Keepsake (The Distinguished Rogues Book 5)

by Heather Boyd

  He glanced around them. “So if we made love here in this garden…”

  Miranda faced her husband. Surely he wouldn’t want such a scandalous activity written about. “The whole of London would be suitably titillated with the news as they had their morning chocolate.”

  Kit drew closer. “That’s a shame. I’ve always wanted to make love to you by moonlight.”

  At that moment, the moon burst from behind a cloud, illuminating them both where they sat. Kit smiled silkily. He leaned close and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. His tongue darted out once, slicking her lower lip so she gasped. He drew back, still smiling wickedly. His fingers slid over her jaw and he cupped her cheek. The next moment, his customary frown returned. “You are distressed by the excitement of the ball far more than I realized. Your skin is so warm.”

  “That is my only purpose in remaining out here.” Miranda fluttered her fan to cool her face.

  He grunted. “We shall have to try for more than a kiss another night then.”

  Miranda closed her eyes again, certain Taverham would keep his head now and behave. “Do not be so certain you will have your wicked ways with me elsewhere or in more favorable circumstances.”

  “No?” He chuckled. “I’ll have to do my best to convince you to at least try being scandalous just once with me. You might enjoy it. When you’ve rested enough, we’ll go back inside. There are some acquaintances I would appreciate your speaking to before we return home. People who doubted you even existed. I’d love to make them eat their words, but I’ll settle for greeting them coldly instead.”

  Miranda glanced sideways at her husband. “They whispered that you murdered me.”

  For an answer, Kit smirked and shook his finger at her. “Just a little death now and then. Well, almost every night we’ve been together. Enough to make you sob and shake as I make love to you in our bed and elsewhere. I promise never to be any more danger to you than that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Kit kept a close watch on Miranda as the evening progressed, looking for a sign of increasing warmth toward him but uncertain if he was only seeing what he wanted to see. He was encouraged by their conversation on the terrace more than he dared believe. Opening up to Miranda might set himself up for disappointment, but at least she would hear from his own lips that he didn’t live the charmed life she’d suspected on the profits of their marriage. There was something more between them. He’d never teased a woman, hung on her every response, the way he did with Miranda.

  Occasionally, Miranda ventured beyond the reach of his arm, and he held his breath until he found her in the crowd once more. She moved smoothly through the guests, offering a friendly if reserved greeting to all, deflecting rudely phrased questions as if she’d been navigating high society all of their marriage. Occasionally, she’d glance his way and smile. Not a particularly convincing smile to him, but one that seemed to satisfy everyone else around them. Her cheeks held a flush of color that concerned him still though. If not for his wish to have her seen by all to be alive and largely content, he would have dragged her back home and to their bed, though she would probably resist his suggestion that that was where she would always belong.

  It wasn’t so irrational to fear he’d lose her again, but the very idea caused him to shiver until she returned to his side. He couldn’t help but hope that soon there might be some hint of a change of heart in his favor and he was doing all he could to be agreeable. Hadn’t he put her needs first that morning in her bedchamber and the night before in their bed?

  He wanted to make love to her so much he ached even now.

  He slid his hand softly over her back as a footman drew close carrying glasses of champagne. “Would you care for a glass of champagne, my dear?”

  The corners of her mouth turned down a little. “No, thank you.”

  So not even champagne appealed to her tastes now. “Would you care to dance?”

  Her frown grew and he caught his breath when she didn’t deny him immediately. Was she a word away from being agreeable at last? Would she accept his invitation so he might continue to woo her?

  He watched her face while she thought over his request but soon grew aware that someone tapped on his shoulder insistently. Not now. Not when Miranda might just say yes to him. Her gaze slipped to his shoulder and she scowled. Eventually he had to turn to see who dared interrupt them at such an important moment.

  “There you are, Kit,” Emily exclaimed as she smiled up at him. Her hand settled on his sleeve. “I was afraid you’d forgotten your promise.”

  “My promise,” Kit queried quickly without a clue as to the promise he’d made. “Certainly not.”

  Emily glanced sideways toward the dance floor as the guests lined up to take their places in the sets that were forming. “This is our dance.”

  Damn. He hadn’t remembered precisely what set he’d claimed. He closed his eyes and groaned silently. He wanted to dance with Miranda. Their interlude on the terrace had robbed him of precious time and now he was promised to Emily. What to do? People were already watching them and he did not want to hurt either lady’s feelings.

  Wincing inwardly, he glanced quickly at Miranda, noting as he did so she seemed further away. “Would you mind, my dear?”

  Her eyes met his and the pain in them shook him to the core. The iris had darkened to black, any friendliness he’d imagined and hoped for between them was gone. “Naturally not,” she said firmly. “Do not let me stand in your way.”

  She took two paces backward, spun about, and walked away—spine straight, stiff, and clearly angry that he’d asked her to dance but couldn’t.

  He wanted to run after her and apologize, but Emily was tugging him toward the dance floor where the set was about to start. What a mess he’d made of tonight. He should have worried more for offending Miranda than Emily. This was not the way to convince her to stay with him forever.

