Miranda's Dilemma

by Natasha Blackthorne

  She made a sound. Was it a gasp? Or did she cry out?

  In the glance they shared next, he saw in her eyes, in her expression, that she indeed did know all.

  She knew not just that Jane had had a lover but that his wife had been passionately, madly in love with another man. A man who had turned out to be a wastrel.

  She knew about the baby.

  And the abortifacient and the horrific manner of Jane’s death.

  And the deeper reasons for Adrian’s estrangement from Carrville.

  Those pale green eyes, so often closed and haughty, were large and soft. Glowing. No, not glowing but glossy.

  His throat tightened in response.

  Damn it.

  He cut her a severe look. “Don’t offer me pity. I don’t need it.”

  She threw back the coverlet, leapt from the bed then ran to him.

  The sight of all that gorgeous, glorious nakedness held him spellbound. But she seemed unaware. Or was it that she was that comfortable in her own skin? It did remind him, again, that she was a seasoned courtesan. Her breasts bobbed in front of him, and whilst he fought the urge to reach up and touch, she wrapped her arms about his neck. She bent and pressed her cheek to his, and her curls fell over his face.

  He couldn’t resist putting his hands to her waist. Couldn’t resist sliding them down to rest on the flare of her hips.

  “It’s not your fault.” Her voice was hoarse, breathless. She pressed her cheek more ardently to his. “Not your fault.”

  Firm conviction sounded in her voice. It put warmth into him, and he couldn’t help a smile. “Carrville blamed me.”

  “I know.” There was sadness in her voice.

  “Carrville thought I ought to have challenged her lover early on.” Adrian listened to the words pouring out of his mouth with horror. “He said I needed to send the blackguard packing, that it was my place as her husband. But how could it be my place to dictate my wife’s pleasures and companions? Carrville didn’t know but we had a marriage of pure convenience.”

  “It was not your fault.” She pressed her lips to his cheek. “Not your fault.”

  The feeling in her voice warmed him like the rays of the sun. It beguiled him to just accept her judgment. To allow her strong conviction to comfort him and soothe the long suffering guilt that had haunted his days and nights.

  “Friendship is always so much safer and trustworthy than passionate love. Yet a marriage of convenience not always so comfortable I am told,” she said, her voice soft as a feather against his ear.

  “I knew my wife since we were children. Both of us had watched our parents’ marriages disintegrate. Neither of us wanted to risk passionate love. We thought we could be friends and make a reasonable marriage.”

  She kissed his ear, the touch of her lips as delicate as a butterfly’s. “You were friends, not lovers. I understand.”

  “Friendly love has it is own troubles.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  “Of course.” She touched the side of his head, her hand slowly caressing his hair, her lush curves seeming to press him more intensely.

  He had never spoken of his disappointments in his marriage with anyone. He had not admitted them to Jane. He had not discussed them with Dorothy.

  Heretofore, he had barely admitted his own disappointment even to himself.

  “Marriage can be difficult. You must not continue to blame yourself.” She stroked the side of his cheek.

  Christ. She was treating him as though he were some soft-in-the-belly, older man. Like Carrville. Like Froster.

  Anger swept through his blood like a flash fire. He grasped her wrist.

  “Don’t,” he said

  Her mouth parted. “Don’t what?”

  He yanked her onto his lap. “Don’t pretend that you don’t know.”

  “I-I do not understand.”

  “I think you do…” He put his mouth to hers and pressed hard against her soft, slack surprised lips as he moved his hands under her bottom to lift her slightly. His fingertips glided along the incredible satin texture of her skin. The saucy curve of her arse— God, she was perfection. He pressed his lips to hers more fiercely.

  She moaned, the sound muffled by his kiss, and she put her hands to his chest and shoved.

  He tightened his hold around her.

  She bit his lip.

  The sting cut though his pleasure. He growled and lifted his head.

  She glared up at him. He had never guessed her eyes could blaze with such fire.

