A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2)

by Natasha Blackthorne

“You forget your place, Miss Jones.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but he spun on his heel and strode away.

  Chapter Two

  Miranda gazed out the window of the moving carriage, well aware of her aunt’s gaze upon her. But she was too tired to care. The roll of the carriage soothed her. Lack of sleep had frayed her nerves and made her eyes heavy. She closed them, letting her head rest against the seat back. Sun warmed her cheek and she turned her face towards the window. Relaxation melted through her like honey and she breathed slower and deeper.

  Mornings had become chilly of late, but today dawned a little warmer. In her mind, she returned to Sussex, where she knelt beside Mama in the garden, her sleeves rolled up amid the buzzing bees and chirping birds. The smells of earth and greenery filled her senses. Mama’s laugh carried on the soft breeze, her large gray eyes filled with girlish delight.

  “Do you plan to tell me what happened last night?”

  Aunt Cassandra’s words shattered Miranda’s peace.

  She opened her eyes and met her aunt’s stare. Sunlight glinted on Aunt Cassandra’s golden coiffure, revealing the fine lines near her eyes in the otherwise flawless milky white skin. The light made the rose pink of her carefully painted mouth seem a shade more garish than it did in a dim, candlelit chamber.

  “I told you, the Earl of Danvers asked me to dance.”

  “Whatever you did or said to him was most unwise.”

  Miranda’s heart sped up, and a sick dryness seized her throat. She forced her expression to remain calm as she brushed a speck of lint from her emerald skirts.

  Adrian Sutherland, the Earl of Danvers, frightened her. The whole time she spoke with him last night, her stomach had been knotted, and her palms had sweated inside her gloves. Oh, she could keep the facade of the elegant, hard-to-acquire courtesan with many a man.

  Men who were ready and willing to be dazzled.

  I am watching you, Miss Jones.

  Beneath his charming, handsome exterior, Danvers was a hard, cold, arrogant man.

  Too determined to remain in control, too determined to have his way.

  So arrogant, when it was well known that his father had gambled away the family fortune and Danvers had inherited his title in a state of genteel poverty.

  She had no interest in such men.

  And she never should have confronted him about Carrville. But her heart had taken over. She had spoken out of turn the words she had burned to say for years now.

  Poor Carrville. Even his daughters had not understood his gentle nature. No one had, least of all his son-in-law, the hard, arrogant Lord Danvers.

  No one else knew the secret that had driven Carrville to his untimely death, only Miranda and the other person who had been bent on blackmail.

  And to think that Danvers had actually accused her of hounding Carrville to his death…

  Anger seethed through her.

  Danvers was too overconfident of his own impressions to be believed. The man likely had no heart.

  “Miranda, I worked hard to gain your invitation to that particular ball. I think you owe me some explanation. What the devil happened between you and Danvers?”

  “I told you, we danced.”

  “Just danced? Then why has he denied my request for your invitation to his house party this coming week?”

  Miranda’s hand froze on her skirt. The tea she’d drunk this morning soured in her belly. She grimaced, praying her outrage showed, instead of her gnawing fear. “He can’t do that!”

  Cassandra snorted. “He is the Earl of Danvers. He may do whatever he pleases. And, as I have pointed out numerous times, Carrville is gone. You no longer have his protection. Nor his influence.”

  Miranda’s belly cramped again. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “May we stop for some tea and cakes before we reach the dressmaker’s? I didn’t eat yet today and…”

  Cassandra raised a hand clad in an elegant, pale-green leather glove. “We have no time. We have an appointment with the Earl of Danvers.”

  Miranda gaped. “What? But why?”

  “When I asked why he would deny you, he said we were welcome to pay him a visit, and he would explain.”

  Miranda scoffed. “The mighty Earl of Danvers invited us to pop by for a friendly visit?”

  Aunt Cassandra laughed softly. “I will admit, the invitation is a bit strange, especially given that he denied you an invitation to his party. Whatever else, you did provoke strong emotion in him.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “I am not yet certain just how we can use that to our advantage.”