  Kit watched Miranda until she reached his mother. The pair regarded each other warily like a pair of cats meeting for the first time, then his mother spoke and Miranda remained to converse with her.

  Emily tugged on his sleeve. “We will miss a place.”

  “Yes, of course.” They faced each other when the music commenced and he quickly fell into the required steps of a quadrille. From the corner of his eye, he kept a watch over his wife in case she made to disappear again. Although he had her promise not to leave London, he was still anxious enough to be wary.

  Because of his distraction, Kit missed a change of direction and crashed into another dancer. “Oh, excuse me.”

  “Might help if you were paying attention to your partner instead of mooning after your wife,” Lord Acton hissed. “For God’s sake man, get a hold of yourself.”

  Kit quickly readjusted his focus to Emily and tried not to think of Miranda. It worked for a time, but his attention continued to stray to the sidelines where he found her all alone. His mother had abandoned her and Miranda wandered the perimeter, nodding to some but keeping herself apart from the gathering at large. As she passed certain groups, the ladies in them whispered furiously behind fans, their gazes darted to the dance floor where he twirled about with Emily.

  Miranda never glanced his way or acknowledged those whispers, but he could guess what they were saying and he guessed it to be cruel. He gritted his teeth in frustration, knowing that when the dance ended he’d have to rush to her side and stay with her all night to prevent any more ridiculous rumors.

  As soon as the music stopped and he could reasonably make his escape, he bowed to Emily. “Thank you for the dance.”

  “I do love dancing with you,” she said, overlooking the fact he’d not been at his best during the set. She smiled at him warmly. “Would you stay a moment?”

  He searched the crowd where he’d last seen Miranda and discovered her in conversation with Lord Applebee, a former guardian of the Taverham estates, a man Kit had always been at odds with during his first years as marquess and then hadn’t
spoken to since the year after Miranda had run away. The pair appeared deep in conversation.

  Kit didn’t trust Applebee not to make things worse between then. “I must return to my wife. Excuse me.”

  The pair didn’t notice his approach, so Kit paused to listen to the exchange before charging in.

  Applebee frowned a moment, then his expression changed to one of astonishment. “He still doesn’t know?”

  Miranda shook her head. “Not yet.”

  Applebee breathed deeply, his fingers splaying over his chest. “Why didn’t you come to me first then?”

  “I’ve not had a chance, and it’s become even more complicated now.”

  “Well. Well, this is not at all what we agreed, but I can see you might have good reasons for your silence. I’ll consult the others immediately. I would have moved heaven and earth to help you.”

  Kit smoothly joined their conversation, placing his arm about Miranda’s waist. “We don’t need your kind of help anymore.”

  Miranda gasped. “Kit, please.”

  Applebee scowled. “I see you’re still abandoning your wife in favor of friends. What a shame you’ve never truly appreciated the woman you married.”

  “I did not abandon her. But as you know, a gentleman does not renege on his promise to dance with a lady when given some time in advance.” Kit held out his arm for Miranda to take. “Your involvement in my life ended some time ago, Applebee. I do not need to account for my actions anymore, except to my wife.”

  Applebee shook his head. “You reap what you sow. Don’t turn your back on someone who can make all your problems disappear.”

  “Please,” Miranda whispered as she stared at Lord Applebee. “We had an agreement, which I honored.”

  His eyes softened somewhat. “What evidence is there of that now? I will make enquiries immediately myself. We’ll dine together—say, Friday—and discuss what else can be done to recover your keepsake. I must inform Lords Sorenson and Watts. Excuse me.”

  He nodded decisively and moved off before Kit could say a word against the idea of dining together. He didn’t need old grievances aired.

  He glanced down at his wife and saw her troubled expression firmly back in place. “Miranda, is everything really all right?”

  Her gaze jerked up to his. “Yes, of course it is.”

  “What was the keepsake you lost?”

  “A small thing but very precious.” She fanned her face. “Could we talk about it another time? People are staring at us.”

  Given that her face had pinked to a bright shade, he nodded. But still he ran his finger over the crest of her cheek, alarmed again at how distressed she’d become by a simple conversation with Applebee. “Did you want my former guardians coming to dine with us on Friday? I can always delay them.”

  She shook her head quickly. “They are coming regardless of what you say to them.”

  Kit couldn’t ever remember Miranda being afraid of anything or anyone, but she trembled now. He brushed his hand softly over her back again. “Dance with me?”

  She stiffened away. “Not a chance.”

  He followed her but didn’t touch her this time. “I’m sorry if you were made uneasy by my dancing with Emily. I had promised her a set before your return to London and could not decline so late in the night. That would have been rude.”

  “And we wouldn’t want her feelings hurt,” Miranda muttered with an angry toss of her head.

  The gesture puzzled him. She acted as if she didn’t care about him every other time, so why be bothered by a harmless dance? Unless she did care and didn’t want him to know. Buoyed by the idea of Miranda being even a little jealous, even over Emily who meant nothing to him, he leaned close to her ear. “But yours were, and I need to make it up to you.”

  She glanced at him again, her expression regretful. “That doesn’t seem likely. You will hardly promise not to dance with her again.”