  “Release me!” She hit him in the shoulder with her fist.

  Christ, she could really deliver a fair-sized punch.

  He stared at her, licking the blood from his lip whilst maintaining his hold. “Be still,” he ordered.

  She went rigid. “Release me, immediately’”

  Her imperious tone nearly made him laugh; however, those ice-green eyes, the cutting, superior way she stared down her small, narrow nose took his breath. He’d seen this exact expression on the Duke of Winterton’s face when delivering speeches in the House of Lords. No one could ever deny that she was the duke’s child. Despite the lust pounding through with each heartbeat, despite his throbbing erection, Adrian was taken aback by this strong resemblance.

  God, but for an accident of birth, he’d be facing the business end of Winterton’s pistol for having dared taste the pleasure of her delectable round arse squirming in his lap.

  She was almost as noble-blooded as he.

  Wasn’t she also just as deserving of respect?

  She was just a courtesan, and she had come to him, naked, and embraced him of her own accord.

  A scheming little tease…

  The words those boys had spoken the morning before, the echo of that sense of entitlement just because she happened to be courtesan and he happened to be a nobleman. His blood froze.

  He loosened his hold.

  She pushed away with a snort of disgust then swept from his lap and stood, glaring at him with one hand placed on her hip. “I had begun to allow myself to believe that you were different.”

  “You thought to offer me all of this…” He let his gaze sweep her, lingering over every gorgeous inch of nakedness. “…and that I would be happy with a mere caress of your hand on my cheek?”

  She made no attempt to cover herself. Instead, she stood there, with her head held high.

  Despite knowing what a shameless little piece she was his pulses quickened. God, she stood before him proud as any duchess. Yes, he admired her daring, her spirit. He even found her amusing. Yet he wanted to go to her and tilt her face up to his and give her most ardent and tender of kisses. However, he’d be damned before he’d let her know the power she welded over him.

  “You’re a vexing little tease,” he said.

  “I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “I am. But gentlemen are just the sort of men you prey upon, are they not?” He stood.

  He strode to the mirror where he paused to adjust his clothing and then smoothed his hair. “You mistook me for a witless man who would be completely dazzled by your excessive beauty and would be willing to be led by his lust. Someone you could flatter and manipulate and gain your own way with.” He glanced up and met her eyes in the glass. “Well, I am not that kind of man. So take warning.”

  ****

  Miranda hugged her shoulders, staring at the door as it swung closed behind the Earl of Danvers. Then a chill passed through her.

  She had almost allowed him to seduce her.

  She had also almost allowed her own sympathy for him to seduce her.

  On shaking legs, she walked to the bed and sat.

  When he had kissed her, so harshly, so forcefully his fierceness had pleased her, and she had melted for him.

  That frightened her.

  For those few seconds, he had held all the power.

  She would never let a man gain the upper hand. Never.

  A woman couldn’t afford that sort of
a thing, especially a woman in her position.

  Foolish, foolish girl!

  If Aunt Cassandra knew that she had allowed him to see her bared like that without an offer of protection, why… she would be livid. And with good reason. When Miranda had first turned to the life of a courtesan, Aunt Cassandra had made a handful of private appointments with only the most wealthy of earls and dukes. One by one, the noblemen had paid a small fortune to see Miranda naked, alone in a chamber. Carrville had been Miranda’s first protector, but the highest bidder out of this first group of gentlemen had paid a dear price to take Miranda’s virginity.

  Aunt Cassandra promised her a very profitable trust, and she wouldn’t allow Miranda access to any of it until she reached thirty years of age.

  Miranda’s jaw tightened in frustration. She needed money now, not years from now.

  Strategy, my dear, strategy. Your beauty is your only commodity. Never let anyone sample your wares without making a promise of more.

  Aunt Cassandra’s voice echoed in Miranda’s mind.

  Her aunt would have no sympathy for how Miranda had allowed things to fall apart with Froster and now with Danvers.

