by Darcy Burke
With crimson-tinted cheeks, Beatrice nodded.
Miranda suppressed a giggle. So they shared a love for novels and perhaps memories of parents who never hugged them. Suddenly she found it imperative to ally herself with the too-dour Beatrice. To that end, Miranda would do everything possible to ensure she snared Mr. Stratham.
Miranda gestured toward the door. “Come, show me the auction. I shall give you the book when we get back to Birch House.”
Beatrice walked beside her. “You’re coming back?”
“I told you I would. I’m certain my things have already been delivered.” Miranda smiled at people as they moved through a growing throng.
“But aren’t you going to be married?” Beatrice spoke in low tones.
Miranda waved a hand. “Heavens no. At least, not yet.”
“But I thought your parents had found a husband for you.”
“We didn’t suit.” Lord Kersey’s gentle rejection still stung. And she simply refused to think she might be allied with Lord Walter.
They stepped into the Gold Room. Rows of chairs had been set up along with a podium. An auctioneer from London stood at the front of the room—or what had been designated as the front.
“Miranda, my dear! I was told you wouldn’t be here. What a splendid surprise.” Lord Septon came forward and took her hand between his, giving it a hearty squeeze. The angular planes of his face crinkled as he grinned down at her. “Such a display you’ve arranged for us. ’Tis very well done of you.”
Miranda withdrew her hand after clasping his in return and gestured to Beatrice. “Dear Septon, this is my friend Miss Beatrice Carmody. She is the one you should be lauding. I have only just returned from Wokingham.” Miranda was pleased to see Beatrice’s mouth curve up.
Beatrice glanced at Miranda before giving Lord Septon her attention. “We are honored to have you and the other members of the antiquity society with us.”
“It is you who honor us. This is an impressive collection. I daresay we might come to fisticuffs over a few of the items.” He laughed heartily.
Miranda scanned the room, taking in the various people, nodding at those she knew, and then arresting when her gaze fell on Fox leaning against one of the doorways. He stared straight at her, his eyes blazing. A shiver crept across her shoulders.
Beatrice clasped her hands together. “We should take our seats.”
Lord Septon offered his arm to Miranda. “May I see you to your chair?”
Miranda pulled her gaze from Fox. “No, thank you. I’m just going to stand in the back.”
“Very well then. I require a position very near the front.” He offered them a bow and moved to the first row of chairs.
Beatrice turned to Miranda. “Aren’t you going to say something to everyone before the auction?”
Miranda shook her head. “No, I can see you have everything well in hand.” At Beatrice’s momentary look of panic, Miranda rushed to add, “Unless you want me to say something?”
Taking a deep breath, Beatrice squared her shoulders. “No, you were right. I’ve been doing my part out of a sense of obligation my parents have instilled in me since childhood. I realized over the past few days I’m doing this because I want to. And I want to because you’ve shown me how much it matters.”
“Me?” Miranda had inspired Beatrice? This evening was full of surprises. Around them people were sitting or moving to the sides of the room and conversation began to die. Miranda gave Beatrice a nudge. “Go on.”
Beatrice answered with a small smile and went to the podium. Miranda retreated to the back of the room. Her brother entered with a stunning, raven-haired beauty on his arm. He guided her to a seat in the back row and sat beside her, whispering in her ear. She looked at him with the same expression Miranda used with the opposite sex when she wanted something. Except she was fairly certain what the unknown woman wanted was not anything Miranda had tried to obtain.
After Beatrice’s introduction, the auctioneer began describing the first item, a landscape painting. Septon bid first. He’d brought at least a half dozen people from the antiquity society, maybe closer to ten even. She’d write him a special note of thanks.
“You look beautiful.”
Miranda hadn’t seen Fox walk up beside her. His low-spoken compliment fluttered across her bare collarbone. She turned and was once again astonished at the change in his appearance.
“Thank you. You look nice, too.” What a terribly inadequate remark. But neither could she wax poetic without looking a complete fool. They lapsed into silence for a moment, their gazes locked in some sort of quiet struggle in which they thought of something to say, or perhaps something not to say. Finally, Miranda opted for safety. “Who is the woman sitting with my brother?”
