Surely she would understand, now that the truth had come to light?
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his watch and frowned at the time.
He couldn’t delay any longer, as much as he wished he could.
The door opened silently, and he strode down the hall with purpose, taking the stairs downward and entering the parlor, where they were to congregate before dinner.
“Good evening,” he said as he entered the room. The ladies nodded their greeting, and he swore he could have heard crickets fill the awkward silence.
Miss Iris cleared her throat.
The proverbial crickets started up once more, and he cast his gaze about the room in an effort to break the damned silence with something intelligent. Of their own accord, his eyes darted to Miss Miranda. His gaze narrowed at the slight twitch of her lips. Then he remembered last night. She had initiated the sparkling dinner conversation, yet here, when her talents would be most welcome, she remained silent.
And if his suspicions were correct, she was doing it on purpose.
The minx.
He almost allowed a smile to slip through his control, but he cast his gaze away from her sparkling eyes and turned instead to Miss Iris. “I trust you had a good day?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, then shot a glance at her governess.
Heathcliff refused to glance to her as well. He was saved from the temptation when Mrs. Keyes walked into the room, announcing that dinner was ready.
He sighed in relief before he could expose his true emotions. He hazarded a glance at Miss Miranda, noting that her lips twitched once more.
It was a good thing he wasn’t gambling; he’d have lost before he’d even been given a fair shot.
Not that gambling was ever fair.
He should know; he helped run the books at Temptations.
Of course, it wasn’t exactly unfair either. It was all about the odds.
And right now, he didn’t feel they were in his favor.
It was a disconcerting feeling, one he wasn’t familiar with and not comfortable experiencing.
He increased his pace toward the dining room, seeking a bit of escape.
“My lord, would you mind?” Miss Iris asked, a slightly irritated tone to her words.
He slowed, turning toward her. “My apologies.”
She nodded, then glanced behind her to Miss Miranda, then to him, raising a brow.
Dinner couldn’t begin and end soon enough.
After he led Miss Iris to her seat at the table, and then Miss Miranda, he took his own and motioned for the footmen to start serving.
When the clear chicken broth was served, he had the impish thought of pushing the limits of Miss Miranda’s current silence.
What could it hurt? The thought relieved some of the tension in his body, the idea that it was simply a game of dare thrilled him.
Damn it, even in her silence she was challenging.
Intriguing.
But surely a game of silence couldn’t be dangerous?
He played his imaginary hand, and purposefully ignored Miss Miranda and, as a result, Miss Iris.
The soup was finished and the second course served, the silence continuing. The footman must have sensed the tension and even set spoons in the dishes quietly, as if afraid to break the silence.
When the second course was finished and the dessert was served, he allowed himself a glance at Miss Miranda. She lifted a fork full of lemon tart to her mouth and took a delicate bite. Her pink lips were dabbed with a bit of whipped cream, and her tongue darted out to lick them clean.
Heathcliff swallowed.
Looking wasn’t his wisest action. Then again, he wasn’t exactly sure what he had done this evening had been of the wiser variety.
She met his gaze, pausing, then shifting her expression to one of daring. He expected her brow to arch in a silent question, but she simply waited, holding his gaze.
He leaned forward slightly, studying her.
A silent game of waiting for the other to fail and blink.
It would not be him.
“Miss Miranda?” Iris’s voice pierced through the fog of challenge.
Heathcliff didn’t try to stop his grin as he watched Miss Miranda. To her credit, she didn’t so much as flinch when Iris spoke her name, but, after a moment’s pause, she very intentionally turned to face her charge.
“Yes, Iris?” she asked, as if they weren’t burning down the dining room with their intensity.
Heathcliff didn’t cast Iris a glance, but watched Miss Miranda with that same intensity, hoping the force of his gaze would fluster her. It was an immature choice, but he found it quite satisfying. If she noted his regard, she didn’t appear to be affected by it.
Or perhaps she was overly skilled at self-control.
Iris continued. “I, that is,” Iris’s tone was hesitant, but as she continued, it carried a resolute confidence, “I loved the food in India. Have you ever tried Indian foods, Miss Miranda?”
Heathcliff tilted his head, awaiting Miss Miranda’s answer. It was a curious question, and quite random, but he found it pricked his curiosity as well, so he waited.
Miss Miranda’s head tilted ever so slightly, giving him a lovely view of the clavicle that had utterly distracted him last night. The memories of their kiss flooded his mind, and his body responded in kind. Slightly uncomfortable at being so aroused at the dinner table, he relaxed his position and leaned back in his chair, thankful for the tablecloth and table adding further discretion.
“I haven’t had the pleasure of trying a great many diverse dishes as you have, Iris. I’d love to hear more about them.” And, leaning forward slightly, she gave a warm smile. “Brilliant question.”
Heathcliff pieced the conversation together, realizing Iris had been following earlier instruction on conversation and was attempting to apply her skill to the task. He awaited Iris’s response, thankful for the distraction from his more engaging thoughts.
“The curry is quite potent and can be very spicy. I do adore spicy food, but my mother always was cautious. If she ate too much, it would cause her to lose sleep over a bit of a fire in her belly,” Iris explained.