  An empty ache settled into Miranda’s stomach. She didn’t see why they must rush to meet with Danvers. Why meet him at all? And why must she starve?

  “He’s an exasperating man,” she said.

  Cassandra nodded, a slightly displeased light in her pale blue eyes. “See him that way, if you must, but do not forget he is an earl. You have created quite a coil for yourself, Miranda. I must work hard to unravel whatever knotty little insult you have done to Danvers’ pride.”

  “His pride?” Miranda tossed her head. “The Earl of Danvers is overproud.”

  “Please, my dear, a little gratitude for my efforts is in order. A little humility to grease the wheels with the earl might help as well.” Her gaze turned stern. “When we see Danvers, you are to remain silent and let me speak, unless I indicate otherwise. Do you understand?” Her eyes narrowed. “What happened with the Duke of Froster last night?”

  “Froster escorted me home.”

  Aunt Cassandra laughed softly. “Yes, I know. I was the one who arranged matters so that he would have no choice but to do so. But I want to know what happened once you arrived at your rooms.”

  Heat flooded Miranda’s cheeks. She glanced down at her lap. She was no green girl that would fluster over such matters. But she had no wish to give any details of what had proved a disconcerting scene that had played over and over in her mind during the few hours left in the night once she’d found her bed.

  “He made an offer.”

  “An offer? Just an offer?”

  Miranda looked at Cassandra. “A very extravagant one.”

  Yes, Froster had made her an extravagant offer. But he had terms.

  Oh God, his terms!

  Would she ever be able to bring herself to comply?

  What he wanted, what he expected, repulsed her to the very pit of her being.

  “Dear, you are flushing.” Cassandra’s voice held amusement and curiosity.

  “It is very warm in here.”

  “We cannot have you flushed. You must look your best when we face Danvers.”

  Miranda flipped her fan open and began to fan her face.

  “So this was an extravagant offer, eh?” The older woman’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Details, please.”

  Aunt Cassandra would receive a significant percentage of Miranda’s earnings for the first two years of Froster’s protection. However, that wasn’t her only reason to be pleased. Miranda knew the woman wanted the best for her, wanted to see her well set in life. She recounted the exact details of the Duke of Froster’s offer.

  Aunt Cassandra’s eyes widened. “Oh, he is smitten.”

  Another lurch of anxiety skittered through Miranda’s stomach. She released her tension in a small laugh. “I suppose he is.”

  “Well, this time you will not only get a contract in hand before you accept, but we shall work harder at getting those terms put into real security. A house or two for a start.”

  Miranda nodded slowly, feeling a little uneasy about the high expectations. But Aunt Cassandra had good business sense, and she understood noblemen. Miranda must trust in her. She mustn’t be so headstrong and eager to believe a man as she had been with Carrville.

  Her mind drifted back to a better time. When she had been eighteen years old and newly launched. The Duke of Carrville had been so eager for her. He had promised her the moon and stars. With his hair already turning silver at the t
emples and slight wrinkles at the corners of his hazel eyes, he had seemed the epitome of the older, distinguished, responsible nobleman. She had believed him.

  And she had needed so desperately to believe in a man.

  To have a man care for her.

  To protect her without trying to control her.

  He had been so gentle. Putting her up in an expensive little house, giving her a coach and four and an account at the dressmaker’s. All this while allowing her to set the pace of their activities in the bedchamber. He had been the soul of patience.

  He had understood her limits.

  Now Carrville lay buried in the family cemetery, and his promises, however well intentioned, had come to little.

  “What’s the matter, Miranda?”

  “Nothing,” Miranda said.

  “Oh, my girl, what now?”

  “I told you, nothing.”

  “Did you allow Froster some liberties? Did you invite him inside?”

  That knot in Miranda’s stomach cinched tighter. “Yes, I invited him in.”

  “What happened then?”

  “We drank a glass of wine and he talked of himself, as men do.”

  “He talked, eh?”

