Miranda's Dilemma

by Natasha Blackthorne

  If the men she’d been talking to earlier were any indication, her ploy would likely work beautifully.

  Cool cynicism made a soothing balm for his inflamed lust and hardened his softened heart. He nodded towards the open doorway. “You command quite an impressive court.”

  She met his gaze evenly. “I use no sorcerer, my lord. They follow no call but that of their own will.”

  “Hmm,” he replied. “So you are a guileless girl?”

  She laughed, a woman’s sensual laugh. “I never claimed that, my lord.”

  “Surely you have prospects?”

  “I do.”

  “So who is next?”

  She laughed again. “That’s too intimate a question, my lord.”

  He couldn’t help a frown. “The Duke of Froster,” he said, meaningfully.

  “He’s a dear man.”

  “He’s besotted with you. Anyone can see that.”

  She lifted her finely arched, dark russet brows. “You disapprove?”

  “You’d do better elsewhere.”

  “He is a kind man.”

  Froster was a fool. A boy trapped in an older man’s body. He’d be totally taken in by a skilled courtesan. He wouldn’t stand the least chance saying no to her.

  Adrian regarded Miranda, seeing not her cool, jaded facade but that lost girl whom he had first met.

  Before Carrville had her.

  Debauched her.

  The words echoed inside him with painful poignancy.

  Yes, Carrville had been his friend. And she was wrong. He had been quite close to Carrville, cared for him deeply in fact. But after that twelfth night ball, after Miss Miranda Jones had left with Carrville in his carriage and never returned to her mentor’s house…

  A cold, heavy weight settled in Adrian’s chest.

  Had Carrville’s family really put her to the street as she had claimed?

  “It is not that great a misfortune, my lord.”

  Her velvety tone, warmer now with some emotion… humor? pulled him from his thoughts. “Misfortune, eh what?”

  “You said it was unfortunate that we had not yet come to know each other well. It is really not that unfortunate.”

  He frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I won’t be treated like you treat everyone else, cheaply.”

  He flinched.

  Then his blood flared.

  Satisfaction lit her gaze. The coldest sort. The kind that held itself superior and took joy in irony.

  He didn’t fancy being the object of her amusement.

  He was not the one in the wrong.

  He was not the one on trial here.

  His heart hardened.

  It did not matter what she had been before.

  The only thing that mattered was what she had become.

  Jaded. Heartless. A money-hungry harpy preying on the carnal weaknesses and vanity of noblemen who were weighed down by the harsh expectations placed on them, desperate for lovely distraction. The pressures put on a man to possess such a creature could even lead to his death.

  So it had been for his father.

  Perhaps for Carrville too.

  “I am watching you, Miss Jones.”

  The slight widening of her eyes. That was the only indication that she’d heard the firmness in his tone. She smiled and laughed softly. “I have noticed how you watch me.”

  “Don’t make a jest of this.”

  She cocked her head and drew her brows together. “My lord?”

  “I watched as you hounded Carrville into investing more of his wealth than he felt comfortable with. I watched how the strain of it drove him weaker and weaker.”

  She paled. “You dare accuse me?”

  “I do.”

  “I would never hurt Carrville.” She narrowed her gaze. “Never.”

  “You knew how Lady Danvers’ death had weakened him.”

  She looked stricken. “It has been three years since Lady Danvers died.”

  “I know how long it has been. I also know that Carrville never recovered.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide, her expression stripped of all artifice, all pretense. “He never blamed you.”

  Adrian’s blood turned to ice.

  He had never considered that Carrville might have confided family affairs to his mistress. But just how much did this chit know?

  “He was distraught, in shock.” Her voice was soft, almost pleading. Nothing like he was used to hearing from her.

  Adrian went rigid and backed away from her. “Our friendship is none of your business.”

  “You know how he was.” Her face crinkled, as though with concern. “He was too timid to approach you. You should have forgiven him.”

  “You forget your place, Miss Jones.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but he spun on his heel and strode away.

  Chapter Two

  Miranda gazed out the window of the moving carriage, well aware of her aunt’s gaze on her. But she was too tired to care. The roll of the carriage soothed her. Lack of sleep had frayed her nerves and made her eyes heavy. She closed them, letting her head rest against the seat back. Sun warmed her cheek and she turned her face toward the window. Relaxation melted through her like honey and she breathed slower and deeper.

  Mornings had become chilly of late, but today dawned a little warmer. In her mind, she returned to Sussex, where she knelt beside Mama in the garden, her sleeves rolled up amid the buzzing bees and chirping birds. The smells of earth and greenery filled her senses. Mama’s laugh carried on the soft breeze, her large gray eyes filled with girlish delight.

  “Do you plan to tell me what happened last night?”

  Aunt Cassandra’s words shattered Miranda’s peace.

  She opened her eyes and met her aunt’s stare. Sunlight glinted on Aunt Cassandra’s golden coiffure, revealing the fine lines near her eyes in the otherwise flawless milky white skin. Sunlight made the rose pink of her carefully painted mouth seem a shade more garish than it did in a dim, candlelit chamber.

