“Yes,” Miranda answered. ‘There must be something in the water in Scotland.”
“They should bottle it.” Her mother narrowed her eyes. “I thought you meant to wear the green silk tomorrow,” she said, straightening Miranda’s silver necklace and its depiction of a perfect silver rose.
“Yes, but I couldn’t help myself. It’s so pretty.”
“It’s also made for dancing. Perhaps I could inquire if Francesca or any of her offspring mean to attend the Darlington ball tomorrow night. If not, you could wear it again. Your father and Matthew and I would certainly keep your secret.”
Ah, to own no secret but that of wearing a dress two nights in a row. “I think Eloise does mean to attend, but Matthew would know that.” As she spoke, Miranda turned to look up the stairs.
She had barely set eyes on her brother since he’d handed her over, literally and figuratively, to Captain Vale, and she had more than a hunch that she was the reason he delayed coming downstairs now. His discomfiture was of his own making, and she meant to do nothing to make him feel more comfortable. His idiocy, after all, affected her far more than it did him.
The only good thing at all about it, in fact, had been her unexpected friend, if she could call Aden that. And perhaps a few of her conversations with the Highlander. And that … lifting feeling in her heart when he grinned, because that meant he’d figured out something helpful. Her only ally, Aden MacTaggert was, and for that reason could she admit that she looked forward to seeing him again tonight.
A moment later a door slammed upstairs. “On my way,” Miranda’s brother called. “Couldn’t find one of my boots.”
As he appeared at the top of the stairs, Miranda abruptly wished her older brother had made up an excuse to be elsewhere. They’d always been close; growing up with only a year separating them had meant interest in ponies, reading, dancing, and the idea of marrying had hit them at nearly the same time. For all of her twenty-three years she had known Matthew to be amiable, good-humored, and well liked. She’d also thought him to be trustworthy, someone who would look after her as she looked after him. Now, though, she felt as if she needed to reexamine her beliefs. Had she merely been lucky on those occasions when he’d steered an unwanted suitor away from her? Or had he been truly on her side until the moment he’d fallen beneath Vale’s influence?
She preferred that it be the latter, that he’d been led so far astray so quickly he hadn’t even realized he was lost until it was far too late for him to find his way back. But since he wouldn’t talk to her, and since the last time he had spoken to her he’d actually tried to convince her that Captain Vale would make her a good match, she had no idea what to think.
“We are a fine-looking group,” her father said, nodding at the butler as Billings opened the front door for them. “And I have little doubt you’ll end the evening with most of your limbs still attached, Matthew.”
“Such violent things you say, dear, and yet I remain amused.” Their mother wrapped her arm around Miranda’s as they walked outside to climb into the Harris coach. “I’ve always liked Eloise, but I have to confess that I find her even more delightful knowing she has three mountainous brothers. Two of them yet unmarried.”
Matthew’s chuckled sounded uneasy, but that might have been Miranda listening too hard. “Haven’t you heard, Mama? Mia’s taken with a certain naval captain.”
“Just as well,” her father put in. “I’ve heard that Aden, the middle brother, has been seen frequenting Jezebel’s and other less … acclaimed establishments.” He banged on the ceiling, and the coach lurched into motion. “Gaming hells. You don’t need to become fast friends with him, Matthew, or think that you need to go out wagering with him to earn his respect.”
“I know that, Father,” Matthew returned, his voice clipped, as he took the rear-facing seat beside Miranda. “He hasn’t yet asked me to join him, and I haven’t offered.”
“Good. If his ship sinks, you don’t need to be aboard it. Neither are you to be drilling holes in your own ship.”
Her brother shifted in his seat. “I understand the metaphors, Father. I have learned my lesson.”
“I believe Aden is also a great reader, though, and that’s always attractive in a man.” Elizabeth Harris leaned forward to straighten Miranda’s skirt. “He was here just the other day, asking after a book Miranda had mentioned to him.”
“Yes?” Albert lifted an eyebrow. “Which one was it?”
