Damn the man. Heathcliff had come up with several reasons why the house party would never work, why it was doomed, even though he had been the one with the idea initially. But Lucas had neatly destroyed all his arguments.
Because if he refused now, they would suspect.
Not that there was anything of note to suspect; rather, anything that meant something . . .
Surely a few kisses didn’t mean something.
Nor did the fleetingly tender touches stolen as they passed in the hall.
Miss Miranda wouldn’t be truly interested in him, just as he wasn’t seriously interested in anything more than the stolen pleasures.
But that didn’t mean he wanted someone else to enjoy those same things.
The thought made his temper simmer just below the surface. But what choice had he? None. He was damned if he did and damned if he did not.
“Perfect.” Lucas nodded, taking Heathcliff’s silence as acceptance.
“Oh, I can hardly wait! Now, we must work on the guest list. Have you a piece of paper I may use? And a pen?” Lady Liliah came around to his side of the desk, her eyes scanning the table for the requested objects.
Heathcliff still hadn’t spoken a word, still holding out for some miraculously perfect reason to tell them to go to hell with their bloody idea.
No miracle poured forth, so he withdrew a fresh sheet of paper and a pen and ink, handing them to Lady Liliah.
She grinned triumphantly.
He resisted the urge to glare.
“Now then, who shall we invite? Surely you know some local gentlemen?” Liliah leaned down over a free area of the desk, her pen poised in eager anticipation.
Heathcliff glanced at Lucas, and he tapped his finger on the desk, irritated.
“Perhaps we could ask Mrs. Keyes? She is here year-round and certainly knows everyone in the vicinity,” Lucas spoke helpfully.
Heathcliff swore mentally. Damn the man.
“Perfect. I’ll go and request her assistance!” Lady Liliah left the paper and pen and ink unattended and quit the room in a rush of delight.
When the door closed, Lucas leaned forward in his chair, his expression unreadable, which only meant Heathcliff was going to utterly hate whatever he was about to say.
“You . . . could always come up to scratch, if the idea of her marrying another is so abhorrent to you.” He wore his gambling face, the one that gave nothing away. Not a tick in his expression, not an inflection in his tone.
Heathcliff shook his head. “The devil could also serve us tea, but just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it’s going to happen ever. You need to stop trying to intertwine me in your family theatrics. I’m already involved more than I wish to be, simply having her in residence. Take that and leave me be.” He was proud that his tone gave nothing away. Years of working at Temptations allowed him the perfect gambling face as well.
Lucas nodded, considered him for a moment, then stood. “Just don’t fold too late,” he murmured, and left.
Heathcliff sighed as he leaned back in his chair.
Fold? That wasn’t in his vocabulary.
Yet, as he glanced down, the blank paper and pen mocked him.
Reminding him that right now, he was the only option, though that was about to change.
And competition was never something he appreciated.
In fact, he had the feeling it was only going to compound the matter . . . and that was far more frightening than a house party.
People he could manage.
It was his own heart that had him concerned.
Chapter Nineteen
A kiss meant something, didn’t it? What about two kisses? Certainly then? What about after more than two? Oh, why wasn’t life as easy as mathematics? One plus one equals two.
Two kisses.
Two kisses plus three more meant five. And after each kiss, a vow that it would be the last.
Five kisses meant . . . what exactly it meant, she wasn’t sure. But it should mean something, she decided. Yet, as her sister paraded with an utterly focused expression as she spouted off ideas about marrying her off to some unknown gentleman, Miranda decided kisses might not mean as much as she’d hoped.
Because if they did, wouldn’t the viscount have had an opinion on her involvement with another man?
Yet, if her sister’s present conversation was accurate, he hadn’t whispered a word against the idea.
What was worse, no one had seen fit to ask her opinion either.
“Liliah?” Miranda tried, not for the first time. Her sister was of quite a singular mind when she was focused on a plan.
When her sister continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all, Miranda rose from her place on the settee and walked around the low table, careful to miss the cornered edge, and approached her sister, who had her back to her as she paced.
“And I do think Mrs. Keyes has a keen eye for gentlemen, because she was quite insistent on the character of a few of the men we discussed—”
Miranda grasped her sister’s shoulder gently, breathing a sigh of relief when her words cut off before being completed.
“Yes?” her sister asked, spinning, her heightened color and determined expression reminding Miranda of the matchmaking mamas of the Ton.
It was almost predatory.
She withdrew her hands and folded them before her. “What if that is not what I wish?”
Liliah blinked, her wide eyes immediately confused. Miranda could see the irony. After all, a gently bred lady had but one goal in life: to marry well.
Her asking such a question was akin to asking why one thought the sky was blue. It just was.
After a few moments, Liliah tipped her head ever so slightly. “Are you against the idea?”
Miranda sighed. “Not the idea but perhaps the execution?”
Liliah frowned, creating a few tiny lines between her eyebrows. “Do you have a better one?”
Miranda felt her lips tip into a grin. Her sister had asked without impatience; she was sincerely wondering if there was some aspect of this brilliant idea she’d missed. Not likely; she’d clearly thought out more details than Miranda had expected to be involved in courtship—and the gentleman hadn’t even been met.
