To Wed the Earl

by Anthea Lawson

  “Edward – ”

  “Shh.”

  He set his finger over her lips, then stroked it back and forth, making her shiver. His touch dropped to her chin and he tilted her face up. His breath feathered against her mouth, and then his lips were there, warm and firm over hers. Heat flashed over her as his tongue tipped out to trace the seam of her lips.

  She swayed, suddenly dizzy with yearning, and he pulled her against him. One arm slid around her back, holding her. Her hands moved up to his broad shoulders and she clung to that solidity while everything spun about her.

  He gently coaxed her mouth open, his tongue swirling in as though he were tasting the sweetest honey. A moan escaped her, and he held her even more tightly in response. Sensations rampaged through her, coiling sweet and hot at her center.

  She loved Edward Havens. She always had. While he…

  Miranda could barely force herself to bring her hands between them, to push him away. But she must.

  “Stop,” she gasped, pulling her lips from his. “Edward, please.”

  He lifted his head, and his arm loosened, although he still held her.

  “How could you?” she asked, bitterness uncurling like a weed in her heart.

  He smiled, slow and lazy. “You’re quite kissable.”

  “I don’t mean that! How could you kiss me now, on the very eve of your betrothal to another? You truly are an appalling rake.”

  She ought to slap him, but she could not manage the anger for it – not with the aftermath of his kiss still trembling her senses.

  “I…” Something flashed in his eyes, shame or regret. He released her and stepped stiffly away. “You’re correct. My apologies. The fact that I find you attractive is no excuse.”

  Now the first coals of anger began to heat. “Attractive? Don’t feel the need to lie. If you are regretting the idea of asking for Miss Davenport’s hand, pray do not use me as the instrument of that regret. I know exactly what you think of me.”

  His expression shuttered. “And what is that?”

  She knotted her hands in the folds of her skirt as the memory of that dreadful afternoon five years ago seared her thoughts.

  “Certainly you remember,” she said.

  She would never forget. She had been coming down to the parlor at Wyckerly, eagerly anticipating another outing with her brother and his friend, their neighbor Edward Havens. Edward, whose fair hair and deep blue eyes made her giddy, whose smiles and clever words she savored in memory, over and over.

  “So,” she had heard Charlie say, “What do you think of my sister?”

  Heart pounding, she had paused outside the door, breathless to hear how her hero would reply. Did he, could he, hold her in some esteem? The moment had stretched as she hovered, waiting. She still recalled it with perfect clarity – the dust motes hanging in the air, the smell of lilacs and lemon polish, the uncomfortably tight fit of her boots.

  Then Edward had spoken, and all her delight had come crashing down.

  She stared at him now, his face half-shadowed in the flickering candle light.

  “Let me refresh your memory,” she said. “You said I was regrettably bookish and plain, with very little to recommend me apart from an annoying tendency to interfere where not wanted.”

  The words were burned into her soul. With those few sentences, her girlish yearnings had been shattered, twisted into a sour reflection of her own shortcomings.

  His eyes widened. “That was years ago. You’ve changed.”

  “Not significantly.” She swallowed back bitter tears. “Now, if you will excuse me, I shall leave your study, and you, in peace.”

  She brushed past him, trying not to show how her hands shook. He did not try to stop her, did not catch her arm or call her back as she fled.

  Returning to the ballroom was out of the question. No, she needed air, and quiet, and time to purge her memory of that terrible, wonderful kiss.

  Edward had not meant anything by it – she understood that, deep inside. Yet part of her still wanted to believe he had kissed her because she was herself, Miranda Price, bookish and plain and interfering as she might be.

  Not simply because she was anyone but Miss Davenport.

  Vision blurred by unshed tears, she hurried along the hall and pushed open the side door leading into the garden. The night breeze cooled her flushed cheeks, and the dimness enfolded her. Only a last bit of twilight hung silver in the western sky. From the forest beyond, a bird called once, twice, then fell silent. The flowers were all closed, except for the roses. Miranda crossed her arms and tried to take a deep breath. It took three tries before she could inhale past the tightness in her chest.

