The Price of Indiscretion

by Cathy Maxwell

  Miranda struggled not to roll her eyes. Her smile felt pasted to her face. Did he believe her stupid?

  As Sir William’s “humble” gaze strayed back to her breasts, she thought, Yes, yes he did.

  And she wished now she’d never come out of her tiny cabin. She wished she was back on the ship reading the book she’d started that morning and not parading her breasts around. Her purpose could just as well be served if she had a bag over her head.

  A tingling went up her spine, an awareness of something other than herself.

  A breeze seemed to sweep along the wharf, its air fresh and uncomplicated by dueling colognes and pomades of her present companions. Something momentous was about to happen.

  Sir William was answering Lady Overstreet’s prying questions about his family in a loud voice intended to include everyone, while Mr. Hightower echoed everything he said. Senhor Esteves and the other gentlemen hovered near, daring to add their own credentials and connections in an effort to top a duke.

  No one else had this sense of anticipation, or had even noticed her attention had been directed elsewhere.

  And then she saw him.

  A tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man with lean good looks walked toward her with the confidence of one who made his own rules. He didn’t wear a jacket, and his shirt was open at the collar. His rolled sleeves revealed tanned forearms, a sign he was practical and unafraid of work, a bold contrast to those puffed-up gentlemen hovering around her. His long legs were encased in black breeches, and his tall boots had not seen a blacking in over a month, but his austere dress did not detract from his authority.

  Here was a warrior of a man. She recognized the trait immediately, and her attraction to him was instantaneous.

  He had walked down the gangplank of the sleek ship not far from where she stood. With the grace of confidence, he moved straight for her. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  Somewhere deep inside, she had a vague sense of recollection. She’d seen that straight nose before and those dark brows that gave his expression character. His hair was overlong, reaching down his back. Long, thick hair. Black as a raven’s wing, with just the slightest hint of curl…

  Sir William realized she was staring. He turned in the direction she looked. At his movement, everyone in the party brought his attention around, too.

  The gentleman stopped. He was half a head taller than any man standing before him. And then he did an amazing thing. He glanced at Miranda, his gray eyes piercing and hard—and that was when recognition struck full force. It was the eyes that gave his identity away. Quicksilver eyes that saw everything. Wasegobah. The Shawnee name for Gray Eyes…Alex Haddon.

  The only man she had ever loved.

  Miranda feared her knees would give out from under her. Who would have thought their paths would cross on this bit of land in the middle of a wide ocean? She’d not seen him in close to a decade, and if not for the eyes, she might not have recognized him. The years had changed him. Fierce independence still burned bright in his eyes, but the boy’s eagerness had been replaced by a man’s ruthlessness, a man’s body, a man’s sense of place in the world.

  Her heart was so glad to see him, she would have rushed up to him—except he gave no sign that he recognized her.

  Could she have changed so much? Lady Overstreet had done her best to erase any sign of the girl Miranda once was.

  Suddenly shy, Miranda held back, and that was when she noticed the tight muscle working in Alex’s jaw. This part of Alex had not changed at all. She’d once teased him that no matter how stoic he wanted to believe he was, she could read everything he was thinking, just by watching the tightening of his jaw.

  He was furious. And he knew she was here. He chose to ignore her.

  “Esteves, I wished a word with you,” he said. “Did your nephew not tell you?”

  A young man, barely more than a youth, stepped forward to stammer out, “I was going to give him your message, Captain Haddon. Just this moment.”

  Alex commanded his own ship? She looked immediately to the vessel he’d come from and noticed the lettering on the masthead. Warrior. How fitting.

  Senhor Esteves was unintimidated by Alex’s anger. “I will talk to you later, Captain,” he said dismissively. “Can you not see I am occupied?”

  “Yes, with Miss Cameron,” Alex replied. “However, you and I have business to discuss. Now.”

  Senhor Esteves’s bushy eyebrows rose. “You know Miss Cameron?”

  Alex’s flicked in her direction. “We’ve met.”

