Miranda's Dilemma

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “The woman prattled on day and night. Oh, her beautiful baby girl, look at her pretty red hair, look at her perfect tiny nose! Oh, and how clever of the child to possess five and only five perfect little fingers and toes!” He scoffed. “How could anyone possibly compete with such a miraculous, wondrous child!

  “And now you ask me how I could possibly hate Miranda? How could I not hate her? She stole the affections and attentions of the only woman I could ever love. Things were never the same between myself and her mother. It just was never the same love again. Oh, she tried very hard to hide the fact, but I knew, always, that I had been put into second place.”

  A very ugly sneer twisted Winterton’s face. “I never like being second at anything.”

  Nausea twisted at Adrian’s gut. “My God. You’re so vile. I don’t even think that you are mad. You are just…vile.”

  Winterton had made Miranda’s life a living hell.

  He must be called to account.

  Adrian was no murderer, however. He would not choose Baron Drake’s way. He would face Winterton in the open, as gentlemen of their class had always settled their difficulties. “You must answer for the attack on Miranda that those boys committed at my estate.”

  “What attack?”

  “Don’t insult me, just accept. They were just boys, but you are a man, though I do not think you have acted as one. You will answer for your offense toward her as a man.”

  “You wouldn’t do that to me.” Winterton’s complexion suffered another waxing toward gray. “I cannot possibly fight a duel.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I find I have developed an aversion to pistols since your Miranda took it in her head to shoot me.”

  “Then we shall use swords.”

  Winterton gestured to his leg. “Think, man, use your head. I am a cripple. How am I to dance about waving and playing at swords?”

  “I want you dead.”

  “Yes, I can see that, quite plainly in your eyes. But as you can see, there really is no way for you to kill me honorably.”

  “No, it appears you have managed to aptly thwart me on that. However, these moments alone with you, engaged in such frank talk, have convinced me that I do not want you anywhere near Miranda. You are vile as a cesspit. I don’t understand how you played a part in creating anything as lovely and worthy as Miranda.”

  Winterton’s complexion worsened, turning towards the greener side of gray. “What is it that you intend then? Do you intend to have me stalked like an animal? To you intend to send some hired man to shoot me?” His voice became higher pitched. “Oh please, I beg no, I would rather be run through or hanged than shot.”

  “I intend to dig further into this matter of Miss Riles, and I will find the truth and see you shamed and shunned and exposed for the piece of excrement that you are.”

  “No, that will not do, not at all. That would only bring my family name into ruin. My legitimate daughters would never wed. My nephew would live in the shadow of my shame all his days.” Winterton’s mouth fell open and he gaped at Adrian. “I do believe my wife might kill herself if she were shamed by association with me like that.

  “Those sins are on your head. You had better think quickly of a way that you could mitigate the impact.”

  Winterton frowned and looked into the hearth, concentrating on the flames as though he might find an answer there. Then he whirled back to face Adrian. “Oh, oh, I know, I could go away and promise never to return.”

  “You mean you could disappear?”

  “Yes, yes, I could.”

  “Where would you go?”

  “The United States is a huge place. A man, no matter his rank, could quickly become lost in its vastness.”

  “But you haven’t paid for your sins.”

  “Neither has Miranda.”

  “Miranda hasn’t committed your sins.”

  “Ah, but how many will condemn her in the court of public opinion once they learn that she shot and nearly fatally wounded her own father, a duke?” Winterton regained some of his color, and a small smile twisted his mouth. “I tell you, there is no way that you will expose me without me exposing her.”

  Adrian’s heart all but stopped, and then the worst kind of disillusion settled over him. The knowing that this man couldn’t be brought to full justice, not without harming Miranda.

  Disgust filled every corner of his being, a distaste for this world and its injustices that he didn’t know if he could tolerate feeling it another moment. He hardened his expression and narrowed his stare. “No, the United States is not far enough. Go lose yourself in Australia or India, or find some tropical island to call your own. You’ve got two weeks to remove yourself from not only England but this side of the world.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Adrian’s valet woke him late that night.

  “There’s a Miss Miranda Jones here to see you, my lord.”

  Adrian came fully awake and he stopped only to draw his banyan over his nakedness. He rushed down to his withdrawing chamber.

  Miranda stood there, looking uncertain. She was dressed in one of her glittering evening gowns.

  God, she looked so absolutely lovely.

  She was a little pale with dark purple shadows under her eyes.

  “Miranda.” He sat beside her on the settee.

  “I have ruined myself,” she said. “I have let my mother down.”

  He took her hands. They were cold as ice. The knowing of her suffering ate into him. His heart contracted. “Hush,” he said.

  “No, I shall never be able to live with myself now. Mama will have a complete breakdown and it will be all my fault.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh God, Adrian. I did not know.”

