“If I could keep you from this—” Alex started, but she shook her head.
“You can’t. In society, everything is connected. You’ve always been a loner, Alex. You don’t understand how it is. But if you had not wanted to involve us, you should never have brought her here.”
The truth in her words was clear for all to see. Alex took a step back, turning to look out the windows. Miranda knew how he felt. Her own world was crumbling. She sat on a chair, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her weight. She wondered how her heart could keep beating.
“I’m sorry,” Isabel said, her face a mask of regret. She shifted Diane again in her arms, standing between the two of them. “If there was anything that could be done, I’d be there to help you.”
Neither of them answered her. Alex still studied something out the window. Miranda felt hollow inside…and knew she would never be whole again.
Slowly, Alex turned. “This is it,” he said with quiet resignation.
Miranda didn’t answer. She had no words left in her. Isabel rubbed the baby’s back.
Alex reached a finger out to Diane, who grabbed it happily. He looked to Miranda. “It hasn’t ever been the right time for us.”
She couldn’t speak. She struggled not to break down sobbing.
“I love you,” he said. At her surprise, he answered, “Pride has no place right now. Mayhap it never had a place in our lives.”
“But it’s played a big role,” she agreed soberly.
He shrugged, not speaking. She understood.
And then he was gone.
He walked past Isabel without another glance at Miranda, leaving the door open behind him.
Suddenly Miranda wondered what she was doing. He loved her. She came to her feet and would have run after him, save for Isabel catching her arm.
“No,” her friend said. “Please, no.”
“He said it,” Miranda answered. “And he’s right. I’ve never said it to him. He has to know—”
“No, he doesn’t. Do you not see what would happen if you go after him?”
Isabel hugged her fiercely with one arm, her other holding the baby. “Please, Miranda,” she whispered. “You can’t cry off Colster.” She pulled back. “Have you no honor?”
Through the open door came the sound of Lady Overstreet laughing and of Bolling, the butler, announcing more guests. They came and they went, and it was enough to say they had been present.
Miranda knew that they weren’t paying their respects to her. After all, they didn’t know her. They were paying their respects to the duke.
Miranda drew away from Isabel. The baby smiled, thinking they were playing some game, and reached for her.
“Charlotte and Constance will be here in the morning,” she reminded herself. It had been so long since she’d seen them.
“Yes. Michael ordered the driver to have them here with all haste so they can have a chance to relax before tomorrow evening.”
“Do you think they’ll feel out of place?” Miranda wondered, remembering how awkward she had felt at her first party in the Azores.
“We’ll be beside them.”
Yes, Miranda would be beside them. She thought of Alex, and then turned away. She had responsibilities. “I must go into the sitting room.”
Isabel reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Miranda only smiled…and kept smiling during the next two hours of social calls. She smiled so hard her jaw hurt, and she moved as if watching herself from a distance. Everything she said and did lacked a sense of reality.
Michael came home. When he didn’t mention Alex, Isabel brought up his name, and her husband was surprised, and upset, to hear that the Warrior had returned and Alex hadn’t gotten in touch with him.
“He came here?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Isabel answered.
“What did he want?” His gaze went to Miranda, but he finished by saying, “I thought he’d be halfway to Ceylon by now.”
Isabel opened her mouth to answer, but Miranda was very aware of how attentive Lady Overstreet was. She said, “He was looking for you.”
Michael frowned. He looked from Miranda to his wife…and understood there was something he didn’t know here. Isabel would probably tell him later. For now, Miranda distracted Lady Overstreet by asking if she’d had the opportunity to renew old acquaintances among the visitors who had passed through the house that afternoon.
It was all Her Ladyship needed to monopolize the conversation from that point on.
Later Miranda, Lady Overstreet, and the Seversons attended a performance by the Italian opera singer Signora Mindori hosted by good friends of the duke’s.
Phillip, she corrected herself, wanting to make a conscious effort to use his given name. He looked particularly handsome that evening and greeted her with an easiness he’d not shown before. He came across younger and a touch more carefree.
They didn’t have many opportunities to talk, but that wasn’t any different than usual. People were always pulling Phillip aside to discuss an issue before Parliament of a favor they wished granted, or to have a moment of basking in the attention of such an important man.
Because Miranda lived under the Severson roof, Michael, too, was in growing demand. His connection to Phillip was mentioned often by those who sought him out, and he included his wife in the introductions.
Meanwhile, Lady Overstreet had moved on. The success of Miranda’s impending betrothal to the most eligible bachelor in England, had marriage-minded mamas and their daughters eager to make her acquaintance. Miranda surmised Her Ladyship would need never worry again about her future. Lady Overstreet had even stopped mentioning Charlotte and Constance. Apparently there were other marriages to arrange that were of more interest to her.
But few spoke to Miranda. She was still unknown to many, and there was more than a bit of animoisity in the looks slid toward her. After all, she was the upstart. A nobody who’d captured the prize of the season.
