“And you are less selfish?” She answered the question with a ladylike snort. “Captain Haddon, if you had truly loved Miranda years ago the way you say you did, then you would have made changes for her. You wouldn’t have insisted she follow you.”
“Her place was with me,” he insisted.
“Perhaps, but you asked a high price,” she said walking around him. “You expected her to give up not only her culture, but her family. And then, when she didn’t, what did you do? You left and took up your white heritage. Do I have that wrong, Captain? Have you not spent a good portion of the last decade among the whites?”
“I was with the Shawnee,” he answered tensely.
“But not for long,” she answered. “Shortly after you left Miranda, you met Michael Severson and the two of you began trapping together and formed your partnership. I don’t see any feathers in your hair now, sir. Or moccasins on your feet. And yet you still expect Miranda to dance to your tune. Is that love?”
In that moment, Alex hated Lady Overstreet because she was right. “At the time, I couldn’t change.”
She smiled, the expression not reaching her eyes. “You wouldn’t change.”
“To change would mean her father had won.”
Her Ladyship nodded. “And of course besting him was more important than Miranda.”
Alex had no response. The truth of her words hit him full in the face.
He’d told himself he’d been angry because Miranda had refused to go with him…but he’d also wanted to prove to Cameron that he couldn’t whip Alex like a dog and believe there wouldn’t be retaliation. Alex’s honor had been at stake, and Miranda had betrayed it.
Lady Overstreet smiled, knowing she’d found her mark. She walked to the door, pausing on the step. “Good night, Captain Haddon.”
But Alex wasn’t ready to leave the matter this way. It had become imperative that he speak to Miranda. All this time, he’d been flinging accusations at her over what had happened ten years ago. Perhaps now they could talk without anger.
He took a step toward the door, but Lady Overstreet blocked his entry. “You are not coming in,” she declared.
Alex stopped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. I won’t let you in. Didn’t you hear anything I said? I will not let you ruin this evening for Miranda.”
He shook his head in frustration. “You can’t stop me.”
“Oh yes, I will.” She opened door, slipped inside, and turned the key in the lock. Alex could hear it click.
He stood outside and felt his temper build. He’d met lunatics with better sense than Lady Overstreet. If she thought locking him out would stop him from going where he wished, she was wrong. He was now determined to see Miranda. He had to talk to her.
Walking to the end of the block, he circled back around to Michael’s house through an alleyway. Using a gutter pipe for a tree, he climbed the side of a neighbor’s house. Reaching the roof, he leaped to Michael’s roof. It was easy enough to find a gable window that was open, go in through the attic, and make his way downstairs to the house.
Along the way, on the children’s floor, he heard the sounds of his godchild, baby Diane, crying.
He pushed the nursery door open wider than a crack. In the golden lantern light, six-month-old Diane was lying wide awake in her bed. She’d only begun to fuss. Her nurse was asleep in a chair by the cold hearth.
When Diane saw her godfather, she rolled over and grinned a welcome.
On silent feet, Alex passed the nurse and picked up the baby, who watched him with wide eyes. He covered his lips with one finger, warning her to be silent. She tried to reach for his finger.
Alex left the nursery with the baby in his arms and continued on his way downstairs. No one would lock him out if he had the baby.
The Duke of Colster was everything that Miranda could have ever hoped for. He was sophisticated, handsome, kind, and intelligent, and his intentions toward her were very clear. He meant to woo her, and there wasn’t one woman there of marriageable age who wasn’t looking daggers at her.
She stood beside him at the party in her honor and smiled, met his friends, smiled, listened to everyone talk around her, and smiled some more—thinking all the while how pleased Charlotte would be.
Even Michael and Isabel were happy for her. Michael had mentioned before the party how the patronage of the great Colster could increase his business sevenfold. Certainly his request to attend this party in her honor had done such to the guest list. Everyone of importance who could scramble to be here had come. Meeting His Grace had created an opportunity for all of them.
The one person who might not be happy was Alex, and although she had caught a glimpse of him earlier, he’d seemed to disappear. Again.
Miranda was tempted to marry the duke just to spite him.
Lady Overstreet interrupted her thoughts by placing a hand on her arm. “If I can steal her for one moment from you, please,” Her Ladyship begged of the duke.
“Yes, but only a moment,” he chided good-naturedly.
Lady Overstreet led Miranda out to the back garden, which had been covered with a huge tent lit with white lanterns and decorated with arrangements of roses and greenery. Many guests were there, picking out tasty morsels from the elaborate supper spread the Severson cook had prepared. Others had found their way to the tables, and chairs set up for their enjoyment.
But Her Ladyship didn’t stop at the tables. She took Miranda to a far corner where they would not be overheard.
“Captain Haddon is here,” Lady Overstreet said without preamble.
“I know,” Miranda said.
“You know?”
“Yes, I saw him when he first arrived.”
Lady Overstreet opened her fan and showed her irritation by waving it briskly. “He’s impossible.”
“Yes, he is,” Miranda agreed airily. “But you needn’t worry about him. He is nothing to me.”