Blast it all. Miranda cleared her throat. “Someone had spoken of it as a jest, and I commented that we owned one. That’s all it was.”
Even Matthew looked at her sideways. “But which book was it?”
She sighed. “Tom Jones.”
“What?” Elizabeth Harris blushed a bright red.
Matthew burst out laughing. “And you had to fetch it for him?”
“I had no idea we still kept one about,” their father mused. “Haven’t read it in ages.”
“Well, you won’t be reading it again,” his wife countered. “Good heavens. Tell him he may keep it, Miranda. But quietly. I don’t want anyone else knowing we own such risqué things, much less go about lending them to people.”
And now she had an excuse to speak to him in private once again. Tom Jones was proving to be far more useful than she ever would have expected. Her suddenly speeding heart was only nervous that he’d changed his mind or that he hadn’t found anything helpful, she told herself. Not that she looked forward to seeing him. Exchanging a few words with him. Kissing him. “I’ll tell him tonight. Don’t fret. I think he was only curious.”
As they stopped in front of grand Oswell House, Eloise pranced outside to meet them before Smythe the butler could do so. The genuine, obvious affection between her and Matthew was heartwarming—or it had been, before Matthew had decided that selling his sister to a gambler was a better choice than allowing rumors of his debts to end his engagement.
A hand touched Miranda’s cheek, and she started. “I’m sorry?”
Her mother’s smile faded. “I only asked if you mean to sit out here in the coach all evening. Whatever is wrong, my dear?”
Yanking her scattered thoughts back in, Miranda hurriedly stood and made her way down to the cobblestones. “Nothing’s wrong, Mama. I was just daydreaming.”
“About anyone in particular? A Highlander? Or a retired naval captain, perhaps? You’ve always had men in pursuit, but if I’m not mistaken this is the first time you’ve returned their interest. And two of them at once.” Elizabeth Harris grinned, a bit of cheeky amusement in the expression. “You are very nearly scandalous.”
“I would like to meet this Vale fellow,” her father put in. “He’d best not be too modern to ask my permission for ma—”
“Don’t embarrass her, dear,” Elizabeth interrupted. “She is cautious with her heart, and I applaud her for being so.”
That was her. Cautious with her heart. That was why, even after receiving nearly a dozen marriage proposals over the past five years, she remained single. That one drank too liberally, this one was short, the next one seemed more taken with Matthew than with her, and the one after that … She couldn’t even remember. More than likely he’d been a gambler. She’d turned away several of those.
Perhaps if she’d been less cautious with her heart, if she’d taken a chance that the man asking her to share a life offered something more than he showed on the surface, she wouldn’t be in this mess now. Matthew would be, but she might have been blissfully unaware that he’d ruined himself—and their parents—over a short six weeks. At least until it was too late, because she would have had no action she might take to prevent the disas—
“If ye dunnae pay heed to where yer feet are taking ye,” Aden’s low brogue came from directly in front of her, “ye may end up somewhere dangerous.”
Chapter Eight
Miranda looked up to find that she’d wandered past the Oswell House drawing room doors and on down the hallway halfway to the kitchen. Well
behind her noise and laughter emanated already from the large, brightly lit room, but she didn’t feel a part of it. The future she faced wasn’t anything she could discuss, and it made her resent the happiness of Eloise and Matthew. It wasn’t right, and she certainly didn’t want to reverse the punishment to hurt them instead of her, but their joy made her pain seem more vivid.
“Lass, did someaught else happen?”
Aden stood to one side of the hallway, his back against the wall and one long leg bent with his boot bottom flat against the hard surface behind him. He was in a kilt again, as if he was determined not to fit in among the so-called Sassenach. “Why haven’t you told your family about this mess?” she asked, continuing forward until they stood toe-to-toe and she had to look up to meet his gaze.
“Ye asked me to nae say anything,” he returned, not moving.
“You don’t know me. In fact, all you do know about me is that I don’t like you.” That wasn’t true any longer, but she was making a point. “Why would you do as I ask when your sister’s future could well be at stake?”
