Her Wicked Ways

by Darcy Burke

  Footfalls carried from the doorway. Fox turned, expecting to see the footman bearing a tray. Instead, Stratham sauntered in wearing the same smug grin he always wore. And a green waistcoat.

  Dammit. Fox looked down at his chest. Stratham’s garment was incredibly similar to his own emerald waistcoat. He looked up and Stratham’s gaze registered the same likeness.

  The footman stepped into the room behind Stratham, and Fox went directly for the brandy.

  Stratham tried to look down his nose at Fox, but it was nearly comical given his vertical shortcomings. “Dipping into my cellar so soon?”

  Fox grabbed a glass from the tray. “Yes.” After taking a fortifying sip, he turned to leave and stopped short as two gentlemen walked in. He nearly spewed his brandy at the ridiculous sight of Lord Norris stuffed into a puce-colored waistcoat like a sausage into its casing. The man stood even shorter than Stratham, but twice as wide. The gentleman at his side provided an amusing counterpoint as he was unearthly tall and thin.

  “Lord Norris!” Stratham swept by Fox to pay his sycophantic respects to the man who likely controlled his every move.

  Norris blinked, his lids stretching over eyes as fat as the rest of him. “Stratham, capital evening. Hope you don’t mind we came a bit early. Wanted to sneak a peek.” He wagged a corpulent finger at the items spread throughout the room. “This here’s Septon. Down from London.”

  Miranda’s godfather. It bothered Fox that someone close to her was so friendly with the likes of Norris.

  Septon bowed. “Good evening, gentlemen. Thank you so much for the kind invitation. Is my goddaughter about?”

  Fox opened his mouth, but Stratham beat him out. “My apologies, Lord Septon. Lady Miranda has been called away by His Grace. She was sorry to disappoint you.”

  The older man nodded, but Fox detected a bit of sadness around his eyes. He’d been looking forward to seeing her, then. And who wouldn’t?

  The footman delivered Rob’s brandy and then departed. Fox wanted to follow him so he could procure the bottle.

  Norris wandered over to study the tapestries hanging from the ceiling. All five from the orphanage had been cleaned. The colors were vibrant and the designs breathtaking. The four from Bassett Manor were larger, but dull in comparison. He’d be lucky if someone bought them as scraps.

  The squat earl stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He turned to face Fox and the others. The buttons of his coat looked as if they might pop off. “Where did you find these tapestries? They’re a far sight better than yours there, Fox.” Norris had been interested in buying Fox’s tapestries last year. He’d viewed them, negotiated a price, and then never returned to actually purchase them. Fox had been counting on that money.

  Fox downed the rest of his brandy. “They’re from Stipple’s End. And, yes, they’re exquisite.” He pinned the earl with a hardened stare meant to skewer him like a juicy piece of game. “And very, very expensive.”

  Norris ran his fingers over one of the embroidered edges. “I should think so. What do you say, Septon, thirteenth century?”

  Septon stepped toward the tapestries and removed a quizzing glass from his coat. “Hmmm. Yes. Excellent depiction of the lists, this one.” He studied a scene in which two knights charged toward each other on horseback, lances drawn at the ready. The crowd cheering the event was incredibly detailed. One could almost hear the shouting.

  Norris chuckled. “I can see we’ll be driving the price up in our competition. Looks like your little orphanage is going to get lucky.”

  Fox clenched his hand around the glass. They should be “lucky” anyway. Norris could easily feed all of them for the next year. A tap on Fox’s arm made him turn his head. Rob whispered, “Ignore him.”

  Fox relaxed his muscles. “I’m for more brandy.” He strode from the room before something else could halt his progress. He left via the door the footman had taken and after traversing several rooms, ended up in the foyer. Bloody maze of a house.

  He turned to go back the way he’d come and his eye caught Beatrice coming down the staircase. She wore a purple gown that sparkled in the candlelight. Her dark hair was swept up and decorated with what looked to be tiny jewels. He’d never seen her look so…beautiful.

  Cool air rushed over his back as the footman opened the door. Beatrice froze near the bottom of the stairs. Her gaze arrested on something behind Fox. Her lips turned down.

