“For one,” she took a lazy step toward him, “you all but ran from the dining room.”
“I had pressing business,” came his reply.
“And just now, you looked as if you wished to turn around and pretend you hadn’t seen me,” she continued.
He twisted his lips, then shrugged. “I thought I had forgotten something in my study.”
“Tell me, are all Scotsmen such proficient liars?” she asked without heat, only a slightly flirtatious tone that surprised her, along with her frank question. Iris seemed to be influencing her. She was clearly speaking before thinking. Boldly, she waited, curious to see how her words would be taken.
The viscount tipped down his chin, hiding his expression, giving her a moment’s panic, but when he glanced up once again, his expression was full of humor. “Are all ladies who masquerade as governesses so impertinent?”
“Yes. Because I’m the only one I know, so I’m an authority on the subject,” she added with a grin.
“Well played.” He chuckled in response. “Then I defer to your greater expertise on the subject.”
“However, I am not an expert on the subject of the character of Scotsmen, and you, sir, have not answered my question.”
“Relentless, are you?”
“I’ve been called worse,” she replied, now standing only a few feet from him. She paused there, waiting.
“As have I,” he replied, rocking on his heels, appearing slightly uncomfortable. “You are far more observant than is prudent.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
“I’m sure you have been.” He paused, then glanced around, his brows pulling into a frown. “Come with me.” He gestured to the red parlor just down the hall, turned, and started for it.
There was nothing to do but follow, and her curiosity wouldn’t let her do any less. As he entered the room, he regarded her seriously.
The door was wide open, so there was no fear of scandal—pity, that—but she awaited his leisure, much as at dinner. She was patient most of the time, and in this case, it would serve her well.
“I understand why you did not confide in me, but surely now you understand that this . . . knowledge changes things.”
“What things?” she asked, risking a slight step forward. She half-expected him to step back, but he did not.
“Things of a more . . . intimate nature,” he finished, his gaze flickering from her gaze, to her lips, and then back.
“I see.” She folded her hands before her.
“I’m pleased you understand.” He nodded, but his expression didn’t appear pleased in the least.
“I’m not pleased at all,” she said. “I’m quite disappointed. And I’m afraid you’re not doing your gender much credit, nor Scotsmen in general.”
“How so?” he inquired, his gaze roaming her features, as if touching her when his hands could not.
“You promised me proper instruction, and now, less than a day later, you have gone back on your word.”
He chuckled. “And you were anticipating such education? I doubt it.”
“You know nothing of my mind and what I anticipate,” she replied. It felt so liberating to assert herself, and her thoughts and feelings. Had she ever done so before? She wasn’t sure, but it was heady, the freedom, however foolish. She was almost challenging the man to ruin her.
And, like the wanton she was, she didn’t regret it.
“It would seem I do not,” he muttered, taking a deep breath. “I’d like to, but I cannot offer you any more than a few stolen moments of pleasure, and I will not disrespect my friendship with your brother-in-law by treating you thus.”
“That is truly a pity,” she replied, and with her courage beginning to fade, she took a step back, gave an entirely proper curtsey, and turned to leave the room. She had almost reached the door when a warm hand gripped her shoulder.
She didn’t turn, but did halt her progress. She’d been far braver than he this evening; it was his turn to take a risk, however small.
His breathing seemed loud in the otherwise silent room, and she fancied she could hear her heartbeat as well. “Wait,” he whispered, the word spoken close, just a breath away, and her body trembled in response, in heady anticipation.
“You would be better off forgetting everything I said yesterday,” he murmured, his actions in direct contrast with his words as his hand caressed her shoulder to her hand, where he delicately took her fingers with his.
“Why is that?” she asked, closing her eyes as she gave herself over to the sensation.
“Because I am not a gentleman,” he answered succinctly, his hand tugging hers, encouraging her to turn and face him.
