by Darcy Burke
“I need a horse.” Fox muttered the words and then repeated them much louder. “I need a horse!”
“Stable’s over there.” One of the coachmen gestured around the side of the manor where the gravel drive disappeared from view.
Fox sprinted in the designated direction and immediately swore. There was a reason these shoes were called dancing slippers. They were woefully inadequate for running or even walking fast. The rocks of the drive dug into the soft soles. He felt every edge of the ground as he sped toward the light of the stables.
Once he reached his destination, he paused a moment to take stock. A young groom brushed a horse while several animals were stabled.
Fox looked in the direction of the tack room, but there wasn’t time to saddle the beast. “Which is your fastest?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?” The carrot-topped lad stopped his work and gaped.
Fox tapped his hand against his thigh. “I have urgent need of a horse.”
The groom turned slightly, his brush-shod hand poised over the horse’s flank. “I suppose Gawain here’s as fast as any.” And as luck would have it, Gawain still had a bit in his mouth.
“Get the reins on, lad.” Fox swung himself up before the groom even moved. “Quickly, then!”
The boy dropped the brush in a bucket and ran to the tack room. Rushing back with the reins, he fastened them just as Fox reached down and plucked the supple leather from his hands.
“Thank you!” Fox called as he took the horse into the night, urging him into a canter. Within moments, his face blistered with the cold air. Stratham Hall’s grounds vanished beneath him as he drove the horse faster.
A scant quarter hour later, he turned up Polly’s drive. Situated in a wooded parkland, the house sat completely isolated from any surrounding property and from the main road. He galloped to the front of the house and jumped from Gawain’s back before the horse had come to a full stop. He tossed the reins to Barton, Polly’s head groom.
Light leaked from the windows and shone against the man’s bald pate. “’Evening there, Fox. Been quite awhile since we seen ye here.”
Fox had no time for pleasantries. It was after eleven. If he didn’t get Miranda out of there before her brother showed up, assuming he found directions…Christ, it didn’t bear thinking about. “I’m looking for a young blond woman who would have just arrived. Or for Polly and a girl she brought here. All of them, actually.”
Barton let out a low whistle. “The blonde got here maybe ten minutes ago. Just took her landau—say, I thought it looked familiar, but you only brought it here the one time…” He rubbed his smooth head.
“And Polly?”
“Blonde was looking for her, too. She got here a bit ago, but I don’t know if she had anyone with her. She took her coach to the rear door. Sorry, Fox. Try her office, maybe?”
“Thanks.” Fox leapt up the steps and paused at the threshold, taking a moment to compose himself.
A footman in scarlet livery swept the door open. His expression seemed carved in stone, completely disinterested.
Fox moved into the empty foyer, expecting to see Miranda immediately, but instead saw no one save the doorman. Where could she be? Polly’s office? Taking Barton’s advice, he made his way upstairs to Polly’s sitting room office.
Flickering candles illuminated the floral wallpaper of the corridor. Polly’s office was to the left.
Suddenly a flash of green appeared at the end of the hallway. Fox took off at a dead run and grabbed Miranda by the elbow.
“You little fool! What the hell are you doing?”
Miranda tried to shake his grasp away. “Looking for Flora, of course. It’s a good thing, too, since it took you so long to get here.” Her aqua eyes flashed up at him.
Fox gripped her more firmly. “I might’ve come sooner if someone hadn’t taken my transportation. Nonetheless, your earlier arrival seems to have benefited…nothing.” He spat the last, anger overtaking every other emotion. “You need to get out of here. I’m putting you back in my landau, and you’re going directly to Birch House.”
“I’m not leaving without Flora.” She planted her feet in the carpet. Fox pulled her arm, and she went sprawling against him.
He ignored the delicious sensation of her pressed against his chest and set her away. “I’ll take care of Flora.” Realizing the volume of his voice did nothing to disguise their presence, Fox took a deep breath to calm himself. “Can’t you see this is no place for you?”
