“I haven’t had time to call for him this morning.”
“But you had time to send for Drake?”
Adrian said nothing, this time jerking the knotted linen free. It wasn’t Jon’s business who he kept company with. He wasn’t seventeen any longer.
Jon approached him. “Give me that,” he said, reaching for the dangling edges of the cravat.
Adrian jerked away and forced himself to work more slowly, though his hands had begun to shake with his rising excitement.
He would soon face Winterton on the field of honor.
Sooner than he had thought.
Which lead him to something else…
“I won’t be needing to wait for spring to leave for America.”
Jon gaped at him. “What?”
“I’ll be leaving for New York immediately.”
Jon turned his palms up, a shocked gesture. “What are you saying? You have to be trained in the finer points of shipbuilding.”
“Drake says he has found me an assistant—”
“Drake has found you an assistant?” Jon quickly interrupted.
“Yes, an excellent assistant,” Adrian said, his fingers now moving smoothly, tying the cravat into a beautiful semblance of the Waterfall.
Jon stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me more about this assistant.”
“He is someone who knows the subject in depth. He will tutor me during our time in transit and then accompany me on my tour of the American shipyards.”
Jon sighed and turned away to stare out the window. “I don’t like this.”
“The assistant?”
“Any of this. You becoming friends with Drake. You marrying a night bird—”
“She’s no night bird. She was Carrville’s mistress. It wasn’t as though she were selling her wares at the theater.”
“Her aunt does.”
Adrian laughed, a cold amusement born of hatred. “Aye, Cassandra Jones does.” Then he sobered. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Not to me.”
“She’s Winterton’s daughter.”
“And your point?”
“He’s just as dangerous as Drake, in his way.”
“I am not afraid of Winterton.”
Jon whirled to face him. ”“You’re not? You should be.” His eyes narrowed. “He’s a man with many powerful friends.”
“He’s a duke; of course he has powerful friends.”
“Yes, but as it happens, some of his friends were men that your father wronged.”
Ah, yes, his father, the notorious adulterer, foolish, indiscreet, even reckless in his pursuit of beauty.
What a wonderful legacy for the Sutherlands.
“Ah, yes, my father.” Adrian didn’t bother to hide his sardonic mood.
Jon’s expression turned thoughtful. “You’ve worked very hard to rebuild friendships and your reputation. Maybe you have worked harder at that than at rebuilding your wealth.”
There was a great deal of truth to what Jon said but Adrian said nothing, becoming engrossed in wiping several specks of lint from his coat.
“The Americans call that Federal Blue,” Jon said. “A coat like that will do quite nicely for those sober folk. Take only your plainest waistcoats; it won’t do to appear too flashy.”
“Flashy, eh?” Adrian grinned yet in the mirror, the reflection of his eyes greeted him, cold and full of his hunger to meet with Winterton.
“Come now, Adrian, have you really thought this marriage through?”
“I thought you were on my side,” Adrian replied.
“If you are bound to have her, I would rather see her forced to share your genteel poverty than have you set to kill yourself in order to earn enough coin to afford her.”
“I wasn’t killing myself.” Yet, Adrian knew that his constant late nights at the gaming tables to earn money had kept him away from his sons.
Away from Miranda.
“I do question the wisdom of you shackling yourself to such a demanding woman for life. She’s so young to be so acquisitive.”
“She’s not so demanding or acquisitive.”
“I hear she’s not on good terms with Winterton. He’s never acknowledged her. I even heard him denigrate her as whore when Carrville first took her under his protection.”
Coldness rushed through Adrian, a peculiar sensation of deadly rage. “She’s no whore. She is actually somewhat naïve, still innocent in the most unexpected ways.”
“Innocent? Cassandra Jones sold her innocence in a notorious auction. The sum she managed to wrangle out of gentlemen just for the pleasure to see her naked was unprecedented.”
Adrian’s gut tightened. The urge to ask Jon if he had been one of those men who had paid sliced through him like a knife.
No, he couldn’t live with knowing if it were true.
He clamped his jaw to keep from asking.
“Winterton can hurt your reputation and standing, make no mistake about it,” Jon said his tone as characteristically fatalistic as it always was when he felt certain of something dire.
“My mind is set. I will have her as my wife.”
“Then I think you ought to consider living away from England for a time. Take some time during the coming voyage to America to consider my offer of a long-term position.”
“In India?”
“Yes. You could make a real fortune to leave to your sons. Let the scandal of your marriage die on the vine in your absence.”
“How much of a scandal can it possibly cause? There will be talk for a season or two at most.”
“The scandal and talk may well last as long as Winterton feeds the flame.”
“A man cannot be hurt so badly by mere words.”
“The average man? No. But you? With your father’s legacy weighing on you?”
Adrian’s gut tightened again, with the truth he knew Jon’s words held. “I am an Englishman. This is my home. I will not be chased from it.”
“You’re making quite a personal sacrifice for her. That’s your choice. But what of your sons?”