Miranda held her head high and told herself not to worry. She didn’t need Lady Overstreet or any of those eaten up with jealousy. As the Duchess of Colster, she would be able to sponsor her sisters into society, and they would be brilliant successes, too. In fact, she silently vowed that they would make the matches of their dreams…love matches.
And then they wouldn’t feel as lonely as Miranda did now.
Fortunately, it was an early night. His Grace left with some gentlemen from the Foreign Office. Michael escorted the women to their waiting coach. Both he and Lady Overstreet were flush with the success of the evening. Good things waited for them because of her connection to the duke.
Finally Miranda found herself back in the haven of her bedroom. While Alice combed out her hair, Miranda studied her reflection in the glass.
She saw herself as a stranger. She didn’t think she was particularly beautiful. Her features were even, her hair blond. Small lines were appearing on her face, a sign of age and, she hoped, character. Her mother had had lines on her face, and Miranda had thought her the most beautiful woman in the world.
To her, Charlotte and Constance were ten times lovelier. The men should fall over themselves for them, not her. After the way she’d treated Alex, she didn’t deserve anyone.
She closed her eyes. He’d told her he loved her.
And she had said nothing. Twice now he’d had the courage to say those words, while she’d kept silent.
Would Phillip ever speak to her of love? She doubted it. His love was buried with another woman, and she was nothing but a substitute.
The air seemed to be sucked from the room. She bent over the dressing table. What was she doing?
She was going to lose Alex forever, and while she’d wanted to hear the words from him, she’d not spoken them herself. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t marry the duke without once speaking her heart, unashamed and unafraid.
Miranda came to her feet. Alice stepped back in surpr
ise. “Is something the matter, miss?”
“I need to go out.”
“Now?” Alice asked, her eyes round.
“Yes. Fetch a footman and make certain he is one who is discreet.”
“But, miss, it’s late at night.”
Miranda took her hand that still held the brush. “Please, Alice, do this for me.”
Sixteen
Alex returned to the Warrior feeling very much adrift in the world.
The anger he would have once wrapped himself in did not materialize. In its place was acceptance, and with that came understanding.
Miranda’s sisters had always been important to her, and he had always been jealous of a loyalty he’d not known in his family.
Perhaps their bond was close because of that fateful night when the three of them had hidden, frightened for their lives. Certainly, Veral Cameron had not been capable of passing on such character—or had the loss of the woman he’d loved destroyed all those finer emotions inside him?
For the first time, Alex looked back on Miranda’s father not as a drunk and who hated all Indians, but as a man frightened of losing something else that he loved. He’d lashed out in pain.
Alex refused to do the same. He told himself that Isabel fought to protect those closest to her. And she’d been right. Yes, if he’d convinced Miranda to run off, Michael would have stood beside him, but could Alex ask such a thing of his friend?
His crew waited for his return. From the moment he stepped on board, they sensed things had not gone well. Words were not necessary. He could feel their empathy. Each of them had a story to tell about a woman. He’d just added a chapter of his own.
Alex went to his cabin. He wanted to be alone. However, instead of reaching for a bottle or seeking a fight or any of the other ways men had for dealing with a broken heart, he reached for a book. One about the Romans and great lives. A book about men. He was not ready for sleep or for those few quiet moments when the mind has a chance to wander where it will.
He sat with his tailored jacket off, his neck cloth tossed aside, and the heels of his new, polished boots propped up on the table, and attempted to immerse himself in his reading. It wasn’t easy. He often read the same page over and over, but he persisted. The wick burned low in the lantern.
Finally he closed the book.
Love, true love, was turning out to be something other than what he’d imagined. It wasn’t about possession or control. Nor was it just one layer but many.
He would never stop wishing Miranda had chosen him. The connection between them was too strong. But he also realized that to love her meant acceptance. All her doubts and fears, the perfections and imperfections made her the woman he loved. To change any part of her would change her.
A knock sounded on his door. “Cap’n?” Oliver said from the other side.
Alex brought his feet to the floor. “Yes?” His voice sounded harsh. In truth, having come to a sense of peace, he’d almost fallen asleep.
“There is someone here to see you.”
At this hour of the night? “I don’t want to see anyone.”
He opened his book, prepared to settle back in his chair, when Miranda’s voice said, “Alex, let me in.”
For a moment he thought his ears played tricks. He stared at the door and then slowly rose and walked stiffly to it. This was madness. He turned the handle.
Miranda stood beside Oliver in the night. In the light of the lantern his mate held up, her face seemed unusually pale. She appeared disheveled. Her hair was down, and she clutched a shawl tightly around her shoulders.
Immediately Alex’s protective instincts came up. “Is something the matter?”
“I must talk to you,” she said.
He nodded to his mate, an order for him to go on.
Oliver hesitated, as if debating whether to voice his opinions, but then he withdrew.
Alex opened the door wider for Miranda to enter.
She slipped by him, the scent of the perfume she’d worn for the evening lingering about her. It had a rose base and reminded him of that night in the Azores.
