Damn it.
He saw the way she arched her back as if he were touching her, as if she could feel the stroke of his fingers deep inside her. He’d never known such passion. Such desire for anyone or anything.
Such longing.
I miss her so much.
A horrible cruel ache filled Colin. He forced himself to remember her duplicity and the return of his ring. And St. Remy.
I want her chattering at me like a crazed magpie. I want to hear her tell me to not tear her dress in my haste to touch her. I want her to tell me how to make a fucking mummy.
I just want her.
As the gentlemen withdrew to the library to enjoy their port and cigars, Colin found himself moving away from the group towards the enormous fireplace that took up one wall of the room. He slid into a secluded leather chair, craving a moment of solitude, his emotions unsure. This was not how he’d imagined things when he’d left Runshaw Park for London.
Cam, Welles, and Carstairs stood to one side of the room. Welles and Cam were engaged in a quiet discussion while Carstairs tried to follow. Based on the vacant look in the man’s eyes whatever Welles told Cam was beyond Carstairs’s limited comprehension.
“My lord?”
Colin waved away the port a servant attempted to press upon him.
“Whiskey, if you please.”
“Of course, my lord.” The servant scurried off with barely a second glance at the scar. Within moments, Colin held a glass of fine, smoky whiskey, the very same he and Cam indulged in earlier. Inhaling the welcome aroma, he took a sip and closed his eyes in satisfaction, allowing his body to sink back into the cushions of the chair. He willed his heart to slow and his mind to clear.
“I believe I’ll have one of those as well.” The scrunch of padded leather met his ears as a body settled into the chair next to him. “I’ve no liking for port either.”
Bloody Hell.
Was there no end to his torture this evening?
Ridley. The scent of his pomade wrinkled Colin’s nose. What man walked around smelling like the inside of a lady’s wardrobe? He opened his eyes only to be met with the sight of Ridley’s waistcoat. Horrifying. A ruby, probably quite valuable if it were real, glittered in the pin affixed to his lapel.
Probably paste.
“I hope, my lord, that you do not mind me joining you.” It was a statement rather than a question.
Since a reply was not required, Colin merely closed his fingers tighter around his glass.
The viscount sat back in the chair with a grunt of pleasure.
“Kilmaire.” Ridley nodded politely and he smoothed down the lines of the thin mustache that graced his upper lip.
Those same fingers had run down the length of Miranda’s back. Something dark and brutal curled in Colin’s belly. He embraced it. “Ridley.”
Silence descended upon he and Ridley, which was just as well for Colin didn’t trust himself to speak yet. A light drizzle pattered against the window panes, and the fire hissed and popped as rain found its way down the chimney.
He studied the viscount from beneath hooded eyes.
Weak chin. A slight paunch as if he ate to often and too richly. Brown hair artfully styled about his head to match the bit of hair above his upper lip. Expensive clothing. Gloves from the finest kid.
Overindulgence emanated from Ridley, as if he were an overgrown boy whose parents had spoiled him terribly and who assumed the rest of the world would do so as well.
Up close, Colin liked Ridley even less than he had before.
“I have been looking forward to meeting you, as we are of like minds.” Ridley chuckled. “I understand you are an old acquaintance of Lord Cambourne’s.”
Colin did not care for the reminder that he and Ridley were both seeking an heiress.
“I am.” He should have asked the servant circulating the room to bring him the whole bottle of whiskey. He’d need it to tolerate the presence of Ridley.
Ridley’s gaze flickered over the scar on Colin’s cheek. “The Dowager speaks so fondly of you.”
The Dowager did not speak fondly of Ridley, and the edge to the viscount’s words told Colin Ridley knew it.
“How kind of Lady Cambourne.”
The twit was already imagining the flood of invitations at his door when word got out he’d attended a house party with the Cursed Earl.
“You and the Marquess attended Eton together.”
That was no great secret. Get to the point, Ridley. “Yes, along with Dunbar.”
The viscount’s features tightened until he resembled a terrified rodent. That wasn’t unusual. Most gentlemen held a healthy fear of the Dunbar family.