Fox looked at the back row. Though she now studied him in profile, Miranda noted his nostrils flared.
“Mrs. Danforth.”
Miranda glanced back at Mrs. Danforth leaning close to Jasper. “I’ve never met her. Does she live in Wootton Bassett?”
Fox didn’t take his gaze from the voluptuous woman. “Not far, yes.”
“She’s very flirtatious for a married woman.” In truth, she was no worse than any of the married women in London. “Unless she’s a widow.”
At last, he turned back toward Miranda. His eyes were impossibly vivid this evening. Every time he looked at her, it felt as if he were touching her. “Yes, in fact, she is widowed. Has been for quite some time.”
Miranda had lost all interest in Mrs. Danforth. “I’m going to check on the musicians. The dancing is due to begin after the auction.” She expected him to accompany her, had practically invited him to do so. Her breath halted in her lungs as she awaited his response.
The gold in his eyes burned against the green and blue. Before he could say anything, Beatrice came up beside them. “Did I hear you mention the musicians? I was just on my way to make sure they were all set. Why don’t you join me?”
Caught, Miranda could only nod and leave with Beatrice. Over her shoulder she gave Fox a lingering look. He continued to watch her. A warm flush suffused her limbs as she glided out of the Gold Room.
Miranda busied herself over the next hour, floating between rooms. The auction was going smashingly well. The orphanage would have a comfortable winter. The last items up for bidding were the tapestries from Stipple’s End. Lord Septon, the rotund man pointed out to her as Lord Norris, and a third gentleman from the antiquity society battled over the precious items. In the end, Lord Norris emerged the victor.
Glad the auction had finally concluded, Miranda went to the ballroom where the music had begun and people were already dancing. She’d made a point of ensuring there would be a waltz in the first set.
Positioned opposite the dais, Miranda could see all of the doors leading into the ballroom. She scanned the faces pouring in for Fox. As the reel drew to a close, she finally saw him enter. He perused the crowd until he found her and then his lips lifted into a smile. He came toward her.
Patience had never been one of Miranda’s skills. She met him halfway just as the strains of the waltz started up. He took her hand. “Would you care to dance?”
She smiled up at him. “I would.”
He led her to the middle of the ballroom and swept her into his arms. The memory of their prior dances washed over her like a warm, welcome, rosemary-scented bath.
He guided her toward the terrace doors and then toward the dais. “This music is better than our first waltz.”
She laughed. “I liked it fine.”
He arched a brow. “Well, then surely I look more the part.”
“You look every bit the part.” She smoothed her hand over the black wool covering his shoulder. The jacket wasn’t made from the finest cloth, but it fit him perfectly. But then, he had a frame made for display.
His eyes darkened except for the gold at the center, which seemed to spark. “Stop looking at me like that, Miranda.”
“Like what?”
Miranda’s eyes widened. Was she so obvious? “Sorry.” Even after she’d rejected his proposal, he’d made it clear he still wanted her. Had he changed his mind while she was gone? His behavior didn’t seem to indicate such. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
His lips tightened into something like a grimace. He stared over her shoulder. “I’m not uncomfortable, exactly.” He glanced down at her face and quickly averted his gaze once more. “Yes, I’m uncomfortable, but likely not for the reasons you suspect.”
Miranda wanted to smile for she knew exactly what he meant.
“I have to ask.” He took a deep breath. “Are you betrothed?”
Miranda nearly tripped over his foot at the anguish she detected in his tone. “No.” She leaned a fraction closer.
“You’re torturing me. Do you know that?” He looked down at her again, but this time kept his incredible eyes fixated on her face. “I still, that is—”
“Don’t say it.” Now Miranda looked away. What could she say? Even if she wanted to—and she wasn’t absolutely sure she did—she shouldn’t encourage him. Her parents had cautioned her against associating with “socially inappropriate” country gentlemen. But tonight she felt so… A rebellious idea came to her, as usual. If she really wanted him, they could simply elope to Gretna Green. Someone Georgie had known since girlhood had done that very thing last fall.