“Bloody hell, Jon, when did you become so fixated upon reputation and what others say?” Adrian might have mentioned Anne Lloyd, Jon’s plump, dark, exotically beautiful countess. She’d had quite the reckless run around the time of their marriage. He remembered all the talk of her uncommon fondness for claret and her low-cut, dangerously fashionable gowns. Then there was her indiscreet behavior with her male cousin, the young Duke of Saxby, and then Saxby’s death too shortly after, at the hands of his older wife, a woman who just happened to be Jon’s former mistress. A woman who later vanished without any plausible explanation, right after her lover, a man who happened to be Jon’s major political rival, had been shot dead in his bed.
Those events had caused many titillated whisperings.
And not to even mention the whispers about Anne Lloyd’s supposed madness.
Adrian was not so tasteless as to mention any of this. But he would say, “Your life has been shadowed by many scandals. They haven’t seemed to hurt you any.”
“I have great wealth.” Jon replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “Anne brought even more wealth to our marriage. She is the daughter of a man who was a well-positioned, powerful duke. You, on the other hand, are in a precarious position.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Enter,” Adrian called out.
The door came open, revealing the flushed face of one of the maids. “Miss Jones is asking for you, my lord.”
Adrian reached for his coat then pushed past his cousin. “It’s time,” he said.
Chapter Two
High-pitched, sharp snores issued from the mouth of the minister who sat in chair, his head bent, his open book forgotten. The sound jarred Miranda’s already strained nerves as she watched the withdrawing chamber doorway, waiting for Adrian to enter. Inside, her stomach began to tie itself into knots. She had expected this to be a formality, y
et a casual, relaxed business. But it was impossible not to be tense under the Earl of Ruel’s formidable scowl. Was that a scowl? Or was that merely natural his expression? His rugged looks were a distinct contrast to Adrian’s handsomeness. Certainly the distinguished earl was studying her intently.
Too damn intently. As though he were searching for some flaw in her. As though he were trying to penetrate her very soul to reveal her inner thoughts. And it was clear that whatever he did see in her did not please him.
He had been civil enough in their initial introduction, if brief in his speech.
She took a deep breath against her rising nausea.
Just get through this formality.
She turned her gaze to Ruel’s right and met the pale blue, mild eyes of Lady Drake. A small wren of a woman with light brown hair, her small hands folded over a very pregnant belly.
The kindness in that lady’s eyes eased Miranda’s angst a bit.
But where the devil was Adrian?
Miranda lifted the bouquet that Lady Drake had gifted her with and inhaled the heady scent of lavender and roses, drawing calm from it as well. She had no idea what flowers a bride should carry or if there even was a rule. There must be a rule for countesses. There were always rules for countesses…
Oh, God!
She was to be a countess!
She had not even thought much on that.
Her heart pounded with sickening intensity. She became weak, faint. She locked her knees and forced herself to concentrate on slowing her rate of breathing.
She had learned to project the image and personality of an elegant, sophisticated courtesan when really, inside, she had been just a country-bred virgin with a pretty enough face and striking red hair.
She had learned to survive then. Surely, she could do the same now.
She focused on Lady Drake’s kind face. She recalled the gossip that Lady Drake had once been Lord Ruel’s laundress when he had served in the Dragoons. She had also been his kept mistress here in England upon his return home. And she had married a baron. She was now Lady Drake. She had apparently survived whatever scathing disapproval and shunning had been directed towards her.
Yet, Miranda suspected that Lady Ruel could not attend because of the scandal attached to Miranda’s former profession. It didn’t matter. Miranda would just as soon as had her maid and Adrian’s valet be their witnesses. She had not wanted to face the righteous indignation of Adrian’s blood-relatives so soon.
Thankfully, it was just the two of them. An invite had been sent to Charlie Sutherland but no one had been able to locate him.
Lady Drake tugged on Ruel’s dark blue sleeve. He glanced down at her and she whispered to him, her blue eyes sparkling with teasing humor.
Miranda’s stomach tightened even more.
So, now they were making sport of her? Maybe the lady was not as kind as she appeared.
Ruel scowled and shook his head. Then he pointedly made a study of his hands.
Lady Drake cleared her throat, delicately, then looked at Miranda and smiled. “I told Jon that it is rude to stare so hard at the bride, no matter how lovely she is.”
An awkward attempt at easing the tension?
It wasn’t effective. Miranda’s stomach was still in knots.
Ruel cleared his throat now, a deep, jarring sound.
“Lady Ruel sends her regrets that she cannot attend. She is with child and feeling poorly of late,” Lady Drake said, in her soft, girlish tone.
But from the way Ruel’s jaw tensed and his hard mouth drew into a tighter line, Miranda suspected that her first suspicion was the truth. The Earl of Ruel did not wish to subject his wife to this scandalous marriage between his younger cousin and a former courtesan.
He cut Lady Drake an irritated glare. “I had already made Lady Ruel’s excuses.”
Lady Drake lifted her hands, palms up, a placating gesture. “I was only trying to—”
“I can speak for my own wife.”
Lady Drake compressed her small mouth. “You’re behaving just like a horse’s arse. This is supposed to be a joyful occasion.”