  In both instances she’d acted emotionally. She’d reacted like the silly, spoiled girl that Danvers had predicted she would be.

  Now he was likely vexed with her all over again, just as he had been the night of the courtesans’ ball. He would want her to leave.

  A knock on the door made her sit and draw the sheet over herself. “Yes?” she called.

  The door came open and two maids entered, one of them carrying a tray of food. They nodded to her, seeming shy, hesitant.

  “His lordship sent us to assist you,” the one with honey-colored hair said. The tray had contained a light meal of cold duck, fresh bread with honey, and crisp pears.

  At the first taste of it, hunger overwhelmed Miranda. Her stomach had never felt so empty and she devoured the meal. Sleepiness had immediately overwhelmed her and she had barely summoned the cognizance to crawl back into the bed. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  She awoke after sunset, with her stomach growling again and her mouth dry as dust. She had called for tea and had been brought another light meal. This time whilst she ate, the servants prepared a steaming bath.

  Now with her damp hair wrapped in a linen towel, Miranda sat in the large oak tub with her chin resting on her knees. The maids had returned moments ago with several buckets of hot water to fresh the cooling temperature. Now she lingered, luxuriantly, in the bath.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Enter,” she called out, thinking it was the maids.

  The door opened and Aunt Cassandra swept in, all smiles, her eyes large.

  “Ha!” Miranda scoffed. “You must not have spoken with Danvers yet.”

  Aunt Cassandra frowned with dramatic effect. “My dear, what are you talking about?”

  “I have managed to provoke him again.”

  Aunt Cassandra raised her brows into a wry expression as she sat in the wing chair and arranged her skirts. “You’re sleeping in his bed.” She waved toward Miranda’s tub. “Bathing in his chamber. My goodness.” Her smile broadened into a grin. “I never knew you were capable of such quick action. And how delicious, devious and, dare I say, clever of you to arrange matters whilst poor, dear Froster has been called back to London on urgent business. You are most resourceful.”

  New respect rang in the older woman’s voice.

  Miranda looked down at the water and scooped up a handful of the remaining suds. “I am here because I was ill, and Danvers had his physician attend to me here. Danvers felt responsible, that’s all.”

  Aunt Cassandra’s face froze. “What? What?” She frowned. “You’ve been ill?”

  “I was ill, and the manner of that illness reminded him far too much of his wife’s death.”

  “His wife died from a sudden fever. Everyone knows that.”

  Miranda shrugged. “So, I had a sudden fever.”

  Aunt Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “What you are keeping from me?”

  Miranda hugged her knees tighter. “I need my trust turned over to me, now.”

  “Your trust?” Aunt Cassandra blinked several times, cocking her head in an inquisitive expression as though she didn’t understand what language Miranda spoke.

  “Yes, my trust. That which I earned with my innocence.”

  “Out of the question, especially with Froster so willing to provide for your immediate living needs.”

  “Froster is willing to provide for me no more.”

  Aunt Cassandra paled. “What do you say?”

  Miranda went rigid. “He attempted to force me.”

  Aunt Cassandra blinked at her. “Force you?”

  “Did I not say so, plainly?”

  “He was to be your protector, with a protector’s privileges and rights. I do not understand your use of the word force.”

  “He became too forceful.”

  “You denied him something he wanted?”

  “I will not tolerate force.”

  Aunt Cassandra sighed and flipped her fan open and then began to fan her face. “All my work, for nothing. And you have turned every other offer down.” She fluttered the fan rapidly; it become a blur of multicolored silk and glitter of the gems that studded it. “You too often forget that you are merely a duke’s natural daughter. You are not a duchess.”

  “I won’t be forced.” Miranda’s jaw stiffened. “I won’t be abused like Mama.”

  “Oh, you are being as foolish as your addle-brained mama! You must learn to handle your gentlemen and please them so that they have no other wish than to please you. And if you share yourself generously with your chosen protector, they will have no need to resort to force.”