“Truly?” Her Ladyship asked, but Miranda wasn’t attending.
Instead, her gaze had gone to the doorway where Alex stood…holding Diane. The baby attempted to suck on a fistful of his hair and appeared completely content in his arms.
Her anger melted, replaced by a deep yearning for this man and a baby.
Alex saw her and started in her direction.
Lady Overstreet recognized the danger. “Oh dear,” she whispered, and stepped in front of Miranda as if she would ward him off.
Her movement brought Miranda to her senses. She couldn’t let Alex deter her. He was the one who always left her.
“Please,” Miranda said quietly. “No scenes. Perhaps it would be best if I had a moment alone with him.”
The older woman bristled at the thought. “I remember the last time the two of you had a moment alone.”
“It won’t be the same,” Miranda assured her. “We are surrounded by people. I won’t go off with him.” She wanted to hear what he had to say…and she needed to say a few words to him in return.
Lady Overstreet heaved a dramatic sigh. “Very well.”
Miranda turned back to Alex. He’d passed some tables, and she noticed how the women followed him with their eyes. She understood why. He was a handsome man whose presence rivaled the duke’s.
And then there was Diane in his arms.
She couldn’t help but smile.
He stopped in front of her. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” Miranda returned, holding out a finger to Diane, who reached to grab it to put in her mouth.
Lady Overstreet stood beside them, a frowning duenna. Alex glanced at her. She scowled back, her expression saying louder than words that she was not budging from this spot.
After an awkward silence, he said, “This is a lovely evening.”
Lady Overstreet snorted and began tapping her toe.
“It is,” Miranda answered, growing impatient with Her Ladyship herself.
Suddenly Alex took the baby and dumped her into Lady Overstr
eet’s arms. “Would you please take Diane back to the nursery?” he said. “Her nappy feels wet.”
The look of horror on Lady Overstreet’s face was comical. She dropped her prized fan. “My dress will be ruined.”
“Perhaps one of the maids will help you,” Alex suggested.
Lady Overstreet went running to the supper table for help, holding the baby out away from her dress. Diane giggled over the bumpy ride and reached for one of the feathers in Her Ladyship’s hair.
“That wasn’t nice,” Miranda said.
“But effective.” He looked down at her, his expression suddenly serious. “Come with me.”
His words caught her off guard. Her heart rose. “Why?” she asked, silently daring him to repeat the “I love you” she could have sworn he’d said the night when they’d made love.
The set of his mouth tightened. “I want you.”
Those weren’t the words Miranda wanted to hear. Not now when she could feel the pressure of giving her sisters everything they’d ever wanted, of heaping pride on her family name versus the shame she’d once faced over her foolish love for Alex.
And she did love him. God help her, she did.
But too much had passed between them. She was older. Wiser. Lady Overstreet was right. She had responsibilities, and she’d not shirk them just because he “wanted” her.
“You belong to me,” he said, pressing his suit.
“There has to be more,” she answered.
He nodded. “Of course. Your family is mine. I will always take care of your sisters. You can spend all of my money on them. Buy each of them a thousand pairs of stockings if it will make them happy.”
Alex didn’t understand, and she realized he couldn’t. Perhaps she had misheard him the night they’d made love. Perhaps she had wanted him to say he loved her so much, she’d imagined the words.
“I’m sorry, Alex, I can’t.” That’s all she could say. She turned, and without looking back, made her way around the tables where a growing number of guests were sitting down and eating. She waited until she reached the house and then leaned against the wall, suddenly unable to go any farther.
What had she done?
Her stomach tied into knots. She was tempted to go back and explain herself, but at that moment the duke came upon her.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he confessed, heedless of who could have overheard him. “I was hoping you’d let me escort you in to supper.”
She looked up at him. Perhaps His Grace had her confused with his late wife, but at least her emotions weren’t involved. He could “want” her, but from Alex, she’d needed something else, something he apparently would never give her. Whether the cause was the many disappointments they’d found in each other over the years or that Alex didn’t love her the way she wanted him to didn’t matter. The end result was the same—Alex would break her heart.
The duke wouldn’t, because she would never give it to him. However, he would restore her family’s prestige…and for the moment, that was enough.
She smiled. “I’d be pleased if you would.”
Alex couldn’t believe that Miranda had walked off. He’d declared himself to her, and it had not been enough.
He glanced around the supper tent to see if anyone had noticed. The others in the room were busy eating and carrying on conversations concerning their own lives. They didn’t seem to notice anything at all.
And then he saw Miranda enter the tent on the arm of the Duke of Colster.
Of course.
It didn’t make any difference how much money Alex had or how deeply he cared for her—she wanted her bloody title.
She didn’t look at him but let Colster lead her to a table in the opposite corner. He then left to fill a plate for her, a mating ritual if ever there was one.
And if Miranda thought Alex would stand here and watch another man claim her, she was wrong.
Alex stomped out of the tent, shouldering aside anyone who was foolish enough to step in his way. His anger roared in his ears, drowning out the sounds of music and people enjoying themselves. At the front door he scowled at the footman who had dared to let Lady Overstreet lock him out of the house. The man practically jumped behind a chair to hide.
