The cart trundled to a halt beside her.
“You going to the Hall, miss?” asked a large, friendly-seeming man who had the appearance of a sailor about him. “This ain’t no weather to be out on foot. Can I give you a ride the rest of the way?”
Miranda hesitated, sorely tempted. Could she trust this man? He looked rough but there was a kindness about his expression that instilled faith. Besides, she had Tobias with her. He might seem harmless but had once bitten a cobbler’s shin when the man tried to accost her on a London street.
Mind made up, she thanked the man with genuine sincerity and climbed up beside him, making sure that Tobias jumped up behind. The man grinned at her, slapped the reins against the horse’s rump, and the creature moved forward at a slow, plodding pace. The cart was probably the most uncomfortable conveyance in the world, but to Miranda it felt like the last word in luxury. She closed her eyes, just for a moment. By the time they arrived at the Hall, snow was falling even harder, whipped into swirling drifts by a biting wind, but she was almost fast asleep.
Thanking her rescuer, she slipped back into the house and up to her room without anyone seeing her. She had an hour at most to rest before Jessie came to wake her. Miranda pulled the covers over her head, exhausted and chilled to the bone, wishing she was free to sleep undisturbed for an entire week.
Chapter Six
“Here we are, miss.”
Jessie pulled the curtains open and placed a steaming cup of tea beside the bed. Miranda surfaced from a deep sleep, forced her reluctant eyes open and blinked.
“What’s happened, Jessie?” she asked blearily. “Why are you waking me so soon?”
“Soon? It’s after four. You’ve been sound asleep all the afternoon. I knew that ride would be too much for you.”
After four? It couldn’t possibly be. Miranda couldn’t have been in bed for more than five minutes, surely? She glanced at the clock, knowing even before she looked at its hands that Jessie wouldn’t have got it wrong. Every bone in her body protested at the thought of climbing out of her cosy nest but she had no choice. It was time to prepare for the evening.
“Ah, so it is.” She sat up, picked up her cup and nibbled at one of the freshly baked biscuits that accompanied her tea.
“You still look tired, miss.” Jessie screwed up her eyes and assessed her with a motherly eye. “Are you sure you feel well enough to go down to dinner? All that gadding about this morning must have taken it out of you. I’m sure Lord Gabriel would understand if you don’t—”
“I’m fine, thank you. I was sound asleep and forgot where I was just for a moment. However, this tea will revive me and I’ll be as good as new in no time.”
Miranda threw the covers back and stood up, wincing when she placed her weight on her injured ankle. Glancing at it in frustration, she was unsurprised to find that her long walk had made it swell right back up again.
“Damnation!” she muttered beneath her breath.
“You shouldn’t have gone riding,” Jessie scolded, making the wrong assumption about her aggravated injury. “I said as much to Mrs. Goodson. It’s not my place to voice an opinion, of course, but it’s just common sense and if you ask me—”
“It’s not too bad, Jessie,” Miranda lied. “If you could just strap it up again, I’m sure I’ll be able to manage.”
Jessie did so, grumbling away as she worked, but seeming genuinely concerned for her welfare. That was a luxury Miranda couldn’t afford to become accustomed to. Placing one’s faith in others always ended badly.
When she’d strapped Miranda’s ankle to her satisfaction, Jessie helped her to wash her face and hands, still making dire predictions about the outcome if injuries weren’t left to heal in the way nature intended. Her disposition only improved when she showed Miranda the finished gown.
“Oh my goodness! I had no idea it would be so exquisite.” Miranda covered her mouth with one hand. “It’s quite beautiful, Jessie.”
“Glad you approve, miss. I’m rather satisfied with the results, even if I do say so myself.”
“And so you should be. You have such wonderful talent that you could make a living as a dressmaker.”
“Makes me think of Miss Beth,” Jessie said as she shook out Miranda’s petticoats and helped her into them.
“Miss Beth?”