His eyes narrowed just a little. “I challenged ye to a card trick, and ye guessed it. We have an agree—”
“No. That’s not sufficient.”
“Ye made a bargain with me. Ye show me how to act more like a Sassenach, and I’ll help ye navigate a gambler’s mind.”
Miranda shook her head. “I am navigating a gambler’s mind. Yours. Are you playing a game? Do you mean to dabble in my life, stir up more trouble, and then walk away when you don’t see an easy solution? Will you ruin things for Matthew and your sister when you can’t snap your fingers and fix everything?”
“I dunnae mean to snap my fingers and surrender, but aye, if I’m nae satisfied that yer brother can be trusted, I will tell the rest of the MacTaggerts what I’ve learned. I’ll nae risk Eloise.”
Down the hallway someone cleared his throat. “I’ve been sent to ask where you are, Mia,” Matthew commented, looking uncomfortable as she turned her gaze to him.
“I’m having a private conversation, Matthew,” she snapped. “Tell them … I’m discussing literature, and I’ll be in shortly.”
“I … It’s not seemly, you know, for you to be out here with a man.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Really? It’s not? Are you worried over my reputation, brother? Over my future prospects?”
“Mia, don’t—”
Miranda took hold of Aden’s lapel and, leaning up along his chest, kissed him full on the mouth. Ha. That would show Matthew.
Then Aden’s mouth softened, molded with hers, and while none of the rest of him moved, she felt encircled, heated, and wanton. Oh, God, he could kiss. Tangling the fingers of her free hand into his lanky hair, she leaned harder against him. Then, before she could decide to sink down onto the floor with him right there in the hallway, she broke the kiss and looked over at her gaping-jawed brother.
“Well? Aren’t you going to tell Mother and Father that I’m a wanton harlot or something? No, you won’t, because you’re far worse. I’ll join you shortly.” Waving a hand at him, she returned her glare to the clearly amused Aden. “Go away, Matthew. I can look after myself.” She jabbed a finger into Aden’s hard chest. “And you. Stop laughing.”
“I’m nae laughing,” he countered, in the same low voice he’d been using since he’d appeared in front of her. “I’m standing here being flayed and burned all at the same time.”
Once Matthew had backed down the hall and vanished back into the drawing room, she shook herself. “I apologize for using you to make a point.”
“The only thing ye need to apologize for, Miranda, is if ye didnae mean that kiss. Because otherwise I’m feeling fairly magnificent this evening. And that’s even with ye flinging yer insults at me, and doubting that I mean to finish what I began.”
Oh, yes, she had been doing that, hadn’t she? “You are very upsetting to my equilibrium, Aden MacTaggert. I like things to make sense. You don’t make sense.”
“Why, because I’m a gambler and I’m honest all at the same time?”
“Because I don’t think you care about fitting in here at all, and yet you agree to a partnership that balances my entire future against you knowing which fork to use at dinner and are willing to call that an even trade.”
“I didnae say it was even,” he countered. “I said I’m satisfied with the arrangement. So tell me someaught I need to know about Society, and we can get on with our conversation.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes. “You’re not fitting in on purpose,” she stated. “You cannot wear a kilt to proper functions and not expect people to look at you sideways. Highlanders, especially, are … well, very nearly feared in some quarters, even now.”
“Good.”
“No, it’s not good. You claim to be looking for a bride. A young lady needs her father’s permission—and likely her mother’s—to wed. A father-in-law doesn’t wish to be frightened of his son-in-law. Or intimidated by him.”
“Och. Mayhap I’ll find an orphan lass, then.”
“You are so exasperating!” she exclaimed, thudding a fist against his chest and trying to set aside the thought that she might as well have been trying to beat a stone wall into submission. “Why is this satisfactory to you? I will not allow my future to rest on someone who thinks I’m a hobby to tease and toy with until something more interesting comes along.”
