by Heather Boyd
Yet the fact that he was in such a position was entirely her doing. He was not in the wrong. He had finally convinced himself that Miranda must be dead and had made new plans for his life beginning tonight. He folded his arms across his chest and refused to feel guilty. “Where the devil have you been?”
Emily stood too and laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Is this the best place for this discussion, Kit?”
He nodded decisively. Miranda might still hold a certain power over his body, but he wanted everyone to know that it was not he who had driven her away. He had chosen his wife poorly ten years ago, and he would not be that unguarded, reckless man ever again. He’d paid a high price for her abandonment. Some whispered he’d murdered her for her dowry, though he’d never been outright accused of any crime.
He stared Miranda down. He would not say another word until she answered him.
“Where I was wanted.” Miranda’s eyebrow quirked upward innocently, and when she glanced at his companion, her smile was full of pity. “I am sure you are overjoyed to be witness to our happy reunion after so many years apart. I regret spoiling your first season out of mourning with my return, Lady Brighthurst, but you still cannot have him.”
As the crowd’s mutterings rose higher, Emily stepped around him to advance on Miranda. “You turned your back on a great man.”
“I’m sure you’ve been a sincere comfort to him over the years.” Miranda smirked as she drew back. “And if he’s as attached to you as clearly as you are to him, then you may continue in that vein and skulk about together in private as much as you like. But remember, you’ll never be his marchioness now unless he divorces me or kills me.”
Kit scowled at Miranda’s flippant remarks. Divorce was abhorrent to him, and while her disappearance might have angered him, even worried him, he’d never once wished her dead. He’d had enough subtle accusations of that nature to find no amusement in it.
He slipped around Emily to grasp Miranda’s arm, more to prove her not a figment of his imagination than to pull her close. One touch, however, and that same reckless attraction stirred his heart as it had when he’d first met her, as if her disappearance from his life and their estrangement had never happened. He had the unfathomable urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her right there and then before everyone. He glanced around to clear his head.
Emily was right that their conversation needed a more private location if his thoughts already ran to the precursors of intimacy.
Around them, the theatre patrons craned their necks to watch his marriage resume with a gasping splutter. Tomorrow, society would talk of nothing else but his wife’s very public return, and it would hardly be favorable speculation as to where she’d been all these years. “Perhaps we should move our conversation elsewhere. We are drawing attention.”
“That was precisely my intention.” Miranda did not fight to loosen his hold but stared at him cynically. “I chose the venue for my return well. I wanted everyone to see that I was alive just in case an accident suddenly befell me.”
“And I must say that the sight of you fills my heart with boundless joy, Lady Taverham.” Lord Louth, a friend of Kit’s, stepped into the box behind Miranda, a wide grin upon his face. “I am delighted to see you returned to society at last, fair lady.”
“Martin,” Miranda cried. “Oh, you darling man.”
Miranda pulled free of Kit’s grip and embraced Louth with a degree of familiarity Kit found alarming. He suddenly remembered Louth had exhibited a puppyish devotion to Miranda before the wedding, and it seemed the admiration was now mutual. But how could that be?
When she drew back to a proper distance, her grin was the first sincere one to cross her face since he’d seen her. “I was coming to see you.”
A pleased smile passed over his face. “That does gladden my heart. Are you all right?”
“I am. Are you well?”
“The same.” He squeezed her hand tightly. “I’m sitting across the theatre in Daventry’s box. Do you know he’s married?”
Miranda laughed, a sound that thudded through Kit’s entire being. He remembered that laugh very well, but the last time he’d heard it they’d been making love, laughing through the whole affair as if the real world of responsibilities and duty hadn’t existed.
“The whole of England has heard of his marriage and the good he’s done for his wife,” she said. “I am so happy for Lillian. Such a sweet and kind girl who deserved someone who would spoil her and place her needs first.”
Kit moved toward Miranda. How the devil could she be acquainted with Daventry’s wife? Lady Daventry had been a virtual recluse for so many years before her marriage that few even knew she was alive.
Louth hooked Miranda’s arm about his and held her there. “I had no idea you’d met her until a moment ago. She’s very keen to renew her acquaintance with you.”
“And I her. Why, this very moment, in fact.” Miranda glanced over her shoulder, a smile of triumph on her face when she met Kit’s gaze. “I think I’ve done all I needed to do here.”
Then, before he could blink twice, Miranda swept from the box on Louth’s arm.
A wild roaring filled Kit’s ears and he glanced around, afraid that he’d dreamed his greatest wish. Emily was pale, almost stricken in appearance.
He swallowed quickly. “Given the circumstances, I feel it best to retire for the evening.”
Emily’s eyes closed. “Yes. I expect you should. Don’t worry about me. I am sure I can find my brother to drive me home.”
“I knew I could count on you to understand.” Kit drew in a shuddering breath. Miranda lived. His wife lived. His wife had been at his side and then promptly disappeared again. He stared across the theater at Daventry’s box. There she sat, greeting Lady Daventry as if she hadn’t a care in the world and was an old friend. But Miranda owed Kit an explanation for her ten-year absence from his life. And Kit would have his answers tonight.