She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I begin to understand why your family shipped you to the country, and why they are so desperate to marry you off. You’re the most reckless, headstrong—”
Fox froze as he heard a click, like a door opening or closing. Moving quickly, he opened the nearest door and shoved Miranda inside. He stepped in after her and shut them in a room the size of a closet.
Candlelight shone from a small window cut into one wall. On the other side was another, much larger room. With a bed in the middle. On the bed…holy shit.
A woman sucking a man’s cock.
Fox dared to look at Miranda. She stared straight ahead. At the couple on the bed. Pressed against her side, Fox realized they’d have more room if he stood behind her. He heard the distinct sound of footfalls outside the door, but after that he heard nothing save the sounds of sex and the deafening roar of his blood pounding from his head directly down to his hardening cock.
Sanity told him to flee, but desire kept him rooted to the floor. Miranda swayed back against him, and his mind completely shut down in favor of his body.
Chapter Fourteen
MIRANDA couldn’t believe what she was seeing. One of the scullery maids at Benfield had given her a verbal education about what occurred between men and women in the bedroom but hearing about the act didn’t compare to seeing it.
The man knelt on the bed, in profile. Candles flickered around the room, throwing light on his bare, muscled chest. One of his hands tangled in the woman’s dark blond hair. She kneeled also, but bent at the waist. Her mouth moved up and down over his shaft, her tongue darting out at intervals. At one point she laved the tip of his penis, and the man groaned. The woman’s hips undulated, and he stroked his hand down her neck, splaying his fingers over her shoulder blade. He moved against her mouth, urging her to take his entire length.
Miranda heard their erratic breathing. Or was that hers?
The room was tiny, probably only intended for one person. As a result, Fox pressed against her back, his heat burning through her gown to scorch her flesh. She couldn’t see his face, which only served to heighten her senses.
A hunger started in the pit of her belly, moved lower. Desire dampened her thighs until she wanted to press her hand between her legs to appease the desperate need growing there.
The man on the bed guided the woman up until she faced him on her knees. He brushed her hair away from her breasts and ran his thumbs over her nipples. Miranda’s hardened in response.
The woman cast her head back, her long, pale hair floating down her back, grazing her behind. He cupped her breasts, lifted them, blew on the rosy circles at their tips. Miranda felt as if she were sinking into a state of semi-consciousness. Her breasts swelled. She leaned back against Fox, seeking whatever surcease he might give her.
Fox slid his hands under her arms and skimmed them up her ribcage, settling them beneath her breasts.
Miranda took a slow, deep breath. Would he give her what she craved? What if they were caught?
The man on the bed licked the woman’s breast. She moaned, her hands moving between her thighs.
Fox cupped Miranda, then moved his palms up over her aching nipples. She rested her head back against his chest, arching the column of her throat, but maintaining her view of the couple on the bed. Fox’s breath rushed against her ear, the side of her face. The sound was deeply erotic.
The woman’s breathing quickened as the man suckled first one
breast and then the other. She thrust one hand into his crop of dark hair and held him close. He squeezed one of her nipples and she gasped, thrusting her chest forward in blatant offering.
Miranda pushed herself back against Fox more firmly. The steel of his arousal pressed against her lower back. Wicked thoughts came to her. How she could do to him what the woman on the bed had done to the man. Miranda need only turn and kneel…
The man on the bed spun the woman around, her back to his chest. Now their position nearly mimicked Fox and Miranda’s. But then the man pushed the woman down on all fours. Miranda’s eyes widened.
Fox teased her nipples through her gown, then dipped one hand into her bodice and dove beneath her chemise. His bare hand caressed her flesh and she moaned softly as his fingers closed over her breast. Miranda swiveled her hips, pressing back against his shaft. He sucked in his breath and tugged at her nipple.
On the bed, the man caressed the flesh of the woman’s behind, kneading her soft flesh. She whimpered softly as she pushed backward, seeking his touch. He ran his fingers along her inner thigh, and they disappeared inside her. She arched her neck and moaned loudly. She moved against his hand, slowly at first and then more quickly. Her breathing increased, as did her cries.