She returned her attention to Fox, but he’d gone back to staring over her shoulder, his face an impassive mask. Despair rooted in Miranda’s chest. Was she doomed to be attracted to unsuitable men like the highwayman and Montgomery Foxcroft? She could run away with him, but too much of her couldn’t bear the disappointment her parents would surely bestow upon her.
The dance drew to a close and before she could savor the touch of his hand at the small of her back, he stepped away from her. They stood facing each other for a moment.
Lisette rushed to Miranda’s side and grasped her hand. “Lady Miranda, you must help. Flora has left.”
Miranda reluctantly turned from Fox. “What’s wrong? Is she ill?”
“No. She’s gone.” Lisette’s lower lip quivered and tears shone in her hazel eyes. “She left with Mrs. Danforth.” She ended her declaration on a gasp.
Miranda shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why did she leave with Mrs. Danforth?”
Fox stepped toward them. “Come, let’s move to the side.” His face had darkened and his brows were drawn together.
Lisette dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Mrs. Danforth is the one who took Rose away.”
Miranda froze as they neared the corner. “Isn’t Rose the prostitute?”
“Yes.” Lisette began to cry.
Miranda patted the girl’s shoulder. “There, there. We’ll take care of this. I’ll deliver you to Mrs. Gates, and then we’ll figure this out. I’m sure someone knows where Mrs. Danforth has taken her.”
Lisette looked at Fox and then at Miranda. “Fox knows. She’s his friend.”
Miranda turned on Fox. He’d reacted to the woman when she’d come into the auction with Jasper. “She’s your friend?”
Fox pressed his lips together. “Let’s find Mrs. Gates. Then I’ll go to Mrs. Danforth’s and fetch Flora.”
Before Miranda could question him further, he guided Lisette toward the door, leaving Miranda to trail in their wake. Rather than waste time looking for Mrs. Gates, Miranda reasoned it would be better to go directly after Flora. Which meant she had to go to Mrs. Danforth’s. Hopefully it wouldn’t be difficult to find. Perhaps she could yet overtake them if she left right away.
Instead of following Fox, Miranda exited through a different door and made her way to the entrance hall. A footman let her out onto the front portico. She shivered as the cool autumn night air greeted her bare neck and shoulders, but there was no time to fetch a pelisse or a shawl. Hurrying down the stairs, she focused on the carriages parked in the drive, willing her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. Carriage lanterns splayed light onto the sides of the vehicles and onto the gravel below, but she had no idea what to look for. Which carriage belonged to Fox?
She could take the carriage she and Jasper had brought, provided it had returned from delivering her things to Birch House, but she presumed Fox’s driver would know how to get to Mrs. Danforth’s. Anger flared up her spine again, but she pushed the emotion away. She’d have plenty of time to query Fox about his friendship with Mrs. Danforth.
There! A dark, somewhat shabby landau that looked to be nearly as old as Miranda. She strode to the man leaning against the side. He tipped a flask back and wiped a hand over his mouth.
She came to a halt before him. “Excuse me, is this Mr. Foxcroft’s landau?”
The coachman stashed his flask inside his coat. “Indeed, ma’am.”
She smiled her coquette’s smile and the man’s features softened. “He requested you drive me to Mrs. Danforth’s.”
The coachman’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped. “Surely there’s a mistake.”
Miranda fluttered her lashes at him and sidled closer. “No. I need to fetch something. It won’t take but a trice. Fox demanded we hurry.”
The coachman glanced at the house, indecision marked in his features. He looked back at Miranda, and she curved her lips into a provocative moue. He blinked. And then he opened the door.
With a satisfied intake of breath, Miranda climbed inside. Settling against the squab, she folded her arms across her chest. She’d just run in, grab Flora, and hurry back to the benefit before anyone noticed her absence. What could go wrong?
