Miranda's Dilemma

by Natasha Blackthorne

“Never lie to me again, Miranda.”

  ****

  Adrian knocked on the door in the guest wing again, harder. Then, impatient to get this business done, he opened the door.

  “Good evening, Lord Danvers,” Cassandra said, from her chair. Dressed in glittering evening finery, she sat with a glass of wine in her hands. “I’ve had a bit of a headache, and I despaired of being able to attend the midnight ball. However, your fine claret is helping immensely.”

  He had no patience for their usual friendly pretense. “You struck your niece this evening, didn’t you?”

  The barest flicker of surprise flared in her eyes. “She came to you, bearing tales?”

  “No,” he said, firmly. “But I know that you did. I remember your ungovernable temper and your propensity to strike at those you believe are in a weaker state than yourself.”

  She offered him a cool, steady stare. “This is a private matter, my lord.”

  He motioned toward the open luggage on the bed. “So, you’re leaving?”

  “I am afraid so. The whole purpose in attending this party was so Miranda could entertain the Duke of Froster. Now that business has called him back to London, there seems little point in our staying.”

  “Yes, I think it best if you do leave, as soon as may be arranged.” He fixed her with a stern glance. “I also think it best if Miss Miranda Jones spends a few days here, recovering from her unexpected illness.”

  “Ah, yes, her unexpected illness,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “I cannot believe she allowed herself to become attacked in that manner.” The woman cut him a sharp glance. “You understand how delicate such a matter is, how certain ladies of our acquaintance would love to hear a tale like that and twist it to suit their needs?”

  “You have my word as a gentleman, I will tell no one.”

  “But your valet?”

  “He’s loyal and well paid.”

  “Ah, well, I suppose that must suffice.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, Carrville’s death appears to have brought out a rather foolish and distasteful emotional streak in my niece. She has been acting most unwisely. I was forced to discipline her.”

  “Perhaps she is merely growing into the woman she will be and becoming less the girl who obeyed your every dictate?”

  Only by the sudden tensing of her jaw did he know that his barb had hit its mark.

  “I have always helped Miranda and her mother. I know what family duty means.”

  “Do you?”

  “Is there any doubt?”

  “I have you watched you since you launched your niece. You have taken increasingly younger and younger lovers. Boys who could never afford to support the style you must be accustomed to living.” He glanced down at her expensive leather gloves, dyed a rich green, then he let his gaze rest on the double string of pearls at her neck.

  “What exactly are you saying?”

  “I think you’re allowing your niece to subsidize your living.”

  She tapped her fan against her hand. “I remember you as a much quieter, uninvolved young man.”

  “Life has taught me to be less complacent.”

  “This is a family matter. It is no business of yours.”

  “I am making it my business. I think you ought to return to London in the morning, that is a very good plan. But, as I said, I think it best if Miss Miranda Jones stays here for a time.”

  “Lord Danvers, are you offering to take responsibility for her? Are you prepared to offer her carte blanche?

  Her blunt question irritated him. He scowled. “Let her live her own life. Let her find her own way.”

  “I have done everything I can to help Miranda maximize her value.”

  “You seek to profit from her success. When I look at you, I see the same heartless, greedy, grasping whore that my father acquired in one of his unsavory jaunts about the green rooms of London. A girl of middling birth with a singing voice like a toad but a face and body that men would kill to possess.”

  “Ah! I knew it, this is about your revenge on me. You would deny my niece my protection and guidance just because you blame me for something you don’t even know enough about to understand?”

  “I know enough.”

  “If you try to hurt my good name or standing, be warned. I have many powerful friends. I will not accept your attack with good grace.”

  “Stay away from Miranda Jones.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You have haunted eyes, my lord. Men with haunted eyes have secrets, and secrets make them vulnerable.”

  “My father died of a broken heart, of course I have haunted eyes.”

  “No, I think this is more.”

  Her sharp stare bore into him. For a moment, he fancied he saw the light of knowing there. He would do anything to protect Jane’s reputation, her memory. She had been his wife, his countess. He owed her all the honor due her position.

  And he would do what he could to protect Miranda against this woman who was little better than a viper.

  He glared at her fiercely. “You had best remember your place and keep away from Miranda.

  ****

  Miranda stared into the glass. The purplish red mark that slashed across her face was still there, mocking her efforts to conceal it. She wrinkled her forehead. Then she put the brush into the pot of rice powder and showered a generous amount over the rapidly-darkening bruise.

  Never lie to me again, Miranda.

  The commanding tone, the desire to control, the natural authority stamped into Danvers’ face. God, in that moment, she’d felt that Winterton himself was staring back at her.

  Yes, Danvers had shown her tenderness.

  Beguiling tenderness.

  But hadn’t she seen Winterton offer her mother the same and then later become commanding, controlling?

  She had long avoided such controlling, authoritative men.

  She preferred softer, kinder men with jolly natures, like Carrville. Her heart contracted with sadness and fondness all at once.

  Carrville had never caused her knees to turn to jelly nor had he sent tingles deep into her belly with a look or a caress.