She opened her eyes and did his bidding, immediately losing herself in the warmth of his gaze. “How so?” The words were a mere whisper on her lips.
His gaze shot to her lips, and he leaned forward just an inch, his hand releasing hers and trailing ever so lightly up her arm before resting on the crook between her neck and shoulder, the warmth radiating from him, erotically delicious.
“I’m far more heartless than I seem. A flirtatious smile, a wicked grin can do much to cover a black heart. I am no saint, Miss Miranda. And more than anything, I’d love to encourage your bravery on the subject at hand, but for my own pleasure, my own purpose would I do it. In that, I’m an utterly selfish creature, and you’d be better off to remember that, and stay far away,” he murmured softly, every word caressing with his rich tone. It was impossible to take him at his word when the tone and inflection were a direct contrast to everything he was stating.
“For being as wicked as you claim, you have quite a sense of morality in warning me against your charms,” she replied, surprised at her own ability to form words when being so utterly distracted by his.
He gave a slight shake of his head, then traced his fingers up her neck and slid a finger across her lower lip.
Her lips parted without a thought, and before she could comprehend what was about to happen, he leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t a kiss that was gentle and leading; it was a kiss of passion, of warning.
But she was quite certain it held the opposite effect of its application. As his lips ravaged hers, nipping, teasing, and devouring, she wasn’t the least bit warned, nor did she sense the danger in it. Her body rejoiced, her lips responded in kind. He pressed into her, her body catching flame as he did so, and she stepped back to hold firm against the pressure he gave. She felt his lips bend into a grin in between kisses, and when she stepped back again, she had the suspicion it was planned. But she was too lost to his attentions to care, and before she knew it, the click of a door penetrated her thoughts as the cool wall pressed up against her back. Leaning against it, she was flooded with a thousand sensations as his body deliciously aligned with hers. Her arms wound around his shoulders, pulling him in tighter, and when he groaned in pleasure, she had the greatest sensation of delight overcome her.
It was one thing to accept pleasure, but to give it? That was powerful. She tugged on his hair as her fingers threaded through it, and he responded with an urgent press into her soft form. Just when she was quite certain her own morality had flown away, he broke from the kiss and stepped back.
“You tempt me in ways I cannot withstand.” He swore the words, as if they were an oath, completely in contrast with the heady sensation overwhelming her.
She caught her breath and regarded him with some confusion. “And that is not something you like?”
“It is something I cannot entertain,” he replied, raking his hand through his hair. “There will be no more of . . . this.” His darkened gaze flickered to her, then to her lips, then back to her wide eyes.
“You mentioned that.”
“This time I’m resolute,” he remarked with more feeling.
“Because you don’t wish to go behind your friend’s back when you gave your word.”
He nodded. “And I will not do a lady such as yourself justice. I will not come up
to scratch, no matter how tempting you may be, Miss Miranda. Marriage and I are old enemies, and I’d not wish that fate on anyone, especially you.” With that, he made a small bow, opened the door, and left.
Miranda took a steadying breath.
And wondered if perhaps his resolution would falter.
She hoped so, more than she dared admit.
Because while he was making resolutions to keep away from her, she was making resolutions to have him.
It was that way for several days. Life continued in a somewhat normal routine, but in the evenings, when Iris was in her rooms, Miranda would allow herself to be found, if, if the viscount wished. And, apparently, wish he did. Because for four nights, he would find her, and they would converse. At first, she was certain he had no designs on her and was going to be stalwart in his resolution to keep from her.
But just before he’d say good night, he would kiss her.
She had no expectation that tonight would be any different, except when he walked into the library, his countenance was stormy indeed. He appeared cross, but not with her. It was curious, and she inquired. But all her inquiries were met with monosyllabic answers. She resumed her reading, and she had no sooner turned the page when he addressed her.
