MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3

by Ayers, Kathleen

  “My God, were you both going to allow him to beat me to death? Miranda?”

  She turned away from him.

  Bloody Hell. I should have left a note.

  The Dowager pursed her lips in disapproval. “You are impertinent, Lord Kilmaire.”

  “Why did you come back to Gray Covington? Did you forget something in your haste to follow the Cottinghams to London?” Cam hissed.

  “Why would I follow the Cottinghams anywhere? Let alone to London? They were here when I left Gray Covington.”

  “The Cottinghams returned to London this morning. Lord Cottingham admitted that he would soon have a titled son-in-law.” Cam grit his teeth. “You bastard.”

  Colin struggled to sit up and removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket to dab at his battered lip. His eye was already swelling. “Well, it’s bloody not me. I have no intention of marrying Lady Helen. I have an aversion to birds.”

  “You glib Irish—”

  “I thought we all agreed I was barely Irish. Quit flinging that about. It’s insulting.”

  Cam took a deep breath and shot him a murderous look. “I don’t care if you’ve promised to marry Lady Helen.”

  “I didn’t. I’d never...” God his ribs hurt. “…marry that pea-wit.”

  “You will marry Miranda. You’ve ruined her. Her reputation is—”

  “Already in tatters,” Miranda said quietly from her place beside the Dowager. “Besides, Lord Kilmaire did not seduce some virginal spinster under your roof last night. I have not been a maiden for some time.”

  Cam turned the most disturbing shade of beet. Had the situation not been so serious, Colin would have laughed out loud.

  “Who . . .” Cam sputtered and turned wild eyes on Colin. “I’ll kill you.”

  “And I will not be married to a man who doesn’t want me.” An anguished look shadowed her green eyes. “Whether he decides to marry Lady Helen, or any other woman, is not my concern. I would not have him marry me out of misguided duty. Lord Kilmaire has made his feelings toward me abundantly clear.”

  “Apparently, I haven’t.” He’d held her all night, worshipped her as he had nothing else in his life, and still Miranda didn’t know what was in his heart.

  “I will marry Ridley,” Miranda continued calmly, her voice barely hesitating as she said the viscount’s name. “I’m sure he’s still lurking about Gray Covington.”

  “Miranda.” The Dowager took her hand. “The man is a disaster. A bounder.”

  Stunned by her declaration, Colin found he couldn’t speak. Was she insane?

  “I’m certain he can be convinced to overlook my indiscretion,” her voice caught, “in return for my substantial dowry. Grandmother can put out the story that it was not Lord Kilmaire leaving my room this morning, but was in fact, Ridley. Lady Dobson’s eyesight is a bit poor, is it not, Grandmother? There will be a tad of scandal, but it will not be insurmountable.”

  Lady Dobson had seen him leave Miranda’s room? That certainly explained the welcome he’d received from Cam.

  “Miranda, have you lost your mind?” Colin spat blood onto the handkerchief he’d found in his pocket. One of his lower teeth wiggled. “No. Absolutely not. You will not marry Ridley. I did not leave you to go chasing after Lady Helen. She’s an insipid twit.”

  “Colin,” she looked at him, lovely and resolute. “You do not have to do the honorable thing. I did not hold you to it years ago and I will not do so now.”

  “Yes, he does.” Cam growled.

  Another punch to his side, drove Colin down on one knee. Wincing with pain, he tried to take a deep breath. He’d be lucky if he could explain about the letter before the entire damn family murdered him in the drawing room. The Dowager refused to say a word, even though she knew full well what happened. God, even she believed he’d left Miranda for Lady Helen.

  He needed to be the one to tell Miranda.

  “Stop,” he looked at Cam, “doing that. Miranda,” he implored, “please listen to me, for just a moment. I did not leave you six years ago. Well, I did, but not for the reasons you assume. Ian fell ill, and I had to return to Runshaw Park. I left you a note with one of the footmen and one for your father. After my mother’s attack I received a reply, from you.”