  Fox spun about, nearly dropping his brandy glass in the process.

  Framed in the doorway was heaven herself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  MIRANDA stopped short. At first she didn’t recognize the man in the entrance hall, but then she looked at his face—really looked at it—and realized it was Fox.

  Only a Fox she’d never seen. Dressed in a crisp black evening coat and pantaloons, a rich emerald waistcoat, and pristine white shirt and cravat, he was terribly handsome. He even wore dancing slippers. Dancing slippers.

  His brown hair had been neatly trimmed and was combed back from his rugged face. Still a touch too long for London, it curled at the top of his collar giving him an aura of raw masculinity that combined the Fox she knew with the Fox standing before her.

  “Are you going to move out of the doorway?” Jasper pushed her over the threshold.

  Miranda stumbled as she took a larger than normal step. A swish of skirts drew her attention, but she had a hard time dragging her eyes from Fox.

  Beatrice came toward her and stopped near the center of the room. Near Fox. Too near Fox. “Miranda, we weren’t expecting you.”

  Miranda groped about for her voice. “I don’t know why not. I told you I’d return.”

  “You did?” Fox took a step forward. Away from Beatrice.

  Miranda suppressed a smile. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” Jasper cleared his throat and moved to stand beside her. “Oh, pardon me. Jasper, you remember Miss Carmody, and this is Mr. Montgomery Foxcroft. Beatrice and Fox, this is my brother, Lord Saxton.”

  Jasper took Beatrice’s hand. “A pleasure, Miss Carmody.” He swept Fox with an assessing look from head to slipper. “Mr. Foxcroft.”

  Fox returned Jasper’s perusal. “Good evening, Lord Saxton. So kind of you to escort Lady Miranda.”

  Jasper’s lips quirked. “She’s been prattling on about this benefit since she arrived at the house party, so I had no choice. I’m sure you’ve realized my sister is a force of nature when it comes to something she wants.”

  Fox looked at her, the golden center of his eyes fired by the hundreds of candles overhead. Or maybe something else.

  Beatrice pursed her lips and clamped her hands together. “How nice of you to find time to return, Miranda. I’m sure you understand, however, you needn’t have bothered. I have things well in hand.”

  Fox still stared at Miranda. “That may be, but Miranda’s presence is very welcome.” His voice softened. “Lord Septon was asking after you.”

  “Thank you, I’m looking forward to seeing him.” Miranda glanced down at her traveling costume. “But I need to dress.” She turned to a footman. “I wonder if Jasper and I might be shown to rooms upstairs. In fact, my brother will be staying so he’ll need a bedchamber.” The retainer nodded and took himself off. He returned immediately with the butler in tow.

  “Do follow me, my lord. My lady.” He led them toward the stairs at the back of the entry hall.

  Miranda walked by Fox. He smelled less like fresh grass and more like rosemary, but it was a lovely scent either way. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let Beatrice manage everything.”

  He chuckled. “Never fear. I’ll watch out for you.”

  How curious they could banter given what had gone between them. Something was different. Perhaps it was simply that she’d never seen him at a social engagement—that long-ago day at the vicarage didn’t signify.

  Running her hand along the smooth, polished wood of the balustrade, she looked down. Fox watched her ascend as if he couldn�
��t take his eyes from her. Little thrills of sensation raced up her arms and along her spine. Yes, something was very different.

  Jasper whispered next to her ear. “I knew Foxcroft was the bigger worry.”

  Miranda flinched. She peeled her gaze from Fox and focused on the butler’s back. Normally she’d snipe back at her brother, but she couldn’t seem to find the words. Probably because she feared he was right.

  But she didn’t want to be attracted to Fox! It was bad enough she still dreamed of the infernal highwayman! Her parents would faint dead away if she were to become entangled with someone like Montgomery Foxcroft.

  The butler showed her to a well-appointed chamber decorated in hues of rose and burgundy. “Do you have an attendant, my lady?”

  “No, but I’m sure Mr. Stratham has a maid he can spare.” Miranda looked out into the hallway at her brother. “I’ll see you shortly. Unless you’d rather not come downstairs.”