  “I told you, the Earl of Danvers asked me to dance.”

  “Whatever you did or said to him was most unwise.”

  Miranda’s heart sped up, and a sick dryness seized her throat. She forced her expression to remain calm as she brushed a speck of lint from her emerald skirts.

  Adrian Sutherland, the Earl of Danvers, frightened her. The whole time she spoke with him last night, her stomach had been knotted, and her palms had sweated inside her gloves. Oh, she could keep the facade of the elegant, hard-to-acquire courtesan with many a man.

  Men who were ready and willing to be dazzled.

  I am watching you, Miss Jones.

  Beneath his charming, handsome exterior, Danvers was a hard, cold, arrogant man.

  Too determined to remain in control, too determined to have his way.

  So arrogant when it was well known that his father had gambled away the family fortune and Danvers had inherited his title in a state of genteel poverty.

  She had no interest in such men.

  And she never should have confronted him about Carrville. But her heart had taken over. She had spoken out of turn the words she had burned to say for years now.

  Poor Carrville. Even his daughters had not understood his gentle nature. No one had, least of all his son-in-law, the hard, arrogant Lord Danvers.

  No one else knew the secret that had driven Carrville to his untimely death, only Miranda and the other person who had been bent on blackmail.

  And to think that Danvers had actually accused her of hounding Carrville to his death…

  Anger seethed through her.

  Danvers was too overconfident of his own impressions to be believed. The man likely had no heart.

  “Miranda, I worked hard to gain your invitation to that particular ball. I think you owe me some explanation. What the devil happened between you and Danvers?”

  “I told you, we danced.”

  “Just danced? Then
why has he denied my request for your invitation to his house party this coming week?”

  Miranda’s hand froze on her skirt. The tea she’d drunk this morning soured in her belly. She grimaced, praying her outrage showed, instead of her gnawing fear. “He can’t do that!”

  Cassandra snorted. “He is the Earl of Danvers. He may do whatever he pleases. And, as I have pointed out numerous times, Carrville is gone. You no longer have his protection. Nor his influence.”

  Miranda’s belly cramped again. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “May we stop for some tea and cakes before we reach the dressmaker’s? I didn’t eat yet today and…”

  Cassandra raised a hand clad in an elegant, pale green, leather glove. “We have no time. We have an appointment with the Earl of Danvers.”

  Miranda gaped. “What? But why?”

  “When I asked why he would deny you, he said we were welcome to pay him a visit, and he would explain.”

  Miranda scoffed. “The mighty Earl of Danvers invited us to pop by for a friendly visit?”

  Aunt Cassandra laughed softly. “I will admit, the invitation is a bit strange, especially given that he denied you an invitation to his party. Whatever else, you did provoke strong emotion in him.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “I am not yet certain just how we can use that to our advantage.”

  An empty ache settled into Miranda’s stomach. She didn’t see why they must rush to meet with Danvers. Why meet him at all? And why must she starve?

  “He’s an exasperating man,” she said.

  Cassandra nodded, a slightly displeased light in her pale blue eyes. “See him that way, if you must, but do not forget he is an earl. You have created quite a coil for yourself, Miranda. I must work hard to unravel whatever knotty little insult you have done to Danvers’ pride.”

  “His pride?” Miranda tossed her head. “The Earl of Danvers is overproud.”

  “Please, my dear, a little gratitude for my efforts is in order. A little humility to grease the wheels with the earl might help as well.” Her gaze turned stern. “When we see Danvers, you remain silent and let me speak, unless I indicate otherwise. Do you understand?” Her eyes narrowed. “What happened with the Duke of Froster last night?”

  “Froster escorted me home.”

  Aunt Cassandra laughed softly. “Yes, I know. I was the one who arranged matters so that he would have no choice but to do so. But I want to know what happened once you arrived at your rooms.”

  Heat flooded Miranda’s cheeks. She glanced down at her lap. She was no green girl that would fluster over such matters. But she had no wish to give any details of what had proved a disconcerting scene that had played over and over in her mind during the few hours left in the night once she’d found her bed.

  “He made an offer.”

  “An offer? Just an offer?”

  Miranda looked at Cassandra. “A very extravagant one.”

  Yes, Froster had made her an extravagant offer. But he had terms.

  Oh God his terms!

  Would she ever be able to bring herself to comply?

  What he wanted, what he expected, repulsed her to the very pit of her being.

  “Dear, you are flushing.” Cassandra’s voice held amusement and curiosity.

  “It is very warm in here.”

  “We cannot have you flushed. You must look your best when we face Danvers.”

  Miranda flipped her fan open and began to fan her face.

  “So this was an extravagant offer, eh?” The older woman’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Details, please.”

  Aunt Cassandra would receive a significant percentage of Miranda’s earnings for the first two years of Froster’s protection. However, that wasn’t her only reason to be pleased. Miranda knew the woman wanted the best for her, wanted to see her well set in life. She recounted the exact details of the Duke of Froster’s offer.

  Aunt Cassandra’s eyes widened. “Oh, he is smitten.”

  Another lurch of anxiety skittered through Miranda’s stomach. She released her tension in a small laugh. ”I suppose he is.”

