The Fairy Tale Bride

by Kelly McClymer

CHAPTER SEVEN

  Miranda slipped soundlessly into the darkened main hallway of Anderlin. She stopped for a moment to shoot the bolt, leaning against the sturdy oak door. Safe.

  Gradually, the trembling within her abated as she drew strength from the peaceful familiarity of Anderlin at night. No servants or younger sisters stirred to ask embarrassing questions, or silently note her discomposure.

  The incident yesterday had affected her more than she supposed. As she walked the familiar pathway from the village to Anderlin she had seen highwaymen in every sway of a tree branch in the breeze.

  She straightened and headed for the library to check on Valentine. What was she going to do now? Simon seemed intent upon marrying her, Valentine upon marrying her off. And now, at the whim of a scoundrel, she had lost her chance to put the family finances back in order for a while longer.

  Her hands clenched. If she had carried a small dagger or a pistol with her, maybe she would have had a chance to fight the cutthroat off. It was amazing the way he had known she had something hidden beneath her skirts, almost as if he could read her mind.

  She felt a shiver go through her. He had been one of the meanest, ugliest creatures she had ever had the misfortune to meet. She would never forget the stink of his breath, nor the bushy dark beard that hid his face from her. She hoped never to come across him again.

  She entered the darkened study quietly, so as not to disturb Valentine if he were sleeping. The fire had burned low and she could make out only a shadowy outline in the chair by the fire. The sound of his breathing was even and light. She hoped he slept soundly, for then she could avoid any awkward questions.

  With an ease born of a lifetime's familiarity, she moved carefully through the darkness. One thing she needed, whether he approved or not, was a medicinal glass of brandy to steady her nerves.

  She nearly dropped the crystal decanter when she heard the duke's familiar voice. "How does the invalid you tended fare, Miss Fenster?"

  She whirled to face the figure in the chair. If he was still here, it meant that he intended to try once more to convince her that the marriage was necessary. She would need all her wits about her. Looking at him she had to suppress a shiver of anticipation when it crossed her mind that he might kiss her yet again in his attempt to change her mind. "Where is Valentine?"

  Fortunately, he dispelled the image of a passionate embrace when he said calmly, "I imagine he has quite sensibly retired, considering the hour. I expect he thought you would stay the night with your invalid.

  She flushed in the dark, wondering what had possessed her to think of kissing when she needed to think of how to convince him that she was not interested in marrying him. "Yes. Well, as you can see, I did not." She replaced the lid on the decanter, and put the bottle back. She wasn't comfortable taking a drink with Simon present.

  "What kind of an illness was it, Miranda, to be over so quickly?" he asked.

  Miranda frowned. She felt that if she told another lie to him she would become the poor bitter girl in the tale who spit frogs and snakes when she spoke. "That is of no consequence, Your Grace. No doubt you wish to discuss another, more pertinent matter, but I'm afraid this very conversation with you is improper. Perhaps we should continue it tomorrow, in Valentine's presence."

  "I will be taking my leave at sunrise." He rose from the chair and crouched by the fire. "Besides, I find I enjoy speaking with you at night, by firelight. And my question is a simple one – do you wish to be married here, in your family home?"

  Unbidden, the image of Simon in the old chapel, smiling as he awaited her vows, came to her. Miranda brushed it aside. "What has made you change your mind about marriage? I recall when you thought I was trying to entrap you, you were quite certain that you did not want to marry me."

  He did not look at her as he answered. "I'm surprised you need to ask, after the night we spent together." Suddenly, he looked deep into her eyes. "Remember – you are the one who is so certain that physical attraction can cause a man to behave foolishly. Surely you can understand that I have accepted that the only way for me to have you in my bed is to marry you."

  Miranda felt the heat of his words all the way to her toes. She refused to give in to it. "But I am a woman, Your Grace. And my mind has not been changed. I do not want to be married to a man who does not love or trust me –" Afraid her words were too harsh for his, after all, gallant behavior, Miranda tried to soften them with a touch of honesty. "Even though there is a physical attraction between us."

  His whisper was as loud as a shout in the silent room. "A strong attraction. The kind worth risking a little pain for."

  "Surely you would not force me to marry you when I am so set against it? This is not the eighteenth century, sir." She appealed to his honor, knowing how much a part of him it was. "You are too fine a man to do so."

  There was a short silence and then the shadowy figure stood. "Perhaps it is the taint of bad blood in me, Miranda, but I want you and I will do everything in my power to have you."

  "Bad blood? The Earls and Dukes of Kerstone have an impeccable line."

  He stirred restlessly. "Perhaps from my mother's side, Miranda. One never knows these things, does one? Now, about the wedding – will it take place here? Or shall I make arrangements at my seat? Or would you prefer London, perhaps?"

  Discomforted, she noticed that there was an edge about him that there had not been there earlier. Somehow, he was quite certain she would marry him – and it was not simply masculine arrogance. She had dealt with that before.