Fox continued to fondle Miranda’s breast while his other hand slid down over her belly. His fingers came to rest over the apex of her thighs, and Miranda jerked against him. She had learned to bring herself to release, but she’d never ached with such desperation. Instead of a tentative act born from curiosity and rebellion, this was a visceral need, a primal craving only he could satisfy.
The woman on the bed cried out, her fingers twined in the bedclothes as she pulled the sheets loose from the mattress. Then the man drove into her from behind.
Miranda pushed herself into Fox’s hand as he pressed his fingers between her thighs. His lips touched her neck and a small, simple word escaped her mouth, “Yes.”
Soft crying burst the cocoon of their lovemaking. “I want to go home.” Flora was in the corridor outside the door.
Fox’s hands froze, and Miranda turned, pressing her back to the window. Muted light filtered in from behind her and she could just make out Fox’s strained features. His breathing came fast, but deep. Her gaze dropped to the bulge in his pants and without thinking she reached out to touch it.
“Don’t.” He turned to the side, pushing himself against the wall so as not to touch her. He took several long breaths and after a moment, he opened the door.
Cool air rushed into the dark, overheated cabinet. Miranda’s cheeks were as enflamed as every other part of her. She fanned herself with her hand before stepping out. Fox was already halfway down the hall. She closed the door behind her, shutting out the passionate sounds of lovemaking from the couple on the bed.
Flora and Mrs. Danforth were turning to go downstairs as Fox ran to catch up with them. Miranda hurried to hear the conversation, embarrassed that in her lust she’d all but forgotten about Flora. She hoped the girl was all right.
“Miranda!” Flora launched herself forward and threw her arms around Miranda’s waist. She’d hugged more people tonight than in her entire adult life.
This did not include the embrace in the dark closet with Fox. God, she could not think about that right now.
Fox turned to look at Miranda. His eyes were flat, his features barren of emotion. “Take Flora back to Stipple’s End.”
Miranda nodded. “Yes, let’s go.” She took a step toward the stairs, keeping one arm around Flora.
Fox grabbed her arm and the contact nearly sent her to her knees. They might have walked away from the closet, but her body still reeled from the effects.
He dropped his hand and looked at Mrs. Danforth. “They need to leave by the back door.”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Danforth had the grace to look a bit ashen. Her lips were drawn. “Follow me.” She led them to the servant stairs and then descended into a small room seemingly used for storing linens. Mrs. Danforth opened the door and checked the corridor before gesturing for them to continue.
They followed the hallway to an exterior door, which Mrs. Danforth opened and guided Miranda and Flora through before stepping out after them. “Jenks! Fetch Fox’s—” She looked at Fox without completing the sentence.
“Landau.” The single word came clipped and hard.
“Landau, and have the coachman take these girls to the orphanage, please.”
Miranda spun on her heel in the damp earth. “Fox, aren’t you coming with us?” Even as she asked the question, she knew he wasn’t. He was going to stay here. With Polly Danforth. He and his lust were staying here.
His gaze threatened to freeze her to the very bone. He didn’t move from the doorway. “Go, Miranda.”
She clenched her teeth. At the sound of the wheels churning the ground behind her, she gave him a final glare and turned away. The coachman helped Flora and then her into the landau. Mrs. Danforth disappeared inside and the door closed before the vehicle pulled away.
Whereas on the journey from Stratham Hall, she’d been chilled, Miranda’s flesh burned, especially where Fox had touched her. She wiped a hand over her brow.
Flora fidgeted beside her. “I’m so sorry, Lady Miranda. Mrs. Danforth has always been so kind to us. And when you said a courtesan had a nice life, I just imagined—”
“What?” Miranda stared at the girl.
Flora blinked. “You said courtesans lived comfortable lives. I’m going to have to leave Stipple’s End next year. I’ve been thinking I could come to work here, like my friend Rose did.”