“I will fail if I continue to allow myself the pleasure of your affection, Miss Miranda. And when I say fail, please understand it will be entirely, and you will be left without anything to show for it. I’m a brute for taking advantage of your willing nature for far too long, and so I must, I will keep myself from harming you with my weakness.” He gave a nod.
“But one final thing,” he said after a moment.
Her heart picked up speed, and she couldn’t find her voice.
He strode toward her and kissed her sweetly, innocently, and without any of the delicious heat she’d learned to crave.
“No more,” he whispered against her wet lips, and left.
How could her heart be broken without ever truly falling in love?
Maybe knowing it was entirely possible to love someone, to have his love in return, and have that hope disappointed was enough to create heartbreak. It certainly felt as much, and with both his kiss and his solemn promise for it to be the last lingering on her lips, the tears slid down her face as she silently cried.
Maybe love wasn’t everything she had hoped it to be.
Maybe it was far more damaging.
Chapter Eighteen
Heathcliff felt a shiver of foreboding filter through him as he greeted his friend. Lady Liliah gave him a sweet smile, and then slid her gaze to her husband when he gestured to a seat before Heathcliff’s desk.
“I suppose this isn’t strictly a social call because you’re not seeking the company of your sister?” Heathcliff asked dryly, ambling toward his desk, not in any hurry to discuss the issue that certainly was about to be brought forth.
Lucas took a seat, leaning back in a most relaxed manner.
Damn, how the tables had turned.
Usually, it would be Heathcliff reclining, unhurried and unaffected by whatever scheme or mishap had ruffled Lucas’s feathers. Heathcliff didn’t appreciate the reversal of roles, and he adjusted his oddly tight cravat as he took a seat. Did he appear as guilty as he felt?
Folding his hands on his desk, he awaited their leisure.
“My wife and I have come to an important conclusion,” Lucas started, giving a causal flick of his wrist.
“It appears quite grave,” Heathcliff couldn’t help but remark.
Lucas chuckled. “I suppose that would depend on how one feels about the subject matter,” he replied cryptically.
“What I think my husband is trying to say, “ Lady Liliah gave Lucas an amused glare, “is that we learned something that brought us to a conclusion, one that requires your assistance.”
“I’m utterly at your disposal, Lady Heightfield.” Heathcliff grinned, enjoying the irritated glare of his friend.
“Watch it,” Lucas bit out, but he was grinning.
It was Heathcliff’s turn to wave a dismissive hand. He was feeling more comfortable. If they merely needed his assistance, perhaps all his guilt, all his foreboding was for naught.
“We received word from London. I have Ramsey watching the Duke of Chatterwood. Ramsey indicated the duke has been alluding to his daughter, Miranda’s, return from America,” Lucas spoke meaningfully.
Heathcliff frowned. “Why would he say such a thing? He hasn’t a clue where she is.”
“That, my friend, is the same question we began with. And while I don’t know the answer, I do know one thing.” He leaned forward in his chair, his demeanor and tone serious.
The foreboding and tension returned to Heathcliff tenfold.
“It simply reinforces the truth that Miss Miranda is going to be at risk until she is safely married.”
Heathcliff stared at him, his mind churning with implications and realizations that confused him further. But he saw the merit in the idea, saw the truth of such a statement.
“This is where we need your assistance,” Lady Liliah chimed in.
Heathcliff felt the air leave his lungs. Surely they didn’t mean for him to marry her? Would they ask such a thing?
He glanced at Lucas.
Yes, yes, he would.
“Don’t have a heart spasm, old man. We don’t mean for you to marry her.” Lucas rolled his eyes.
Perhaps Lucas would not ask that of him.
A sharp disappointment flooded through him, followed by a slightly offended twinge to his pride.
Did Lucas find him wanting in some way?
As soon as the thought skittered across his mind, Heathcliff almost laughed at the truth of such an errant idea.
Of course he was wanting in some way, in practically every way! It was foolish to even consider.
Yet consider it he had.
