CHAPTER TWENTY
His scowl did not lessen as they danced, despite the fact that she seemed genuinely perplexed by his displeasure.
Evidently, despite her concern for his "health", she was in no mood to coddle him. "By what are you not amused?" she asked, impatience stamped into the tight set of her mouth. "The decorations? The musicians? They seem more than adequate to me."
"You know what I mean." He said it forcefully, just to make certain she had not simply learned to hide the truth in the time she had lived with him.
She stared at him in such puzzlement that his scowl relaxed and he found himself feeling groundlessly grim. Purposefully, he began directing their dance to carry them toward the entryway. With barely a pause, he led her into the dining room, its tables laden with food and guarded by huge blocks of sculpted ice. "Look at this."
Her glance at the tables was not cursory, and no glint of recognition shone in her eyes. He had just decided to explain when he felt her start of surprise. She went nearer, on tiptoe, as if she were afraid, and began to peer at the sculptures: Cinder Ella, her prince at her feet; Rapunzel in her tower, her hair let down; Sleeping Beauty, Little Redcape, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast.
Fairytale characters captured in ice. And that was not the worst: Every woman had Miranda's face and every man was Simon — except that for the tale of Redcape he had been rendered with angular, wolfish features.
She put her hand out to the familiar features caught in ice and rested her fingers on the chill wolfen brow. "I had no idea."
His lips tightened, then twitched. "My mother, of course. Her idea of amusement." He gestured for a footman. "Take these away immediately."
"No." Miranda shook her head, and the footman halted, looking at Simon for further instruction. She touched his arm. He could not hide his anger, but she met his gaze full on. "Leave them. They are beautiful."
"We will be the laughingstock of society for this folly," he muttered.
Miranda shook her head, a shuttered look of sad certainly on her face. "Your mother would not do that. Your family name is too important to her."
He jerked his arm away from her. So his mother had even convinced her of the Watterly honor. How ironic.
She reached for his arm again, touching him lightly, "Please. Leave them, Simon. No one will laugh. They are too beautiful for that."
Her eyes rested wistfully on the Sleeping Beauty sculpture, the handsome, princely Simon bent so that his lips met and melded with the lips of the icy Sleeping Beauty, carved in the likeness of Miranda. "Leave them for my sake."
He watched her, hoping his inner war not obvious in the taut lines of his face. Why did he continue to torture them both like this? He should send her back to her family before she was ruined forever — not her reputation, but her heart, He remembered then that his mother had warned him of that very thing. Damn her.
"They're only ice, Simon. They won't last."
Just like your dreams, he thought, but did not say. Of course, as he knew she would, she persevered. "By the end of the evening they'll be puddles on the floor. Can I not have them for this little while?"
He did not answer her, but turned his attention to the footman, who had watched their exchange wide-eyed. "Leave them. My wife wishes it."
He would have left her then, if she had not slipped her hand in his. "Dance with me again, Simon. The room is so full of strangers watching my every move. I would like to dance once more with you."
He sighed, about to refuse and she stopped him. "It is not much to ask, for a husband to dance one full dance with his wife."
His eyes raked hers, wondering if she would take his agreement as reason to slip into his bed once more. He could not say with any certainty what she thought a dance would mean as he gazed into the dark depths of her eyes.
But he nodded, realizing that it meant some slight relief from the gossiping guests. It was the least she deserved from him, since he could not give her what she truly desired. "It is not much to ask at all." He led her from the dining room and out into the crush of dancers.
To his surprise, the tension seemed to drain from him as they maneuvered the intricate pattern of the dance. He was smiling faintly at her, his face relaxed in lines of enjoyment and pleasure in an unguarded manner he had not dared since they had driven home on their wedding day. The thought was a sharp pain and he immediately sought to distract himself.
"Your sisters are doing well," he said when the dance step brought them together. "Even the shy one seems to be gathering beaux."
Miranda whirled away from him in dance, her gaze searching for her sisters. He hoped she approved of the glow in both Hero's and Juliet's eyes as they were plied with food and drink by the eligible bachelors carefully selected by Simon and his mother as worthy candidates for the girls' affections.
As Miranda watched Juliet flirting outrageously with four men at once, she smiled. "Yes," she commented lightly when the dance brought them together once again. "They are both ready for a Season. 'Tis fortunate that Hero is not jealous that Juliet is coming out at the same time as she."
The dance ended, and they stood for a moment catching their breath. Simon smiled. "Hero does not seem the jealous kind."
The musicians struck up a waltz, and before Miranda could protest, he had led her onto the floor again and she was caught in the whirl of dancers. He noticed his mother, her American lover conspicuously absent, watching them with an avid eye. He wondered if she were simply ashamed of the man, or if she had sent him away to prevent him from speaking with Simon.