“No,” she hedged. “But it does smack of coercion.” She added softly, “I’m away from London to remove myself from one tyrannical family member, and I feel as if I’m discovering another.” Miranda kept her tone soft, kind, so as not to unnecessarily hurt her sister.
“Oh.” Liliah’s lips formed into a perfect circle. “I see. I suppose I got rather carried away.”
“A little,” Miranda agreed.
Liliah took a few steps toward a side table beside the window, brushing her fingers against the wood, her expression thoughtful. “What is it you want, then? It is your future after all.” She turned to regard her sister.
Miranda shrugged. “That’s a difficult question. I suppose the easy answer is that I wish to be happy, settled, unafraid.” She twisted her lips as she considered what she would choose if she had the world before her, any options, any path to take. “I’d want to know my husband, find him not only diverting but also fascinating. Would it be so much to ask to have something in common?”
Liliah nodded once. It was a decisive nod, as if she were taking mental notes. “No, that is not so much to ask. I think your requests are more than reasonable.”
“And if I could actually find a love match, I think that would be lovely.” A sigh escaped her lips.
“I wouldn’t want you to have anything less.”
Miranda met her gaze. “You say that, but everything you’ve said seems so . . .” She frowned as she searched her mind for the word. “Calculated.”
Liliah had the grace to look slightly abashed. “Well, we must encourage affection and attachment where we can.”
“Yes, but what happens when those circumstances change? Will that affection and attachment remain? What is wrong with allowing it to build naturally?�
�
Liliah sighed. “Nothing, but I don’t know how much time we have,” she answered, her eager anticipation fading into a concerned expression. “I don’t want to risk Father finding you, spiriting you away to London, and—”
“He didn’t want me there in the first place. Why would that change now? I’m out of his realm of responsibility; isn’t that what he wished? Why he was willing to marry me off to the highest bidder? To be rid of me, the responsibility of me under his protection?” Miranda asked, her indignation rising to the surface, causing her voice to become harsh.
Liliah stepped toward her. She reached out and cupped her cheek, smoothing her thumb over her skin. “Yes, but never underestimate a man in love with power. I’d rather not trust any aspect of his character, not with something as precious as your future. But I do promise to listen to you, to try,” she emphasized the word, “not to become carried away with my own plans. I just want you settled, and I want you . . .” She gave a watery smile. “I want you as happy as I am. As loved as I am. I want it for you so desperately, I’m afraid I’m going to be overzealous.”
“Overzealous? You?” Miranda teased, giggling softly. “You do it with love. As such, I’ll do my best to remember it.”
“When I become tyrannical?” Liliah asked, laughing.
“More or less.” Miranda shrugged, grinning at her sister.
“It will probably lean on the more side, rather than the less.” Liliah hitched her shoulder, then grinned unrepentantly. “Let’s start anew.”
Miranda nodded, and watched as Liliah ambled past the settee and took a seat in the wingback chair. “Now then, have you any resistance to meeting the three gentlemen suggested by Mrs. Keyes?”
Miranda twisted her lips, then took the few steps to the settee and sat down, thinking. “What does the viscount know about these gentlemen? I’d like to have his insight. Surely he knows them?”
Liliah nodded. “I haven’t asked him yet. Perhaps we should do that now, before we go any further with our plans. Just to be certain they are of the character Mrs. Keyes suggested.”
Liliah rose from her seat, then strode to the corner to ring the bell for the maid. “I’d like to include my husband in the details as well. He’s quite astute with social arrangements, granted his expertise is of the darker variety, but he’s insightful nonetheless.” Liliah walked back to the recently vacated chair and sat back down.
“I don’t mind who we involve, at least in the first stages.” Miranda paused, then added just to make sure her point was clear, “Only in the beginning stages, though.”
“Understood,” Liliah replied.
The door opened and Mrs. Keyes herself walked into the room, her expression inquiring. “How may I assist you? Tea, perhaps?”
Liliah was quick to answer. “Yes, and would you please inform my husband as well as the viscount that we request their company?”
Mrs. Keyes replied with a grin, “Right away, Lady Heightfield.” With a polite nod, she quit the room, presumably in search of the tea service and the gentlemen.
Miranda took a deep breath, steeling herself in anticipation of seeing the viscount again. It was a strange juxtaposition. When they were alone, or alone enough, she had little anxiety in carrying on a conversation with him, or stating her mind.
She had little trouble with being nervous when they kissed.
But add in her sister and Lord Heightfield, and she could feel her body humming with tension. It was odd, really. She should be far more comfortable with others around, her own family! Yet, she found that only increased the stress, and she was much more relaxed when it was simply the two of them.
She mused about this odd truth, wondering why it was so, as her sister interrupted her thoughts. “After we discuss the gentlemen in question, you know, seek the viscount’s opinion on their character, I think the next most important thing is to determine when we can host the masquerade.”
“Masquerade?” Miranda blinked, then narrowed her eyes slightly. She hadn’t remembered her sister mentioning a masquerade.
Then again, her sister had spoken so swiftly and with such vigor, she might have missed more than just part of the one-sided conversation.