  He leaned closer to her and drew her into his embrace. “Please, love, don’t take on like this. It is not as bad as you think.”

  “Oh yes, it is.” She gulped back a sob. “Froster took me back. He even said that he would never require me to do anything in bed that I didn’t wish to. God, he was so sincere.” He could see her throat working as she swallowed. “But I couldn’t. I could let him touch me. All I could think of was you and how much I want to be yours.” She made a choking sob. “If I let him touch me. If I had let him take me, I would never be yours again.” She began to cry.

  He cradled her against his shoulder. ‘Oh my love, oh my darling.”

  “it is all over now.” She gulped back a sob. “How could you ever love a woman who betrayed the mother who needed her. If I could not love her properly and be what she needed, how could you ever trust in me?”

  “Hush, hush, hush!” he said. “It is all right now. I told you I would fix everything.”

  “How? How did you fix things?”

  “I went to your father. I threatened to reveal certain matters from his past. I told him he must sell the land to me for the same price as he bought it.” He wouldn’t give her any of the other ugly details. He would shield her against the pain of knowing any of that. It was only necessary that she know her mother’s interests were protected.

  “You what?!”

  “I have purchased the deed to the land, the estate house and your mother’s cottage. She is secure now. You needn’t ever worry again about where she will live.”

  “Oh my God!” She pulled away and gaped at him. Her eyes were red, swollen. “Oh my God, I cannot believe it!”

  She had never looked more lovely to him.

  “I will sign it over to you, just as soon it can be arranged.”

  “But you spent your sons’ inheritance for me?”

  “I can earn the money back.”

  “But you said—”

  “I was over cautious. I told you to have faith in me. Well, I must have faith in my love for you.”

  “Your what?”

  “My love for you. I love you so much and I need to make you happy. I need to protect you.” He took her hands. “Let me purchase you a house of your own. Let me give you a coach and four and living
expenses each month. Be mine, Miranda. Please be my mistress, mine and mine alone.”

  “Oh yes, oh dear God. I have loved you and been too afraid to admit it. Even to myself.” She leaned up and put her lips on his.

  It was the sweetest kiss. The kiss he had wanted from her all along for he could taste her pledge in it. A pledge of her whole self to him and only him. The real Miranda Jones, not the fantasy.

  Want to read more of Miranda and Adrian’s story? Please look for the sequel to their story, coming January 2016. This novel will be available for .99 on limited time Pre-Order price at Amazon.

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  Thank you for your purchase of this ebook. You are my greatest source of support and encouragement. You make it all worthwhile.

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  Would you like to check out some of my other stories right now?

  Please keep reading. I have included some excerpts from my other works.

  A Measured Risk by Natasha Blackthorne

  A MEASURED RISK features a shy, intellectual, strong-willed widow with real life curves (Rubenesque/BBW) and a protective, possessive Dominant, alpha male hero. This is a story of Dominance and submission with light BDSM, emotional healing, trust and love.

  He is her most dangerous temptation and now he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the risk?

  Book one in the Regency Risks Series

  Emotionally scarred in the horrific accident that took her husband's life, Lady Cranfield is imprisoned by her lingering terror of horses and carriages. She longed to be closer to the fascinating Earl of Ruel. She sensed intuitively that he could teach her how to overcome the terrors that held her in bondage.

  And now she's willing to risk almost anything-her reputation, even her virtue-to find out. But what he proposes startles her.

  When the shy, studious and socially awkward young widow approached him, Ruel instantly sensed she would be the sweetest, most submissive experience of a lifetime-if only he can gain her total and complete trust. He makes her a non-negotiable offer. His help in return for her submission and obedience.

  But Lady Cranfield grew up neglected by her ducal parents, raised by servants and then later ignored by her handsome, charming husband. She's learnt to protect her heart at all costs and she trusts no one but herself.

  How can the jaded Earl of Ruel break through her self-protective defenses and show her how to love when he has spent his lifetime avoiding that tender trap?

  Reader Advisory: This is a BDSM romance. This book contains anal sex, spanking, light bondage, D/s themes and brief F/F touching.

  This is a work of historical fiction, it is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of or guide to how people recover from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As a work of historical erotic romance, it is also not intended to portray modern BDSM or D/s lifestyles.

  A Measured Risk is published in British English and uses British Spelling.

  Excerpt from A MEASURED RISK

  Copyright © Natasha Blackthorne, 2012, 2013

  “Why did you run away?” His deep voice settled in her belly, rich and warm, like crème brûlée on a cold winter’s night.

  “Because I wanted you to follow.” She tried to sound sophisticated and seductive, but her voice choked off on the last word.

