Aunt Cassandra leapt to her feet and rushed closer to Miranda, clasping her waist. “She is the best damned bit of muslin that Mayfair has ever seen!”
As though seeking to emphasize her words, Aunt Cassandra gave Miranda a slight push in Danvers’ direction.
Miranda tripped on the edge of the carpet and clutched at thin air.
Danvers caught her by the shoulders as she fell forwards.
His grip was surprisingly strong. But then she knew him to be a consummate horseman.
Heat exploded within her. Delight. Anticipation. Shameful weakness to his appeal as a man.
His handsomeness.
Yet, she could sense how rigidly he held himself, as though her scent, her appearance, were so vile that he found it repulsive to touch her like this.
She lifted her chin, regaining as much dignity as her near fall allowed and gazed coolly up at him.
His steely blue eyes stared back, emotionless.
Miranda instantly shoved herself away from him.
Aunt Cassandra took her by the shoulders. A cloud of roses and musk scent arose from the woman, a telling sign of her rising body temperature, presumably from vexation with Danvers. “Do you have any idea of the grand offers my niece is receiving?”
Miranda bristled. Not so much from Cassandra’s manner and handling. She was used to the woman’s less-than-modest ways when speaking of sexual matters. Aunt Cassandra was jaded from a lifetime of being kept by men and guiding younger women into doing the same. She meant the very best. Even her little ploy to make Miranda fall into Danvers, if it was a ploy and not a miscalculation, was well intended.
No, Miranda’s ire came from the way Danvers kept staring at her, as though he were tearing her apart bit by bit. As though he were looking for a reason to reject her.
He folded his arms over his chest, turning his attention to Cassandra. “She cannot be that good.”
“You have eyes, you can see for yourself that she is.”
The barest smile bent the corners of his mouth, such a smug expression, and it sent fresh bristles through Miranda.
“I don’t mean her appearance,” he said. “I mean in the bedchamber.”
A rage she thought herself long past swept through Miranda. The suggestion was far past impertinent, even to someone of her position. She wasn’t a streetwalker, or a woman in a lowly brothel. As much as she might despise her path, she was a mistress. How dare he pretend that the sole measure of her worth was vested in how well she jogged her hips for a man. Moreover, Danvers knew very well how the game was played. No, this felt personal.
The realization didn’t do anything to tamp down her outrage. Even the tips of her ears burnt with it.
He stood before her, regarding her with a speculative glint.
Ha! Let him speculate all he wanted. He would certainly never find out for himself!
Aunt Cassandra’s eyes appeared to bulge. “I beg your pardon, Lord Danvers, but there is more to being an excellent courtesan than how well one warms a gentleman’s bed.”
Again, that self-satisfied, amused, little smile curved his mouth. “True; however, she couldn’t have been all that good at the breakfast or dinner table either.”
“What makes you say these things?”
“Carrville didn’t provide for her security.”
“Carrville was a man in his prime. He didn’t expect to die so soon. Perhaps he was careless in holding such a belief. Is that any reason to judge my niece so harshly, especially when everyone knows how happy she made him?”
“If she is all you say she is, she should have been able to work her way into his affections and secure her future.”
“He was mad for her.”
“He may have fancied her a little.”
“Fancied her a little? He had eyes for no one else.”
“He did not fancy her enough to leave her a townhouse and a fat account.”
“She was young, inexperienced. She didn’t understand how to best handle Carrville.”
“Aren’t you women born knowing how to wheedle jewels from a man?”
“She was inexperienced in that way. Should there be a penalty attached to being young?”
“Ah, now we have reached the crux of the matter.”
“The crux?” Aunt Cassandra gaped at him dumbly.
“Her age is probably the strongest mark against her. She would be the youngest girl at our gathering.”
Hot words rushed to Miranda’s tongue. She had to compress her lips and curl her fists at her sides to hold back from speaking out of turn.
“She’s no girl. She is almost twenty-two.”
“Hmm…” He rubbed that square, elegant chin a moment, a gesture of affected thoughtfulness. “There’s something about a courtesan who has reached thirty years of age and yet is younger than fifty. That’s a very fine age for a woman. Seasoned, ripe but not overly so.”
Again, Aunt Cassandra gaped at him. “What earthly purpose can it serve to reject her based on her age?”
“It takes more than youth and beauty to serve as a good companion to a gentleman.”
“Does it indeed, my lord?” Aunt Cassandra asked, her anger showing to a dangerous degree.
Danvers nodded, his expression astute, as though he were an older man than he was.
“These young, spoiled girls can be so emotional. So over-dramatic. They have squeamish and missish sensibilities that can quite ruin an otherwise lovely time. And some of my guests have sophisticated tastes. No gentleman wants to be reminded of the high-strung wife and female relations he’s left at home. My gathering is meant to provide my friends with a time of escape and release. I certainly do not wish to have any spoiled chits with sour faces, bewailing how neglected they are because of all the time the gentlemen are spending out hunting.”
“I hear and understand, all too well, what you are saying, my lord, but I assure you that Miss Jones is not that kind of young woman. She will cause you and your guests no trouble.”
Danvers lifted his hands in front of him, palms up, an eloquent gesture that drew Miranda’s attention to how long and large his hands were, how finely made yet masculine. He turned his attention from Aunt Cassandra back to Miranda.
“I am sorry, Miss Jones.” Those striking blue eyes bore into hers. “I am afraid I can’t take the risk of upsetting the harmony of my upcoming gathering. I must invite only the finest in female companionship.”
A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) Page 22