“Yes, of course. We need to provide an avenue for you to mingle without risking exposure to your identity. Originally, there was to be a house party first, but I’ve now decided it is best to have the masquerade ball first. It will be easier to explain as well as give you insight into the gentlemen you find interesting,” Liliah replied, flicking her wrist in a dismissive way, as if to say her answer should have been understood without needing to be explained.
“I see,” Miranda replied. “So, I’m to meet gentlemen without them actually knowing who I am.”
Liliah leaned forward, her brow pinched. “Were you listening to me at all earlier?”
Miranda had thought she was listening, or at least listening to part of it. She was realizing now that maybe she hadn’t been listening nearly enough. “Yes,” she answered anyway.
“I’m not entirely convinced,” Liliah replied. “But it is of little importance. We are starting over, sort of.” She frowned. “The viscount may be reluctant to help,” she added, a little off topic.
Miranda froze. Her breathing stilled as hope and a fierce curiosity rose within her. “Why is that?” she asked, then released her tight breath, exchanging it for another.
Liliah looked thoughtful, her eyes flickering to the side as if deep in thought. “He was rather silent on the matter. And I found that odd. He’s not one to be silent about . . . well, anything,” she finished.
That statement was in agreement with what Miranda had discerned about his character as well.
Interesting.
“Oh?” she remarked, hoping her sister would continue speaking about that particular subject.
“Yes. Has he singled you out in any way?” Her gaze flickered back to her sister. Another person might see the wide eyes and interpret it as innocent.
Miranda knew better. Her sister was playing ignorant; she suspected something.
“What do you mean?” Miranda asked directly, the need to know causing her to be utterly frank.
Liliah dipped her chin slightly. “I know nothing. I’m simply observing.”
“What are you observing?” Miranda asked, slightly impatiently.
“That—”
The door opened, and Miranda could have marched over and slammed it closed in the face of whoever was attempting to enter during such a crucial moment.
But it would be unforgivable to slam the door closed on the man who owned it.
The viscount was first to enter, effectively silencing any further discussion on the previous matter.
Yet, as he walked in, Miranda couldn’t seem to muster the irritation of moments earlier. Rather, she was equal parts relaxed and anxious. It was ironic: to be at odds within herself, yet with no other way to explain it. Seeing him made Miranda feel as if a piece of her was put back in place, when she hadn’t even been aware it had gone missing. Yet her heart hammered in her chest when his rich and warm gaze settled on her, her chest constricting with the power of it.
It was thrilling and frightening all at once.
And utterly distracting. She hadn’t even noticed that Lord Heightfield—rather, Lucas—had followed him into the room until he spoke. “We were summoned?” he asked in a teasing manner, one that Miranda was readily realizing he used often. For all the rumors surrounding him, he was a remarkably easygoing fellow, not at all what she’d expected.
Or maybe he was simply in love.
Love changed people; isn’t that what she’d heard?
She glanced at the viscount. Could it change him?
He gave her a curt nod, then took a seat to the side, reclining slightly, clearly at ease.
Well, it was his parlor, after all, so she supposed if anyone were to feel comfortable, it would be he.
“Summoned? Is that how you wish to call it?” Liliah teased.
/> Lucas took a seat beside his wife, rubbing his nose against her cheek for a brief moment before answering. “Yes.”
“Very well, let it be known I can summon Lord Heightfield like a queen at court.”
“I have a feeling the courtesy goes both ways,” Miranda added, smiling.
“She’s a quick one.” Lucas nodded toward her.
“Thank you,” Miranda felt the need to add.
There was but a moment of silence before the door opened again, this time admitting a maid with a full tea service. As she carefully carried it to the table and set it down, Miranda waited patiently for the viscount to contribute to the conversation.
Liliah stood to pour for her husband, then, in turn, served the others. Miranda blew across her tea gently, watching the swirling steam and allowing herself to become lost in the mist of it, for a moment, as she waited for her sister to break the proverbial ice and inquire of the viscount.
Would he give any hesitancy to her meeting other gentlemen? She was eager to find out, yet she wasn’t sure if she truly wanted to know. Because what if he did not care? Her heart pinched a little, so she sipped her fragrant tea to distract herself from the pain. She didn’t want to think she was so easily disregarded, but what did she know of love, or courtship, or even kisses?
Nothing.
It was very irritating to be so naive.
Yet she didn’t want to become jaded either. She simply wanted . . .
“We spoke with Mrs. Keyes, who mentioned three gentlemen of note. Miranda and I wish to inquire your opinion, my lord,” Liliah said, turning to Viscount Kilpatrick.
Miranda’s eyes cut over to him, watching for any change in his demeanor or facial expression.
He cleared his throat after taking a sip of tea. “Who are the gentlemen she mentioned?”
There was no change, no hint that he might be distressed by her seeking a suitor. Nothing that would give her hope that the five kisses meant something . . . anything.
Liliah continued. “The Honorable Matthew Sarose, Lord Marrion, and,” she paused, her lips twisting as she frowned in thought, “Lord Winter’s son, the Baron of something or another.” She flicked her wrist.
Escaping His Grace Page 13