In fact, the man was backing away slowly.
"Lord Weston," she said, smiling sweetly. She touched his arm, mostly to annoy Devon, although she had liked Weston when she'd been introduced earlier.
"Just remembered," he mumbled. "Left my phone in my car. Expecting a call. Gotta run."
She watched him turn tail, just as a wicked laugh sounded in her ear. "Weston has a very large fortune," Devon murmured. "And, naturally, an aversion to fortune hunters."
"You knew he was standing there. You maneuvered me into saying that."
"Beaucastle, on the other hand," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, "needs an heir. He's crossed the forty mark, and his female relations are not happy." He looked down at her, amusement in his eyes. "You don't really want to be his brood mare, do you?"
"Whether I do or do not is none of your business. Why are you suddenly playing the part of a duenna?"
"You don't know these guys. I do."
"Are you implying that I can't take care of myself?"
He shrugged. "It's just easier if I head them off."
"Easier for whom?"
"Why do you care? You aren't here in England husband-hunting." He watched her over the rim of his crystal tumbler. "Or are you?"
"It doesn't matter what I'm doing. What matters if that you're scaring off any eligible man who comes near me."
"An interested man wouldn't be scared off."
"That's ridiculous. You are deliberately acting in a proprietary manner." Miranda grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing server and took a healthy swallow.
"These guys all have ulterior motives."
"I don't care. I'm not looking to get married."
"If you just need…a man—" He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "I've already indicated I'm ready and willing."
"How sweet of you." She flashed her teeth. "But I'm looking for someone who's not afraid of 'expectations'."
"Rules out anyone in this crowd then." Devon waved his arm. "All of 'em are used to being chased. It makes a man wary. You'd better go hunting in less illustrious venues."
"You are crude and offensive." Another swallow of champagne went down the hatch. "I'm going to find two men to sleep with tonight, just to piss you off."
His mouth snapped shut. His eyes goggled at her. Good. She'd managed to shock him. She almost laughed.
But he recovered quickly. He leaned down and put his mouth close to her ear again. "Can I come and watch?"
She lost a moment to her own shock, before recovering quickly and placing her forefinger to the side of her mouth in the classic thinking post. "No," she finally declared. "Voyeurism is too kinky for me."
Take that, she said silently as she whirled around and disappeared into the crowd. As always, his laughter followed her.
Chapter 21
Devon hated being accosted at the breakfast table. But it was one of the problems of his fixed schedule. Everyone always knew where to find him.
Still, it was a surprise to see Charlotte appear before he was halfway through his meal. She rarely ate breakfast. However, he'd made up his mind a long time ago to always treat her politely, regardless of the provocation, so he said, "Good morning. Your party was a tremendous success."
"Thank you, Devonwood," she said graciously. "We're lucky the weather was spectacular."
He merely nodded, unwilling to actually talk about the weather.
Charlotte pressed the keypad to summon a maid. She was not the type to serve herself even a cup of tea.
She sat down at the table, and Devon braced himself. Her appearance here was no accident.
"I've been thinking," Charlotte said, "about Sarah."
Devon nodded again as he continued to work his way through his meal. He won a few minutes of peace when the maid appeared and served Charlotte her tea.
Of course, his thoughts weren't peaceful as pondered the problem of Miranda. He'd seen her kissing Jack last night, allowing Waverly to hug her, touching Weston, and worst of all, taunting him about sleeping with two men. He was ninety-nine percent sure she'd never do any such thing, but jealousy had bitten him harder than he liked. In fact, it had gnawed at him all night long. He didn't know why her touchy-feely mannerisms appealed so much to him, but it was time to stop torturing himself by being around her. Out of sight, out of mind was a good motto that was bound to work for him.
He'd have to get rid of her today.
He watched the maid leave, and tried to turn his attention to Charlotte, who clearly intended to re-open whatever negotiations she had in mind now that the servant had disappeared.
"The dresses Sarah made for the Foxgloves actually were beautiful," Charlotte said.
Devon's mind skittered from the white dress Miranda had been wearing last night to the white cotton sundress she'd seduced him with at the pool last week. They were both sexy as hell but, of the two, he preferred the transparent sundress. Even though the memory was making his body harden unsuitably right now.
"It's a nice hobby for Sarah," he said neutrally.
"You know these girls today need to have a career." Charlotte made a small face indicating her disdain of this new whim. "Maybe she could have a shop in the village, or even in London."
"Sarah?" His eyebrows rose to the ceiling. "Have a shop? That would require work, you know."
"There's no need to be nasty, Devonwood. Sarah could hire someone to do the boring parts."
He couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. "That's a sure recipe for failure. I have no intention of being forced into a position where I have another mess to straighten out."
Charlotte sipped her tea, her face tight. Devon could see she wasn't finished.
She dropped her cup into the saucer with a loud clink. "On a different subject," she said, "I hope you don't intend to disoblige me on this as well."
He braced himself. It was never a good sign when even Charlotte expected opposition.
"What is it?"
"You know our charity ball is next weekend. I've invited Nicole to arrive early, as I need her help with preparations for the ball."
