Indignation. Rage. Her blood boiled with the twin emotions, and she forgot her earlier gratefulness to this man for having relented in allowing her to attend. Apparently, he had done so for the sheer pleasure of making sport of her. Despite the anger pounding through her blood, she slowly lifted the puppy off her lap in preparation to arise.
The puppy squirmed, then warm wetness flowed over her fingers, a yellow stream that dampened her skirts. A fresh ripe scent followed.
Danvers chuckled. “You are definitely lacking in elegance!”
Froster, who had been watching with his mouth ajar, snapped it shut then brought out his large handkerchief with a rare flourish. He tried to mop up Miranda’s lap. But she could feel the wetness creeping through her two petticoats. She grimaced as the scent of urine grew stronger.
Danvers chuckled again. She could discern the false nature of that chuckle and it made it cut into her all the crueler.
She refused to look at him.
“Really, Danvers, it was your puppies who lacked deportment,” Froster said, glancing at Miranda with a smile plastered over his broad face.
At his open friendliness, her anger eased . She forced a smile, for him. “Indeed, they are poorly behaved.”
“You must bring their mother to task, Danvers,” Froster stood and extended a hand to Miranda. “Come my dear, let’s go get your garments changed before dinner.” He gave her a wink, one that was almost breathtakingly awkward. “I shall help you unhook your gown.”
She took his hand, her smile becoming more and more genuine by the moment.
Fondness warmed his expression.
God. He was such a dear man.
“Yes, I think I shall have a word or two with their dam.” The Earl of Danvers’ voice broke the spell of the moment.
New anger surged through her. She compressed her lips , wanting only to be gone from this chamber.
From Danvers’ odious presence.
“Yes, indeed, I think you’ll find all subordinates respond well to a little firmness.”
Froster stiffened, his expression oddly frozen. Then it flicked over Miranda, with wintry interest. “Yes, I do remember you saying that only the other day, Danvers.”
Danvers chuckled, the sound ringing sinisterly in her ears. “Words we should all live by, my friend.”
****
Adrian watched Froster aid Miss Jones to her feet. Her hair flashed with fiery crimson lights that did not come close to rivaling the angry fire in her eyes. Anger that he so richly deserved.
Before he’d entered the chamber, he’d spent several moments, standing in the doorway, watching her and Froster with the puppies. The way her face had lit with joy, God had he ever seen a woman more beautiful than she had been in that moment?
The sight had done things to him that he couldn’t describe.
He had come close to offering her pick of the litter.
That had struck him like a blow, that his emotions could betray him so thoroughly. That had knocked him off his balance, had made him harden himself to her.
He’d been a complete jackanapes to her.
Adrian’s gaze riveted on the older man’s hand, resting so familiarly, so possessively on the small of her back. Jealousy surged through Adrian, so strong that he clenched his jaw.
He stood, partially blocking their exit. Forcing her to face him before leaving. Why? After the way he’d just behaved to her, he should simply allow her a graceful exit.
But he couldn’t help himself.
He was out of control of himself.
She passed so close, he might have reached to touch her.
She looked up.
Her icy green glare cut him.
He caught his breath.
She swept past him, her head held high, her crispy skirts rustling. He watched her exit with his heart pounding.
Pounding with what? Lust? Hot jealousy? Shame at having been such a cad?
No, his heart pounded with something else. A tingling rush of emotion he couldn’t exactly name.
It was the same tingling rush he’d been overcome with the moment he’d seen Cassandra Jones, resplendent in her burgundy velvet gown, holding court with several gentlemen in the banqueting area where tea had been served.
He had seen Cassandra and then knew that Miranda was here. Under his very roof.
****
Behind the privacy of her closed chamber door, Miranda stood before Froster, clad only in her stays, chemise, garters and stockings.
His eyes were huge as he scanned her form.
She was no shy violet to shrink away or try to hide. Yet, she stared at the steaming tub, and fierce longing consumed her being. “Please, I want to bathe now.”
“I have dreamed of seeing you thusly.”
She laughed softly, teasingly, and placed her hands to his shoulders. “I need to bathe.”
“I want to become…better acquainted.”
“The evening is young.” She made her voice soft, seductive and ran a fingertip along his jaw.
His face had become flushed and he was breathing much quicker. “I want to explore you… all of you.”
“Later.”
“No.”
His tone was so uncharacteristically unyielding that it sent a jolt of alarm through her. She caught her breath. “My lord?”
“Hush.” He held her shoulders, firmly.
Her heart began to beat quicker. Should she run? Goodness, this was her new protector. She must be compliant, right?
“My lord, if you would just…”
He brought his mouth down on hers.
He had kissed her before, of course. Gently, friendly.
This was no gentle, friendly kiss.
He ground his lips into hers then thrust his tongue between her lips.
The hot, whisky sour taste of his tongue sent a shudder of disgust through her. She put her hands to his chest and pressed.