  But he had been emotionally safe.

  No, she was not going to start this affaire with Danvers. It was unnecessary, self-indulgent.

  It wasn’t safe.

  Part of her feared that she was about to make another foolish emotional decision. She knew it and yet was powerless to stop herself, such was the fear pounding through her.

  Well, no one had ever died from a lack of dalliance.

  Danvers would survive and so would she.

  Lord Holston had made it clear that the door would remain ajar to her, despite her rejection of his generous offer of protection.

  Lord Holston had never made her knees weak. He had never made thought impossible for her. He had never inspired her to lose herself in sensation.

  He was good natured and easy to… well, manipulate in the most benign way.

  In short, he was perfect.

  As soon as she managed to cover up Cassandra’s strike mark on her cheek, she would go downstairs to the midnight ball. They would dance and she would pick her moment, lean close to him, and whisper her openness to hear his declaration again.

  Yes, that was the most rational option currently open to her.

  But what if Danvers objected publicly? What if he tried to prevent her from leaving with Holston?

  No. He wouldn’t make a dramatic scene like that. He was also a proud man. He wouldn’t care to come chasing after a woman who had so blatantly rejected him.

  You made promises to this man.

  No, that had been done in the heat of passion. And she had only promised not to use her beauty as a weapon to get what she wanted from him. She had not promised to never leave.

  She had not promised to warm his bed.

  She glanced at her face. Now she had one alabaster cheek and one normal one.

  She compressed her lips then rubbed the brush furiously in the rice powder.
She worked to apply the powder more evenly to her face. As she did, she heard Cassandra again, telling her that the trust had never been a trust at all. It had always been in Cassandra’s name, only, in her account.

  Tear of rage blurred Miranda’s vision once more.

  With a little howl of frustration, she dropped the brush back to the dresser and then stepped away from the mirror. Taking a deep breath, she tried to compose herself.

  I don’t want you to leave here. Not yet. Not with such hard feelings between us.

  She didn’t want to leave.

  She wanted to continue with Danvers and see where such an attraction would lead. She wanted to experience passion, just once.

  Yet, Mama had known a grand passion with Winterton, and he had abandoned her and broken her heart.

  No, she told herself firmly. The decision was made. Once she decided that a course of action was justified and rational, what more needed to be debated? Especially for a woman in her position. She’d never been able to place her trust in anyone besides Aunt Cassandra.

  Just look at how that had turned out!

  But when she had faced the nightmare of the doctor’s treatment, Danvers had been there for her.

  She had felt safe, so safe in his arms. When she had cried that she feared she was going to die, he had assured her that he would not allow her to die.

  He had said it so confidently, she had believed it. Believed in him.

  She had believed in Carrville and he had failed her.

  That hadn’t been his fault; he had been hounded into his death by an evil person. He had been consumed with the need to protect his beloved child’s memory.

  Yes, but I was there, alive, there for him every day and he couldn’t provide for me as he promised?

  She had begun to trust Froster, and he had become a threat to her personal safety.

  No, the decision was final. Best to err on the side of caution than to be sorry later.

  She left Lord Danvers’ bedchamber and walked towards her new, emotionally-safe future.

  Chapter Twelve

  Miranda slipped into the ballroom and then edged along the wall, her stomach knotting. Hopefully, her plan would progress quickly. Within two hours, she would surely find herself leaving Lord Danvers’ country house, headed back to Mayfair.

  Heads turned in her direction. A low, collective gasp sounded and people stood, gaping.

  She had made many an intentional, grand entrance but never anything to compare with this. Her stomach knotted tighter. She had hoped to slip in quietly and to locate Holston before Danvers spotted her. A wave of self-disgust washed over her.

  Coward. You should face Danvers and tell him farewell.

  No, the attraction between them was too powerful. If she faced him, she feared she would never be able to leave, at least not yet. For a woman in her profession, self-preservation was paramount. She couldn’t afford to listen to her heart. She must follow her rationality.

  She must stick to her plans.

  Holston was a quiet man who preferred to remain near the edge of the crowd, close to the exit so that he might slip away quickly, if he so desired. With his height and distinctive sandy blond hair, it did not take her long to find him.

  As she approached, Lord Holston’s eyes widened, and he stepped back several paces. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, Miss Jones?”

  She cocked her head and frowned. “Bed?”

  “Danvers said you were quite ill.”

  She laughed, using the womanly, wicked tone that she’d learned. “What does he say that I have?”

  “He said the doctor thought it was diphtheria.” Lord Holston said, dropping his voice as though he almost didn’t dare say the word.

  “Goodness, how dramatic.”

  “Dramatic? He says several of the below stairs staff are showing signs of the same ailment.” Lord Holston glanced about the ballroom. “He said there was no call to cancel the ball over it. However, he suggested that guests would want to leave in the morning, to avoid any needless risk of contagion.”

  “As you can plainly see, I am perfectly fine.” Genuinely laughing now, she drew her fan up to her face with a flourish and pressed it to her lips.