  “Well, this time you will not only get a contract in hand before you accept, but we shall work harder at getting those terms put into real security. A house or two for a start.”

  Miranda nodded slowly, feeling a little uneasy about the high expectations. But Aunt Cassandra had good business sense, and she understood noblemen. Miranda must trust in her. She mustn't be so headstrong and eager to believe a man as she had been with Carrville.

  Her mind drifted back to a better time. When she had been eighteen years old and newly launched. The Duke of Carrville had been so eager for her. He had promised her the moon and stars. With his hair already turning silver at the temples and slight wrinkles at the corners of his hazel eyes, he had seemed the epitome of the older, distinguished, responsible nobleman. She had believed him.

  And she had needed so desperately to believe in a man.

  To have a man care for her.

  To protect her without trying to control her.

  He had been so gentle. Putting her up in an expensive little house, giving her a coach and four and an account at the dressmakers. All this while allowing her to set the pace of their activities in the bedchamber. He had been the soul of patience.

  He had understood her limits.

  Now Carrville lay buried in the family cemetery and she had discovered that his promises, however well intentioned, had come to little.

  “What’s the matter, Miranda?”

  “Nothing,” Miranda said.

  “Oh, my girl, what now?”

  “I told you, nothing.”

  “Did you allow Froster some liberties? Did you invite him inside?”

  That knot in Miranda’s stomach cinched tighter. “Yes, I invited him in.”

  “What happened then?”

  “We drank a glass of wine and he talked of himself, as men do.”

  “He talked, eh?”

  “Yes.” Miranda couldn’t look up.

  “Only one glass of wine?”

  “I was tired.”

  The clatter of the carriage accentuated the silence.

  Miranda’s belly knotted even more.

  “You were tired?”

  “I have said it.” Miranda immediately regretted her snappish response. She took a deep breath. “Yes, I was tired. I had bit of the headache.”

  “You do not have the luxury of being tired or having headaches. Those caprices are for wives. The moment you start reminding a man of his wife or his mother or his sisters, then my dear, you are sunk. You are to always be captivating, always radiant, always available…for the right price and the right gentleman.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “My dear, dear girl, what am I to do with you?” Exasperated fondness warmed Aunt Cassandra’s tone.

  “I did let him kiss me.”

  “And I wager you kept your lips clamped?”

  “No!” Miranda blurted, startled at her aunt’s assumption. “It was a very nice kiss.”

  “It wasn’t the sort of kiss you ought to have bestowed on him.”

  “I know.”

  “We discussed this,” her aunt said.

  “Yes.”

  “Give a gentleman a taste of what he may expect and no more. And leave him feeling off his center, pleasured yet knowing he has not yet proved his prowess.”

  “You are right, of course.”

  “If you listen to me, you will have this duke wrapped about your little finger in no time.”

  “I know.”

  “But if you choose to be stubborn as you were at the start with Carrville…“

  “I know,” Miranda blurted. She took a deep breath, calmed her ruffled feelings. “Don’t worry so. He has already made me the offer.”

  “The contract hasn’t yet been signed.”

  Perversely, a wave of relief washed over Miranda at that small fact.

  She shuttered her eyes away from Aunt Cassandra’s in an effort
to hide her feelings. They were all working so hard to gain her a new situation. It was madness of her to wish that it wouldn’t come to pass.

  Yet, part of her wished most desperately that she could run away to the country. Back to her carefree childhood.

  Oh, what good did that type of wishing do?

  A burning lump filled her throat. She missed Carrville.

  Aunt Cassandra had agreed that a three-week stay in the country to recover from the shock of Carrville’s unexpected death wasn’t unreasonable.

  Miranda had taken six months.

  And still, just thinking of accepting a new protector felt like a betrayal of all Carrville had done for her. All he had been to her.

  The Duke of Froster had his virtues. He was pleasant to look upon and, moreover, he was kind. Easy to converse with, he liked to talk about horses and dogs and his infant grandson. He was a widower with too much free time. He had done his duty by the estate and his children. Now he wanted some fun for himself. He had told her this the night before.

  And Aunt Cassandra was correct.

  Miranda ought to have sealed their friendly intimacy with an example of her oral pleasuring skill and then sent him on his way.

  But therein lay the problem. The skilled, sensual, sophisticated Miranda, one of Mayfair’s most exclusive and expensive courtesans, didn’t know a thing about giving the type of pleasure a man wanted most.

  In fact, just the thought of doing so sent her morning tea surging into her throat, her throat burned by the bitter acid Her stomach lurched. She swallowed hard, wishing desperately that they had time for some ginger cakes before facing Danvers.

  “You have turned away some magnificent offers and rejected some fine noblemen,” Aunt Cassandra said.

  A hot yet chilled sensation swept Miranda. Of course she’d turned down those men. All of them had alluded to what would be expected of her in their bedchambers.

  Her on her knees.

  They had high expectations of her skill.

  She suppressed a shudder. “No matter, Froster’s offer was the best of the lot.”

  “Yes, but you have yet to make it official.”

  Another shiver passed through Miranda.