by Darcy Burke
Husband and father. As Fox would have been. As he would still like to be. God, could she really just hand her child over to him? Would her father even let her? And why on earth, if she was pregnant, wouldn’t she just marry him, regardless of what her parents said?
“There you go again, Miranda. All sad-faced. I thought you loved Fox.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not marrying him.” Did she love him? She thought of his declaration of love that afternoon, how her heart had broken.
Beatrice frowned at her. “I’d begun to like you, Miranda, but I’m afraid I can’t abide you throwing Fox over. He may not be rich, but with your money, who cares? Perhaps his need for money and your overabundance of the same is simply happy coincidence. Makes your love story rather destined, don’t you think?”
“You’ve been reading too many novels.” Miranda had read those same novels, and once upon a time she’d wanted to find such a love. What if she’d missed the only opportunity she’d ever have?
Beatrice stood, her eyes blazing. “Fine, wallow in your self-pity! When you get back to London with your fancy friends and your empty life, mayhap you’ll realize what you’re giving up. Pity your parents have never allowed you to make your own decisions.”
“Yes, they do.”
But they didn’t. They dissected every decision she made and judged it poor and unworthy. Even her good work at the orphanage had been denigrated. And as soon as she returned to London, they would immerse her in her old life until her memories of Wiltshire were faded and worn, like an old pair of gloves. Until there was no way she would consider coming back here.
She didn’t want that to happen. She didn’t want to forget the children, Mrs. Gates, or Beatrice. And she certainly didn’t want to forget Fox.
Her chest lightened, as if a weight had been pulled from her. She hugged Beatrice, who stiffened. “We’re going to be hugging more, Beatrice. Both of us. We need it.” She hugged her again and grinned.
Miranda turned and opened the door.
Beatrice’s brows collected over her eyes. “Where are you going?”
“To make a decision.”
AS soon as Miranda shut Beatrice’s door, her parents stepped from their bedchamber in the middle of the hallway. They wore matching expressions of doom.
“Ah, there you are, Miranda.” The duke clasped his hands behind his back, looking as if he planned to deliver an important speech.
Miranda had no intention of listening to it. “I’m staying. And I’m marrying Fox.”
Her mother came forward, a sconce throwing light over her desperately tightened features. “No, you’re returning to London with us where your father’s solicitor will draw up the marriage settlements.”
They were allowing her to marry Fox? She’d expected at least a small argument, if not a full-out battle. “Can’t you conduct the business without me? I’d like to help Fox with overseeing the repairs.”
Her father shook his head and Miranda knew she’d misunderstood. “The marriage contract will be with Lord Walter, not Foxcroft.” He said Fox’s name as if it carried the plague.
Miranda’s heart hammered. Could they hear the racket it made in her ears? “I’m not marrying Lord Walter. I’m staying here with Fox.”
The candlelight reflected in her father’s ice-blue eyes. “You don’t seem to understand, Miranda. Marriage to Foxcroft is too far beneath this family. You’ll get over him, just as you did the diamond necklace we refused to buy when you were sixteen.”
Miranda felt a bit dizzy. Fox wasn’t a diamond necklace. He was a person. A man. Her man. They didn’t really care what she wanted, would never approve of her choice. And right now she had to make the most important decision of her life. Could she suffer a future without their approval, possibly without them?
The weight of Mother’s cold expression and Father’s dispassionate gaze forced her eyes shut. In the blackness of her mind rose the smiling face of Fox as he danced with her, held her, loved her as no one ever had.
Opening her eyes, she saw things with a clarity she’d never experienced. “I’m marrying Fox because I love him. And because I could already be carrying his child. So, you see, I’m afraid the choice is all mine.”
Her mother staggered back, her hand flying to her throat and her eyes peeling so far open, Miranda feared they might pop from her head. Her father, on the other hand, glowered menacingly as if he wanted to commit some act of violence. Miranda instinctively stepped backward.