Ridley leaned over the arm of the chair. his whiskey-soaked breath bathing the air around them. Bloodshot eyes stared at Colin from a face already lined with dissipation, as if being in his cups were a fairly regularly occurrence.
“Is it true? What the gossips say about him?”
The whiskey made Ridley bold. He assumed a friendship with Colin where none existed. Another mark against the man for sheer stupidity.
“I do not hold much with what the gossips say, Lord Ridley. You would be wise not to do so.”
The viscount did not care for the rebuke. He sat back in his chair. This time he didn’t bother to hide the examination of Colin’s scar, studying the jagged line long enough that a lesser man would be uncomfortable.
Colin didn’t give a damn.
“How did you manage to find favor with the Dowager Marchioness? I confess, it has been difficult to earn her regard.”
Colin shrugged. “I’ve known Lady Cambourne half my life. I am honored that she holds me in affection.”
“She is very highly thought of in most circles.” Ridley snapped his fingers above his head and a waiting servant rushed to refill his glass. “As highly thought of as the esteemed Lady Dobson.” Ridley threw back the amber liquid in one swallow, shaking the empty vessel as a plea for more.
Besides being pompous, Ridley didn’t appreciate good whiskey, especially one so fine as Cam kept at Gray Covington. Another reason to dislike the ass, as Colin was beginning to think of him.
“Lady Helen is very beautiful, Kilmaire. I’m given to understand that Lord Cottingham is quite insistent that his daughter marry before the end of the Season.”
“Indeed?” Colin saw no reason to enlighten Ridley.
“Lady Cottingham, of course, wishes a title for her daughter, and as there are no dukes available this season, nor a marquess in sight, she set her sights on the next best thing and has determined not to go lower. How fortunate for you.”
Miranda is not the only heiress you considered wedding. How upsetting it must be for you that Lady Cottingham would rather an earl than a viscount.
Just when he thought he couldn’t dislike Ridley more, the man inferred Miranda was a consolation prize for having lost Lady Helen.
“Lady Helen is quite lovely, with a curiosity about the world around us which never ceases to fascinate me. Charming, and so sophisticated, is she not? I believe she possesses a rare wit. Lady Helen would make any man a wonderful wife.”
Ridley was joking. He had to be. Lady Helen was one of the most boring individuals Colin had ever met.
“Her understanding of birds and their habits speaks well of her intellect. It is good for a woman to have interests outside of her husband and family. It is unfortunate that her father’s humble beginnings reflect on her in some degree, but her beauty and substantial fortune still make Lady Helen a prize for any man.”
Colin sipped his whiskey and declined to comment. Lady Helen’s humble beginnings, he feared, were the least of her flaws.
“She needs only a firm hand,” Ridley continued, “to lead her into society, a society that will welcome her with open arms if she has the proper patronage.”
Much as he hated to agree with Ridley, Lady Helen would get nowhere unless she married well. That’s where I come in. The Cursed Earl, but still an earl.
“I alas, have a much more difficult path ahead of me.” The last word slurred just a bit.
The pompous dandy was already foxed. Colin found it incredibly annoying that while he declined to engage in conversation, Ridley continued to talk to him. The Dowager would label the viscount, oblivious. Obtuse.
“I fear that the Marquess of Cambourne does not hold me in the highest regard, through no fault of my own, of course.”
Colin really wasn’t sure where the conversation was headed, though he was rather certain that he wasn’t going to like it. “I’ve no doubt.”
“Surely, he realizes that I am Lady Miranda’s best choice. Goodness she’s been out for quite some time and is rapidly approaching spinsterhood. One leg on the shelf and all that,” he chuckled.
Colin said nothing, he simply allowed the raw anger he felt towards Ridley to rush unchecked through his veins. The man actually believed he was doing Miranda a favor? This insipid twit?
“And of course with the incident, and the resulting scandal,” his words trailed off to hang in the air between them. “You would think Lord Cambourne would be more welcoming of my suit. Hamill is far too old even though he’s a well connected and respected in Parliament.”
“Yes, the incident.” Colin would rather hear about this mysterious incident from Cam, but Ridley would have to do.