He gripped her shoulders harder and lifted his mouth. His eyes staring down into hers were unrelenting. Merciless.
“I’ve been patient, Miranda.”
“Yes, you’ve been a gentleman.” Up until now, she might have added. Her lips were trembling, her body recoiling.
“My patience is at an end.”
Her heart began pounding for she was no longer facing a kindly, pleasant, boyish man.
His face was determination itself. A selfish, hungry determination.
He pressed her shoulders. “On your knees.”
On your knees, you brazen harlot!
The words echoed in her memory.
Cold, sweating nausea broke over her.
Froster pressed her shoulders harder. “Now, Miranda.”
“I can’t…” Miranda’s voice cracked and her legs were shaking, hard.
Froster’s broad, boyish face twisted into something that was not pleasant at all. “I insist.”
There was no way that Miranda could bring herself to kneel before him.
She just couldn’t.
“Would you force me?” she asked, hearing the fear quake in her voice.
He froze then gaped at her.
“Would you?” she repeated.
He released her.
She backed away from him. “I cannot believe you just did that.”
He paled. “You drove me to it.”
She shook her head. “No, no I did not.”
“You’re a tease, Miss Jones.”
“I am not.”
“Then explain your hesitation to serve my needs.”
“I need time, to come to know you.” She swallowed hard. “To come to care for you.”
“We’ve spent time together.”
“I need more time.”
“You shall have it.”
At his absolute tone, a chill passed through her. “What do you mean?”
He went to the mirror and smoothed his hair.
“What do you mean, my lord?”
“I mean that I shall take a little trip to France.�
� He straightened his cravat. “Alone.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, I think you need time to think about if you really do want to be mine.”
She should run to him, kneel for him, and prove her devotion in the way he expected.
Aunt Cassandra would nod firmly to that.
But Miranda’s knees turned to rubber and her stomach turned. She remained rooted to the spot, swallowing back the acid that rushed into her throat.
He turned to face her.
He was a stranger.
No, not exactly a stranger.
She had seen that mix of entitlement and resolve before. On Winterton’s face, that night that he had returned to Mama.
On your knees, you brazen harlot!
Nausea shuddered through her. But she wouldn’t shrink away. She lifted her chin and met Froster’s hardened stare.
“When I return, I will expect you to be completely amenable to my desires.”
To be forced through financial terms was just the same as being forced through physical might.
No, she wouldn’t be forced.
She wouldn’t!
She narrowed her eyes. “When you return, do not bother to return to me.”
His eyes widened.
Then he paled. “Miranda…you cannot mean that.”
“We’re done,” she said, softly, realizing how utterly she had just slammed the door closed between them.
He flushed. Then his expression hardened again. “Do not issue threats to me, Miss Jones.”
“It is no threat. We’re done.”
A look of indignation swept over him. “Well, then…”
“Leave,” she said, firmly.
His eyes widened even more, but he grasped the evening jacket he had shed earlier and then left, closing the door loudly behind him.
She let go of her breath, and then all the energy drained from her body. She sank into a nearby chair.
She had likely just slammed the last door that would be open to her.
What the devil would she do now?
Chapter Six
“Lord Danvers, aren’t you going to comment on my gown?” The soft, sultry, feminine voice yanked Adrian’s attention from his card game.
He glanced up over his shoulder and gazed into warm brown eyes. The dark-haired woman fluttered her lashes. One could hardly tell that she enhanced them with just a touch of kohl.
She caressed his arm, bold as any other baggage that his acquaintances brought to these events. Bolder. It was her way to flirt with him. Normally, he would respond with a cool manner. An icy stare or a stern frown and mild admonishment usually discouraged her.
But tonight, he felt, oddly, tolerant.
“I bought it especially just for your party,” she said, drawing a hand over her velvet bodice. He allowed a slight smile. “Now, Miss Garret, you know that I must focus my attention on my game.”
She made an exaggerated pout. “I don’t see why you can’t play at more than one type of game at your party.”
A deep, husky laugh sounded.
He glanced to his other side.
Miss Garret’s sister-in-trade, Miss Caster, a pretty girl with honey blonde hair, smiled broadly, showing her dimples. “Now you know that Lord Danvers has no use for feminine companionship, not when there is a chance at winning at cards.”
“But he is always so lucky at cards. He could play with half his mind on the game and half on something more pleasurable.”
“Lucky at cards but what about love?” Miss Caster asked, as she stroked his cheek, brushing her barely clad breast against his arm.
“Please, ladies, you are quite disruptive to the game,” Adrian said, then waved his hand towards the men seated at his table. “Please have a little more consideration for the gentlemen.”
“I suppose…” Miss Garret pouted again. “But I am bored.”
“Bored?” the man next to Adrian, Lord Benton, asked.
“There’s nothing but boys and old men here,” she said, dropping her voice.
“Boys?” Benton said.