“Oh, she’s the marchioness’s sister. Her home is here with the family now.”
Miranda had trouble keeping up with Jessie’s accounts of the marquess’s extended family when she was fully alert. Still half asleep, she had no expectation of success.
“I thought this was Lady Felicity’s old gown,” she said, frowning. “Where does Miss Beth come into things?”
“Oh, this gown belonged to Lady Felicity, right enough, but Miss Beth favours blue as well. She’s a very pretty young lady, so she is, with the sweetest nature imaginable. And so talented, you wouldn’t credit it. She paints beautifully, embroiders like a dream and charms everyone she comes into contact with.”
“How wonderful,” Miranda said, trying not to sound envious.
“Lord Gabriel was right taken with her when they first met. All the servants predicted a union between them as soon as Lord Gabriel finished his studies at Cambridge. I mean, what with her sister already being the marchioness, it seemed fitting.” Jessie frowned. “That was last year, but nothing’s come of it as yet. No one below stairs seems to know why that is, either.”
“Oh.”
Miranda suppressed a grin. The servants not knowing absolutely everything about the affairs of the family they served was unusual. Jessie seemed quite put out not to be able to provide Miranda with the latest news regarding Lord Gabriel’s matrimonial intentions. Miranda wanted to tell her that she would prefer not to know but that would imply expectations of her own, which certainly didn’t exist.
If he had already settled his interest on Miss Beth, it would perhaps explain why he didn’t seem threatened when she told him he was a target for half this season’s debutantes. He was perfectly safe from their machinations.
“I wonder what goes on between the young couple to delay the announcement,” Jessie mused.
Miranda was gripped with an unfamiliar sensation that knitted her insides into an uncomfortable knot. It was jealously, she realised with a jolt, a most unbecoming emotion that she was vexed to experience. She was just being fanciful. She had no feelings for Lord Gabriel other than admiration and due appreciation for all he’d done for her. He was free to admire anyone he wished, and if he’d fixed his interest on the pretty, sweet and talented Miss Beth—whom the entire household adored and found eminently suitable—then Miranda would be the first to wish him joy.
She definitely would.
“Where is Miss Beth now, Jessie?” Miranda stepped carefully into the gown that Jessie held out for her. It would be a tragedy after all Jessie’s efforts if she overbalanced on her sore ankle and somehow managed to tear the delicate silk.
“She’s up in town with the rest of the family, miss.”
“Then if she and Lord Gabriel are enamoured of one another, why has he come back to the Hall?”
“That I couldn’t say, but it does seem odd. We all said as much below stairs.” Jessie lifted her shoulders. “Lord Gabriel does worry about his precious horses, but perhaps he intends to return to the capital now that he’s reassured himself about their welfare. He’d be a fool to leave Miss Beth there for too long without keeping a watchful eye over her. The marquess has settled a large dowry on her, you see. Add that to her beauty and charm, and the fortune hunters will dog her every step.” She curled her upper lip in disdain. “You just mark my words.”
“Lord Gabriel doesn’t strike me as being foolish so I expect he’ll soon return to town. But perhaps…oh my goodness!”
Miranda glanced in the mirror and gasped. “It’s amazing, Jessie,” she said, impulsively hugging the older woman. “You’re a miracle worker.”
“It looks well enough,” Jessie replie
d, examining the results of her handiwork with a critical eye. “But that’s no thanks to me. You’re the one who’s filling it out.
The flounce of Flemish lace that Jessie had attached to the gown whispered round her legs like a silent promise. The bodice clung to her form like a second skin, making her breasts appear full and plump. The gown revived her, providing her with a shield behind which she could hide her true self and play make-believe. For the first time in days her self-determination reappeared, and she was ready to achieve anything she set out to do. Like arriving at the Wildes unmolested and putting her plan for her future into action.
For the few hours that Miranda got to wear this beautiful gown and dine in company with a compellingly charming, devastatingly handsome gentleman, she would feel sophisticated.