Ridley smiled, showing a flash of crooked teeth. “I had a feeling that you would agree. Lady Miranda is lovely, of course,” he lifted his glass to Colin, “quite lovely, though a bit more rounded than I prefer. Beautiful eyes.”
Miranda was perfection. Could he quietly bloody Ridley’s nose without causing too much of a scene?
“And regardless of the incident, she is from one of the best families in England. The Cambourne family has a long and ancient lineage. Her bloodline is impeccable.”
I will do more than bloody his nose. He’s describing Miranda as if she were one of the horses on which this idiot gambles.
“It’s a pity that even the Dowager cannot make the scandal go away. That would be preferable. Lady Miranda is still received everywhere of course, for no one would dare cut her, but it will be rather difficult to have my wife continually gossiped about.” Ridley gave a put-upon sigh.
Colin’s hands clenched into fists.
“Rather like her friend, Lady Arabella, although Lady Arabella’s disposition does not lend itself to being welcomed.” A hiccup escaped Ridley. “She will undoubtedly stay very firmly on the shelf.”
“Perhaps.” Nick’s sister was at best considered prickly. It was the only thing Colin found he could agree with Ridley on.
“The lack of suitors does help clear the field for my suit. I’ve even been told I’m considered brave for courting her. After all, what man wishes to marry a woman who might very well shoot him over breakfast one day? Can you imagine?” Ridley chuckled as a bit of whiskey dripped down his chin. “The gossip,” Ridley lowered his voice to a whisper, “that she killed her mother’s cousin is ridiculous, of course.” He looked at Colin for confirmation.
“Of, course.” Colin replied numbly. He’d gone cold at the information Ridley so nonchalantly relayed. Miranda killed Archie Ruynon? This was the incident? Impossible. Runyon was shot by a tenant farmer at Helmsby Abbey, the estate Alex inherited from her aunt. Cam awarded the man a large sum of money as a reward for saving the lives of the Marquess and Marchioness of Cambourne.
“There are many in the ton who believe the rumors, of course. Rather silly if you ask me. I find the whole of the tale to be pure fiction. Lady Miranda is simply not capable of such a feat.”
Colin’s mouth went dry. He struggled to recall the letter he’d received from Nick with the details of Archie Runyon’s death.
‘A farmer was hunting for one of his calves that had wandered away from the herd. He was searching for it in the woods when he chanced upon Archie Runyon threatening Cam and his wife. The farmer, luckily, carried a weapon. I heard the story from Cam myself.
Why hadn’t his friend told Colin the truth?
Because I told Nick six years ago that I never wished to hear her name nor ever see her again. That I wanted to forget Miranda ever existed.
“What makes you think,” Colin said quietly, “Lady Miranda incapable of such an act?”
“She’s a bit empty-headed. Even if she had the intelligence to learn to load a pistol, I can’t imagine she’d have the presence of mind to actually shoot someone. No matter what the gossips claim.”
Colin disagreed. Miranda was nothing if not determined and her intellect far exceeded that of Lord Ridley. He looked over at Cam who was laughing at something Welles said. How much money had he paid that farmer to take the blame for shooting Runyon? Miranda’s scandal was much more serious than being jilted by St. Remy. No wonder the incident pained Cam so. His sister killed Runyon in an effort to protect Cam and Alex.
And it ruined her reputation.
Miranda. So brave. And apparently an expert marksman. A surge of protectiveness mixed with pride rose in his chest.
“Don’t you find her a bit flightly?” Ridley chuckled.
Ridley was oblivious to a great many things, including the fact that his life was currently in danger.
“Not in the least.”
“No? She’s always insisting on dragging me to lectures on topics far above any woman’s knowledge. I believe she is just parroting Lord Cambourne when she relates such tales to me. Her incessant chattering is like the buzzing of a thousand gnats in my ear. I fear I shall grow quite deaf once we’re wed.” Ridley frowned as the movement of his arm spilled a bit of the whiskey on his lap. He cursed under his breath.
“So, you are certain that Lady Miranda will accept you?”