  Ruel placed his hand on the shelf above her head and blocked her path to the door. His tall, solidly muscled body leaned over her, surrounding her with the sumptuous, sinful scents of tobacco, Scotch whisky and something masculine and undeniably dangerous. A slow, sensual smile stretched his hard mouth.

  He appeared different. Softer. More approachable.

  At the change, her insides seemed to flip over.

  “Well, sweeting, getting us off alone was a very inspired idea.” He touched one of her fallen ringlets. “I am bored to distraction with endless hunting and fencing.”

  As he slowly wrapped the curl around two fingers, he brushed her collarbone. Fiery sparks tingled down her spine, so intense that she shivered and her nipples beaded, pressing against her stays. By some instinct she hadn’t even known she possessed, she arched her back, presenting herself for his assessment.

  His eyes shone so vividly blue against his bronzed face that they resembled cornflowers. She swallowed tightly and wished for a long drink of claret. This more personal side of him suddenly seemed far more hazardous than his usually fierce exterior.

  Well, no matter. There was nothing to fear. She would allow only as much contact as need be to get to know him a little. Since being torn from her lonely yet secure life in Ireland and thrust into society at age sixteen, she’d spent her time allowing people only as near as was comfortable. She was an expert at emotional evasion.

  It should be easy to regain her control.

  But now, as late afternoon sun rays played over his pale hair, turning it to the colour of winter wheat, all her carefully rehearsed words flew away.

  Say something—anything—else he will think you’re a bird-wit.

  An intimate smile, one that invited her to play, tugged at his mouth.

  “In a situation like this, alone with a gentleman, it’s perfectly normal for a lady to feel some apprehension.” His hushed voice, barely audible above the piano and boisterous singing from down the corridor, accentuated their isolation. His gaze became so piercing that she had to lower her eyes.

  He brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “She will invariably ask herself if he will try to kiss her.”

  She jerked her eyes back to his face. God, he couldn’t mean to—Not yet, surely… Peculiar, heated chills swept over her. She tried to take a step back, but found her arse flush against the bookshelf.

  He leaned closer; so close that his Scotch-scented breath tickled her face. “And just in case you are wondering, Lady Cranfield—the answer is most assuredly yes.”

  She should demand that he put his arm down so she could pass by and leave. She really should. But she couldn’t stop looking at his hard mouth and wondering what it would feel like upon hers. He was so close to her that his breath blew on her lips. If she moved but a fraction, she’d be kissing him.

  Kissing him.

  Dear God. Her breath began to come very fast and short. Her throat went tight with a suppressed moan.

  His eyes burnt as brightly as aquamarines. He looked so fierce. If he kissed her, if he dared… Oh God, it would be so harsh. That cruel-looking mouth could express itself no other way.

  Excitement rushed through her, sending tingles to every point of her body, even her toes.

  But no, he wouldn’t. Not yet.

  He kept leaning closer. He didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he seemed to focus all the harder upon her.

  Heart pounding and unable to move away, she braced herself for his assault.

  His lips brushed hers, barely. A gossamer caress.

  He lifted his head.

  It was done.

  Ended.

  And it hadn’t even begun.

  He held her chin, appearing so cool, so unaffected. His kiss had seemed to sear her. An urge to put her fingers to her lips arose in her. She resisted it, for it would give away too much of how she was affected.

  Never show your feelings.

  He traced his thumb along he
r lower lip, slowly, deliberately, as he studied her with eyes that now glittered with something powerful and predatory. Heat pooled in her pelvis, low and spreading even lower.

  She went weak all over, as if she’d lain in a sunny window seat for too long. Her knees almost buckled. She forced them to lock. To be strong.

  It should not have affected her so profoundly. It had just been a peck—not a true kiss at all. William had poured out all of his skill upon her and hadn’t garnered even a tenth of the reaction in her that this man’s peck had.

  Ruel traced her jaw line with his fingertips. Unthinkingly, she leaned in to his touch.

  “Of course, once he has kissed her, then it’s his turn to wonder…” His voice sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. “How will she respond? Will she withdraw, or can he ignite some hidden fire?”

  She sensed that he was toying with her. She didn’t understand flirtation—why had she imagined she could carry this ruse off? Was he making advances in order to have a laugh with Francesca and her simpering friends later? Hurt blossomed in her chest. She resented him for that. She ought to feel indignant, superior, uncaring—anything but hurt.

  “Please don’t make sport of me.”

  She cringed. Was that quavering, pleading voice really hers?

  An infinitesimal pause. “Now, why on earth would I do such a thing?” His voice was as smooth as velvet.

  “To please your vanity,” she replied, trying to regain her wits.

  “Here.” He placed her hand to his chest. The contours of his muscles were hard, powerfully developed. Even more so than she’d expected. His body heat radiated through the satin and, beneath her hand, his heart beat was rapid and strong.