“University boys. They are nearly bare-cheeked and look as though they wouldn’t have two pence to rub together unless their papa approved it.” Miss Garret sighed.
“Why don’t you and Miss Caster take a chair and sit here and watch us play?” Benton suggested.
She arched a well-cultivated brow. “Watch you play?”
“You might learn something.”
She laughed. “I might be able to teach you something better.”
“Just take a seat,” Adrian said, trying not to snap, so impatient had he grown to refocus his attention on the game. Tolerance had its limits.
Cards were important. He must attend to the small details, every change of expression. He must listen to the bodily cues that told him those things that only intuition could.
He must win, again and again.
Then he took his winnings and invested them in the markets. This was how he worked to rebuild his family fortune. This was how he would build a legacy worth leaving to his sons.
Yet tonight, he couldn’t concentrate.
He kept seeing Miranda’s face. Shining with joy as she played with the puppies.
Such an image clashed mightily with his former image of a woman of her ilk.
Was there really still something of the innocent country girl beneath her icy, haughty façade?
He recalled how Froster had looked at her, much like a puppy himself, so soft and fond bad been his expression.
What right had Adrian to insert himself into that situation and suggest that Froster issue an ultimatum?
And it hadn’t been about protecting Froster for Dorothy’s sake or any other such nonsense.
Adrian had been driven by jealousy, such jealousy as he’d never before known. He hadn’t been able to abide the thought that Froster might actually be successful at attaining Miranda as a mistress.
Envy still gnawed at his innards like a starving rat. He couldn’t help picturing Froster helping Miranda unfasten her gown. Helping her out of her undergarments, helping her into a steaming tub.
God, what manner of intimacies were they sharing, up there together in one of Adrian’s guest chambers?
Why the devil had he relented and allowed Miranda to attend this party? All he had apparently done had been to facilitate her connection to Froster!
Froster was never going to have the courage to issue any such ultimatum to the beautiful, overly proud girl.
Yet, was a girl who would kneel in a stranger’s withdrawing chamber and allow a puppy to piddle all over her skirts and not make a dramatic scene over it, truly an overly proud miss?
Damn.
What was going on up there in Miranda’s guest chamber?
Why hadn’t they joined the party by now?
“My lord.”
He looked up.
His servant leaned forward and spoke low. “The Duke of Froster gives his regrets, but urgent business calls him back to London.”
Emotion surged through Adrian.
He did not want to name it.
But he knew what it was all the same.
Relief.
And something more. Something he absolutely refused to name.
He controlled his expression and nodded to the servant. “Tell him I bid him Godspeed on his journey.”
The servant nodded then backed away and left.
Adrian attempted to return his attention to the game, but that unnamed emotion kept surging within him. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Up there.
Alone.
Froster was gone.
What the devil did that matter? Adrian had no intention of stepping into Froster’s vacated chair.
A touch on his arm drew his attention to his side. Miss Garret was gazing up at him, her eyes like warm chocolate. “What’s troubling you so, my lord? Did you draw a bad hand?”
“A bad hand?” he asked.
She caressed his arm
. “You are frowning so.”
“Am I?” he asked, appalled at his lack of composure.
Who else had noticed?
“You seem very tense.,” The woman trailed her caress up his arm. “You should take me and Vanessa upstairs, just for a while.” She nodded at the cards he held. “Your game will wait.”
He glanced at her, forced himself to actually see her.
She and Miss Caster had been coming to these parties forever, and he had never allowed himself to look too closely at her or notice her as a beddable woman.
Now he let his eyes caress her, slowly and warmly.
She was a pretty girl.
“The cards will wait.” Her practiced voice washed over him soft, seductive as velvet.
“Will they, sweeting?” he asked, hearing his own voice become a shade more intimate.
“Indeed, they will.” She laid her hand on his leg.
He stared down at her white glove, the stark contrast with his dark evening clothes. He had never before allowed her such a liberty. He did not consort with these courtesans.
Was he really considering breaking his own rule? Would he really take a courtesan to his bed?
He watched, strangely detached, as her hand trailed up his thigh.
His cock swelled into life, willing and eager.
But where was his censoring mind to call a halt to this foolishness?
His mind was still preoccupied with Miss Jones, wondering, tormenting him with images of those liberties she might have allowed Froster.
Yet, perhaps the cure to a fascination with one courtesan was simply to take another and have his fill.
Miss Garret’s hand closed over him.
He caught his breath.
A soft laugh drew his attention to her other side.
Miss Caster was smiling at him, her honey blonde curls bobbing as she scooted her chair closer.
One courtesan might help abate his fascination with Miranda.
Two would certainly cure it—
“So what now? Danvers is out of the game?” Lord Holston asked, peevishly.
“Yes, it would appear so,” Miss Garret said, her brown eyes sparkling up at Adrian.
“Hmm,” Lord Holston said, looking even more peeved. After all, Miss Caster had been focusing her attentions on him.
Miranda's Dilemma Page 6