As he went down the front steps, he thought he heard Michael call his name. He kept walking and walked several blocks before hailing a hack to take him to the Warrior.
Oliver was playing cards on the pier with Jon and some of the others. His mate came to his feet and took the pipe out of his mouth, obviously surprised to see Alex return so soon.
“Are we ready to sail?” Alex asked as he walked by.
“We can be. Most of the lads are here, and those that aren’t are across the way in the pub.”
“Then drag them out and let’s be on our way,” Alex ordered starting up the gangway.
“Now, Cap’n?”
Alex stopped. “Is there a problem with leaving now? Is the tide not with us?” he asked silkily.
Oliver swallowed. “We only have half our cargo since we transferred some to the Sea Serpent. She was leaving—”
“I know,” Alex said. “I’m the one who gave the order.” The Sea Serpent was another of the ships Michael and Alex owned.
“Aye, sir.” Oliver took a deep breath before adding, “And then we’ll have to engage a pilot.”
“Engage one. Now. I don’t wish to wait a moment longer,” Alex answered. “Tell the man I’ll pay twice his rate, but I want to be gone tonight.” He went to his cabin and once there, yanked the silver collar from his throat and threw it across the room.
It barely made a clatter as it hit the floor.
Alex dug his hands in his long hair, raising it and letting it slip between his fingers. This was who he was. Or who he’d thought he was.
Lady Overstreet’s accusations haunted him. He could have changed for Miranda. He hadn’t.
He stretched out his arms, feeling the smooth movement of muscle and bone, and wondered why God had made him the way he was? Or why He’d dangled Miranda in front of him if it wasn’t ever to be? Alex had been fine without her.
“Just perfectly fine.” He spoke the words aloud with an intensity that was disturbing.
His gaze rested on the bunk. He never looked at it without remembering making love to her that night, being deep inside her and having her joined with him. It had been a magic moment, one that had given him a sense of wholeness he’d never known.
Dear God, he hated London or anywhere else that she was. He had to leave or he would do something foolish…like crawl back to her—and then he’d be as weak a man as his father was.
The realization of how closely he feared being his father was shocking. He pushed the notion aside. He would never be led around by a woman. Ever.
Work would help him forget her. Work was the only antidote.
And so he worked. None of his men worked harder.
He saw the ship up the Thames and out into the sea. If there was a job that had to be done, he was in the middle of it. And when the sailing was good, when there was nothing physical to be done, Alex climbed the rigging and stood on the yardarm, letting his hair blow in the breeze.
Here, he was free.
Or so he wanted to believe.
It was at times like these that he found himself wondering what it had been that she’d wanted from him. What more could he have given her?
It took more than a week out to sea for Alex to realize, not only was he running from her, but he’d been running all his life. He’d had to prove that he didn’t need anyone, not the mother who had once abandoned him or the father who had deserted him.
But he wanted Miranda.
Lady Overstreet’s accusations echoed in his ears. He’d always thought he’d been honorable and reasonable to Miranda—but what if he hadn’t been? What would have happened if he stepped fully into her world? Would she see him differently?
Did he have the courage to find out?
Alex ordered the
Warrior turned back around toward England. His first stop would be to see a tailor.
His second would be to see a barber.
Fourteen
Miranda was a success. She was the talk of the season, and the situation made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t accustomed to so much attention.
Every day the Seversons’ house was flooded with invitations to parties, balls, and musicales, and she could accept only the most exclusive. There was not enough time to attend all. Lady Overstreet had assured her this was what should be done, and Isabel had concurred. These were the social niceties she must learn.
His Grace, the Duke of Colster, had a name now. Phillip Maddox. Miranda referred to him as “His Grace” although he had given her his consent to call him Phillip in private. It seemed odd that one must have permission to call someone by his given name. She’d told him as much, and he’d patronizingly teased her about her stubborn streak of Americanism.
He was very clear about his intentions. He called on her every morning and sent flowers every afternoon in spite of his busy, very important schedule. He included her in his inner circle that counted among its number the very cream of London society.
Miranda feared she was in over her head. This was all so new to her. Isabel was a godsend. She helped Miranda through the nervous moments, and there were many of them.
Even now she was starting near-riots whenever she appeared in public. If she wore her hair in a certain style, the next night every other debutante dressed her hair the same way. If Miranda wore green ribbons on her dress, there was a fad for green ribbons. They would be everywhere.
People gossiped about what books she borrowed from the lending library, what foods she preferred, and where she shopped. The papers referred to her as the season’s “incomparable” in sly tones as they shared with their readers her comings and goings, most of which were manufactured. Miranda couldn’t have gone to half the places they claimed she had.
What shocked her most was the day a glove maker sent two new pairs of his wares to her without charge. His card said he hoped she would wear them in good health.
“I don’t understand why he just gave these to me,” she’d said to Lady Overstreet as she tried them on. The leather was baby-skin soft and reached past her elbows. “They are beautiful and must cost a fortune.”
The Price of Indiscretion Page 16