Miranda tilted her head up toward him, her eyes shining, and he worried that he had indeed raised her expectations. "Sometimes I think Hero was born without the capacity for envy. If the situation were reversed, I doubt that Juliet would be so kindhearted. Although I cannot think it is a bad thing that, with them both coming out, Juliet has less gentlemen upon whom to practice her flirtation."
His hand pressed her side gently. "Do you worry about Juliet being too bold?"
She answered defensively, "Juliet is not like me."
His hand tightened; and he brought her close enough for the dowager to frown as they swept past her. "No one is like you."
His compliment warmed Miranda, but she knew better than to believe he meant it in a favorable way. No doubt he was thinking of the unorthodox manner in which they had come to be married. "Juliet is so easily smitten."
He said nothing, but she did not think it coincidence that, even as she spoke, the path of their steps led them past Juliet and Hero. Both girls seemed singularly untouched by the ardor of their suitors. Juliet gave them a small, gay wave as they spun past. Seeing that Grimthorpe was among those in Juliet's court, Miranda was not certain if she meant more to reassure Simon, or herself, when she added, "I have warned her well of my folly."
"I hope you have made it clear that you were not a careless flirt."
"Of course I did. My foolishness was in going anywhere out of sight of everyone else, and I have made that abundantly clear to both Hero and Juliet."
Miranda remembered the conversation uneasily. Hero had nodded gravely and promised never to leave the crowd, unless accompanied by Miranda or Juliet. Juliet had laughed and claimed she would not want to stop dancing or being adored by many men simply to be alone with one of them. "Juliet seems to think being adored by one man would be somewhat dull."
"Let us hope she continues to feel that way."
Miranda thought silently, let us hope that she meets no one who affects her senses, as well as her common sense, the way that Simon affects mine. Aloud, she admitted to only part of her doubt. "My only fear is that she will form an alliance with someone unsuitable. Someone who might break her heart."
His voice was hoarse, and ragged, as if it were difficult for him to speak. "It is better not to have the heart involved in marriage, but young girls don't always understand that."
"No." Miranda agreed. "They don't. " And neither do some young married women who were old enough to h
ave gathered dust on the shelf They kept believing, despite everything, that their prince would arrive to wake them with a kiss.
Again they swept by the girls. Juliet was laughing at a joke, her eyes bright as jewels against her pale skin. Simon said calmly, "I do not think it would be wise for us to let her choose her suitors. But put those fears to rest. I'm certain I can choose her an excellent husband." His voice sounded with confidence and his hands held her with an arrogant sureness that piqued her.
Miranda resisted the pull of his arms. "I don't want to have her husband chosen for her. How cold, how —"
His steps grew more powerful, sweeping her inexorably into his rhythm. "What is it you would have her do? Find herself in some loveless marriage with a man who is not worthy of her? Or worse yet, have her reputation damaged beyond repair by some scoundrel like Grimthorpe?"
The waltz ended and he released her. She felt dizzy and yet clearheaded at the same time as she looked into his familiar face. "I want her to love her husband as much as I love you." His mouth, so quick to smile, was now set in a thin line of displeasure.
"I want her to be willing to follow her husband around the earth to prove her love. I wish her the devotion to pick up feathers, or look for cures, or whatever is necessary, as I would do for you."
The moment she spoke, the noises of the ballroom faded to silence for her. His throat worked soundlessly for a moment and then he sighed. "Miranda ... " His voice became inaudible as the musicians struck up another dance.
She leaned close to whisper, "Can you not bear to hear it? That makes it no less true."
The lines around his eyes deepened as his gaze narrowed, his irises the dark green of emeralds at dusk. "But you will only be hurt."
"Yes." She wanted to ask him why, but she could feel the pain and knew it would only be worse if she pressed him. He would not tell her the truth. He did not love her. He had packed his heart away in the leather pouch and he kept the contents firmly guarded against even her. She held out her hand. "Shall we dance while we are still able? We might as well take the opportunity to set the tongues wagging at how well we dance together."
He hesitated, and then swept her onto the floor, his touch firm but light. "By all means."
The moment was still a fading tingle down her spine when Hero began to scream. "He's turning purple. He can't breathe!"
The room dissolved into chaos. Miranda tried to turn toward the sound of her sister's voice, but found herself wrapped tightly in Simon's arms, unable to see anything but the lapel of his waistcoat. After a moment, when the dance floor was emptied, he left her. Abruptly alone, she could see nothing but a knot of people surrounding the area where Hero and Juliet had been holding court.
As Simon forced a path through to the center of the tight knot of guests, Miranda followed. To her horror, Arthur lay on the floor.
His face was indeed purple. As Simon knelt beside him, Miranda turned and fled toward the nursery and Katherine.
The Fairy Tale Bride Page 34