The Fairy Tale Bride

by Kelly McClymer

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Miranda turned toward the sound of Grimthorpe's chilling voice.

  His smug demeanor so irritated her that she wanted to tweak him where it hurt. But this was her home, every nook and cranny filled with guests this weekend, and conversation with Grimthorpe tended to end with trouble for her. She did not want to embarrass Simon in that manner. No matter how angry she was at him this very moment.

  "Arthur is recovering nicely. It was only a minor accident."

  "If accident is the correct word for poisonous mushrooms being served to him and him alone."

  He was fishing, Miranda knew. But she was beginning to become desperately afraid that he was right, as distressful as she found agreeing with Grimthorpe on any subject at all.

  Arthur's accidents were stretching the line of credibility to the thinness of gossamer. It was no surprise that Grimthorpe had realized that someone intended harm to Simon's heir. No doubt he would be pleased to spread the gossip as thickly as he could.

  She sighed. He would get no help from her on that score. "We are all fortunate he is well. After all, he is Simon's heir."

  "Then there is to be no little Simon Watterly running about anytime soon?"

  Miranda was shocked speechless by his audacity. Taking her silence as a sign of consent to the subject of conversation, he moved closer. "Perhaps you would like me to hasten matters?" Suddenly she caught the scent of him, the same scent he had worn five years ago. Her fists curled of their own accord.

  She stepped back, "You forget yourself, sir." She turned on her heel, and would have departed except that his hand had somehow fastened tightly to her elbow, preventing her from moving away into the safety of the group of remaining guests.

  "Don't hurry away, my sweet. You have not heard the ways in which I'd please you." His face was slightly flushed. Perhaps he was foxed? "I am known among the ladies for my prowess. Surely you would enjoy a taste of spice now that you have had your fill of the dull attentions of the saintly Simon."

  "I will assume that you have enjoyed the spirits a bit too freely this evening," Miranda said frostily, doing her best to imitate the dowager in her most quelling mood. "And I will not tell my husband of this incident, nor ask you to leave, if you release my arm at once."

  Instead, his hand tightened, and he leaned forward until she could smell the brandy upon his breath. ''Just one kiss for a pair of boots? Doesn't that seem like a reasonable request?"

  She went cold with panic. Not now, not another disaster upon the heels of Arthur's poisoning. "Take your hand from my arm immediately." He did so, with haste, when he felt the muscles in her upper arm clench. Obviously, he well remembered their last encounter.

  "You will regret spurning my attention, one day, Your Grace." There was vicious emphasis on her title.

  Wondering if he intended to display her boots to the remaining guests, Miranda found that she did not care. Arthur's accident had made such a trifling matter seem completely beneath her notice tonight. "I already regret having this conversation. I should have walked away immediately."

  She half-turned to leave, adding, "But that is something I can rectify immediately. I hope the rest of your weekend is pleasant, but I am certain that you understand my reluctance to spend time in your company."

  He did not seem to understand her words. The smile was still fixed upon his lips. But he did not look at her, rather beyond her.

  She understood why when Simon's voice, deep with anger, sounded from close behind her. "My wife has bid you good evening, Grimthorpe. Did you not understand her clearly?"

  She twisted to glance up at him, and Simon enjoyed the feel of her soft curves pressed against his torso as he looked down upon her serious face. With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she turned back to see Grimthorpe walk stiffly away from them.

  He felt the tension drain from her, leaving her weight resting against him. "Simon, why is it that some men cannot believe that a woman does not desire him?"

  He wondered that very same thing. "Lust is a strong emotion in most men, Miranda. I have seen it turn the most reasonable person into a gibbering idiot, and yet I cannot tell you why."

  Smiling, she turned, bringing herself into his arms.

  She laid her cheek against his chest. He could not resist encircling her with his arms, despite the ache of need that filled him immediately.

  "I am so glad that you are not like other men, Simon. I cannot imagine you behaving so foolishly." There was a touch of wistfulness in her voice. It called to the spreading need that he felt almost all the time nowadays.

  He buried his face in her elegantly coiffed hair, enjoying the faint scent of roses there. "Nor can I," he lied, knowing how close he was to taking her upstairs to his bed then and there, be damned with their guests, be damned with begetting a child. Be damned with dying.

  He released her and stepped away. It was becoming harder and harder to resist the urge to bed her, to make her his true wife. To make love to her. He groaned softly. If only there were some way to bring her with him. But he could not ask her to exile herself from her sisters, her brother. Nor could he ask her never to hold a child of her own in her arms. He knew what it felt like to lose a family.

  He forced the sorrow away again, though he found it more difficult each time. Still, there were serious matters that needed his attention. He could not waste any time cursing fate. "Katherine discarded the toadstools in the dustbin. We checked. There are several missing."

  Her eyes darkened. He knew she would not miss the meaning of such a thing. "But who would have known that they were poison? If only we could find out, we'd have some answers."

  Nothing about this matter would be easy. "There were several guests around who might have overheard Katherine's lecture to the girls about the danger of those particular toadstools. She spent several minutes going over the dangers, and the way to recognize those toadstools from nonpoisonous mushrooms."

  "She did not know who, then? She gave you no names?"

  "At the time, her concern was with ensuring that the girls understood the danger fully; her attention was given over completely to them."

  Miranda shivered, her eyes huge in her pale face. "What does this mean? There is no doubt now that someone is trying to do away with Arthur. But why?"

  He embraced her tightly, wishing that he could reassure her. "It seems that someone does not want Arthur to succeed me to the title."

  She nodded. "How long have you suspected?"

  Since I learned that the heirs who came before Arthur on my list all died unexpectedly before my agent found them."

  "Is there nothing we can do?"

  "I may send you to stay with your family for your own safety." He had just thought of it as he held her in his arms and realized how vulnerable she was. The murderer, if this was the work of one fiend, had no way of knowing that his bride was — and would remain — a virgin and in no danger of giving birth to a ducal heir.

  "I won't leave you. I'm no coward."

  He smiled. "You are indeed no coward, my fairytale warrior. Still, I would rest easier if I knew you were out of harm's way."

  "I'll consider it." Her voice was cool, and he looked down to see her watching the deserted ruins of the decorated dance floor. "As soon as our last guest has left. "

  He would have felt a bit more comfort if the hairs on the back of his neck did not prickle when she spoke. He had no doubt he needed to find his answers swiftly, or risk having her launch herself in to the effort beside him.

  He wished once again, as he held her tight, that he had never been struck with moon madness and married her. He had brought her nothing but heartache, and he would never be able to bring her anything else.