Devon waited. That wasn't the blow. Nicole was frequently at the house, and he even enjoyed having her around. Charlotte's niece was a very attractive young woman who always enlivened any social event.
"Nicole is always welcome," he said politely.
"Of course, you know we expect you to escort her to the ball."
Ah, there it was. The trap snapped on him.
"It makes sense," Charlotte added, "since you are the host, and Nicole is my niece."
There was a certain logic to her point, Devon admitted, but he didn't like being cornered. On the other hand, he didn't really care what happened at the ball. One way or another, Miranda would be gone by then, because he was going to send her on her way today. He knew it had to be done, but he also knew some short-term pain would be involved. It was amazing how—he searched for the word—attached, to her he'd grown in one short week. The only fun part of the party last night had been the moments he was sparring with her.
The worst aspect of the party was the way he'd wanted to punch out any man who spoke with her. Although the signs of jealousy were new to him, he recognized them for what they were. The sooner he cut Miranda Foxglove out of his life, the better off he'd be. He'd spent a lifetime not needing people, and he wasn't going to start needing them now.
So it didn't matter a damn who he escorted to the ball.
"I fear that Jack will insist on inviting Miranda Foxglove," Charlotte said.
The name boomeranged in his head. Would he never be free of her? "Nonsense," he said sharply. "You couldn't possibly think Miranda and Jack would be a suitable couple."
Charlotte's eyes widened. "Certainly not. But I'm not clueless enough to forbid him from befriending her. He will soon see that she—"
Devon held up a hand to stop the flow of words. "I'm sure you don't mean to criticize someone who is a guest in our home."
Charlotte drew herself up
haughtily. "You know I would never be discourteous. So I presume it's fine for me to do as I wish in this matter."
Devon cursed silently. He'd stepped right into that one. "This is your home, Charlotte. You are always free to invite whomever you wish."
"And you will escort Nicole as our guest of honor."
He waved a hand. "Whatever, Charlotte."
~*~
Sunday morning dawned gray and gloomy, a good match to Miranda's mood. She watched silver raindrops patter at the long windows of her bedroom. What now? She really couldn't expect to extend their invitation further.
She tried not to think about what Devon was doing now, or, even worse, with whom he was doing it. The tousled auburn curls of Katerina would not be banished.
She jumped when a knock sounded at her door, but she was also grateful for the interruption, even though she knew it would be Sharmie, eager to discuss plans to move on to Pookie's.
When Sarah poked her head in the door in response to Miranda's welcome, Miranda blinked in surprise.
"What are you doing up so early?"
"I have the most amazing idea!" Sarah clapped her hands in glee. "I'm a genius."
"Okay, genius, shoot." Miranda scooted up on the bed.
"You know the ball we're having next weekend is a fund-raiser?"
"You mentioned that it was for charity. So I presume you're selling tickets?"
"Right." Sarah plopped down on the foot of the bed. "Most of the money raised comes from ticket sales and direct donations. But there's also a silent auction with fabulous prizes like sports tickets, vacation home rentals, stuff like that."
Miranda held up a hand. "I'm not offering myself for a date," she warned.
"No. Nothing so crass. Devon would never allow that anyway."
"So what's the big idea?"
"All of the guests, well most of them, are rich and influential–exactly the type of people we want to wear our fashions."
"Okay."
"So we put up some of our stuff in the silent auction!" Sarah bounced with excitement. "We get to show off our designs, people can bid on them and we make Devon happy by adding to the amount of money raised. Isn't it a brilliant idea?"
Miranda straightened up, her mind whirring. "I think you might be on to something."
"People will love it! Think about it. They'll get to talk with the designers." Sarah giggled. "That's us. It's sort of like an art gallery, where you talk to the artist."
"They can talk to you," Miranda pointed out. "I won't be there, but I know you'll be a good rep for me."
"Of course you'll be there. I just spoke with Charlotte in the breakfast room. She was in an amazingly good mood. I didn't try to figure out why. She said you and Sharmie were welcome to stay for the ball."
Miranda couldn't hide her amazement. "Are you sure she said that?"
"Of course. Why shouldn't she?"
"I don't think she likes me."
"Nonsense." Sarah waved a hand. "Charlotte doesn't care who attends. It's not like she does the work."
"Well—" A new problem teased at Miranda. "Sharmie wants to visit Pookie."
"Fine, whatever. But you need to stay." Sarah jumped up and began pacing alongside the bed. "Think about it. People can order a hat directly from the designer. And benefit a great cause at the same time. Perfect win-win!"
"I don't have any hats here."
"Make some. You have your supplies now. You have a whole week."
"I'd need more fabrics, more trimmings—" But her mind was already racing. Each hat would have to be special, unique. Some of them, of course, would have to match Sarah's dresses.
But she could do it. And she might, at the end of the ball, be well on her way to starting her own business here in England. What could be more perfect?
"Are you sure Charlotte said it's okay?"
"Definitely. Why wouldn't she?"
Miranda swung her legs out of bed. "Let's get started."
Chapter 22
After lunch, Miranda and Sarah were heading up the broad stairway on their way back to the workroom when the front door opened to admit Devon, magnificent in riding breeches, tall black boots, and a white polo shirt. Both women stopped on the landing and turned to survey his splendor. Miranda's heart skipped a beat.