  “Yes.” Miranda couldn’t look up.

  “Only one glass of wine?”

  “I was tired.”

  The clatter of the carriage accentuated the silence.

  Miranda’s belly knotted even more.

  “You were tired?”

  “I have said it.” Miranda immediately regretted her snappish response. She took a deep breath. “Yes, I was tired. I had bit of the headache.”

  “You do not have the luxury of being tired or having headaches. Those caprices are for wives. The moment you start reminding a man of his wife or his mother or his sisters, then, my dear, you are sunk. You are to always be captivating, always radiant, always available…for the right price and the right gentleman.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “My dear, dear girl, what am I to do with you?” Exasperated fondness warmed Aunt Cassandra’s tone.

  “I did let him kiss me.”

  “And I wager you kept your lips clamped?”

  “No!” Miranda blurted, startled at her aunt’s assumption. “It was a very nice kiss.”

  “It wasn’t the sort of kiss you ought to have bestowed on him.”

  “I know.”

  “We discussed this,” her aunt said.

  “Yes.”

  “Give a gentleman a taste of what he may expect and no more. And leave him feeling off his center, pleasured yet knowing he has not yet proved his prowess.”

  “You are right, of course.”

  “If you listen to me, you will have this duke wrapped about your little finger in no time.”

  “I know.”

  “But if you choose to be stubborn as you were at the start with Carrville…”

  “I know,” Miranda blurted. She took a deep breath, calmed her ruffled feelings. “Don’t worry so. He has already made me the offer.”

  “The contract hasn’t yet been signed.”

  Perversely, a wave of relief washed over Miranda at being reminded of that small fact.

  She shuttered her eyes away from Aunt Cassandra’s in an effort to hide her feelings. They were all working so hard to gain her a new situation. It was madness of her to wish that it wouldn’t come to pass.

  Yet, part of her wished most desperately that she could run away to the country. Back to her carefree childhood.

  Oh, what good did that type of wishing do?

  A burning lump filled her throat. She missed Carrville.

  Aunt Cassandra had agreed that a three-week stay in the country to recover from the shock of Carrville’s unexpected death wasn’t unreasonable.

  Miranda had taken six months.

  And still, just thinking of accepting a new protector felt like a betrayal of all Carrville had done for her. All he had been to her.

  The Duke of Froster had his virtues. He was pleasant to look upon and, moreover, he was kind. Easy to converse with, he liked to talk about horses and dogs and his infant grandson. He was a widower with too much free time. He had done his duty by the estate and his children. Now he wanted some fun for himself. He had told her this the night before.

  And Aunt Cassandra was correct.

  Miranda ought to have sealed their friendly intimacy with an example of her oral pleasuring skill and then sent him on his way.

  But therein lay the problem. The skilled, sensual, sophisticated Miranda, one of Mayfair’s most exclusive and expensive courtesans, didn’t know a thing about giving the type of pleasure a man wanted most.

  In fact, just the thought of doing so sent her morning tea surging into her throat, her throat burned by the bitter acid. Her stomach lurched. She swallowed hard, wishing desperately that they had time for some ginger cakes before facing Danvers.

  “You have turned away some magnificent offers and rejected some fine noblemen,” Aunt Cassandra said.

  A hot yet chilled sensation swept Miranda. Of course she’d turned down those men. All of them had alluded to what would be expected of her in their bedchambers.

  Her on her knees.

  They had high expectations of her skill.

  She suppressed a shudder. “No matter, Froster’s offer was the best of the lot.”

  “Yes, but you have yet to make it official.”

  Another shiver passed through Miranda.

  “You have qualms about him?” Aunt Cassandra sounded incredulous.

  “It just feels so wrong.” Yes, it had felt wrong. It had felt like being untrue to herself in a way it had never felt with Carrville.

  “Wrong?” Aunt Cassandra repeated.

  “I feel nothing for this man.”

  “I thought you had some friendly feeling for him.”

  “Friendly, yes.”