  Holston went pale. “Miss Jones, please keep your distance. I am due to visit my sister who is recovering from a recent lying in. I wouldn’t want to carry the white throat to her nursery.”

  “I am not ill.”

  “You are white as a sheet.”

  “What?” She touched her face, and the dry, powdery texture made her start. Oh, yes, the rice powder. She laughed. “It is just cosmetics. I am not ill.”

  “Why would Danvers lie about something like that?”

  “Perhaps he’s weary of the party? A reason for his guests to leave?”

  “I think not. Maybe in the old days, Danvers would try a jest like that, but he has too much honor now.” Holston wrinkled his brow. “I think perhaps you are delirious.” He scanned the crowd. “Where is Danvers? You should be put to bed and prevented from leaving it for your well-being as well as everyone else’s.”

  The light of recognition showed on his face, and he made a come hither motion. Then nodded to her. “Please excuse me, I am sure you’ll understand, once you have returned to your senses.”

  He backed away then turned and strode from the ballroom without looking back.

  She gaped at his departure.

  Her plan was in ruins. What would she do now?

  She turned around and saw that people were no longer talking and laughing and drinking. They were staring at her. The closest person to her stood at least six feet away. And that space was increasing as people pushed at the others in the crowded ballroom.

  The sea of bodies suddenly parted in front of her.

  She found herself staring into Danvers’ eyes. Tonight, in the light from the countless candelabras, those eyes rivaled sapphires.

  The Earl of Danvers seemed to stand taller than ever, perhaps an illusion created by his black evening clothes.

  Her heart began to pound. But she remained rooted to the spot.

  He came to her, standing so close, he could have bent and kissed her.

  A rumble of shocked voices roiled through the crowd.

  “Hush,” he said, equally low. “Not now, not here.”

  Her heart contracted, painfully. She knew what he must have thought, seeing her with Holston. He must have known what she intended. She began to breathe quicker and quicker. She had not anticipated the depth of regret she would feel. She had not expected to feel…what? Hurt? Yes, it felt like hurt. She couldn’t bear the thought that she had almost run from him.

  But surely it wouldn’t have been that dramatic. It wouldn’t have exactly broken his heart had he missed the chance to bed her. She was letting her vanity get away from her.

  Yet, having his prospective lover run away in the middle of the night, that would hurt any man’s pride.

  And, at times, pride had seemed to be all that Danvers possessed. Her heart contracted all over again, for she could certainly understand his position.

  “My lord,” she said low, apologetically.

  Their gazes locked. Deep in her belly, she had the sense of their connection, their innate understanding of each other. It didn’t make rational sense. But she felt it.

  “Dance with me,” he said, taking her hand.

  She nodded.

  His expression brightened, the intensity of his gaze intoxicating her. “My, how pale you are, my lady.”

  Had his voice caressed those last two words and made them into something else? An endearment?

  He led her to the center of the dance floor. The crowd pushed back. Some people fled the ballroom. He led her through the steps of a waltz and glanced about. “Look at the exodus you have created.”

  Laughter showed in his eyes.

  “I was not the one who told everyone that astounding fib.”

  “I wanted them gone.” He stopped the dance and gazed down at her wit
h such hunger burning in his eyes that she caught her breath. “All of them. As soon as it could be politely arranged.”

  Her chest tightened, making her aware that she was still holding her breath. “Oh, Adrian, I am so sorr…”

  He swept down and put his mouth over hers.

  Her heart’s beat became deafening in her ears.

  His kiss was hard. Demanding. Claiming her so thoroughly that, when he lifted his head, she melted into him.

  “I must tell you…,” she began.

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “But…”

  “You were afraid.” It wasn’t a question.

  She didn’t want to admit he was right. But he stared into her soul so deeply that he must have seen the truth in her eyes. He had known it in that moment when she had sensed his deep understanding. She had never experienced anything like that with anyone else. It was intoxicating. It was beguiling.

  Yet, how could he possibly know her thoughts so well?

  Was it because he felt something similar? In the past, with someone else?

  Or now, with her?

  Did she really possess such power over him? The thought filled her with excitement. She would like to tease and torment him. She would love to have this man who had disliked her for so long and who had at times intimidated her greatly to suffer with desire for her. To long for her so desperately that he might beg for her attentions.

  She had been so afraid, of the deep connection, of the overwhelming attraction to him.

  And now, she didn’t really want to make him beg or suffer for her, because that would mean she would have to withhold herself from him or leave him. She didn’t want be anywhere else but here with him.

  Close to him.

  Touching him.

  Kissing him.

  But the need to experience him, to be possessed by him was so intense that it sent tingles of fear all through her body.

  “I wanted everyone gone,” he said, a hard edge beneath his quiet tone. “I wanted it badly enough that I lied to all of my friends and respected acquaintances. I wanted it badly enough that I gladly threw away the money I could have won in the card room for the remainder of this week. I have never wanted anything that much.” His expression went grim. “I don’t like feeling that way.”