  “My God. I thought you were my friend. While I was in Macao you ruined my sister?” Cam raised his fist again. “I will call you out, I—”

  The Dowager thumped her cane. “You will do no such thing, Sutton. I forbid it.” “Allow Lord Kilmaire to speak in his own defense. You were about to say, Lord Kilmaire?” This time, her eyes twinkled with a bit of encouragement.

  For someone who usually had command of the spoken and written word, Colin found himself at a loss to explain his own role in the end of his relationship with Miranda. He’d seen the love in her eyes last night and the fact that he’d ever doubted her shamed Colin to the core.

  “I never would have. . .” Colin took another breath trying to find the right words. “A letter arrived at Runshaw Park announcing your intentions to marry Lord St. Remy.”

  “The Duke of Langford,” Miranda automatically corrected.

  “The letter stated, rather bluntly, that you found me incredibly unsuitable for marriage. That the,” he hesitated, “affection that lay between us was no more than a mild flirtation. I wasn’t myself,” he said by way of apology. “and the token I had left for you was enclosed with the letter. I assumed—"

  Miranda sucked in her breath, her hand pressed against her stomach. “You thought I would say such a thing to you, after…after…” The dark locks spun about her shoulders as she shook her head in disbelief. “We have been apart for six years because you received a letter? You never even tried to find out if it was true, did you? Never sought me out to hear such a thing from my own lips? Anyone could have written that letter. And what token? You gave me nothing.”

  “Miranda, love, I’m so sorry.” Colin said. “Please, can we discuss this alone?”

  “It was my mother, wasn’t it?” Miranda swiped at her eyes as the Dowager took her hand. “She did this.”

  “Yes,” the Dowager stated. “I cannot imagine that anyone else would have done such a thing deliberately. And your mother,” the Dowager’s shoulders sagged, “well, she did wish a different match for you.”

  “Bitch,” Cam hissed.

  “Yes, we all know what my mother is, Sutton. God knows, she could never allow me any happiness. I’m not surprised she would do such a thing. But, you, Colin, should have known better.”

  Miranda was angry. Furious. Hurt. He saw every emotion play along her beautiful features. Disappointment. That was the worst of all of them. She may never forgive him.

  “I told you how I felt about you, Colin Hartley. You chose to believe the ravings of the woman who bore you and some ridiculous curse an ancient gypsy sprouted, but not me.” A tremor entered her words. “Not me. Who loved you. I’ve loved you all of my bloody life, and yet it was me you chose not to believe.”

  “I never received another letter from you. Not even after the Mad Countess carved me up like a Christmas ham. Why did you never write me?” Even to his own ears the defense sounded weak. “And the ring—

  “I did.” Miranda shouted. “You left me a bloody ring? You couldn’t be bothered to give it to me and declare yourself?

  She strode over to him, angry and so hurt it broke Colin’s heart. A lone tear ran down her cheek and she wiped at it furiously. “I wrote you nearly every day. I begged you to allow me to come to you when Father told me what happened. You never replied. Nor did you reply to any of Father’s letters. It broke his heart, Colin.” She swiped at another tear. “I even tried to bribe a groom to take me to you, but Mother caught me.”

  “Miranda,” Colin wanted to weep himself. This was not going at all as he’d planned. Miranda was not going to forgive him. He may as well allow Cam to beat him to death in the study. The Dowager would no doubt assist in Cam’s endeavor by using her cane. He reached his hand
out to Miranda in a silent plea.

  “Don’t,” Miranda stepped back, pulling her skirts behind her. “Six years, Colin. Six years and you never once tried to see if I’d actually married. Hiding away at Runshaw Park, brooding. Probably sitting alone in your study, drinking in the dark. Did you ever even think of me?”

  God, she knew him so well. “Jesus, of course I did.”

  She flinched. “When did you find out that I did not write such a thing?”

  “A sherry, Sutton. Please,” the Dowager said quietly.

  “Yesterday,” he winced and wiped another trickle of blood from his lip. “Your grandmother and Alex showed me a letter you were writing to Arabella. The handwriting did not match.”