His guard up, Alex shut the door. He leaned his back against it. “What brings you here?” he asked carefully.
Her expressive eyes grew shiny with tears. Behind his back, he pressed his palms against the door frame, warning himself to not go near her.
She lifted her chin, her manner defiant. “I love you.”
Alex let the words roll over him, uncertain if he heard her correctly.
When he didn’t speak, she said, a slight panic in her voice, “Did you hear me? I said I love you. Please, Alex, don’t tell me it is too late.”
“Aye, I heard you,” Alex answered. “I just don’t know what to do about it.” It had taken so much to accept the loss of her.
She nodded as if she understood. “You don’t have to do anything. I didn’t come here looking for a response. But I had to tell you. I needed to hear the words from you this afternoon, Alex, and I realized that I’d never offered them in return.”
“And so you’ve traveled to the docks in the middle of the night to say them to me?”
She nodded mutely, her eyes wide and worried.
“Miranda, what do you expect me to do now?” he asked.
A hiccup of a sob escaped her. She appeared to be holding her emotions together by how tightly she held on to her shawl. “I don’t expect you to do anything. I had to tell you, Alex. It was important to me that you know.”
She strained to hold back her tears, reminding him of nothing less than a lost child—and in that moment, he didn’t think he could love her more.
This was his Miranda. Not the calculating one who traded on her looks but the girl he’d once met on a forest path who had completely charmed him with her honesty.
A girl who had accepted him for who he was. Who had dared to defy her family and her neighbors to love him.
It was a gift. And she’d given it to him. He pushed away from the door and walked the few steps over to her.
She watched him approach.
He stopped, practically toe to toe with her. “Do you know,” he said in a quiet voice, “if it wasn’t for you, I would have stayed with my mother’s tribe. I would never have had my friendship with Michael or seen myself as a man of the world.”
“Is that good?” she asked.
“I like who I am, Miranda,” he answered, and in that moment, he knew it was true.
“Can you forgive me?”
“For what? Choosing another over me?”
She nodded.
That was harder. Alex dropped his hand. “I won’t lie, Miranda. I’m not going to be a graceful loser. You’ll have to accept it.”
She bowed her head, her body tense.
“You are never going to be happy,” he said softly. “No matter what you do or where life takes you, you’ll always wonder…but, in the end, when it matters, you’ll know you did the right thing, Miranda, and that is what is important.” He tilted her head up with one finger. “Colster isn’t such a bad sort.”
“He’s busy. Important.”
“He’ll make time for you.”
She shook her head. “It’s not like that, Alex. He’s only marrying me because he must marry someone, and I remind him of his late wife.”
This information surprised Alex. “I thought he’d fallen in love with you. That he’d set eyes on you and had to have you.”
“Is that what the rumors say?” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I remind him of his Elizabeth. He doesn’t know me as a person, nor does he truly care to. I mean, he’s been all that is thoughtful, but…” Her voice trailed off.
“But what?” he prompted wanting to hear that the man who had won her wasn’t perfect. Alex wanted Colster to be flawed. Then perhaps his own human failings would fare better in her memory.
“He won’t love me,” she said. “He sees in me something he once had and lost. He could not imagine me in homespun and moccasins or having callused
hands.”
Alex took her hand. It was smooth and soft, the nails filed and buffed. “This is the hand of a duchess,” he replied. “And I’m letting you go, Miranda. Return to Michael and Isabel. Meet your fate.” He added quietly. “I always knew you loved me.”
Tears flowed down her cheeks. It took all his willpower to drop her hand and step back. “You need to go,” he repeated.
She nodded as if agreeing before reluctantly taking a step toward the door,
He couldn’t stop one last question. “Does Colster know about us?”
Miranda turned. “Yes, I told him.”
Good, he wanted the man to know that he’d been there first.
“I admitted I had an indiscretion,” she said. “He was forgiving.” She would have turned and gone to the door except Alex stopped her, hooking his hand in her arm.
“An indiscretion?”
She looked up at him. “Yes, that night with you.”
“That night was no indiscretion,” he corrected.
“Then what would you call it?”
“Making love,” he answered. “I made damn love to you and there was nothing indiscreet about it. I did it because I wanted to.” And to prove his point, he swung her around and kissed her.
He’d not be dismissed as an indiscretion. What had happened between them that one night had been more, so much more—and he found once he started kissing her, he didn’t want to stop.
This is wrong, Miranda thought. She knew she shouldn’t even as she let go of the shawl she’d clutched so tightly since coming aboard this ship, and put her arms around Alex’s neck.
The garment dropped to the floor at her feet as she pressed her breasts against his chest and kissed him back with everything she had.
It felt good to be in his arms.
It was where she belonged.
Their kiss deepened. Their bodies fit together, and she could feel the length of his arousal.
He broke the kiss, but didn’t release her. Instead, he hugged her so close, it was as if he wanted to wrap himself around her. “I’m no damn indiscretion,” he whispered into her hair.
The Price of Indiscretion Page 19