  Miranda gaped. “You cannot believe that.”

  “It is the way of our world, Miranda. You had best learn the rules of this world and know your place in it.”

  A sinking feeling crashed through Miranda’s belly. Alone. She had never before felt this alone.

  “Miranda!” Aunt Cassandra said sharply.

  Miranda startled at the unexpected tone as well as the displeasure glinting in eyes lightly lined with kohl that had suddenly gone flinty hard.

  “You haven’t simply made a muck of things for yourself. I was counting on my percentage from Froster’s largess as well.” She snapped her fan closed. Two spots of vivid color flared on her cheeks.

  Miranda shrugged. “I shall sort it all out, somehow.”

  “How?” Aunt Cassandra said, loud and cuttingly. “You said that you vexed the Earl of Danvers as well.”

  “There are other gentlemen.”

  “You have insulted and alienated practically every other available nobleman in Mayfair. It was a fine thing before. It made you seem hard to attain and gave you allure. But now that you had settled on a protector and then sent him packing because he offended your delicate sensibilities with his carnal needs…he will tell, Miranda, he will tell everyone. No man will want to provide for such a cold, shrew of a mistress.” Her eyes narrowed. “It is not like you to behave so emotionally. What’s the matter with you?”

  “It’s Winterton,” Miranda blurted. “He waited for me as I walked from the mews in Soho. He says that he’s bought the house I rent for Mama and all the land it sits on. He says I must pay three times what that land is worth or he will evict Mama at the end of this month.”

  “Let him. You’d be a fool, Miranda, to pay thrice what that land is worth. You’d be giving that wily old fox exactly what he wants.”

  “But Mama loves her house by the sea. She has finally found peace there. The doctor has her stabilized now, but he stressed how important it is that she not be given any sudden shocks or changes to her routine. How can I tell her that she must move away from the house she loves?”

  “Pah! You coddle your mama too much, and these doctors are as big a fool for her as you.”

  “Winterton aims to do more
than that.”

  “Oh yes?” Aunt Cassandra said, her voice gone harder.

  “He said he would strike at me, that he would ruin me, utterly ruin me. He said that I would not know from where or when this blow would come.”

  “Did he really?”

  “He…he sent boys to attack me.” Shame burned Miranda’s face. Shame at her weakness, shame at her gullibility.

  “Boys to attack you?”

  “They approached me during the evening, when the others were engaged in the orgy in the main chamber.” She spoke those words carefully, for Aunt Cassandra had been duly engaged in that orgy, frolicking with a lady whom she was fond of and a much younger man. But Aunt Cassandra did not always like for her more personal exploits to be spoken of. “I guess after my confrontation with Froster and another distasteful one with Danvers…”

  Aunt Cassandra interrupted her, shaking her head and making a loud clicking noise with her tongue. “What will I do with you, my girl?”

  “I was hungry for a friendly face, a kind word.” Miranda spoke rapidly, as though through speed she could force Aunt Cassandra to see how it had felt for her in those moments. “They asked me to have a drink with them. A friendly drink, they said.”

  Aunt Cassandra raised her brows and dropped her chin. “A friendly drink? With mere boys? And pray tell me, did you even know these boys?”

  Miranda held her hands out, palms up. “They were just boys!”

  “What happened?” Aunt Cassandra’s tone was cold as December.

  “I…I do not fully understand what happened. I began to feel…odd. They suggested we go outside for some brisk air to refresh me. But then, somehow, we were in the woods, and they were grasping at me, tearing my clothes…” Her voice broke off as with a curse. Aunt Cassandra stood. The older woman rushed at her whilst Miranda hurried to explain. “I…I managed to escape them. Lord Danvers found me. He helped me.”

  Aunt Cassandra leaded down, her face a fearsome mask of anger. “Who knows?”

  “Just the boys.”

  “And Danvers.”

  “Yes, and Danvers.”

  “And his physician.”

  “He didn’t tell his doctor all the details.”

  “You were ill?”