"Good morning, ladies." As always, his deep voice thrilled Miranda.
"Where have you been, Devonwood?" Sarah frowned prettily.
"I took a ride down to the village. Godfrey wanted a game we didn't have."
"Not today," Sarah specified. "I mean for the past few days. You totally, like, disappeared. I had things to ask you."
"I'm sorry," he said politely. "I'll be happy to speak with you after dinner." He looked at Miranda. "I have news for you that won't wait."
"I'm busy right now." She would not be at his beck and call.
"That's fine. I need to get cleaned up, anyway." He glanced at his watch. "Let's meet in the office in half an hour." Striding past them, he began to ascend the stairs, too arrogant even to wait for a response.
"Sarah and I are on our way upstairs to continue working together," Miranda called after his retreating back. "I won't be available in half an hour."
He halted, as Sarah whispered urgently, "You don't say no to Devon. Just agree to meet him."
"Certainly not!" Miranda hissed. "He doesn't control my life." She tossed her head, as if to show how easily she could dispense with Devon's wishes.
The duke turned back to them. His gaze ran over Miranda coolly. "As I told you last night, I've been to New York," he said. "I have news about your father's estate."
He continued bounding up the stairs.
"Fiend!" she half-shrieked.
Sarah laid a hand on her arm. "You might as well accept it. Devon always gets his way, and he always has the last word."
"That's because you all let him get away with his dictatorial habits," Miranda stormed. "I do not intend to cater to him."
Her resolve lasted all the way up the two flights of stairs, down the long hallway, and well into the planning session she and Sarah were working on. They had only six days not only to outfit themselves, but also to make the hats and dresses they would auction at the ball. Every minute between now and then would have to count.
She almost managed to ignore thoughts of the meeting with Devon that she didn't plan to attend.
Until Baker knocked on the open door and stepped into the room. Miranda continued to slash at a sketch of a hat that even she knew would be more suitable for a gargoyle than a debutante. Her nerves were not holding up as well as she would have liked.
"His grace has requested your presence at his office," Baker said calmly. "I'll drive you over."
Even as Sarah gave her a warning glance, Miranda's temper spiked. The duke shouldn't be allowed to think everyone had to jump when he said jump. But she was curious about what he wanted to discuss with her.
So she nodded and said, "I'll be ready in one hour. Thank you."
Baker was not so easily cowed. "His grace requested your immediate presence."
"I'm sorry to disappoint him."
"Miss, I can't tell his grace that you refused his request." Baker's eyes pleaded with her.
"It's not a request if I can't say no! It's an order!"
"Just so, miss," he answered.
She rolled her eyes in frustration, even though she knew none of this was Baker's fault. "I don't have to respond to his orders."
"Just so, miss," he said again. "But his grace said if miss was to be unable to agree to his request, I should tell her as how he is leaving for London at 3 p.m., but is anxious to discuss something about her estate before he departs."
"Oh, bother!" The man was diabolical. He'd probably go all the way to London just to prove his point that he was busy, and she needed to adhere to his schedule. "Give me five minutes, Baker. I'll meet you in the main hall." She had to comb her hair, although it would serve Devonwood right if she arrived looking a fright.
"Thank you, miss." The relief in Baker's tone was annoying. She was not the one who was being difficult.
When she ventured downstairs ten minutes later, having discovered that she absolutely had to change her outfit and apply a little makeup, the hall was aflutter with a new arrival.
Lotter was holding the enormous front door open, his arm held out stiffly, as if he were a soldier at attention. A young woman swept in, all long blonde hair and longer legs. Her simple teal sundress flipped around her skinny thighs.
Charlotte swept into the hall, her gaze flicking over Miranda, but her arms outstretched toward the newcomer, who clearly rated a personal welcome. The two women exchanged air kisses with the fake warmth of contestants in a beauty pageant.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Blondie trilled. "Is Devon unbearably cross?"
"Darling, don't be silly," Charlotte responded. "Devon is never cross with you."
He was also, if Baker's words could be believed, actually working in the office wing and most likely oblivious to the arrival of the blonde bombshell, Miranda thought sourly. For whom was Charlotte staging this show?
"Oh, Miranda." Charlotte appeared to just notice her. "Please allow me to introduce Devonwood's fiancé, my niece Nicole Ross. Nicole, Miranda Foxglove is some sort of American relation to Devon." She made it sound like Miranda was one of a nameless conglomeration of hangers-on.
Miranda held out her hand, amazed to see that it wasn't shaking. The duke had a fiancé? Well, of course. A man like him didn't last forever on the marriage market. Yet, despite her attempt to feel flippant about the news, a slow burn was igniting somewhere deep inside her. Devon had slept with her when he had a fiancé? That was an unforgivable offense.
Of course, she and the duke had never discussed whether or not either of them was involved in a relationship, but that was irrelevant. An engagement should have been mentioned.
"Charlotte." Nicole giggled. "You know it's not official yet." She surveyed the entrance hall, her head swiveling from left to right, as if she were already cataloging her possessions.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 128