Miranda took the girl’s hands. “No! I didn’t mean it was a decent life, Flora. Not for you. Never for you.” Her heart raced. “Not for any of you girls.”
“But I’ll never be rich like you,” Flora said softly, her tears glistening in the meager light weaving through the windows from the swaying lanterns. “You live such a fairy tale.”
Miranda dropped her hands and sat back, at a complete loss for speech. This girl knew nothing about Miranda’s life. She’d told them about the things she did in London, but if her life were such a fairy tale, why was she nearly betrothed to a man she didn’t love while lusting after an impoverished gentleman who was even now making love to somebody else?
Her hands shook. She laid them palm down on her lap in an effort to keep them still. “Flora, a courtesan’s life is no fairy tale. Having nice things and attending parties and balls and such nonsense does not make one happy.” She said these things because she believed they were the right things to say to the girl, but there was a truth she couldn’t deny. Miranda had expected to be miserable in Wootton Bassett. Had counted on it, in fact. But when she’d tried to make the best of it, well, she’d made the best of it.
Until she’d rather liked it.
In fact, she’d gone back to her old life and couldn’t wait to return here. She’d come to finish the task she’d started with the benefit, to ensure her godfather and his friends had a good time. But she’d missed these people. And their silly little village.
Miranda closed her eyes. This was a disaster. Soon her parents would find a suitable lord, and she’d be forced to marry him. Even Jasper wouldn’t be able to help her.
Jasper!
Lord, where did he think she’d gone? Fox’s anger came back to her. She had been reckless. And stupid. And perhaps compromised herself.
With him.
But no. No one had seen them together. Well, Flora and Mrs. Danforth had, but they didn’t signify.
It was just as well. Compromise meant she would have to marry him, and she simply couldn’t. She wouldn’t put it past her parents to try to cover it up in order to prevent her from making such a ghastly mistake as marrying so far beneath her station.
Flora began to cry again.
Miranda patted the girl’s hand. “Are you all right? Nothing happened to you there, did it?” She waited a breathless moment for the girl’s response, irritated with herself
for not ensuring the girl’s welfare before wallowing in her own selfish thoughts.
She sniffled. “Nothing happened except that Mrs. Danforth didn’t want me to leave her house.”
“I’m certain she didn’t.” Miranda wished she’d pushed the woman down the stairs. Images of her making love to Fox like the couple on the bed scalded her brain. “How long has she known Fox?”
Flora shrugged. “She comes to the orphanage sometimes and gives us clothes or shoes. She was always so nice.” Her tears fell in earnest.
Miranda put her arm around Flora and drew her close. How could Fox befriend such a woman? Well, chances are he more than befriended her. The idea of him paying that woman to have sex with him made Miranda’s stomach pitch.
The landau stopped in the drive of Stipple’s End and Miranda helped Flora from the coach. Mrs. Gates met them at the door. “I’ve just arrived, dearie.” She wrapped her arms around Flora who now sobbed against Mrs. Gates’s chest. “There, there, my girl. It’s all right now.” Mrs. Gates raised her gaze to Miranda. “I’ve some tea started in the kitchen, but I’m going to take Flora upstairs to my bedchamber. She doesn’t need to sleep in the dormitory tonight.”
The headmistress and Flora left as one, leaving Miranda alone in the great hall. The air seemed nearly as frigid as outside owing to the lack of a fire and the draft caused by the poorly patched hole in the corner.
She could have Fox’s landau take her to Birch House. Or, she could go to the library where a fire usually burned. Her feet carried her toward the latter, despite the fact her mind continued to mull her options. Why stay? Fox likely wouldn’t return. He’d be spending the night with that harlot.
Reason told her to go back to Birch House. But since reason had never been her forte, Miranda curled up in a chair by the fire and waited.
FOX leaned against the wall in Polly Danforth’s corridor while he waited for his landau to leave and Polly to come back inside. Cold rage such as he’d never felt before threatened to consume him.
Finally, Polly’s ebony head appeared in the doorway and she closed the door behind her, shutting them into the flickering half-light.