“Yes. I told you. I’m her best choice.” He winked at Colin and reached into his pocket for a tin of peppermints. “Do you really think she wants to marry that old reprobate Hamill? She’s just attempting to make me jealous.” Popping a peppermint into his mouth he stood rather drunkenly and set his glass on a side table.
Colin regarded Ridley blandly, careful to conceal the revulsion he felt. There was absolutely no way in hell Colin would allow Miranda to marry this revolting, gold-digging dandy.
“Good evening, Lord Kilmaire. If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to Lord Cambourne before I retire.”
The viscount steadied himself against the arm of the chair while he ran his hands down his arms, releasing the small wrinkles in his coat. Moving a bit gingerly, as if to maintain his balance, Ridley moved towards Cam, Welles, and Carstairs.
“Whiskey,” Colin hissed to a nearby servant. “This time, just bring the bottle.”
14
“Don’t you think so, Lady Miranda?”
Truthfully, Miranda had no idea what Lady Dobson was speaking about. Her thoughts were on Colin and the way he’d looked at her over dinner. She hadn’t imagined the heat that flowed between them. But what did it mean?
Lady Dobson bestowed a toothy smile on Miranda, her turban dipping slightly as she nodded her head.
Miranda watched the turban tilt, silently begging the headgear to slide.
“I was saying that it is gratifying that this Earl of Kilmaire,” Lady Dobson trilled, “will not seek a bride from Ireland. The former earl as well as several of his predecessors showed an odd preference for women who were not English. Highly unusual.”
She winced as Grandmother pinched her forearm. “Indeed, Lady Dobson.”
“You’ve known Lord Kilmaire since you were a child. What traits do you think he values in a future wife?”
“I – well that is to say – Lord Kilmaire values intelligence.” Miranda spared a glance for Lady Helen who sat with her hands clasped demurely, a distant look in her cornflower blue eyes.
I bet she’s thinking of birds. Or feathers. Or possibly nests and eggs. She’s really rather strange.
Miranda bestowed a polite smile on Lady Dobson.
“Yes.” Lady Dobson smiled again. “And, Ma
rgaret,” she patted her niece’s hand, “has that in spades. I did despair that her love of books would prove a detriment. It is a happy occurrence that it will not.”
Miss Lainscott flinched slightly from her aunt’s touch, though her face remained passive.
Lady Cottingham pursed her lips, rising to Lady Dobson’s challenge. “He has promised Helen a walk so that she may introduce him to the joys of birdwatching. Isn’t that right, my dear?”
Lady Helen nodded, her eyes narrowing to slits. “He insisted, Lady Dobson, on assisting me in my search for the ruby-throated thrush. I’m told the thrush lives in the woods surrounding Gray Covington.”
Lady Dobson’s nostrils flared. “How lovely. I know that several gentlemen have mentioned to me how they’ve enjoyed birdwatching with you.”
A small puff of disbelief came out of Lady Cottingham at the comment.
Lady Helen paled slightly, but she lifted her chin defiantly.
Lady Dobson continued in a mellow voice, knowing her barb had met its mark. “Have I mentioned Margaret’s talent at the piano forte? She will showcase her talent for us tomorrow evening.”
Miranda wondered if Lady Dobson and Lady Cottingham would go at each other like two dogs fighting over a scrap of meat, with the Earl of Kilmaire in the role of the scrap. She stood, rather abruptly, a faux pas at which her grandmother, as hostess, would likely chastise her for tomorrow. But, if she retired now, Miranda could avoid both Lord Ridley and Lord Hamill. The gentlemen would soon be joining the ladies in the drawing room and Miranda was certain she could not pretend interest in either man again.
“Pray excuse me.” She put a hand to her head as if she were about to faint. “Much like your husband, Lady Cottingham, I am prone to sickness after long carriage rides. I beg your forgiveness, but I must retire.”
“A wonder you did not succumb to this affliction earlier,” Grandmother murmured, one grey brow raised in question. The green eyes, shrewd and knowing, took in Miranda’s slightly flushed features. “You do look a bit ill, granddaughter. Alexandra and I will entertain our guests.”
MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3 Page 18