“We normally don’t discuss bodily maladies at the supper table, just for reference, but continue,” Miss Miranda instructed kindly. She hadn’t turned her gaze to him once, but kept her attention on Iris.
Iris nodded, accepting the gentle reprimand, and continued: “In India there are a great many dishes that implement the use of lentils. Because they don’t eat their cows, you understand. They use lentils in many ways that we’d use as a source of meat. It’s fascinating, and I found that while I’m as happy with a beef roast as any other Englishwoman, I didn’t miss it as much in India. They are quite talented in the kitchens,” Iris finished, and Heathcliff turned his gaze to Miranda, wondering how she’d respond.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten a lentil. What about you, my lord?” She turned to him, and he felt Iris’s gaze as well.
He blinked, thought over the question, and frowned. “You know, I don’t think I have.” He’d been offered a few dishes that contained them, but he hadn’t ever actually partaken.
He met Miss Miranda’s gaze, then froze.
She was grinning, far too eagerly to be associated with his response.
Damn it all.
He belatedly realized he had played right into her hand.
After keeping his silence all evening, in one quick turn, she’d cracked his silence and disarmed him entirely.
It was dangerous, it was delightful, and he felt as if he should bow to such a worthy opponent.
But instead, he merely gave a tight smile, remembered his resolution to keep himself from her, and stood from the dinner table.
The ladies followed his example and stood as well. He didn’t meet either of the ladies’ gazes, but gave a smart bow and quit the room as if the devil were on his heels. Because if he stayed, he would surely fail, and likely f
all for her charms once more.
And failure had never been so tempting.
Chapter Seventeen
Miranda watched the viscount flee from the room. There wasn’t any other way to describe it. Iris met her gaze with a confused one of her own, then hitched a shoulder and followed the path of the viscount, though at a much more moderate pace.
When they had both made it into the hall, Iris seemed to glance about, then turned to Miranda. “Did that seem odd to you as well?” Her gaze flickered farther down the hall, then back to Miranda.
“Yes. It was indeed.”
“Do you . . .” Iris paused. “Do you think my talking about not eating the cows offended him? I rather thought Scotsmen preferred sheep.”
Miranda gave Iris a swift smile. “No, I think he’s just unsettled.” It was her best guess, and if she were assuming further, she was quite certain he was more than a little put out with earlier discoveries. He’d been quite standoffish and aloof since her sister and brother-in-law had paid their visit. It was an assumption, but she felt confident she was right. If she were to speculate further, he was regretting his earlier scandalous behavior with her.
Which was a pity.
She hadn’t regretted it for a moment.
“What makes you so certain?” Iris asked.
Miranda had to think back for her answer. It was rather specific. She decided it would be prudent to have a frank conversation with Iris. After this afternoon, when Iris had seen Liliah and Miranda together, she was owed some sort of explanation. Or, at the very least, it would be polite to offer one.
“Come, Iris. Let us take a walk. The evening air will do us both good. It had been a busy day, and surely you have some questions.”
Iris nodded. “Indeed, but I wasn’t wanting to pry.”
Miranda gave her a wry expression.
“I’m learning! May I at least have credit for not asking immediately? I’m quite proud of myself that I thought before speaking, and then I waited further.” She gave a little tilt to her chin with pride.
Miranda gave a soft chuckle. “I suppose you’re correct. Forgive me for not offering accolades where they are most certainly due.” Miranda bowed her head. “That was very good of you, Iris. And I’m proud of the progress you are making.”
“Thank you,” Iris replied cheekily.
They descended the front stairs of Kilmarin and walked out onto the gravel circular drive. Miranda chose a path that would wind around the house and lead to the back maze, giving them more than ample room to walk and talk while they did so.
As they passed a small bush blooming with white flowers, Miranda turned to Iris. “You’re probably wondering about our guests today.”
Iris met her gaze. “I did have a certain amount of curiosity.”
Miranda grinned. “How delicately put.”
“I was quite proud of that.” Iris grinned mischievously.
“That was my sister and brother-in-law, Lord and Lady Heightfield.”
Iris gave her a slow nod, her expression full of questions and slight confusion.
“You’re wondering why, if my sister has the title of lady, I am relegated to being a governess.” Miranda supplied the words.
Iris nodded, remaining silent.
Miranda paused, considering how to answer the question while still keeping as much of her secret as possible. She trusted Iris; it was not that she felt her word of silence on the matter would be questionable. It was rather that she questioned the wisdom of disclosure. After a moment of debate, she followed her instincts. “Do you remember when I spoke of never knowing my father?”
“Yes.”
“That was true, yet at the same time misleading. It implied that my father was no longer among us but, in fact, he is very much alive. What I meant by such a statement is that while my father is still alive, I do not know him. And he, as much as he’d like to think otherwise, does not know me. He’s a proud man, and that isn’t always a fault. To a certain extent, we all are proud, but in him it is the sole element of his character. Every aspect of his life is to feed his vanity, and the result is a man who is hard, cold, and commanding in everything. My sister and I fled London because we were going to be matched very inappropriately. I’ll not give the details, but it was my sister’s bravery that spurred my own, and in a roundabout way, it led me here. But because of my . . .” She paused, thinking of the right word. “Fear of my father, and his determination to keep me under his rule, it was imperative that I remain silent on the matter, assume a different identity and position.”