  “I can, but only if I have my preferred partner to take her place in my arms. You.” He tipped her face to his and couldn’t help but be concerned that her color was so high, even the tips of her ears appeared red. “I think we’ve been here long enough.”

  Miranda’s shoulders slumped instantly and her face slid from his grip. “As you wish.”

  He pursed his lips at her relieved tone. Had dancing with Emily really bothered her so greatly? Surely she knew he’d not want Emily, given how determined he was to fit Miranda back into his life. He was trying so hard to win her over if only she’d let him succeed. “Let’s find Mother and inform her of our decision to return home. Without her, if possible.”

  Miranda gripped his arm tightly as they said their good-byes to their hosts and acquaintances, as if she drew strength from his presence. Kit’s worries doubled. Miranda had proved she didn’t need him in the past. Why hold him so tightly now? There was something going on with her, and it wasn’t just the desire she tried to hide from him.

  Although he doubted she’d like it, he would not rest until she explained herself properly and tonight. When the carriage drew up to take them home, he helped her inside, pulled her straight into his arms, and spent the duration of their journey alternatively kissing her lips and nibbling her neck. He was wild for her well before they were halfway home. By the time the carriage drew to a halt before their town house, he was certain she understood he wanted her more than anything else in the world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  On legs that had turned weak from the excitement the night had brought, Miranda stumbled into her bedchamber and headed for the flask of the potion that kept her heart beating at a normal pace. Behind her, she could hear Kit’s heavy tread as he followed, pausing to speak with Addison about the dowager’s later return and wishing him a good night.

  Miranda needed a moment or four to recover her equilibrium. Her body was on fire from Kit’s unending attentions, her heart galloping one moment, then not.

  Hands shaking uncontrollably as she grasped the bottle and sherry glass and slumped into a chair set beside her dresser, she attempted to get as much liquid into the small glass as possible.

  “What the devil are you drinking?”

  “Never granted a moment’s peace,” Miranda muttered as she carefully lifted the glass to her lips. She quickly swallowed the contents, then washed the brew down with a swift sip of water, wishing such measures were not necessary. “Applebee calls it a cure for a broken heart,” she told him when he repeated his question.

  Kit snatched up the flask and took a deep sniff. He gagged and coughed uncontrollably. He stared at her in shock. “Do you wish for death?”

  “Hardly.” She set the glass aside with a shudder and took the flask away from him to stopper it and contain the scent. “Keep me or kill me, but don’t ask me to explain what’s in it. All I know is it does me a world of good, very quickly if I’m lucky.”

  She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing and waiting for her heart rate to calm down. While she focused on herself, Kit crashed around her room, opened a window, and then she heard the brisk snap of fabric and felt the air stir across her skin.

  Her chair shifted and creaked as Kit’s presence penetrated her senses. When she opened her eyes reluctantly, he was leaning over her, arms braced on each arm.

  His concern was all too apparent. “Why?”

  “I told you, it’s a remedy for my broken heart.” She saw he did not understand, but she appreciated that he was concerned enough to ask for details. She sighed heavily at the need to explain though. She didn’t understand enough herself but believed everything her physician had claimed because after his treatment she’d felt so much better.

  Feeling a bit steadier already, she pushed him back with one hand to his chest and stood to rinse the glass clean with water before setting it back on the mantel with the flask. “My mother died young; I never understood the cause until recent years. Long after we married, in fact. My heart beats at an erratic pace when I exert myself
overmuch or when I become too agitated, as I must have done tonight. I must rest often and heed the warning signs before collapse.”

  He drew closer, concern clear in his gaze. He cupped her face gently, thumbs sliding over her cheeks in a delicate caress. “Is that the real reason you wanted escape to the terrace and refused to dance with me? You feared you were becoming ill. I thought perhaps it was something else I’d done that had displeased you.”

  “Mostly that.” The reason she wouldn’t dance with Kit was because she would never compete with Emily for his time and attention, but he didn’t need to know how much that relationship still upset her. Everyone had whispered about their dance and how tragic their affection was as she’d strolled by on her own, abandoned again in favor of the one Kit truly loved. Why humiliate herself?

  Confiding to Lord Applebee about Christopher was the last straw, causing unrelieved worry to return to prey on her mind. Pretending to be anything but content had been beyond her abilities in the end.

  “Applebee has a similar weakness in his heart,” Kit murmured, although Miranda knew all about that lord’s many ailments. “He was always complaining about the need to be idle and regrets he could never marry because of it.”

  Kit’s guardian had sent her the right doctors and a long list of instructions, insisting she take better care of herself. Avoidance of difficult situations, such as returning to her husband, was what she’d intended to do all along. She could have remained very calm indeed if Kit hadn’t planned to declare her dead.

  Kit’s fingers lifted and skimmed her hair back from her face. “What can I do to make you comfortable?”

  “Go to bed. I will be recovered by morning.”

  His fingers twined with hers and tightened. “Come to my room and sleep beside me.”

  She dipped her chin, knowing there really was no choice if she wished for a restful night’s sleep. Kit might not have noticed the absence of her mattress from her four-poster bed yet, but Miranda could see the gaping space left after its removal.