He pushed away from the wall and straightened. She was tall for a woman, she knew, but he still managed to loom over her. “If ye dunnae wish my help, Miranda,” he murmured, “tell me so. But between ye and me I’ve nae done a thing for ye to keep insulting me. I ken that ye came to me because ye reckoned I’m the same sort of villain as Vale. I’m telling ye now, again, that I’m nae a villain.”
His words made sense, but knowing that didn’t ease the heat rising through her, the feeling that she needed to do something—anything—to stop the sensation that her life was completely out of her own control. “I have to point out that a villain would say precisely that.”
He tilted his head, his dark, wavy hair falling across one gray-green eye. “Ye’re the one who’s taken to conspiring with gamblers, carrying secrets, and looking for a way to outwit someone to whom yer brother owes a legitimate debt.”
“Are you actually suggesting that I’m in the wrong?”
A slow smile touched his mouth, and her breath caught. Damn him, anyway. No man had the right to be this … devilish and look so damned handsome. “I’m nae suggesting. I’m … supposing that ye dunnae hate gamblers because yer brother lost a horse. It’s more, and I’d like to know what it is.”
And he’d surprised her again. “We don’t talk about it,” she said, trying for a dismissive tone.
“‘We’? A family matter, then. Someone who got in over his head, and the rest of ye had to pay for it, I reckon.”
Whatever second she’d spent thinking this Highlander had more bravado than brains had been seriously misguided. His insight was ridiculously keen, to the point he could likely draw blood. Miranda looked at him for another few heartbeats. She’d already trusted him with her reputation, and that was beginning to seem quite possibly the smartest thing she’d ever done.
“My uncle, John Temple, lost everything. The man who held his debt declined to take away the family home, but insisted that Uncle John repay him. The last I heard of my uncle, he was somewhere in America attempting to make his fortune. My parents are paying the taxes for his house, to support my aunt Beatrice and her two little girls. And that is why I don’t like gambling. Or gamblers.”
He tilted his head a little. “I dunnae know yer uncle, lass. I didnae take his money. I didnae send him to a club or put cards in his hand. Or is it ye worry that every man who pick up cards is yer uncle? If I had a lass and bairns at home, I’d nae be risking my fortune on luck.”
“So you say.”
“Och. Ye’re nae so above it all, yerself, Miranda Harris. When ye were getting answers out o
f Vale, ye liked the idea that he didnae ken what ye were about, didnae? Ye like the idea that ye’re planning to outsmart the bastard.”
Was he intimating that she liked the risk of it all? Humph. “You’re mistaken. I don’t like being in this situation at all, and I don’t like that while you’ve tasked me with finding out more about Captain Vale, I have no idea what good that will do me. All I do know is that I absolutely do not want to marry him.”
“I dunnae want ye to marry him, either.” He shrugged. “Mayhap it’s that simple.”
She looked at him for a swift moment. Nothing was simple where Aden MacTaggert was concerned. And yet he hadn’t even blinked at learning about Uncle John. Whatever he did want from her, he didn’t seem to mind carrying her secrets. And she continued to trust him with them, for some blasted reason. “So you only want me to be free from Vale’s machinations? You have no stake in—”
Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her. She thought her attempt at kissing him had been bold, but this … Heat speared through her, sparking along the inside of her scalp until she felt scalded to her bones. Oh, good heavens she wanted … this. Whatever it was, she wanted it. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she leaned up along his taut body to kiss him back.
He moved her backward until her spine bumped against the opposite wall of the hallway. Lips, teeth, tongue, nipping, sucking, the parts of her that could still think wondered if she could be consumed entirely. If it all felt this … electric, she wanted to be devoured. She wanted to climb inside him, feel him all around her, wild and wanton and desperate for his touch.
When he moved one hand over to fumble at the door beside her, she moaned, shoving at his shoulders. “No.”
Aden made a sound deep in his chest, then took half a step backward. Leaning his forehead against hers, he shifted his hands to her shoulders. “As ye say,” he murmured, “but I’m going to require a minute before I’m presentable again.”
She required a few moments, herself. “Is this because you like me?” she asked, still holding on to his shoulders. “Is that why you’re helping?
Scot Under the Covers Page 13