Iris blinked at her, then tilted her head.
Miranda expected a great many questions, and she was prepared to answer them to the best of her ability.
“It makes sense.” Iris gave a firm nod, then continued on her way, as if Miranda’s story was a common one.
Miranda blinked in confusion, pausing her steps. She then hurried to catch up with Iris. “How?” was the only articulate response she could come up with.
Iris shrugged. “You love dancing too much not to be a nobleman’s daughter. However, I assume that your sister also married into her husband’s title.”
Miranda started to laugh, and the laughter turned into a louder, less delicate sound as she almost doubled over with the mirth of it. “Truly?” she asked between fits of giggles. “That is how you explain yourself? And yes, my brother-in-law is the Eighth Earl of Heightfield.”
“Of course!” Iris replied, laughing herself.
“Dancing?” Miranda asked.
“Indeed. There are a great many worse things, I assure you.” Iris gave a mock glare.
Miranda calmed her mirth just enough to give a soft sigh. “Indeed, there are.”
“Does this mean you’re still going to be my governess?” Iris asked unexpectedly.
Miranda frowned. “Why would it change anything?”
“Because your family is here, certainly you’ll live with them?” Iris replied, and Miranda saw the clear logic, but immediately revolted against it.
She wasn’t sure why. “No, I’ll remain in residence in Kilmarin. I am not only employed here, but I like it here. I like you, Iris. And I will not leave you,” Miranda replied firmly.
Iris paused, her gaze turning slightly moist. “Thank you.” She turned back to her path, and Miranda gave her a moment to collect herself.
They passed by the manor and continued on toward the maze before Iris spoke again. “It’s just that, with my parents gone, I feel quite alone. The idea that you would leave as well, as short as our acquaintance has been, gave me a great deal of uneasiness. Ever since this afternoon, I had my suspicions, and that is probably why I hesitated to ask about your relations who visited. I didn’t want my fears to be realized and see you leave.”
Miranda’s heart pinched at the confession. She and Iris had so much in common, loneliness being paramount of those similarities. “I shall not leave you, and I’m quite certain the viscount wouldn’t allow it either,” she affirmed with a jaunty grin.
Iris gave her a sidelong glance. “Of that I’m entirely certain, and I must confess that its truth gave me a small measure of confidence that you might not quit Kilmarin. He’s quite taken with you.”
Miranda colored, turning away to hide her reaction. “I’m certain you are reading too much into his actions.”
Iris didn’t offer a reply, just a slight shrug of her shoulders as they wandered through the maze.
Miranda felt the acute need to change the conversation. “Did you have a nice, restful afternoon?”
“Without dancing?” Iris remarked cheerfully.
“Without dancing,” Miranda said with a smile.
“Yes, it was lovely, and I took a short walk over the hill. Did you know there’s a lovely pond in that direction?”
Miranda’s face heated with a painful blush that came from a powerful memory. She cleared her throat delicately and turned her head to angle her face away from Iris’s view. “Indeed. It is lovely.”
/> Iris agreed, and as they wound their way out of the maze, Iris paused. “Thank you for taking the time to discuss the day with me. I treasure your friendship, and I must say I wasn’t expecting a governess I actually would like, let alone admire. I’m truly grateful for you.” Iris impulsively reached out and wrapped her arms around Miranda in a tight embrace. When she released her, she gave a cheeky grin and bid her adieu.
Miranda watched as Iris left the gardens and headed back toward the front of the estate. She debated following, then decided to take a few more moments to herself and wind back through the maze. She found it was a place of solace for her, where there was a solution to every problem. Two right turns, one left, follow the hedge till the end of the path; it was predictable, consistent, and she valued it.
It was likely because in her life she felt the opposite, and the maze offered her a security that felt absent in other aspects. She finished the path and turned to the house. It was growing further into the evening, and she knew it wouldn’t be wise to linger out of doors as darkness swallowed the light.
As she ambled back to the house, she smiled, then gave a delightful little spin on her toes, which were only slightly sore from Iris’s abuse earlier in the week. She grinned at the realization, and gave her head a shake.
She debated taking the servants’ entrance but finally chose to walk through the front door, making the stairs to her room much closer than the previous option.
She ascended the stairs, the crickets serenading her, and Sothers opened the door widely, offering her a welcoming grin. “Good evening,” Miranda said.
“Evening, miss,” Sothers replied, keeping to his man-of-few-words persona.
She was almost to the stairs when the viscount started down the hall toward her, presumably quitting his study in search of his rooms. There was an awkward moment when he saw her, paused, then continued toward her.
Her courage was great that evening, and so, with a bit of a smile, she addressed him. “If I didn’t know better, I would say I frighten you, my lord.”
A rueful grin tipped his lips, almost against his will, it seemed, and he shook his head. “Is that so? What makes you come to such a conclusion?”
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