  This was more, and she was afraid of his intensity as he stared down at her in the darkness of the quiet study.

  "Why? When we neither of us have a true desire to be wed?"

  In the darkness he moved to light the candles, one by one from the dying glow of the fireplace until the room was filled with leaping shadows and she could see his implacable eyes. "That makes us a perfect matched pair."

  Aware that a scream would merely complicate matters and bring the rest of the household down around their ears, she settled for grinding her teeth. "Your Grace, please, I would prefer that you allow me the liberty of crying off."

  He came toward her, until she could see his face clearly. "But my dear, the ink on our engagement announcement is still wet. Surely you will not embarrass me so?"

  She bit her lip. That was a dilemma, was it not? If she cried off … "Well, then, you cry off. My reputation and feelings are of no consequence."

  He shook his head and smiled. "I cannot humiliate myself that way. I made a promise to the old duke on his deathbed never to disgrace the family name. I have made an honest bid for you, and Valentine has accepted it."

  "Valentine is not thinking clearly."

  "Your brother knows his duty, my dear. And I mine. I don't know why you persist in fighting your own. Have you a tendre for some other fellow?"

  "Of course not."

  "Then why not marry me?"

  "Because Grimthorpe is the only reason you feel the need to marry me. I know it is not physical attraction that compels you to make the offer – it is your damnable sense of honor."

  He interrupted the abrupt silence with a deep laugh that held an irritating amount of smug satisfaction. "I think you have mistaken the reason for my offer, my dear. Though, of course, it might not have happened if not for Grimthorpe. I look forward to the task I have set myself."

  She was confused. "Task?"

  "I have decided it is my job to make you into a wife any man might take pride in – especially your next husband, should you decide to marry again."

  She felt the sting of his insult first, then took in the import of his final words. "My next husband?"

  He sighed. "I want you, my dear, but I cannot keep you."

  "You are making no sense. Marriage is not a temporary state. Are you foxed?"

  "No. I have not been drinking. I am trying to explain that you will have me as a husband for only six months' time."

  "Are you going away?"
Some former soldiers did that, she knew, to explore India and Africa. But, as duke, Simon had responsibilities. Surely he would not shirk them?

  "You might say so."

  "Do not be cryptic with me now. Where will you be in six months' time?"

  His gaze focused on the leaping flames in the fireplace. "In six months' time, Simon Watterly, Duke of Kerstone, will be dead."

  She gasped. "But how? Have you the pox?"

  It was the duke's turn to gasp. "Where the devil did you hear about something like that?"

  "I overheard Valentine's friends. They say many soldiers …"

  "No, Miranda, I do not have the pox. And I assure you that you will not be overhearing such conversations in the future. As my wife, you will begin to keep suitable company and discuss suitable subjects."

  She ignored his comments, more intent on the unbelievable thought that this vibrant man was dying. "You are certain of this? Perhaps if you see another doctor?"

  "There is no hope, Miranda. I have seen all the doctors I need to see to be certain."

  She stared at him as she reeled under the impact of the news, unable to accept it. Her objections to the marriage were swept away in a single breath. "Perhaps we should apply for a special license?"

  For a moment, there was the faintest of smiles on his lips. "I would not be averse, but do you think Valentine can stand the strain of gossip?"

  "Valentine admires you very much. I should think he would be happy to know that I will be applying my abilities toward getting you through this crisis and making you well again."

  The smile on his lips was not at all faint this time. "Ah, yes. I would delight in as quick a recovery as your patient had."

  He looked at the mantel. "It is quite dark in here. I can't see your face. Perhaps that is because of the lack of candles. You really ought not to allow the servants to polish the silver without replacing the candlesticks promptly."

  She suppressed a start. The candlesticks would never be back and it was certainly not the servants' fault. She realized, very suddenly, that if the duke married her, all would be well for her brother and her sisters.

  It was only her own foolish, miserable heart that would suffer. And certainly she deserved that. "I hope you never regret marrying me. I am impetuous and …"

  In a moment he had crossed the distance between them and swept her into his arms. "And loyal and brave and sweet." His lips brushed her neck as he whispered.

  "I don't know what good I can do your health, Simon, but I will do all that I can and more to see you well."

  "I won't need anything but your companionship."

  His arms tightened around her, leaving her in no doubt about what he meant. "Although perhaps your nursing skills might be brought to bear upon my heir apparent. He always seems to be sniffling — when he isn't falling off his horse."

  "I have enough patience for two patients." Miranda gave herself entirely up into his embrace. "I shall do my best to make you a good wife."

  She had expected a look of subdued triumph to overtake his features, not the bitter twist that came to his mouth. "I think, Miranda, that I will be the one making you into an excellent wife. And your next husband will no doubt thank me."

  Miranda would have protested, but his mouth came down on hers and all thoughts were swept away in the pleasure of the kiss.