FOX found Mrs. Gates in the Gold Room overseeing the auctioned goods. Some were being paid for and taken this evening, while others would be delivered or collected the following day. Fox should have been helping with this endeavor, but he’d been too distracted by Miranda.
Mrs. Gates rushed forward, her forehead crinkling with concern. She smoothed a hand over Lisette’s brow. “Goodness, what’s happened child?”
“It’s Flora!” Tears coursed down Lisette’s cheeks. “She’s left with Mrs. Danforth.”
Mrs. Gates snapped her gaze to Fox. It had been years since she’d directed such an angry look at him. “I thought you told that woman to stay away.”
Fox was transported back to when he’d ruined a bucket of good apples by throwing them at a target he and another boy had set up in the orchard. Mrs. Gates had made him clean the library every day for a fortnight. Defensively, he said, “I did.” In a note. That Polly hadn’t responded to.
Lisette hiccupped. “Where’s Lady Miranda?”
She wasn’t behind him? Fox spun around to empty space, but saw Lord Saxton enter. Unease settled into Fox’s bones like an unpaid debt.
Saxton took that inopportune moment to overhear Lisette’s question. He strode further into the room. “I’m looking for her myself. Have you seen her?”
Lisette gulped air as she gawked up at Miranda’s brother. “Yes, she was just here.”
Fox shot Mrs. Gates a speaking glance. With a subtle nod, Mrs. Gates turned Lisette from the gentlemen and whispered something in her ear.
He turned to address Saxton. “She was with us in the ballroom. However, she’s gone to Stipple’s End with one of the girls who’s taken ill.” That would explain both Miranda’s and Flora’s absences for the rest of the night. He had no intention of letting either of them return.
The headmistress threw a look over her shoulder at Saxton. “My apologies, my lord. She’s very upset about her friend.”
Saxton’s pale blue eyes briefly widened. “You say Miranda left the party to care for a sick child? My sister, Miranda?” He studied Fox, the quirk of his mouth belying his skepticism.
Mrs. Gates allowed Lisette to turn back around, but held the girl close. “Yes, my lord. Miranda, that is, Lady Miranda has become very close to the girls. Indeed, we quite rely on her
at Stipple’s End.”
Saxton cocked his head to the side. “I might not have believed this if I hadn’t heard you say it, ma’am. It appears people do change.”
Fox was growing irritated with this conversation. Not because it somehow demeaned Miranda—and he supposed it did—but because she was Lord-knew-where. Actually, Fox had a suspicion as to her location, and if he was right, he needed to get her out of there immediately.
Donning his most benign expression, Fox bowed to Mrs. Gates and Lisette. “I’ve some things to see to, if you’ll excuse me.” He was halfway to the door before he realized Saxton trailed him. Dammit.
“Foxcroft. I understand there’s a certain, ah establishment in the area where a gentleman might go…”
Fox then recalled Miranda’s brother had been sitting with Polly Danforth during the auction. If Miranda had gone to Polly’s, as Fox surmised, it was the absolute last place Saxton needed to be.
Fox paused outside the Gold Room, his mind churning for ways to dissuade the other man. “That would be Polly Danforth’s. It’s a bit early yet. Best time to go is around midnight.”
Saxton nodded. “Excellent. And how might I find this oasis of pleasure?”
“I presume your carriage is in the drive?”
“It should be if it isn’t at present,” Saxton said. “My coachman had to deliver Miranda’s things to Birch House.”
“I’ll give your coachman the direction.” Fox planned to conveniently forget.
“Brilliant. I suppose I’m for more of Stratham’s brandy then. He’s got a damn fine cellar.”
Because a displaced Frenchman in the next town over offered the brandy as a tribute, but let Saxton believe what he would. Fox had more pressing matters than calling out Stratham’s illegal behavior.
Fox bowed stiffly and took himself off. Thank God Miranda’s brother didn’t follow. Fox raced through the entry hall and out into the drive to…where his carriage was no longer parked.
“Hell’s teeth!”
A couple of coachmen who were standing nearby looked over at him. “What?”