  She would stay out here, in the dusk garden, until she had composed herself. Then she would find Charlie and tell him she felt unwell and was leaving. Yes – that was the best course. She could not remain here, could not watch as Leticia Davenport paraded her conquest about the ballroom.

  Especially not with the memory of Edward’s kiss still tingling her lips. Much as she tried, she knew it was a kiss she would never forget.

  ***

  Edward’s head buzzed, and he ran one hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. What the devil had possessed him to kiss Miranda?

  Had his time in London truly changed him into the jaded rake she believed him to be?

  No. He’d taken leave of his senses tonight, but it was not from depravity. And, despite her accusations, he did not want to rush out and kiss any woman who presented herself. Only Miranda Price – who took everything he thought he knew and turned it on its head.

  He dimly recalled the conversation with Charlie she’d described. He had been teasing, when he’d said such things of Miranda – though there had been a kernel of truth to his words. Still, it had not been kind. Casting his mind back, he remembered that Charlie had punched him in the shoulder and called him an idiot. Edward had apologized, and thought no more of it. That Miranda had been eavesdropping never occurred to him.

  He tugged at his hair again. What had his careless, harmful words been?

  That she was bookish – true enough. It was a mild insult. However, since encountering any number of empty-headed misses in London, he’d learned to value a woman with some learning and intelligence. And hadn’t Miranda done her best to try and sort out whatever was wrong with the estate’s finances? She certainly had a better sense for figures than he did.

  He had called her plain – which had also seemed true. She was a country miss, nothing like the fashionably desirable ladies in Town. Yet he’d grown strangely fond of her wide, rosy mouth, the light in her brown eyes, the particular arrangement of features that made her uniquely Miss Miranda Price.

  So, not plain – any more than a refreshing glass of water was plain compared to an overly-sweet cup of punch. He knew now which was the more quenching.

  And the tendency to tag along where not wanted? That was the province of younger sisters – and the one thing that had undeniably changed in Miss Miranda Price. In fact, he suspected it had on that very day five years ago, as a result of her overhearing his cruelly casual words.

  She had changed, in part – but the truth was he had changed more.

  “There you are, my lord!” a voice exclaimed from the doorway. “I was wondering where you’d hidden yourself.”

  Edward glanced up, to see Leticia Davenport standing at the threshold. She held a small lamp which cast odd shadows on her features and made her pale gown appear ghostly.

  “Miss Davenport – my apologies for worrying you. Let me escort you back to the ballroom.” He offered his arm.

  He would deposit Leticia back in company, then go find Miranda. He owed her an apology, long overdue.

  Miss Davenport ignored his arm and pushed past him into the study, setting her lamp on the desk next to Miranda’s candle.

  “Edward, you know I would come to find you. Though you might have chosen a more obvious spot. I’ve been looking for ages.”

  What if s
he’d seen him kissing Miranda? He half-wished she had. What a difference a few moments could make in a man’s life.

  A cold knowledge settled in his stomach. Leticia was here for one thing – to secure his proposal of marriage. He even had the ring in his pocket, a diamond-and-pearl engagement ring that had belonged to his grandmother. Earlier that afternoon, his mother had presented it to him with a happy light in her eyes. What could he do except take the damned thing?

  He slipped his hand into his coat to make sure the ring was still there. It lay cool and smooth under his fingers, but he could not bring himself to draw it out.

  Leticia set her hands to her hips and gave him a petulant look. “Well? I’m waiting. We both know what’s to happen now.”

  “Miss Davenport…” The words dried in his throat.

  All he could think of were Miranda’s lips, warm and pliant beneath his. Her quick, dry wit and the glossy sheen of her brown hair. The way she had hidden from him in the maze – the bright flashes of mischief she could never quite conceal. Good Lord, she had even pushed Leticia Davenport into the lagoon at Abbotsbury, and then laughed at herself when she’d fallen in as well.