  He was so cold. So distant. He held her to blame for everything that had happened between them. He still didn’t understand that none of it had been her fault. She’d been forced to make the choices she had. Perhaps now she would have acted differently, but back then she’d been too young, naïve, and foolish to understand the consequences.

  Nor would she take all the blame on herself. They’d both been wildly gullible to think a love like theirs could last. Everyone knew that a white woman couldn’t exist in an Indian world and maintain any shred of dignity or keep close what she held dear.

  Of course, ten years ago Alex had turned away from his white heritage. He would entertain none of her suggestions that he live in her world.

  Obviously, based on his dress and his presence in the Azores, he had changed his mind. He had embraced what he’d once rejected, and she wondered if some other woman had been the one to convince him. The flash of jealousy she felt was staggering.

  Sir William decided to interject himself into the discussion. “Go on, Esteves. Jump to the man’s tune.”

  A dull red stole up Senhor Esteves’s neck at being publicly ridiculed. However, he, like everyone else, knew better than to answer in kind to the commander of a navy warship.

  Everyone, that is, save Alex. “This isn’t your beef, mate,” he said to Sir William.

  “I beg your pardon?” Sir William said, his eyes widening at being so callously dismissed.

  “You heard me.”

  Sir William reacted as if Alex had slapped him. His back straightened, and his hand went to his sword. His junior officers followed suit, and Miranda knew if she didn’t do something quickly, Alex would get his name carved in his chest.

  She placed herself between the men. “Please, Sir William, Mr. Haddon—”

  “Captain,” Alex interrupted.

  “What?” she said, confused.

  “He has a title. I have a title. I’m a captain.”

  “Yes, but I’ve been knighted,” Sir William corrected heavily.

  Alex looked him right in the eye and said, “Mistakes happen.”

  It was an outrageous thing to say. One most Englishmen wouldn’t say to a “sir,” especially an armed one. It caught everyone off guard and it did lighten the moment. Miranda choked on her laughter, while gentlemen all around her had to duck their heads to hide their smiles. Only Lady Overstreet’s gasp of shock brought her to her senses.

  Alex was making a mockery of what was her first foray into polite society. She must handle herself correctly or she would not be able to help Charlotte and Constance.

  “Ignore him, sir,” she petitioned Sir William. “He’s American—”

  “I’m British,” Alex amended.

  “—and an irritating fellow,” she enjoyed saying. “Please, let us continue our walk.” She placed her gloved hand on his arm.

  Sir William’s hand left his sword hilt. His lips curled in smug satisfaction, as if he thought that at last she had come to her senses. “He is forgotten.” Leading her away from the group, he asked teasingly, “So you are one of those upstart Americans? Is that why you know his kind so well?”

  Lady Overstreet skipped a step to catch up with them, obviously anxious to encourage the liaison. “Her father was a prominent man there,” she trilled proudly. “A great landowner—”

  Alex’s snort of disbelief could be heard all over the docks.

  Sir William stopped. Slowly he turned to face
Alex. Miranda did not want this confrontation, not when she had so much to lose.

  “Please ignore him.”

  “And have him sully your family’s honor? I think not,” Sir William answered.

  Completely unrepentant, Alex said, “Did I offend? Sorry, I had forgotten how prominent Veral Cameron was. Or how much land he owned. How large was the estate, Miss Cameron?”

  Alex was going too far. Miranda’s own pride rose to the surface.

  “Everyone respected my father,” she said, staring Alex right in the eye. “They came to him for advice, including members of your tribe.” That was true. Because he was the operator of a trading post, trappers, Indians, and landowners depended on her father for news.

  “Tribe?” Sir William repeated, surprised. He frowned at Alex. “Are you an Indian?” He looked at Alex as if observing a naturalist’s specimen under a glass. “A real one?”

  Now it was Alex’s turn to be uncomfortable. Everyone, including the dockhands, scrutinized him for signs of “Indian.”

