by Darcy Burke
Saxton gaped at Fox for a moment. “Your wife?” He looked back to Miranda whose eyes had widened.
Unease stirred with the emotions swirling through Fox’s mind. “Yes, we are to be married.”
Saxton pointed at Fox with a stabbing motion. “Did you agree to wed this man?”
Miranda’s cheeks hollowed as she sucked in air. She darted a glance at Fox and in her eyes he saw…regret. The lightness turned to black. Weight as heavy as iron pulled at his body, threatened his very sanity.
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I didn’t agree to marry him.”
Chapter Twenty
MIRANDA’S knees quivered as she watched the happiness fade from Fox’s eyes. His pulse beat a steady rhythm in his throat, a rhythm she still felt in her bones.
Jasper relaxed, shaking his shoulders out. “Since you claim he’s not your lover, I couldn’t imagine why you’d agree to wed him.”
Fox pinned her with an incredulous glare and the burden of her lie nearly suffocated her. “You claim I’m not your lover? What the hell occurred between us in the stable then?”
Her vision blurred. Had he just said that out loud? As close as she’d come to disaster in the past, for the first time the walls seemed to close in around her.
Jasper lunged forward and grabbed Fox’s lapel. “You ruined my sister?”
Fox threw him off, his eyes blazing. “No, I made love to my future wife. I’ve been asking your sister to marry me for months. Fool that I am, I rather fancied her seduction in my cell last night a tacit agreement to my proposal.”
Jasper swung on his sister. “What have you to say for yourself? You don’t shag a man and then expect to walk away. You’re the daughter of a goddamned duke, Miranda, not some trollop!”
She flinched beneath his fury and coarse language. She’d never seen Jasper this angry. Her body began to shake, but words wouldn’t come. She had no more excuses, no easy way to explain herself out of this. She’d been caught.
Miranda’s anger flared and she turned to Fox. “You didn’t ask me to marry you last night!”
The blue, green, and gold of his eyes burned into her. “The hell I didn’t. I told you I still wanted to marry you.”
Had he said that? She didn’t remember. She spun to face Jasper. “I don’t have to marry him. No one knows what happened last night.”
Jasper’s eyes widened. “You’re mad.”
Fox stepped into her line of sight and tugged her arm so that she had to look at him full on. “I will personally inform your parents that you might be carrying my child.”
Miranda shrunk back and pulled herself from his grasp. She could scarcely believe he could be so cold. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would. We’re marrying, whether you agree or I drag you to the altar with your family’s blessing.” He leaned toward her with a menacing, humorless smile. “And I’m certain they’ll give it.”
Miranda turned pleading eyes to Jasper. “Mother and Father will help me.”
Jasper opened his mouth then closed it abruptly. His brows drew low over his pale blue eyes. “Holborn will be livid—as I am very nearly—which is why I shan’t tell him of your indiscretion. Pray you are not with child, Miranda. You’ll never be allowed to raise it.”
Fox grabbed Jasper’s forearm. “What the hell are you saying? I don’t care how your father feels, I’m marrying her. Especially if she’s with child.”
Jasper threw his grasp off. “You can bloody well try, but Holborn won’t want you in this family.” He returned his attention to Miranda and frowned. His blond brows slanted low over his sharply piercing blue eyes. He’d never looked more like their father and she had to suppress a shiver. “What a godforsaken tangle you’ve made.” He turned his attention to Fox. “Because I think it’s the conscionable thing to do,” he threw an icy glare at Miranda that practically froze her insides, “I’ll do all I can to see you married, especially if she’s with child. Be warned however—it may not be enough. Holborn’s a right prick, and he always gets what he wants.”
A bit of Fox’s tension left his frame. “Thank you. All I’ve ever wanted is to marry Miranda.”
Yes, that was all he’d wanted. Practically since she’d arrived. And now she may have to marry him. Regardless of what Jasper said, Miranda was certain her father would wed her to Fox if she carried his child. How neatly this had all turned out for him.