  Leticia scowled – a look that pulled her mouth into a thin, unbecoming line. “Really, Edward, must I do everything? Ahem. It would give me great pleasure if you would do me the honor of – ”

  “Wait.”

  Leticia Davenport was showing her true colors, now that she believed she had the bird in her hand. What a fool he’d been, trying to ignore the truth of her nature. He could not share his life with this woman.

  “Wait?” she said. “I have been doing nothing but wait for the last three months! If you do not speak the words now, then I will be forced to ensure we are discovered in a compromising position.”

  “You have already tried that, as I recall.”

  He ought to have heeded his instincts and stayed far away from Leticia Davenport. If only his mother was not so fond of the prospect of them being wed.

  It was a near thing, but he had finally come to his senses. He could not live for his mother’s happiness. Only his own.

  There was a wild look about Leticia’s eyes now. “I shall scream.”

  He took a step toward her, ready to clap his hand across her mouth if necessary. No doubt she would bite.

  The air was split by a woman’s cry for help. Edward stared at Leticia, but she looked equally astonished. The scream had not come from her – but it had come from close by. And he recognized that voice.

  Miranda!

  ***

  In the quiet peace of the garden, Miranda’s thoughts slowly found some calm. She was not losing Edward – she had never had him in the first place. Life would continue exactly the same, except that she would no longer pore over the gossip rags for mention of the Earl of Edgerton. And if her pillow was wet with tears every night, well, they would dry by morning and none the wiser.

  With a final, deep breath, she squared her shoulders and prepared to re-enter the mansion.

  “Here now, miss,” a cheery voice said from out of the night. “Fancy meeting you in the garden. Alone.”

  “Mr. Fowler?” She stepped back toward the manor as a round, dark figure emerged from the shadows.

  “You oughtn’t be taxing your pretty little head any further with the estate’s business. It’s not for a woman to do.”

  “I assure you, I have no further interest in the Edgerton estate. Now, I bid you good evening, sir.”

  She turned to enter the house, and with a rush, he was at her side. He took her arm in a hard grip and began pulling her away from the door.

  “Easy to say, miss – but I don’t believe you. You’ve been sniffing about Edward Havens for years. Of course you want to try and solve his problems.”

  The shrubbery caught at her skirts, and Miranda pried at his fingers, apprehension prickling over her.

  “I really don’t – ”

  “No. Better if you had a little accident, I think. Took a misstep and tumbled into the ravine.”

  His words filled her with ice. “Mr. Fowler, there’s no need for this. Unhand me, and I will simply return home and speak not a word.”

  He yanked her close and trapped her other arm, then began pushing her toward the edge of the garden. There was, indeed, a ravine there, a sudden chasm. It was bounded by tall hedges – but nothing that would keep a determined person out.

  “Let go of me.”

  Her lungs tightened, her breath coming in gasps. Miranda dug in her heels and pulled at his hands, trying to free herself from his grip.

  She could not believe this was happening – that the estate manager intended to throw her into the ravine. Such things occurred in lurid novels, perhaps, but not outside the pages of books.

  Mr. Fowler leaned close. His breath smelled of onions and alcohol as he hissed into her ear, “It’s for the best, Miss Price.”

  Full panic struck her then – the marrow-cold knowledge that she was in deep, deep trouble.

  “Help!” she cried.

  They were not that far from the walls of Edgerton Manor. Someone in the house must be able to hear – a servant or one of the guests. She drew in another breath, ready to scream again, but Mr. Fowler clamped a rough hand over her mouth, forcing her jaw closed.

  “No more of that,” he growled.

  Miranda began to fight him in earnest, struggling and kicking. She clawed for his face, twisted, trying to aim her knee at his sensitive spot.