He stormed after her, skirting the malingerers in the corridor between his and Daventry’s box in order to confront his wife. He cursed under his breath when he found the box now empty of Miranda, Lord Louth, and even the Daventrys. He charged for the theater entrance, determined to catch his wife before she got away. Outside, carriages clattered past but none stopped to take passengers or pull away with new ones. He raked his fingers through his hair when further investigation didn’t reveal her anywhere in sight.
Where the bloody hell had his damn wife gone now?
CHAPTER TWO
Crisis averted. Husband prevented from an act of utter foolishness. Miranda Reed, reluctant Marchioness of Taverham, hurried to the back entrance of the Theater Royal and collected her cloak from the waiting theater maid. Her heart beat a wild rhythm, which she knew would take a quiet room and considerable time to calm, perhaps even requiring a dose of the potion her physician had insisted was necessary to calm her heart and maintain her proper health. She grimaced and snapped open her fan to beat a cooling breeze across her hot cheeks and neck.
The distasteful business of proving she was very much alive was behind her, and now all she had to do was collect her son from the tutor she’d chosen for his instruction during her long illness. Then they would take up a suitable residence in Town and be together once more. She had no intention of living with her husband even a single day, though it was high time he became acquainted with Christopher.
To her regret, the theater’s production of The Beggar’s Opera resumed with no thought to her heart, a cacophony of sound that stirred Miranda’s happiest memories to the front of her mind and turned those remembrances to ashes.
And yet Miranda was pleased with her return to society tonight. She’d succeeded in seeing her husband on her terms without losing control of the situation. How nice to have had the upper hand. It was a rare day when one could control a situation that involved the Marquess of Taverham and his simpering lover, Lady Brighthurst.
She wasn’t unduly surprised they were as close now
as the day Miranda had married Taverham. Society might speculate on the true state of that friendship, but Miranda had seen the truth with her own eyes. Being betrayed on her wedding day was not something Miranda was ever likely to forget.
Her only servant, a burly man with a face scarred enough to frighten the masses, stepped from the shadows to reveal himself. “The carriage will be but a moment, my lady,” Peter Landry informed her in his deep, rumbling voice that had once sent a chill through her soul.
As a child visiting her grandfather’s warehouse on the docks of the London shipping yards, Landry’s large body and voice had terrified her. As an adult no longer prone to hysterics, she’d learned to place her faith in him when she wanted something done. He’d dogged her shadow ever since their paths had crossed by chance during the first year she’d left Taverham’s home, and a more faithful and protective servant a lady in hiding could never find.
She smiled. “Excellent.”
There was not much that distressed Miranda now. She’d seen the best of life and the worst. She’d even recovered from an illness that might have claimed her life, although that convalescence had taken over two years. Time wasted and time stolen from her son. She would make it up to Christopher somehow.
The theater maid lingering a few feet away helped her slip beneath the cloak’s protection so she wouldn’t be recognized as she left. A stab of pity gripped her that no one else would see the stunning gown she’d commissioned from a backstreet dressmaker working in the north of London. The gown was the loveliest she’d owned in years, and Miranda regretted that the seamstress would never garner notice for her work. Under normal circumstances, Miranda had no need for frippery and nonsense. When in hiding from a man and a marriage you’d come to resent and plagued by a title one didn’t respect, it did no good to draw attention. She lived modestly. Every secret she’d learned to snare a husband during her first season she’d reversed so as not to bring unwanted notice to herself.
Miranda spared a smile for the girl when the hood fell over her head. “Thank you and do convey my appreciation to your mistress for her help in setting the scene I wanted. Apologize if her audience is distracted for the rest of the night’s performance and do assure her I had the outcome I’d hoped for.”
The girl nodded quickly and departed. Landry retreated to the lane, looking for the conveyance that would take Miranda away from the theatre and from her no doubt now furious husband. She counted his stunned welcome a blessing, for he’d been quite slow to react.
Miranda pulled the cloak closer around her, wishing she could forget she was married at all. Yet she couldn’t place her needs before her son’s interests. A public and very dramatic return was absolutely essential to prove to the world that she lived and ruin Lady Brighthurst’s scheming to have Taverham declare her dead.
Embarrassing her husband in the process mattered little.
Lord Louth’s heavy tread hurried toward her; he puffed slightly in his haste to catch up with her before she left the theater.
“Your timing was impeccable, Martin. Thank you.”
“Your servant. Always.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes. We will leave early in the unmarked carriage if you agree.” She thanked the stars that she could rely upon Martin so heavily. “You did not need to follow me. Landry is here and I would not have you at odds with Taverham.”
“That is inevitable.” Martin scowled. “I told you before that I disapproved of your course of action, but I will see this through to the end, no matter the cost.”