“Is this a ruse to win your way?” The duke sounded as if he’d chewed a mouthful of glass.
“No. Jasper will confirm it.” She hated bringing her brother into this mess, but she wouldn’t put it past her parents to insist she leave anyway. They still might.
Her father’s eyes spat ice and fire. “He knew of this? No wonder he was pushing this infernal marriage.” He grabbed Miranda’s wrist. “I should’ve sent you to that goddamned convent. But this changes nothing. You’ll still marry Lord Walter.”
Miranda’s knees went weak. “No,” she breathed, then more firmly. “No. I’m going to marry Fox.”
“The hell you will.” The duke dropped her reddened wrist. “Get back to your room.”
Her mother’s face had drained of color, but now red bloomed in her cheeks as anger overcame her shock. After giving Miranda a thoroughly derisive stare, she turned to her husband. “You’d marry her to Lord Walter in this state?”
“Especially in this state. She needs a husband yesterday, and he’s the only one who wants her.”
Miranda felt like she was drowning, and her parents were simply standing by as she struggled to stay afloat. No assistance. No compassion. Certainly no love. “Fox wants me! And I want him. I love him.”
The duke leaned forward and sneered in her face. “When are you going to realize it doesn’t matter what you want? That’s been your problem all along. I would’ve supported any number of suitors, allowed you to make a choice, but you only entertained substandard gentlemen. You and your brother are a bloody matched set.”
What on earth did that mean? Miranda didn’t know, but the duke’s anger was also directed at Jasper, and she was now doubly sorry she’d pulled him into this.
Her father straightened. “I am your father, and I will see you do your duty. Now get to your chamber. We depart early.” He turned and left her shaking in the corridor.
That hadn’t turned out at all as she’d planned. She’d finally tried to take control of her own destiny, only to be forbidden. Lord Walter. No, she wouldn’t marry him. She loved Fox. Fox.
She spun on her heel and hurried back to her bedchamber—not to sleep, but to fetch some things before she left. She wondered if her parents would ever forgive what she was about to do, but realized she didn’t care anymore. She only hoped Fox forgave her for taking so long to see what was right in front of her upturned nose.
Three quarters of an hour later, she was pacing Stratham’s ridiculous Gold Room, awaiting her brother.
When he entered, his brow creased as he regarded her agitated state. “Miranda, it’s quite late.”
She walked to him and took his hand. He looked down at her touch, reminding her how closed off they’d all kept themselves. But no more. At least not between them. If they were a matched set, or whatever the duke had said, they needed to stick together.
“Father is ordering me to marry Lord Walter, but I’m going to elope with Fox. If he’ll have me.” God, she hoped he’d have her. She just couldn’t imagine a life without him anymore.
Jasper sucked in a breath. “You can’t. Holborn will hunt you down. And it won’t be that he simply drags you off and forces you to marry Lord Walter. He’ll make Fox pay for his audacity. He’ll ruin the man and his orphanage.”
Miranda’s knees went weak for the second time in the space of an hour. “He wouldn’t.”
“He would.” He glanced away. “He’s done it before.”
She felt Jasper’s pulse pounding in his wrist. “What
is it? Father said you and I were a matched set. Something to do with substandard suitors.”
Jasper withdrew his hand. His mouth compressed into a slim line and his eyes hardened. “I’ll talk to him. You don’t need to elope. Just tell Foxcroft to post the banns as soon as possible.”
His demeanor worried her. “How can you do this? You’ve already tried—”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s never really cared if you make an advantageous match, just that you don’t embarrass him. I’m the one who needs to marry well.”
She took his hand again, firmly so he couldn’t draw away. “Jasper, what are you saying? That you’ll marry whomever he dictates? I can’t let you do that.”
He surprised her by squeezing her hand. “You can, and you will. I’ve always known what lay in my future. And it seems that future is now.” He smiled softly at her. “It’s all right. I want you to be happy. Please, for the love of Christ, let one of us be happy.” He released her hand. “How did you get here at this hour?”