The frost of a moment ago melted beneath her hurt and outrage. “You’ve been hoping for this, haven’t you?” As she asked the question, she knew it was true. They’d been alone so often, and any one of those occasions might have been construed as an intimate moment if they’d been interrupted by Beatrice or Mrs. Gates. She’d been foolish and so had he—or maybe he’d been incredibly shrewd, just waiting for the perfect scenario. And what about the brothel? He could have pushed her out of that closet instead of touching her, arousing her. “You’ve been trying to compromise me for some time.”
His gaze didn’t waver, his nostrils flared. He swallowed. “Somewhat.” He looked as if he might say more, but only added, “Yes.”
Her limbs stopped quivering, and the ice returned, taking away all sensation so that she was left with nothing but a void where her emotions should have been. “Well then, you shall be the most envied man in London to have finally captured my hand. My congratulations, for you lured me well. Bravo.” She pivoted toward her brother, his face impassive. “Come Jasper, I’m in need of rest.”
She took Jasper’s arm and as they left, she tried to contemplate what to do next. For the first time, she had no idea.
THE following evening Miranda couldn’t discern what made the day drearier: the incessant rain pelting the carriage or her parents’ persistent, chagrined glowers from the opposite seat. Jasper’s presence beside her did little to calm her. He was still furious with her for lying to him and sneaking into the stable to see Fox.
“Stop fidgeting, Miranda.” Her mother pursed her lips and frowned. The tiny lines around her mouth indicated she made this expression far too often. “My, but you’ve acquired atrocious habits this summer. I suppose it goes without saying if I had it to do over again, I would never have sent you here.”
“Just so.” Her father didn’t bother looking in either of their directions. “If you recall, I preferred sending her to a convent.”
Her mother exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “So you’ve said.”
Indeed, this had been an ongoing conversation since they’d arrived that afternoon.
“Remind me why we’re having dinner with this bumpkin?” Miranda’s father asked no one in particular.
“Because Jasper persuaded us Mr. Foxcroft is a decent gentleman who’s interested in marrying Miranda. And marrying her to someone is your primary goal, isn’t it?” Mother blinked at him.
Father cast a dark look at Jasper, who stared mutely out the window. “Yes, but I doubt this Foxcroft fellow is up to scratch. No matter since Lord Walter is champing at the bit to declare himself, and he’s an acceptable choice.”
Miranda’s temples throbbed. She didn’t know what Jasper had said to induce them to come tonight, but it didn’t matter. Jasper believed she ought to marry Fox because she was ruined. Her parents preferred she marry Lord Walter because of his social superiority. No one bothered to ask what she wanted.
At least her parents didn’t know she’d spent the night with Fox. She hadn’t even had to ask Jasper to keep the secret. As furious as her brother had been, he couldn’t consign her to the excruciatingly bitter and eternal disappointment of their parents. And she refused to entertain the idea of a possible pregnancy. It simply couldn’t be borne.
Miranda wanted to climb the walls of the coach. She began to clasp her fingers together again, but stopped herself lest her mother admonish her once more. She glanced at the duchess, who, naturally, managed to sit rock still, barely even swaying with the movement of the coach.
“Miranda, you lived in the area all summer, want to
be betrothed to this man, and yet you haven’t seen his home, this Bassett Manor?”
Fox never entertained, but she didn’t enlighten her parents. He had enough marks against him without adding social recluse to the list. Although, if she truly wanted to avoid marrying him, she’d let them see precisely who he was.
What was she doing? Protecting him apparently. “I’ve been busy with the orphanage, and if you’ll recall, I was banned from socializing.” Mother didn’t even flinch. “When you visit Stipple’s End tomorrow, you will see how so much of my time has been spent.” Miranda anticipated showing them her accomplishments. Because of the benefit, the roof would be fixed, and the girls were a glowing display of Miranda’s commitment. At last, perhaps, her parents would bestow upon her the approval she craved.
“Shame we couldn’t have talked Kersey into marrying you. He’s making such an effort to restore the family name. Nice title, too. Lord Walter will have to do, however.” Mother nodded, agreeing with herself.