She gazed up at him fondly, her heart swelling with gratitude at his unwavering friendship over the years even in the face of possible scandal. Martin had become the brother she’d never had, protective and kind, yet disapproving just the same. “What would I do without you?”
He scowled. “I have everything ready. I can come the moment you want me at your side.”
Martin’s help was essential to set things right. Afterward, she might just need his aid and friendship once more. There was no telling how Taverham would take her deception, or those whose aid had been forced upon her under threat of revealing all too soon.
She opened her mouth to thank him again, but a shape appeared from the shadows, striding from the hallway. Miranda snapped her mouth shut.
Miranda faced Lord Daventry with a heavy heart. So much for making a clean escape into the dark night.
“Disappearing so soon?” Daventry said cheerfully.
In his day, they said Daventry had more than indulged in his share of fast escapes from a lover or two’s bedchamber. Surely he’d be sympathetic.
“Have you forgotten how to let a lady make a discreet escape?”
Daventry grinned. “You’ve been discreet enough. Where are you bound?”
“Home.”
“And where is that now?” He cast a curious glance at Martin. His brow furrowed. “I have a feeling it’s not where your husband resides.”
Daventry was far too perceptive. It was a mistake to have lingered, succumbing to curiosity and the bonds of friendship when Martin had pressed her to meet mutual acquaintances again. She sensed Martin shift closer, as if preparing to defend her from Lord Daventry’s questioning. Daventry was harmless in the scheme of things, and she had no doubts she could easily deflect his curiosity by mentioning the one thing he adored most in life. “Where I go is my business. Run back to your wife before she feels abandoned.”
As hoped, he glanced behind him.
“I’m here,” Lady Daventry said softly as she joined them, seeming to float on air as if she barely touched the ground. “He merely moves faster than I am able and went ahead to catch you.”
Miranda studied the deceptively fragile girl with growing annoyance. She needed to flee, not stop and speak to every one of Taverham’s acquaintances. Daventry might have chosen love over practicality when he’d wed Lillian, but neither had had to contend with difficult connections. They would never understand the obstacles Miranda would face in the coming days. She’d need all her strength, all her patience, all the resilience she possessed to right a wrong of her own making.
She shook herself from her worries. Carriage wheels were approaching. Her path to freedom was at hand and then she would rest. Tomorrow would be soon enough for stage two of her plan. Taverham had taught her the true meaning of commitment in the short time they’d spent together. “I simply must go.”
Daventry stayed her flight with a light touch to her arm. “We do not mean to delay you. My wife has grown weary of the theater anyway and I unwisely loaned our carriage to another patron who was under the weather. It hasn’t returned as yet. Perhaps you might see us home?”
Her dark carriage, borrowed from Lord Louth’s stables, stopped before the open door. Landry rushed to drop the steps and opened the door for Miranda so she could enter. Given Lillian’s fragile health, she nodded her agreement. Miranda clambered in without another word. She couldn’t delay any longer or Taverham would find her.
Lillian took the seat opposite and Daventry chose to sit beside his wife. Miranda smiled at their closeness, a subject London loved to gossip over, as if such affection defied belief. Miranda had seen such devotion a time or two herself, and she was rather envious of how content they looked together.
Louth remained without and shut the door firmly. The carriage rocked as Landry climbed up at the rear and called to the driver to move off.
As they rumbled off down Drury Lane, an angry male voice, Taverham’s certainly, called out to the coachman to wait. Thankfully, the driver remembered his instructions and did not obey her husband’s shouted command but instead continued on their way into the heart of Mayfair via a circuitous route designed to avoid notice.
Miranda was a little impressed that Taverham had troubled himself to chase after her. The ordering everyone about was always expected when one dealt with the marquess.
Daventry cleared his throat. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
“Among friends one can be himself.” Daventry caught his wife’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Taverham will be angry.”
“Better angry than a man twice married.” She’d thought long and hard about her decision to go to the theatre tonight and prevent Taverham from confirming to the world that there was no obstacle in marrying the widowed Lady Brighthurst. It was imperative that her life and their marriage not be set aside. Her needs must come first this time.
“True,” Lillian said softly, her brow crinkling with worry. “I am sure he would not have cared for that outcome.”
Miranda peered out the window at the candlelit windows they passed. She’d only just come up to London, but the prospect never changed. Fine exteriors hid the filth and lies beneath. Once Miranda had been oblivious to such deceptions but no longer. “Does he care for anything but his own concerns?”
Daventry leaned forward. “He cared for you.”
Miranda shook her head. “Not enough and perhaps not at all. My dowry was all he truly needed from me.”
Daventry remained close. “Surely you knew he needed the money desperately. That couldn’t have been the reason you left. What did he do to drive you away?”
Miranda opened her fan, stirred the air against her face, then closed it again. She would never tell a soul just how deeply she’d been misled and how much it had hurt her to be so badly used. Surely by now his closest friends knew where Taverham’s real affections had always resided? “’Tis not the right time for such a question to be answered. I’ve accomplished my goal.”