“Beatrice helped me borrow one of her father’s coaching horses.”
“You rode it here? Good thing you’re such an excellent horsewoman.” He put his hand at the small of her back and made to escort her from the room. “Come, I’ll have a groom return it, and I’ll see you to Bassett Manor in my coach.”
Relief and gratitude poured through her. “Thank you.” She paused to look up at her brother. “I love you, Jasper.”
And then, because he clearly needed it, too, she wrapped him in a fierce hug.
FOX tossed in his bed for the hundredth time, wondering if Miranda was leaving for London in the morning. Or maybe she’d been in such a hurry to get away from him and Wootton Bassett that she’d already departed that very afternoon.
He stared at the aged, woven canopy high over his head. He wanted her with everything he had—every heartbeat, every breath, every empty moment she wasn’t by his side. He should be doing whatever necessary to persuade her to stay.
Instead, he’d all but shoved her away.
If he was lucky, she was carrying his child and would come back to him. Disgust rose his in throat. He didn’t want her that way. He wanted her willing—nay, eager—to be his wife. He wanted her to love him.
A breeze from the open window ruffled the hangings around his bed. The heavy blue damask buffeted, and the lone candle sputtering near the bed blew out. Fox jolted upright. He hadn’t left the window that open.
Then he heard it. A gentle shuffle against the wood of the floor. He strained to hear every sound. If there was someone in his chamber, they wouldn’t know about the—
Creak.
—in the floorboard at the end of the bed. He glanced around for a weapon, but knew there were none. And he was naked. Where the bloody hell was his dressing gown?
Creak.
There was no help for it. Someone was clearly in the room, and he needed to move.
He pushed the covers back and leapt from the bed, ready to meet his attacker. A good fight might be just what he needed to erase a certain blond siren from his mind.
From the meager light of the dying fire, he made out the form of the intruder. Without pause, he jumped forward and knocked the figure onto his bed.
A feminine gasp rewarded him as he straddled her body.
“Miranda?”
The bed curtains weren’t drawn tight enough to obscure the firelight. She wore a dark cloak, but the hood had fallen back when he’d tackled her beneath him, revealing her golden, upswept hair. A black kerchief covered the lower half of her face, but her aqua eyes sparkled.
She reached up and touched his chest. “Are you naked?”
“So it would seem.” Hope surged within him as he reasoned why she might’ve stolen into his room in the dead of night. “Are you here to take something from me? My virtue, perhaps?”
She reached behind her head and untied the mask. “Actually, I thought I might give you something.”
Fox nearly froze in disbelief, but he didn’t want to lose the sheer ecstasy of this moment. “You’re not supposed to remove your disguise. It quite ruins the whole idea of anonymity.”
Her lips curved into an alluring smile. “I assure you I’m not here to commit a crime.”
His cock surged against her waist. “Pity.”
She arched a brow at him and laughter threatened to bubble up from his chest. “Are you going to continue sitting on me or help me get undressed?”
Doubt invaded, terrible and black. “Why such haste? Do you have somewhere to go? London perhaps?” If she’d come here for one last tup…he didn’t know what he’d do. He inhaled her familiar scent and considered chaining her to the bed.
“You think I’m in a hurry to leave?” She wriggled beneath him and his desire flared. “You might have a deficit of money, Fox, but I never took you for lacking intelligence. I’d like to take my clothes off so that I may make love to my future husband.” The exasperation in her tone was endearing, and the words flooded him with a dizzying mixture of joy and satisfaction and love. She’d come for him. She wanted him.
“I trust I demonstrated earlier that clothing needn’t be a hindrance.” Even so, he pulled her cloak apart. She wore a stunning gown the color of rich amethysts. He’d never seen it before. He traced his finger along the edge of the bodice, high on the crest of one perfect breast. She shivered and her tongue darted out to wet the pink softness of her lips.
He could scarcely believe she was actually in his bed. He’d dreamed of this moment since she’d first kissed him on the dark road.