  “Your hair is long,” Mr. Hightower observed. He looked to his fellow officers with the Englishman’s assumption of superiority. “Thought he was one of those Moors. You never know what they are wearing under those headdresses. What tribe are you, Captain?” he demanded bluntly.

  “Shawnee.” Alex answered the officer, but his hard gaze was on Miranda. He didn’t like having the tables turned on him at all.

  “I’ve heard bloodthirsty stories about them,” Mr. Hightower said, sounding as if he were ready for a cozy chat with a monster.

  Alex pulled his eyes away from Miranda. “They are all true,” he told the officer.

  “Even the scalping?”

  “Especially the scalping.”

  Mr. Hightower’s face paled, but Alex had already moved on to other matters. He frowned at Senhor Esteves. “I will see you on my deck within the hour.” It wasn’t a question but a command.

  Miranda expected the harbormaster to take offense. Instead, still holding her parasol, he bowed and murmured it would be his pleasure.

  Without another word, or glance in Miranda’s direction, Alex turned on his heel and walked back toward his ship. He’d gone no more than a few steps when Senhor Esteves called out, “Captain Haddon, I am having a small gathering this evening at minha casa, my house, in honor of Lady Overstreet and her ward, Miss Cameron. Perhaps you will join us?”

  For the briefest moment, Alex looked at Miranda. Was it her imagination, or did she see something in his eyes that betrayed the strong feelings they had once held for each other?

  Sir William’s drawling voice interrupted the moment. “Yes, do come,” he said in his bored tone. “We shall build a fire, and you can teach us how savages dance around it.” It was a deliberate set-down, a way of belittling Alex in front of everyone—especially Miranda. Sir William was no fool. He must have sensed something lay between them.

  Eyes widened and jaws dropped at the insult. Everyone froze, anticipating a fight.

  However, instead of being offended, Alex smiled. An enigmatic smile. It confirmed louder than words that he and Miranda had a history, one the others could only guess at.

  “I would be more than happy to teach you to dance, Sir William,” Alex said. “Except I don’t know any steps, Indian or otherwise.”

  He had chosen not to fight over her.

  Alex started back for his ship. He had gone no more than a few steps when he began whistling. Miranda recognized the tune. It was a lively reel, one that, in a forest clearing, she’d once taught him to dance to.

  She wished she could box his ears.

  Instead she smiled brightly at Lady Overstreet. “He is rude.” It was the most dismissive, severe cut she could give Alex. To say any more would be to raise suspicions.

  “Absolutely,” Sir William said. “And now that the Indian is gone, let us talk about more pleasant matters. I would be honored if you ladies would allow me to escort you to Senhor Esteves’s home this evening.”

  “It’s unnecessary,” Senhor Esteves hurried to say. “I am sending a cart and driver for them.”

  “Senhor Esteves, what a kind gesture,” Lady Overstreet said, “as is holding a soiree in my ward’s honor. Miss Cameron and I would be happy to attend. Of course, I am certain that as host you will have many different tasks to attend to before the affair.”

  Senhor Esteves’s smile turned to a quick frown. “I will not be so busy. I can escort you.”

  “But I wouldn’t think of asking you,” Lady Overstreet countered smoothly. “I’m certain Sir William and Captain Lewis will be happy to fill in your stead.”

  Both gentlemen quickly agreed, and Senhor Esteves had no choice but to accept the arrangement. He bowed over Lady Overstreet’s hand. “Well, then, if you will excuse me, I shall see you this evening. My servant will send word to you later, Lady Overstreet, of what time the cart will arrive.”

  “Thank you,” Her Ladyship said.

  The pilot took a moment longer to bow over Miranda’s hand. “So beautiful,” he said quietly. “Your eyes are the color of the deepest sapphires. A man could get lost in them.”

  But before Miranda could respond to such a lovely compliment, Sir William said brusquely, “Yes, yes, quite true. Don’t forget to be on the savage’s deck in an hour.”

  “He’s not a savage,” Miranda answered. “And I thank you, Senhor, for your many thoughtful gestures.”