Sophisticated, feminine—desirable even.
She was no match for the saintly Miss Beth, of course, but for once in her life she didn’t feel the need to apologise for her appearance. She also began to understand why her friends spent so much time and energy planning their wardrobes. Well, that was fine if one had the time, inclination and funds to follow one’s whims. Miranda had none of those things, nor did she anticipate that situation ever arising. Still, for just one night, she could pretend, couldn’t she?
*
“That you, Wright, you did well. Keep a close eye on the situation and let me know at once if anything develops.”
“Will do, m’lord.” Wright inclined his head and withdrew.
Glass of whisky in hand, Gabe paced the length of the small sitting room, trying to make sense of what Wright had just told him. A difficult ambition to achieve since his raging anger rendered coherent thought nigh on impossible.
What the devil did Miranda Cantrell think she was playing at, trekking into Denby on foot when he’d made the need for her to conceal herself from the world crystal clear? God preserve him from headstrong women! He should have left her to freeze in that damned barn. His life would be a hell of a lot less complicated if he had. He’d come back to the Hall to avoid demanding females, only to land himself with one who was testing his patience to the limit.
He should send her packing back to Peacock’s establishment and be done with her. She deserved nothing less after the way she’d disobeyed him. But even through the red mist of his anger he knew he wouldn’t betray her trust. Peacock sounded like a heartless individual who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Now that Wright had confirmed her story by relating the incident in the Boar, Gabe knew that what he wanted was Miss Cantrell, or her property, and Gabe was in no mood to oblige him.
He sighed deeply. Never before had any female managed to arouse such conflicting emotions in him. Damn it, couldn’t she see how vulnerable she was, how much in need of guidance and masculine protection? And since he was the only male in residence, she would have to make do with his protection whether she liked it or not. As a gentlemen of conscience, he wouldn’t have it any other way. She simply couldn’t be allowed to put herself in the way of danger, for her own good as much as for his. Somehow he’d have to make her understand what ought to be obvious to a woman of her intelligence.
The door opened and she and Tobias stood before him. Miss Cantrell looked so breathtakingly lovely that his anger briefly gave way to admiration. Her sapphire blue gown sculpted her body and gave him a graphic view of the delectable curves beneath it. Then he noticed how badly she was limping again, presumably because of the distance she’d chosen to walk, and his temper reasserted itself.
“Good evening,” she said. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“We’ll eat immediately,” he said shortly, leaving Munford to hold her chair for her.
“No Mrs. Grantley this evening?”
“No.”
He felt disinclined to tell her Mrs. Grantley had sent last minute regrets since she was feeling unwell, which did little to improve Gabe’s mood. He could see she was confused by his incivility and could probably tell by looking at him that he was seriously annoyed with her. His brothers were always telling him that his moods were reflected in his expressions and that he needed to keep his emotions under closer guard. Now wasn’t the time to put that advice into practise. If ever he’d had cause to be angry with anyone it was her, and she needed to be aware of it. Of all the stupid, ungrateful, impulsive…
“I assume you’re displeased because I’m wearing one of your sister’s gowns, Lord Gabriel,” she said, after one course had come and gone and not a word had been exchanged between them. “Let me assure you that it was no longer needed, and—”
“I hadn’t even noticed your gown.”
That barb definitely struck home, just as it had been intended to. She looked up at him and gasped. Her face coloured and she lowered her head again without speaking another word, focusing her attention to the food on her plate. Her eyes looked moist but he was in no mood to regret oversetting her. She should have thought of the consequences before defying him. Presumably it would now all come tumbling out—the excuses, the half-baked reasoning, the twisted attempts at justification. She was given to chattering to disguise her nervousness—that much had been apparent during their ride that morning. Since acting so stupidly, she’d never had greater reason to be nervous.