  Aunt Cassandra’s gaze sharpened. “You did not love Carrville?”

  “I was not in love with him.”

  “I did not think so.”

  “I did care for him.”

  “Yes, you cared too much. It made you blind to his shortcomings.”

  “The man had damned few of them.” Miranda couldn’t help the immediate words of defense for her former protector.

  Aunt Cassandra scoffed. “He made you many promises. Most of which he never kept.”

  “His family would not honor the agreement.”

  “You should have demanded he give you security in more concrete ways. A house in your name. Investments.”

  “Yes, I should have.”

  “I told you as much.” Aunt Cassandra’s cheeks colored. “I told you to withhold yourself. To bring him to heel.”

  “Yes, you did.” In Miranda’s mind, she could see Carrville’s soft hazel eyes. Speaking pretty words to her. Spoiling her with luxuries. How could anyone have ever denied such a dear man?

  “He should have known better too.” Aunt Cassandra’s tone would have cut Carrville to ribbons. Had he been here.

  “I doubt he expected to die.”

  “Who does? Still, he should have made things right.”

  Silence fell between them, and Miranda tried to find that relaxed state she’d known before Aunt Cassandra once again spoke.

  “How is your own dear mama doing?”

  Miranda stiffened. “Mama is well.”

  Cassandra’s brows rose. “She is?”

  Aside from a few pleasantries, they had not spoken of Mama since Miranda’s return from the country. It wasn’t the most comfortable topic between them.

  Miranda sat up straighter and feigned a smile. “She is fine, as I told you.”

  “No, child, I want to know how my sister is really faring.”

  Miranda suppressed a sigh. “Her nerves are much better of late. Dr. Harper has worked a miracle with her.”

  “Dr. Harper? Then you did engage him? He continues to visit her in Sussex?”

  “Yes. He’s the best. The ot
hers were incompetents who made her worse.”

  “That must be dreadfully expensive, especially in your current reduced circumstances.”

  “He’s worth every penny.”

  Cassandra compressed her lips, briefly. “Your mama is still a lovely woman. Not a gray in her hair or wrinkle on her face.”

  Both pride and love swelled in Miranda’s heart. She couldn’t help a tiny smile. “Time has been kind to Mama.”

  Cassandra scoffed. “If she’s well now, she should have a gentleman. You know it. You could force the issue but you choose not to.”

  “Mama has lost her taste for a gentleman.”

  “She was a fool over your papa.”

  Papa?

  No, never Papa.

  The Duke of Winterton. At the mere sight of his grand carriage in the drive, Mama’s eyes had lit with joyful anticipation, and everything else ceased to exist for her but His Grace.

  Even Miranda.

  “As a child, I was never allowed to call Winterton Papa,” Miranda said firmly. “I certainly shan’t begin doing so now.”

  “She was a fool over him,” Aunt Cassandra repeated without mercy.

  Anger flashed into Miranda’s blood. “Mama is a woman of deep passions.”

  Aunt Cassandra lifted her brows. “Is she?”

  “Yes. It is impossible for her to approach life practically.”

  “Perhaps she approaches life too shallowly.”

  Miranda shook her head. “No, Mama is a sensitive soul, capable of deep feelings. Unlike myself.”

  “Hmm.” Cassandra undid the row of tiny pearl buttons on her glove and then smoothed out several wrinkles. “Think what you will. I will not allow you to lie to yourself as your mother did. Lord Danvers has the ability to hinder you. We need his help.”

  “Lord Danvers thinks a great deal of himself.” She hadn’t missed the press of his arousal against his breeches last night.

  “As I understand it, the man has cause.” Aunt Cassandra’s voice was warm with amusement and her tone made her meaning clear.

  Too clear.

  Miranda snorted. “In that, they are all the same. And Danvers is the worst of the lot. He is too controlling for my taste.”

  “Perhaps, but I doubt he would defer to his family and allow a mistress to be denied her security.”

  “This argument grows tiresome, Aunt. Carrville is not to blame for what his daughters did after his death.”