  The pilot gave her hand a squeeze of approval before releasing it. He offered her parasol. “Until this evening,” he murmured.

  “Yes, senhor,” Miranda said.

  He walked off, the young man that was his nephew and several others falling into step to follow him.

  “You have an admirer,” Sir William said, clasping his hands behind his back. His junior officers sniggered their agreement.

  “Only one?” Miranda asked, as imperial as a duchess. The sniggering stopped, and Sir William smiled his approval.

  “Oh no,” he said, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. “You have many more than one.” He kissed the backs of her fingers.

  Miranda could have encouraged him. She was well aware of Lady Overstreet’s smiling approval. But she was also very aware that Alex could see them from his ship, and she was suddenly uncomfortable.

  “The sun is quite hot,” she announced, pulling back her hand. “Perhaps we should go in.”

  The smile vanished from Lady Overstreet’s face to be replaced by a disapproving line. However, she did not argue. “Yes, we should.” She smiled at Sir William. “Until this evening, sir?”

  “Of course, certainly,” he answered, his voice a touch cooler than it had been before.

  Miranda didn’t care. She needed a moment alone to review what Alex had said to her. There had been undercurrents that she didn’t understand…or perhaps that was her guilty conscience at work. She had done him wrong, and now apparently had paid a price in seeing him again looking so strong and healthy.

  Captain Lewis escorted them back to the Venture. As they walked by Alex’s ship, Miranda couldn’t resist a peek to see if he was on the deck.

  Several sailors stood at the rail and watched her pass, but Alex was nowhere to be seen.

  She was relieved to reach the Venture’s gangway. She murmured a thank-you to Captain Lewis for taking them on the walk and headed straight for her cabin, anxious to be alone.

  Unfortunately, Lady Overstreet had other ideas. She followed Miranda and, without invitation, walked right into her cabin. The room was so close, the two women, the hard bunk, and Miranda’s trunk filled it. There was no way Miranda could escape, especially after Lady Overstreet shut the door.

  “You mentioned in New York that you’d had an indiscretion,” Her Ladyship said. “We just met him, didn’t we?”

  Four

  Miranda hated the flash of guilt that went through her. She clutched the parasol tightly. “You did.”

  Lady Overstreet’s gaze narrowed, her lips pursing in disappro
val.

  “You don’t need to worry,” Miranda said. “You saw him out there. Could anyone be more imaginably rude? I have nothing but disdain for him.”

  Her Ladyship shook her head. “There is something there.”

  “There is nothing there.” Why wouldn’t the woman leave her in peace? “He’s my past. My obligations are to my sisters.”

  “And you weren’t ever lovers?”

  “I told you no.”

  “But you could have been,” Her Ladyship hazarded.

  Miranda didn’t trust herself to answer.

  Lady Overstreet nodded, Miranda’s silence confirming her suspicions. “I’m not playing a game,” she said at last. “You and I have an agreement. Cross me, and I will see you pay. Remember, your sisters wait in New York—”

  “I know my responsibilities,” Miranda returned.

  “Good, let us hope you don’t forget them as you dance with Sir William this evening. Bring him up to scratch, Miranda. Let’s make this quick and clean.”

  “You want me to marry him?”

  “Wouldn’t that be a victory? To have you arrive in London promised to a knight?”

  This was too much, too soon. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. It was one thing to talk about marrying some nameless, faceless nobleman. It was another to be confronted with the living person…and one she didn’t know if she liked. “What about the duke you told us about in New York?”

  “Him?” Lady Overstreet snorted her opinion. “He’s sixty-seven, lecherous, and suffers gout.”

  “And you would have married me off to him?”

  “No, I want to marry you off to Sir William,” explained Her Ladyship with impatience.

  “But he’s so pompous.”

  “Pomposity often means wealth.” Lady Overstreet touched the side of her nose. “Take advice from someone who can sniff out an opportunity.”

  So here it was. What she’d set out to do, what Charlotte and Constance were waiting for her to do…and it left her cold.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.