She gazed up at him. “Do you plan to keep me imprisoned?”
“I just might.” He fingered the kerchief she’d tossed to the side of her head. “I could easily lash you to the bed frame with this for instance.” Fox hardened at the thought. Later, he would do it. And a thousand other things.
Her eyes widened and then narrowed provocatively. “If I’m to be your wife, I suppose I must submit to you.” She spread her arms wide in open invitation.
With an inward groan, Fox lowered his head and ran his tongue along the outline of her ear, then tugged on the lobe with his teeth. He murmured against her, “Are you sure?”
She clasped her arms around him, holding him close. “Oh, yes.”
Fox devoured her neck with lush kisses and teasing bites. She arched up into him and cast her head back against the bed.
“It’s unfair for you to be naked and me to be clothed. Will you please take off my dress at least?”
In record time, Fox flipped her onto her stomach and unhooked the sumptuous gown. He roughly pulled it down her back.
“Careful! I may need to sell this.”
Fox slowed. “Indeed?”
She turned her head to the side so he could see half of her face. “I’m afraid my parents aren’t in favor of this marriage. I doubt they’ll provide a dowry. Never fear, for I’ve my belongings—which are vast and expensive—and Turnbridge, of course.”
“I don’t give a damn about your material offerings.” Fox purposefully rent the fabric away from her body. “I’ve managed this long, and we’ll continue to do so. All I want, all I need is you.” He pulled her shift apart, exposing the ivory flesh of her back.
With far more gentleness than he’d shown her garments, he ran his palms over her satiny skin. “Are you really here? With me?” His hands trembled. “What did I do to deserve you?”
She twisted to face him. “Oh, Fox. I’m the one who needs to deserve you. Today at Stipple’s End, you told my parents that I’d given the children a reason to truly live, but it’s you who’ve given that to me. You make me…happy.” Her eyes glistened, as if she held back tears.
He crushed her lips beneath his, wanting to draw the happiness from her and coat his soul. In turn, he gave her the bliss racing through him. She kicked her ruined clothing away and reached down to strip off her boots. When she tried to remove her stockings, he pulled her hands up and pinned them on either side of he
r head. “Hang the rest of whatever you’re wearing.” He kissed her again, brutal in his need to consume her and be consumed.
She thrust her hips against his and pressed her breasts to his chest. God, his body was still aroused from that afternoon. He couldn’t wait. He released one of her wrists and put his hand between her legs. She was hot and wet and completely ready for him.
With a tilt of his pelvis, he slid into her wet heat. She moaned, low and deep, and he was lost. Blindly, he drove into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pushed her across the bed with the force of his thrusts. Her cries grew louder, more frenzied. She was so close. He wanted to see her face in this moment before the storm overtook him. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy, her lips parted. With a final stroke he dove over the edge into sweet oblivion.
He rolled to his side, taking her with him and holding her close to his chest. He never planned to let her go. “If your parents aren’t in favor of our marriage, do we need to leave for Gretna Green immediately?”
She drew her finger around the back of his shoulder in wide circles. “No. Jasper’s arranged things so that my father won’t intercede. Furthermore, I told them the truth.”
His breath nearly caught. “The truth?”
“That I love you, that I could already be carrying your child—”
Fox kissed her, quickly but thoroughly. “Miranda. I have loved you for so long. I can barely remember a time when I didn’t. Not for your money. Or your beauty. For you.”
She clutched at his neck. “I know. I don’t know why it took me so long to realize this is where I belong. I wanted so badly for my parents to be proud of me, their approval means—meant—everything. Now…”
He nuzzled her cheek. “Now?”
“Now, I crave only your approval.”
As much as he loved hearing her say it, fear curled along the edges of his mind. “Won’t you miss your life in London? And all of the trappings that go with it?”
She flung an arm to the side. “What trappings? You ruined my clothes. And now that I have nothing to wear, I shall have to be your prisoner. Just promise you’ll keep me locked here, in our bedroom.”