Yet she made no further attempts at conversation and treated him as though he didn’t exist. It shouldn’t have mattered but somehow it did, and her silence made him slightly ashamed of his bad manners. Even so, Gabe maintained his silence, no longer feeling quite so in control of himself on the moral high ground he’d chosen to occupy. He didn’t trust himself to talk without straying onto the subject uppermost in his mind. The one that had to be thrashed out between them, and would be just as soon as they’d finished dinner and Munford had withdrawn.
They ate in brittle silence, neither of them appearing to have much appetite. The only sounds to cut through the tense atmosphere were the scrape of cutlery against china, the crackling of the logs in the grate, and Munford’s movements as he cleared the plates and presented them with new ones. Tobias, stretched full length in front of the fire, snored softly, oblivious to the unfolding drama.
Finally it was over and Gabe dismissed Munford with the wave of one hand.
“Have the goodness to explain your actions this afternoon,” he said tersely as soon as the door closed behind Munford.
She was in the process of crossing the room, obviously trying to not make it too obvious that she was limping again. She swung round to face him, a combination of fear and indecision clouding her expression, and almost lost her balance. Gabe instinctively reached out a hand to steady her, even though she only had herself to blame for her aggravated injury.
“Thank you,” she said, lifting her chin, presumably to avoid looking at him. He helped her to a chair. She sat in it and took longer than he thought necessary to arrange her skirts to her satisfaction.
Gabe placed a footstool before her injured leg—a cynical attempt to express his displeasure. She shot him a defiant look and lifted her foot onto the stool. He remained standing, his back to the fire, a muscle in his jaw flexing and hardening as he waited for her to say something more. When it became apparent that she had no intention of speaking, Gabe’s tempter erupted.
“You misled me, ma’am,” he said with icy politeness. “You told me you were a lady of intellect but your actions this afternoon paint a very different picture.”
She expelled a long breath. “I walked into the village, that’s all. You clearly know it but I fail to understand why that knowledge should upset you so badly.”
He elevated one brow. “Are you really so bird-witted?”
“I couldn’t sleep and wanted to test my ankle.”
And Gabe wanted to throttle her. “I might have occasion to question your intelligence but please don’t return the favour.”
“I was careful. No one saw me and no harm came of it.”
Gabe took to pacing. It was either that or make good on his growing need to th
rash some sense into her. “You are petrified of your guardian, know he has people scouring the countryside looking for you, and yet you deliberately put yourself in a position where you could be recognised.” His voice had risen and he took a moment to regain his composure. Shouting would achieve nothing, even if she thoroughly deserved his displeasure. “I believe I’m owed an honest explanation after everything I’ve done to try and protect you.”
She appeared suitably humbled. “There’s really nothing to explain,” she said, addressing the words to the hands folded neatly in her lap, the fingers laced so tightly together that her knuckles turned white.
“Then tell me what business caused you to walk so far in such atrocious weather, and allow me to be the judge of that.”
“I wish you would believe in my innocent desire for exercise.”
Gabe thumped his fist against the mantelpiece, all out of patience with her. “At least have the courtesy not to lie to me.”
Chapter Seven
Miranda stole furtive glances at Lord Gabriel from beneath her fringe of lowered lashes. He was magnificent in his anger, even though he frightened her when he was like this. Her golden Greek god now resembled a very angry version of Thor. The transformation from the easygoing gentleman to the towering menace standing before her was remarkable—both frightening and yet intoxicating. She also thought his reaction was rather extreme—out of proportion to the nature of her misdemeanour—but it would probably be wise not to mention that until he was a little calmer.
He had every right to be vexed with her, but unfortunately she wasn’t in a position to explain what she’d done. Damnation, how had he found out about her excursion, and so quickly too? Only now that she’d lost his good opinion did it occur to her how much she’d treasured it.
“Please accept my assurance that I had a very good reason for going into Denby.”
Forsters 04 - Romancing the Runaway Page 8