  Her brows raised. “I wondered why I found my unfinished letter to Arabella in my chambers as I swore I’d left it in the drawing room.” Her face didn’t soften. “So, once you realized you’d made a mistake, you came to my chambers.”

  “Miranda,” he implored. “I had already decided that it didn’t matter, that St. Remy didn’t matter. I told Lord Cottingham I would not marry his daughter before I knew the truth about the letter.”

  The look on Miranda’s face told Colin he had said exactly the wrong thing.

  “You idiot.” Cam muttered under his breath, handing the Dowager her sherry.

  Miranda’s eyes hardened to bits of flint and her lush mouth grew taut with anger. “What a grand gesture for you to make. You assumed I wrote the letter but forced yourself to overcome your disgust and forgive me. How fortunate I am that you decided to overlook such a large flaw in my character.”

  “Christ, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you want to know why I left this morning?”

  “No. I find it doesn’t matter. Now, if you will all excuse me.”

  She spun from Colin, her entire body vibrating with anger as she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

  A choked sound came from Cam as if he found amusement in the horrible situation. He sat down next to his grandmother.

  “You should bear in mind, Kilmaire,” he said, his voice still hinting at his earlier rage “that my sister is a crack shot.”

  25

  “Detestable man. Coward. Ass.”

  Miranda sat back against a stone bench before the topiary garden, not giving a fig if the moss covering the ancient stone stained her dress. “A flirtation? Did he think I ran around London telling every man I loved him? Or gave my virtue so lightly?”

  The three topiary monkeys making their way across the rolling lawn before her didn’t answer, of course. Perhaps the monkeys were more concerned about the topiary tiger that seemed poised to attack them. The tiger was her brother’s idea. Sutton hunted tiger in the jungles and described to Gray Covington’s master gardener, exactly what he wanted.

  How often had she come to the topiary garden to hide from her mother?

  The revelation that Mother went to such lengths to determine Miranda’s future was actually not that shocking. Not really. If one were listing all the terrible things Mother had done, ruining Miranda’s life would have been towards the bottom of the list. She’d been nothing more than an accessory to Lady Jeanette Cambourne, like a hat or a parasol. A tool to be used to further Mother’s own ambitions.

  “God, she’s a bitch,” Miranda uttered bitterly into the breeze ruffling her hair. Her heart pinched for a moment, as it often did when she thought of Mother, but it came less these days. Sometimes Miranda envied Sutton, for his mother, Madeline, had loved her child.

  “I shouldn’t complain. You loved me and Elizabeth, didn’t you Father?” she said to the wind, hoping that somewhere, Lord Robert Cambourne heard her. “I miss you. I could certainly use your counsel now.”

  Miranda swallowed back the tightening of her throat, attempting to banish the tears she felt certain would pour out of her at any moment.

  “He would tell you that Colin Hartley is one of the most foolish men alive.” The words came from behind her.

  He’d approached without a sound. Colin would have made an excellent Indian scout. She’d read about those in a book on America her brother lent her. “It’s not polite to sneak up on someone in such a manner. I find it’s something else about you I don’t care for.”

  Colin was right behind her, so close that his breath moved the hairs at the base of her neck. She could feel the brush of lips against her skin and she shivered slightly.

  “I know you are angry.”

  “Furious,” she spat back trying not to enjoy the feel of his mouth against her neck.

  “Rightfully so.” He pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

  “I don’t wish to speak to you. Go away. I must contemplate my marriage to Lord Ridley. After all, you seem to believe I can allow one man to bed me and still marry another.”

  A hand fell to the top of her head, the fingers trailing through the strands of her hair and down the length of her back. “I deserved that.” Warm fingers ran up and down her spine. “I knew six years ago that I wasn’t good enough for you. I was out of my mind Miranda, after Mother sliced my face. The pain was unbearable. I longed for you, my touchstone. The thing that kept me sane,” his voice grew raspy with emotion. “Then the letter came.”

  “I don’t know if I can forgive you.” Tears fell from her eyes.

  Colin came around the bench and sat beside her. “I know. But, I pray that you will. I’m lost without you, Miranda.”