Father leaned toward Mother. “Or—I never thought I’d say this—even Darleigh. A bounder to be sure, but at least he’s the nephew of an earl with five thousand a year. How much did Saxton say this Foxcroft has?”
“I didn’t,” Jasper answered, though he didn’t take his gaze from the window.
More pursed-lip frowning from Mother.
They’d allow her to marry Darleigh? They’d already judged him as completely unworthy. In fact, her kissing him was the reason they’d exiled her here in the first place. And now Fox was reprehensible enough to make Darleigh attractive?
Despite her residual anger toward Fox, Miranda found herself outraged on his behalf. “Fox is a good man. He may not be the wealthiest gentleman, and it’s true he has no title, but he owns quite a bit of land, two estates, and dedicates himself to those who are less fortunate.”
Her mother’s frown tilted briefly upward. “A…charming defense, my dear, but an impoverished altruist is not a prime candidate for a husband. Will he even spend the Season in London? Come to court? Take holiday in Brighton? His dedication sounds unbearably dull.”
Miranda gritted her teeth. Further discussion would prove pointless.
They turned into the drive, passing a deserted gatehouse whose age and disrepair were quite pronounced, despite the darkness caused by both fading daylight and the terrible rainstorm. Miranda hoped the rest of Bassett Manor didn’t appear as shoddy, but she had a sinking feeling it might be even worse.
After several moments, they came upon a large rambling domicile, part medieval castle, part Tudor hall, and part Restoration manor. Its myriad of architectural designs didn’t detract from the structure. On the contrary, whoever had overseen the enlargements had done so with a keen eye and more than a bit of flair. Tall, mullioned windows threw light onto the darkened drive and lent a cheery glow.
Father peered out of the window and studied the house. “Big enough, I suppose, but it’s nothing if he doesn’t have the land to back it up.” True to himself no matter what, her father measured everything in land and money. At least this earned a point in Fox’s favor.
One of their grooms opened the door and assisted the duchess and then Miranda from the carriage. Another groom held out a large umbrella. Miranda followed closely to seek protection from the downpour.
By the time they’d reached the stone stairs leading to the great oaken entrance, Miranda’s neck and back had caught more than a few fat drops of rain, but her discomfort evaporated when she stepped inside.
The massive entry gave Miranda the impression of a cathedral. Soaring three stories high, the room split at a wide staircase ascending the far wall. Mid-landing, the stairs forked left and right, curling downward along a thick wooden balustrade gorgeously carved with highly polished oak leaves and acorns.
Large rooms led from each side of the foyer. Corridors disappeared to the sides and back of the house on either side of the stairs. Though the structure screamed importance, the appointments lacked everything except age and use. An old, tattered carpet covered part of the stone tile floor, but an array of chips and cracks were still visible around the edges. Tallow candles, not beeswax, filled the overhead chandelier, further illuminating Fox’s shallow coffers.
He strode into the entry hall from one of the back corridors. Miranda sucked in her breath. He wore the same clothing he’d worn to the benefit, elegant black perfectly offsetting the brilliant white shirt and emerald green waistcoat. His slippers looked a bit worn, but then he had dashed after her to the brothel, if memory served. He returned her perusal with equal interest, and she quickly thrust all thoughts of the benefit from her mind lest she betray she still wanted him. Coerced marriage or not, she desired him with a ferocity that sent a shiver up her spine.
Fox stopped in the center of the room and offered bows to the duke and duchess. “Good evening, Your Grace, Your Grace.” He looked past them and inclined his head toward Saxton. “My lord.” He stepped forward and took Miranda’s hand. “My lady.” Did anyone else hear the note of possession in his tone?
“Good evening, Foxcroft.” Her father clasped his hands behind his back, likely to keep from having to touch Fox in greeting. “Quite a…house.” His judgmental gaze traveled upwards and around before settling back on his host.
“Yes, it’s been in my family since the twelfth century. Not in its entirety, however. There have been several additions over the ages.” He smiled. “I’m sorry the daylight is gone, or I would show you the gardens. They’re quite lovely. The maple trees around the lake are breathtaking this time of year.”