  Cursing in an undertone, Mr. Fowler continued dragging her to the hedge. She could not breathe – his hand was covering her nose now. Bright spots flashed before her eyes.

  The sharp spines of hawthorn pierced her gown and scraped her skin as Mr. Fowler thrust her into the hedge.

  “A…little… further,” he said, grunting with effort as he forced them both into the painful, wiry foliage.

  Then they were through. Just ahead, the ground fell away. In the dim grey light, the ravine was a dark slash. Miranda’s thoughts tangled desperately in her mind. The ravine was not treacherously deep. When Mr. Fowler pushed her over the edge, the fall would certainly cause her harm – but she did not think it would kill her.

  Mr. Fowler paused, as if thinking the same thing.

  “Miranda!” It was Edward’s voice, calling from the shadows. “Where are you?”

  She struggled against Mr. Fowler’s hard grip, desperate to break free. Surely Edward could hear the thrashing in the shrubbery? He must.

  Mr. Fowler lifted his hand from over her mouth and nose. Miranda drew in a deep breath.

  “HEL – ”

  A sharp, crashing pain to her temple, and everything went black.

  ***

  Edward slammed through the door and raced into the garden. Surely that had been Miranda’s voice. He scanned the shadows – but no one was there. The plants lay quiescent, their blooms folded away. A cricket chirped from off to his right.

  “Really, Edward,” Leticia Davenport said, coming up behind him and curling her arm through his. “It was some night bird calling. Look, the garden is empty. In fact, the rose arbor is very romantic by night. Shall we go there, instead?”

  He shook her off and strode forward, pulse hammering. “Go back into the house, and roust the footmen.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Go.” He whirled on her and pointed back toward the tall brick wall of the manor.

  “Why, I – ”

  “Shh.” He waved her to silence. Had he heard something?

  A rustling sound, from the far hedge. Perhaps some night creature – but he could not shake the sense of dread tightening about his ribs. Miranda was out here, and she was in trouble.

  His mind flashed back to the curricle accident she and her brother had suffered. Upon retrieving the broken vehicle, his head groom had told him the axle break was odd. Edward had thought no more of it, but he should have at least considered if the curricle had been deliberately tampered with. Even in West Dorset there were vil
lains.

  Damnation, he should have paid closer attention all along.

  “Miranda!” he called into the dark. “Where are you?”

  The disturbance in the hedge increased, the hawthorn branches shivering violently. Edward sprinted toward it. Didn’t the ravine lie beyond?

  “HEL – ”

  The cry came from just ahead. He forced his way into the hedge, heedless of the sharp thorns tearing at him. In the dim light, he saw the figure of a man poised at the edge of the deep gully. And lying in a crumpled heap at his feet –

  “Miranda,” he said again, his heart clenching.

  In three steps, he was on the man, pulling him away from where Miranda lay. He took a moment to register Fowler’s surprised face before his fist connected with the man’s jaw.

  “Hoy!” Fowler cried, staggering back. “My lord, it’s not what you think. She lured me out here, said – ”

  “Enough.” Edward made a grab for his arm, but the man flung himself away.

  A second later, Fowler flailed his arms, teetering for balance on the edge of the ravine. His eyes flashed, wide and panicked in the last bit of twilight seeping from the sky. Edward lunged, his fingers catching purchase on the man’s coat, then slipping away as the estate manager tumbled down.

  Fowler’s yell reverberated, accompanied by the thumping echo of a body falling through brush and over stones. Edward checked the impulse to leap after him. Fowler could lay where he had fallen – he must tend to Miranda now.

  Edward went to his knees and gently pulled her into his arms, relief a crashing wave over him as he found she was still warm, still breathing.

  If he had lost her… he shook his head. What a blind idiot he’d been. The happiness he’d been foolishly pursuing in London had been here all along, under his nose, disguised as a lovely, bookish country miss.

  He bent and brushed a kiss over her forehead, and Miranda moaned and stirred.

  “Edward?” she said, a faint tremble in her voice.