The look that he shot Lady Drake then sent waves of alarm sparking along Miranda’s already jarred nerves. It was a glare that should have made the most fearsome man recoil in dread.
Lady Drake’s expression remained mild. “Do not glower at me, my lord. You know that I am right.”
He scoffed, his brows still tightly drawn.
“Anne would not approve, you know that too.” Lady Drake’s voice held a gentle yet chiding note.
Ruel stood. “Where the devil is Danvers?” he asked, mirroring Miranda’s thoughts.
He strode from the chamber.
Lady Drake lifted her narrow shoulders in a shrug. “He doesn’t like my husband. I suspect that he thinks Lord Drake has taken charge of things today. It must annoy him for he is quite protective of Adrian.”
“Protective?” Miranda mused aloud. “But Adrian is a man.”
Lady Drake laughed—a girlish sound. “Jon cannot see past the vulnerable boy he once knew. Adrian was greatly inconvenienced by the former Lord Danvers. I think Adrian was quite hurt by the whole matter. And Jon felt responsible for not being able to shield him from that. Jon is quite protective of those he feels are under his charge and Adrian was always special to him.”
Miranda had never known Adrian as anything other than the hard, cold arrogant man she had first met. Through their passion, she came to know his softer, warmer side.
But she had never thought of him as a vulnerable, hurt boy.
The door seemed to burst open. Lord Drake was all smiles as he ushered three modestly dressed, matronly ladies into the chamber. One held a harp and one held a violin. The third carried a stack of papers and books. Lord Drake carried their music stands.
“One cannot possibly have a wedding without music,” he said, in such a happy tone that Miranda had trouble reconciling his demeanor with the man who had first appeared in her vestibule and stared up at her with eyes so coldly intelligent that they sent chills through her.
He approached the piano.
“I don’t think that has been tuned in a very long while,” Miranda said.
Drake lifted the lid and tested several keys. The sound pierced through her. He smiled. Lord, what a smile. The man was handsome, there was no denying that.
“It seems tuned well enough,” he said.
The trio of women was getting their stands and sheet music ready.
Drake was still smiling, radiating sincere warmth.
That warmth eased into Miranda, easing her cold, nauseated anxiety of a few moments ago.
What a kind gesture the man had made.
How long had Adrian known him? She had been aware that Adrian had any true, close friends outside of family.
But this gentleman seemed like a true friend.
She turned and saw Adrian standing near the doorway, his expression so serious it was grim as he spoke with Lord Ruel.
Lord Ruel did not like what Adrian was saying, that much was clear from his deepening scowl.
The knot began to twist in her stomach again.
A man cleared his throat behind her a deep, impatient sound.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the minister had put his book down. He was ready to get this business done. She turned back to face the doorway. Adrian approached her. His tall, leanly muscled body was elegantly displayed in his well-tailored suit. With his coal-black hair, he was utterly gorgeous. Masculine perfection.
Lord.
That look on his face. Like stone. His eyes like blue ice.
She had never seen such a look on his face before.
It froze her blood.
Was he having second thoughts?
Had his older, presumably wiser cousin talked sense into him?
She opened her mouth to say what?…that she didn’t know. “My lord?” she said, hearing the uncertainty in her voice.
He touched her arm,
his expression gentling.
But his eyes remained cold.
“I…” she began.
He gave her arm a slight squeeze as his gaze moved over her. Those beautiful eyes went from blue ice to flame in an instant. Not tenderness, which would have soothed her, but hot lust.
And possessiveness.
He’d asked her, repeatedly, not to hold that need to possess her against him.
Yet, this morning, standing amid nobles, it did feel threatening to her. Yet, she couldn’t turn away from the intensity of those blazing blue eyes. Such passion from the man she loved intoxicated her.
It also disquieted her. He loved her beauty. Beauty was illusory and would fade as she aged. She had a limited number of years to make him love her soul as much as he loved her beauty. And she surely must for she loved him deeply, insanely, completely.
What had made her love him so well?
His tender, compassionate side.
His devotion to his sons.
That thought broke her entranced state. “Davey?” she whispered.
The possessive look was immediately replaced by tenderness. He smiled and this time it reached his eyes. He turned away and walked to the doorway and left. After several moments, he returned. “He’s coming. Mrs. Peters had some difficulty finding a suitable cravat.”
The trio began playing a soft, somehow otherworldly sounding piece. It might have been one of Haydn’s works but she wasn’t sure. It soothed her. But she wished that this moment could have been more intimate. That she and Adrian didn’t have to share it with these other people. These people who were strangers to her.
For the countless time since he’d entered this chamber, Adrian let his gaze move over Miranda. Her hair glowed more vividly red. She admitted that she had stopped treating it with some herbs that before had darkened it. She wore it down. It lay in loose curls about her shoulders. It gave her a soft appearance that he loved even more than he had admired her previous sophisticated fashion. A circlet of pale pink roses gave her a more girlish look and the lack of cosmetics enhanced the sense of softness.
Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3) Page 2