He had a lake? Miranda realized there were still many things she didn’t know about him. What did he eat for breakfast? How did he relax? What did the rest of his house look like? His bedchamber? She hoped no one noticed the heat rising in her cheeks.
“Dinner is nearly served. If you will just accompany me.” He presented his arm to Miranda, and she took it, trying to ignore the familiar jolt of excitement running up her arm. For months she’d disregarded the response as a mere aberration—the reaction of a lonely woman used to the attentions of dozens of men. Now she knew it to be different. Only he was capable of such provocation.
She walked with him toward the right side corridor, passing an enormous hall. Judging from its exposed, arching beams, it no doubt existed as part of the original building. Similar in form and shape to Stipple’s End, this hall rose higher and swept longer. And, she noted, it didn’t leak.
Turning right, they traipsed a shadowy hallway—the sconces were few and again lit with tallow—coming to a large doorway on the left. Dark, Tudor-era paneling arched high above the dining room. Carved deer and other woodland creatures decorated the focal point, a massive fireplace. A beautifully woven but worn cloth covered the long table. Embroidered foxes frolicked around the hem, declaring the piece a Foxcroft family heirloom. The silver and plate were also aged, but didn’t appear overly abused. Overall, Miranda breathed a sigh of relief at the state of Fox’s house.
A setting for five graced one end of the table, presumably so they could more easily converse. Fox gave Miranda the seat to his right and waited for her father to assist her mother into the chair opposite. The duke sat down beside her, while Jasper took the remaining chair next to Miranda. With everyone positioned, Fox took his own chair at the head.
Two footmen, oh Lord, only two footmen, came forward and poured wine. Mother acknowledged the deficit of servants with a frown. Miranda sipped her wine and fought to keep her face relaxed. Bleh! She nearly choked. How old was the vintage? Had it been stored properly?
Her gaze flicked to her father. As he took a drink, his eye twitched and he set the glass back on the table. “I think you might have a bad bottle there.”
Miranda cringed, afraid all of the bottles were spoiled, or worse—Fox had no other bottles.
Fox lifted his lips, but didn’t smile. “You may be right.” He turned to beckon a footman. “Rufus, another bottle please.”
“What an in
teresting motif above the fireplace, Mr. Foxcroft.” Mother studied the animals cavorting amongst a wide-armed oak and other, lesser trees.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Fox turned to briefly glance at the carving. “A previous relative handcrafted the scene. Interestingly, the stag depicted there was later killed by the artist. In fact, the antlers were made into a lamp currently displayed in the great hall.”
The duchess managed a brittle smile, but Miranda could well imagine what she thought of an antler lamp.
The footman finished opening the new bottle of wine and poured a sample into the duke’s glass. Father wasted no time in tasting the replacement and, judging from the wrinkling of his nose, found it lacking.
“How much land do you have here, Foxcroft?.” Father had apparently deemed further commentary on the wine to be pointless.
“Over two thousand acres.” That much?
If her father was impressed, he didn’t show it. “How badly did the weather affect you this year? The yields from my southernmost holdings will be down nearly a quarter.”
Miranda darted a look at Fox. He appeared serene, completely unruffled, affable even. “I’m not yet certain how devastating our loss will be, but I’m certain it’s significant. A shame, too, as I’d planned to expand my sheep population in the spring.”
He had sheep?
Miranda picked up her spoon to taste the mock turtle soup—she’d be surprised if Fox could afford real turtle soup—the footmen set before her. She’d never had the calf’s head substitute, but it wasn’t bad. In fact, the herbs used created a most delectable flavor.
“Must be difficult overseeing an orphanage. Likely takes away from time you’d rather be spending on your estate, making repairs, refurbishing.” Father looked around the room, leaving no doubt as to his opinion that the dining room draperies needed replacement and the walls could use redecoration.
“Precisely why Miranda will be such a valuable helpmate.” Fox smiled at her, but his eyes remained distant.