  Jasper shook his head. “I worked hard to get you here in time, and you want me to miss the fun? I don’t think so. Besides, I haven’t seen Septon in awhile. Nice of him to come to your little benefit.”

  “Septon, unlike some people in my family, is more than eager to provide his assistance and concern. When I first wrote to him about the event, he responded with a lovely and lengthy letter.” Miranda playfully glared at him.

  Jasper held up his hands. “Sorry, not much of a writer.”

  A footman appeared with her dress and a small bag filled with her other necessities. She’d insisted Jasper allow her to hang her gown in the interior of the coach so it wouldn’t be creased. She knew their time would be precious once they arrived.

  The butler gestured down the hall. “If you’ll just continue with me, my lord.” Jasper gave Miranda a pointed glance—Lord only knew why—and followed the retainer.

  Miranda went to close the door behind the footman when Mrs. Gates appeared in the hall.

  The older woman’s face lit up. “Miranda! Fox said you’d arrived. But then, I always knew you would.” She beamed as she walked into the room without invitation and gave Miranda a hug.

  Miranda froze for a moment. No one hugged. At least no one she knew hugged. She patted Mrs. Gates’s back, unsure of what to do. After a moment, Miranda pulled away, and Mrs. Gates turned her around to help her out of her gown. “You’ll be pleased with how we’ve pulled everything together.”

  Miranda untied the ribbons of her bonnet and sent it sailing to the bed. “It certainly appears as if Beatrice has everything in hand.” And was quite territorial about it.

  “Oh yes, I’ve never seen her work so hard. She seems very motivated. And, I daresay, she might be catching the eye of Mr. Stratham.”

  Miranda stepped out of her dress. She’d purposely worn the undergarments she’d need under her ball gown, despite the awkward fit the lighter chemise had provided for her traveling clothes. “How fortuitous for Beatrice.”

  Mrs. Gates took Miranda’s gown from the armoire. The dark green gauze overlay whispered against the pale green silk underneath as she swept it toward Miranda. “Such a lovely gown.” She helped Miranda into the garment and went about fastening her up.

  Miranda surveyed herself in the mirror. Strands of hair had escaped her chignon. Her coiffure didn’t at all go with the elegance of her dress. She touched the back of her head.

  Mrs. Gates clucked her tongue. “We’ll get your hair fixed up in no time. Where are your baubles and pretty things?”

  Miranda went to the bag near the armoire and retrieved her jewelry box. “In here.” She handed the case to Mrs. Gates.

  “My goodness, this is a bit heavy.” Mrs. Gates put the box on a small table and peered inside. She gasped as she reverently extracted various pieces and set them on the tabletop. “You’ve never worn any of this before.”

  The jewelry hadn’t been in Miranda’s possession of course, but would she have worn such things to the orphanage? Actually, she might’ve worn the pearl-encrusted brooch. Or the cameo. And most assuredly the garnet cross. Miranda plucked up an emerald pendant and clasped it around her neck. “Can you use the emerald combs in my hair?”

  Mrs. Gates held up two large gold combs studded with emeralds and diamonds. “Certainly. Sit on the edge of the chair here.” As Miranda complied, the older woman continued, “We weren’t expecting your return. I expect Fox is thrilled to see you.”

  Thrilled? Had he discussed her with Mrs. Gates? She thought of Fox’s reaction when she’d arrived. Yes, thrilled seemed an appropriate description. The notion trickled heat through her limbs.

  The headmistress pulled Miranda’s hair down and went about braiding two lengths of it. “I do hope you’ll be fair with him. He is as dear to me as a son. I should like to see him happy. He’s had enough heartache.”

  “Are you speaking of Jane Pennymore?”

  “You know about Jane, then.” Mrs. Gates’s fingers moved quickly and deftly. “More than that is how deeply his father betrayed and disappointed him.”

  Miranda recalled Fox telling her about his father. He hadn’t elaborated, but she knew enough. “By endangering everyone’s livelihood with his gambling.”

  Mrs. Gates clucked her tongue. “Fox told you about that? He rarely speaks of his father. He must care for you a great deal.”

  Mrs. Gates’s observation gave her a rush of pleasure. At the same time, Miranda didn’t want to think too closely about Fox’s underlying feelings—that was a dangerous path.