  The skin around his eye was rapidly turning a shade of deep purple as was the bruise along his jaw. His eyes had deepened to chocolate, so dark she could barely make out his pupils. He took her fingers and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. “I would marry you.”

  “Because you’ve compromised me?” She pulled her hand away. “Because you feel guilty?”

  He looked away to study the topiaries, his gaze lingering on the tiger. “Stop, Miranda. You know I do not wish to you wed you out of honor.” He took her hand again. “I’m not the least bit honorable.”

  Miranda bit her lip and looked down at the larger hand enfolding hers, unsure as to what to say.

  “I have never wanted anything as much as I have wanted you, Miranda Reynolds,” Colin’s voice was thick with emotion. “My life is empty without you in it. I merely exist, and not well, as you’ve probably guessed. I’m a bad bargain for you, I always have been. I brood. I drink whiskey. I have nothing but a crumbling estate and am the author of a series of lurid gothic novels.”

  “They are my favorite.” Miranda said in a quiet voice. “That was the only pleasant surprise I’ve had in the last twenty-four hours.”

  A very determined, possessive look crossed Colin’s poor bruised face. “You are free to refuse, of course. But it won’t matter.”

  “It won’t?”

  “Not in the least. I am willing to be quite ruthless. Six years? I refuse to go even six more minutes without claiming you. I will kidnap you and take you to Scotland for a hasty marriage. Ridley will meet with an unfortunate accident to prevent his interference.”

  “How very Lord Thurston of you.”

  He brushed a kiss against her lips, his hands, warm and ungloved as usual, cupped both sides of her face.

  “I am hopelessly and madly in love with you, as I shall remain until I have passed from this life. I know you may never forgive me. I don’t blame you. You may no longer love me, but I will take you none the less. I’m that selfish. And I’m a bit disfigured to boot.”

  “Colin.” Miranda pressed a finger to his lips, blinking back tears.

  The chocolate eyes were warm on her. “Did I mention the brooding?”

  “Yes.” God, she loved him. And she would forgive Colin. Eventually. The alternative would mean misery for them both.

  “And the whiskey?”

  “I’ll share a glass with you.” Miranda leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the puckered scar that split his cheek. Gorgeous idiot. “You do not sound appealing in the least.” She wrinkled her brow. “I really have no choice in thi
s matter?”

  “No.” The large body slid closer to her, and she was enveloped by his warmth. He smelled of horse and dust. “I promise, Miranda, that I will never doubt you again, nor give you cause to doubt me.” He lifted his hand to trace the outline of her jaw. “I love you, and I promise to tell you so. Every day.”

  She could clearly see the stain of ink on his forefinger. Sometimes one cannot see the truth when it is right in front of them.

  “You belong to me,” she whispered.

  “Always.”

  His lips met hers in a slow, lingering kiss that sent Miranda’s blood racing. The kiss also brought her peace. This was where she belonged, with Colin. She’d know it since she was eight years old.

  “I should have left you a note this morning. I didn’t realize you would jump to the wrong conclusion. When I asked you to forgive me last night it was for-”

  “Doubting me. I know that now. What was in London?”

  Colin gave her a lazy smile. “I am a foolish man, Miranda. I never thought your mother would go to such lengths. When I left Cambourne House six years ago I wrote you a letter with my intentions and left you this. I should have put it on your finger right after—

  “You ruined me.”

  “Yes. I left a note for your father as well, declaring my intentions.” His fingers held up a battered gold ring. “It was my grandmother’s, the only thing I have left of her. I know it isn’t a great jewel. To the Irish it means,” his forehead touched hers, “that is to say, it’s a traditional way to announce one’s betrothal.”

  “I know what it means.” Miranda’s heart ached with love for him as he slid the ring on her finger. “I accept your claim on me, Colin Hartley.”

  “Good. As you’ve little choice in the matter.” His lips brushed hers again. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he pulled a piece of paper from beneath his coat. “I went for this as well.”

  “A special license?” Miranda wrapped her arms about his neck. “I still haven’t said yes.”