved into a street brawl.” He laid a hand on his ribs. “I carry the ache of it to this day.”

  Miranda made a face. “Now you are having fun with me.”

  “Perhaps a little.” Corwin winked. “But I wasn’t having any fun then. Darius was drunk enough to start a fight, but not so drunk that he was going to lose easily. I was hard put to defend myself, and when I did at last get hold of him, I realized several things in a startling hurry. The first of these was that I was facing another Sorcerer.”

  “You could tell he was a Sorcerer by touching him?”

  “He was leaking magic like a sieve. Not his fault. He had no idea who or what he was, and none of us know how to control ourselves without proper training.”

  “What else did you realize?”

  Corwin turned his face toward her. “Do you want me to say it aloud, Miranda?”

  She blushed and looked straight ahead of her. “This path leads to the lake,” she remarked.

  He followed her gaze. “So it does,” he replied coolly. “Shall we go that way?”

  “Yes, I’d like that.”

  They strolled on in silence for a time. Miranda was grateful, as it gave her time to absorb this new information. It also gave her time to chide herself for her continuing bouts of bashful and missish behavior.

  Still, I cannot reasonably be expected to change the habits of a lifetime in one day.

  This led her to thoughts of two nights before, to the ballroom, and seeing Corwin for the first time.

  “How did you come to be at Lady Thayer’s party?” she asked.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Could I not have been simply invited?”

  “You could, but I don’t believe you were. Mother could not find anyone there who admitted to knowing you.”

  “Ah.” His smile was indulgent. “Miranda, you see through me already. No. I crashed the gate, by magic.”

  “In what way did you use magic?” They were coming to the shady edge of a little wood. Ferns nodded beneath the trees, filling the air with their sharp, green scent.

  “One of the most basic powers of the Sorcerer is Persuasion,” Corwin said. “Most people believe what they see, and remember what they choose. Persuasion works with this natural tendency. I Persuaded Lady Thayer’s butler that I was invited.”

  The idea that he might be capable of something of that kind had been stirring uneasily in the back of Miranda’s mind. It gave rise to another question, one she didn’t want to ask, but knew she must. “Can you Persuade anyone to ... anything?”

  Corwin caught the hitch in her voice and faced her, taking both of her hands in his. “Are you asking if that was why you came with me?” he said.

  “Yes.” Corwin’s touch was gentle, and would shortly become distracting. I must remain focused. I must watch his eyes.

  But his eyes remained clear, and he nodded, accepting both her honesty and her concern. “The answer is no. I could not, for instance, Persuade the butler who let me in to run naked across the lawn yelling, ‘The king is a bloody bastard.’ Not only because he had absolutely no inclination or desire to do so, but because it would run precisely counter to his personal, moral feelings. He was, however, inclined to admit people to her ladyship’s party and had no deeply held moral objections to doing so.”

  “So what did you do to me ... ?” There. She’d said it, the real issue that had nagged at the back of her mind even while she had so enjoyed his company in the summer sun.

  Corwin’s smile grew warm and highly mischievous. “Really, Miranda, do you think it proper do discuss here?”

  Her cheeks heated. “You know to what I refer,” she replied primly.

  “Yes, I do, more’s the pity.”

  He kissed her gloved hand and Miranda felt the heat spread down her throat to her breasts. She became suddenly aware of the brush of cambric and muslin against her skin, of how closely and smoothly her silk stockings encased her legs. She almost didn’t dare look at Corwin, because the sight of his smiling mouth made her long to lean forward and capture his lips in a heated kiss. If she did that much, she knew she would only long to do much more.

  “What are you thinking, Miranda?” Corwin whispered.

  “I am thinking you are a long time answering me.”

  A smile lit Corwin’s face. “I shall have to remember that when I make an inquiry of you, I will get a most direct answer.” But even as he spoke, a gleam in his eye said he did not believe that she had told him all that was on her mind. He knew she was thinking of kissing him, of touching him, of stroking his cock until it grew hard in her hands, and he himself was having similar thoughts.

  A deep blush rose in her cheeks.

  “Please answer me.” She had meant to speak the words with frosty politeness, but all she could manage was a kind of breathy whisper.

  Corwin bowed but did not release her hands. “Are you familiar with the idea of glamour?”

  “From fairy tales. It’s a form of magical disguise, is it not? A way to make someone think a ruin is a luxurious castle, and so on.”

  “Yes. The Fae do it easy as breathing. We human Sorcerers can work a version of it, outwardly or internally. I can make a vision for the whole world—of the two of us dancing politely, for instance. Or I can make a vision just for you ... a most particular, most private vision.” His smile grew sharper, and slier, and Miranda could not help but remember that first vision, that premonition of what was to come, of herself, naked between Darius and Corwin ...

  Her breath was coming fast and shallow. Corwin ran his thumb over her fingert
ips, and that tiny gesture was giving rise to the most remarkable level of heat.

  “Miranda, you blush so beautifully.” Corwin touched her cheek. “Truly, I think I shall find it impossible not to kiss you.”

  “Don’t, Corwin,” she whispered, even though her lips had parted the instant he said “kiss.” “Someone might see.”

  “Miranda, Miranda, what were we just discussing? No one will see a thing if I do not wish them to.”

  Before she could protest again, he pulled her into his arms and his mouth covered hers. He ran his tongue around her lips, savoring them before pressing for entry. She opened eagerly, longing to feel even this much of him inside her. His tongue slid along side of hers, stroking dexterously, creating a delicious sensation that somehow reached all the way to the very center of her. It robbed her knees of any strength so that she was forced to lean against his hard chest, or fall backward.

  One kiss was not enough. She’d known it wouldn’t be. Of their own volition, her hands caressed his face, running up his jaw to his temples and finally knotting into his hair so she could prevent him from moving his enticing mouth from hers. He held her tight with one arm while his other hand glided down her back to stroke her hips and the curve of her ass. Miranda shivered and pressed against him, close enough to feel the ridge of his burgeoning erection beneath his breeches.

  “Oh, Miranda,” gasped Corwin. “I knew I would not be able to resist you.”

  He tipped her backward, kissing her mouth, licking, stroking nibbling, while with the back of one hand, he brushed the tip of her breast. Miranda’s nipple tightened instantly. At once, he engulfed her breast with his whole hand, massaging and plumping, reveling in the feel of her.

  He backed them both up slowly until she was pressed against a broad tree trunk. She was grateful for the support, because she could no longer stand on her own. She was dizzy with her own heat and his kisses. She was already wet and she wanted desperately to lay herself down entirely, right here on the green, so he could be on top of her and enter inside.