Much to his surprise, he took great lengths to hide it at the moment. “Then what did you have in mind?” he asked once his thoughts cleared.
Lady Liliah spoke up. “We were hoping you knew some gentlemen, some who were perhaps local and of good breeding. Kind, and in need of a gentle wife? I so wish for my sister to have the opportunity to fall in love, and there simply will be no way for that to happen in London under my father’s tyrannical eye. So, it must be here.”
Heathcliff frowned at her. “You wish her to have a Season in Edinburgh?”
Lucas answered him. “Of sorts, but it will be difficult to have a proper come-out because we’d need to keep her identity hidden. London is far, but not so far that word wouldn’t travel,” he finished.
“So you want a titled, well-bred gentleman who isn’t offended when he learns the woman he’s thinking of marrying has a completely different identity?” he asked with heavy sarcasm.
“We would have to concoct a different story than one she has currently.”
“Of course, of course.” He shook his head. They’d lost their bloody minds. This would never work, and even if it did have a chance in hell, who in their right mind would expose her to the risk of being found out?
“You don’t agree,” Lucas stated.
“I think it’s possibly the most idiotic scheme you’ve concocted in some time.”
“Don’t hold back your true feelings,” Lucas replied dryly.
“If I’m understanding correctly, you wish to marry her off to a local, titled Scotsman who has no connection with London, and in a manner that has duplicity at its core? Surely that is the way to assure a love match!” He shook his head. “Lady Liliah, I rather expected more from you.”
Lady Liliah frowned. “I expected more imagination from you, Viscount Kilpatrick.” She arched a brow daringly. “Is it so difficult to orchestrate a few meetings? I’d think you’d be thrilled to have at least one unmarried lady out of your household.”
Heathcliff shrugged. It was surprisingly casual, given the tumult of emotions that spun within him. “She is providing a necessary service to Miss Iris. It is not a har
dship to have her here.” He didn’t add that he would rather rot than have her leave his residence. Even if it were just a few stolen moments each day, it was his entire source of joy to see her, to simply know she was near.
At this, Lucas chuckled, then sobered, earning a glare from Heathcliff.
“What about a masquerade? Surely you—” Lady Liliah flickered her gaze between the gentlemen meaningfully—“know how to put on a proper masquerade? It would be a perfect event to both conceal my sister’s identity and also get her out in the social world.” Lady Liliah folded her hands primly on her lap, a self-satisfied grin firmly in place.
Lucas gave a short round of applause for his wife’s idea.
Heathcliff rolled his eyes. “More and more secrecy? Again, not the best way to establish a tendre for a swain, or to gain one.”
“And you have so much expertise in this area?” Lucas asked.
Heathcliff cleared his throat, then met his friend’s gaze with a stalwart one of his own. “I know how betrayal destroys, and I don’t see your scheming to marry off Miss Miranda using deception doing anything but hurting her,” he bit out.
Lucas studied him, and Heathcliff had the impression he was attempting to make a decision about something.
What, he had no idea, but it was disconcerting at best.
“How would you go about it, then?” Lady Liliah asked with a slightly impatient edge to her tone.
Heathcliff took the question as a reason to look away from his all-too-aware friend and addressed Lady Liliah’s question. “The masquerade idea is a good start, but not enough.”
“Of course it’s not enough,” Lady Liliah interrupted with exasperation.
Heathcliff sighed impatiently, then continued. “A house party would be—”
“Oh yes! How did I not think of such a thing?” Lady Liliah leaped from her seat and clapped her hands. “It is a perfect way to control who is here, and how they can interact with her! You’ll be the host, and we can stay here, acting as proper chaperones—”
“May I make a suggestion?” Lucas asked with an indulgent grin aimed at his wife.
She nodded.
Lucas turned to Heathcliff. “This is a brilliant plan, because then you can also use it as a trial for Miss Iris. All the better if she meets someone of note and you are able to forego the entire London Season.” He gave a winning smile.
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