  Finished with the braids, Mrs. Gates swept up the loose portion into a bun and wrapped the braids around it. She stuck one comb into the right side and was poised to put the other on the left.

  Miranda held up her hand. “If you please, Mrs. Gates.”

  The older woman relinquished the comb, and Miranda pushed it into the left side, but more toward the top. Now the combs were not exactly opposing each other. “It’s better to have them offset a bit, don’t you think?” She needn’t explain asymmetry was in style. This gave her pause. She never used to censor what she said. Another curious development.

  Mrs. Gates clapped her hands together. “I do! A lovely effect. You’ve quite an eye, Miranda.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Gates. I can find my other accoutrements if you’d like to go on to the party. I’ll be down shortly.”

  Mrs. Gates glanced at the small gilded clock on the bedside table. “The auction is due to start in thirty minutes. It’s lovely to have you back with us, dear.” She smiled before hurrying from the room.

  Miranda dashed a bit of fragrance behind her ears and along her neck. Locating her ivory gloves and dancing slippers, she completed her toilette—my, but she’d become adept at readying herself in a trice—and followed in Mrs. Gates’s footsteps. Laughter and conversation rushed up the stairs as she made her way toward the party. People filled the entry hall, including Delia, Lisette, and Flora. Miranda went to greet them.

  “How splendid you girls look. Let me see!” Miranda bade them all turn around and show their gowns. “Lisette, did you make all of these?”

  Lisette blushed prettily. “We got them used from Mrs. Abernathy. I trimmed them a bit with some lace and whatnot. Flora’s even has a few sparkles.”

  “Why, yes it does. You’ve done beautifully, Lisette. You all look lovely.”

  Flora moved toward her with outstretched arms. “I’m so glad you’ve come back!” Goodness, she was going to hug Miranda, too.

  Miranda reached out and clasped the girl’s hands before she got too close. Hugging in the privacy of a bedchamber was one thing, but in the middle of a bustling entry hall it was completely unacceptable. Flora’s brow furrowed, and Miranda rushed to say, “We don’t want to crush your dress, sweeting.”

  Flora nodded vigorously. “When does the dancing begin?”

  Miranda had no idea if they’d kept to the schedule she’d laid out. Given the timing of the auction, it seemed they might. “I believe the musicians will start after the auction. In the meantime, would you gir
ls like to have something to eat?”

  They nodded, and Miranda led them to the dining room where an elaborate buffet supper spread across five tables. The girls went directly to the sweets table.

  Beatrice stood inside the doorway. She had just finished speaking to a servant who scurried off to presumably do her bidding.

  Miranda paused beside her. “Beatrice, you’ve done very well. Everything appears to be exactly as I arranged. I’m so glad my lists were helpful.”

  Beatrice quirked her mouth into a nasty smile. “I knew you’d assume responsibility for this.”

  Miranda startled at the venom in the other girl’s tone. “In fact, this was my—”

  Beatrice rounded on her, jabbing a finger in Miranda’s face. “See, there you go! This isn’t about you. Yes, this was your idea. Yes, you organized much of it. But I brought it to pass. I made sure it all came together. Me, me, me.”

  Miranda stood rooted to the floor. She’d never seen so much emotion from Beatrice. Miranda was silent for a moment, trying to think of something that might soothe the other woman.

  Mrs. Gates’s hug stole into Miranda’s brain. She wondered if Beatrice had ever been hugged either. Despite Beatrice’s dither, Miranda couldn’t bring herself to physically demonstrate the fact she cared—and she did. Instead, she used the method that had always served her well: gifts. “I brought you something. A novel. I know your father doesn’t allow them, but I fancied you might like to read one.”

  Beatrice flushed, and her eyes widened, but she quickly reined her expression into subtle—or rather she tried for subtle—curiosity. But there was no mistaking her interest. “That was, er, thoughtful of you.”

  Miranda wasn’t fooled. Beatrice’s initial reaction had been too…happy. And blast it all if Miranda didn’t like seeing that expression on Beatrice’s face. Miranda recalled the mysterious wrapped packages Beatrice toted about. “Is there a chance you already read novels?”