My Wicked Earl by Kathleen Ayers
14
“Don’t you think so, Lady Miranda?”
Truthfully, Miranda had no idea what Lady Dobson was speaking about. Her thoughts were on Colin and the way he’d looked at her over dinner. She hadn’t imagined the heat that flowed between them. But what did it mean?
Lady Dobson bestowed a toothy smile on Miranda, her turban dipping slightly as she nodded her head.
Miranda watched the turban tilt, silently begging the headgear to slide.
“I was saying that it is gratifying that this Earl of Kilmaire,” Lady Dobson trilled, “will not seek a bride from Ireland. The former earl as well as several of his predecessors showed an odd preference for women who were not English. Highly unusual.”
She winced as Grandmother pinched her forearm. “Indeed, Lady Dobson.”
“You’ve known Lord Kilmaire since you were a child. What traits do you think he values in a future wife?”
“I – well that is to say – Lord Kilmaire values intelligence.” Miranda spared a glance for Lady Helen who sat with her hands clasped demurely, a distant look in her cornflower blue eyes.
I bet she’s thinking of birds. Or feathers. Or possibly nests and eggs. She’s really rather strange.
Miranda bestowed a polite smile on Lady Dobson.
“Yes.” Lady Dobson smiled again. “And, Margaret,” she patted her niece’s hand, “has that in spades. I did despair that her love of books would prove a detriment. It is a happy occurrence that it will not.”
Miss Lainscott flinched slightly from her aunt’s touch, though her face remained passive.
Lady Cottingham pursed her lips, rising to Lady Dobson’s challenge. “He has promised Helen a walk so that she may introduce him to the joys of birdwatching. Isn’t that right, my dear?”
Lady Helen nodded, her eyes narrowing to slits. “He insisted, Lady Dobson, on assisting me in my search for the ruby-throated thrush. I’m told the thrush lives in the woods surrounding Gray Covington.”
Lady Dobson’s nostrils flared. “How lovely. I know that several gentlemen have mentioned to me how they’ve enjoyed birdwatching with you.”
A small puff of disbelief came out of Lady Cottingham at the comment.
Lady Helen paled slightly, but she lifted her chin defiantly.
Lady Dobson continued in a mellow voice, knowing her barb had met its mark. “Have I mentioned Margaret’s talent at the piano forte? She will showcase her talent for us tomorrow evening.”
Miranda wondered if Lady Dobson and Lady Cottingham would go at each other like two dogs fighting over a scrap of meat, with the Earl of Kilmaire in the role of the scrap. She stood, rather abruptly, a faux pas at which her grandmother, as hostess, would likely chastise her for tomorrow. But, if she retired now, Miranda could avoid both Lord Ridley and Lord Hamill. The gentlemen would soon be joining the ladies in the drawing room and Miranda was certain she could not pretend interest in either man again.
“Pray excuse me.” She put a hand to her head as if she were about to faint. “Much like your husband, Lady Cottingham, I am prone to sickness after long carriage rides. I beg your forgiveness, but I must retire.”
“A wonder you did not succumb to this affliction earlier,” Grandmother murmured, one grey brow raised in question. The green eyes, shrewd and knowing, took in Miranda’s slightly flushed features. “You do look a bit ill, granddaughter. Alexandra and I will entertain our guests.”
Alex nodded. “Pray get some rest, dearest.”
Miranda nodded to the circle of ladies as she made her way from the room. At least the sickness was not completely feigned. The entire conversation had made Miranda sick to her stomach.
IT HAD BEEN hours since Miranda fled the drawing room and the discussion of how best Lady Helen or Miss Lainscott could ensnare the Earl of Kilmaire. Upon arriving in her room, Miranda ordered a warm bath. A bath always soothed one’s nerves and aided in sleep.
Except that sleep did not come and her nerves were far from soothed.
“A book,” she murmured out loud as she hastily slid her arms through a robe left on the back of a chair. “Something dreadfully boring, may help me sleep. I think Sutton just received a package from Thrumbadges. There’s bound to be something tedious in there.” Mind made up, she left her bed.
Miranda’s dressing gown flowed about her ankles, tickling the tops of her bare feet. She probably should have put on slippers, but really, this was her home and surely no one would be about at this hour. Even the footman who always stood ready at the door had sought his bed.
Quietly, she opened the doors to the library, shutting them behind her with a soft click. This was her favorite room at Gray Covington. The library smelled of old leather, ink and paper. The lingering aroma of a cheroot touched her nostrils as did the smell of the fire, now banked. Her toes sunk into the thick rug covering the floor as she made her way toward the window. The package from Thrumbadge’s was bound to be on the long table that ran aside one tall bookcase.
Halfway across the room something stopped her. A sound, like someone taking a breath alerted her to another’s presence. She froze, praying that Lord Hamill wasn’t hidden in the dark somewhere drinking her brother’s brandy.
“I didn’t know, Miranda.” The words, soft like velvet, with just a slight lilt to them, flowed across the room to her.
Carefully, Miranda turned towards the fire and the pair of wing-backed chairs that flanked the hearth.
Two long legs, crossed at the ankle, stretched out from one chair. A hand dangled over the side clutching a glass of amber liquid.
Whiskey, probably.
Miranda walked towards the hearth and turned to face the chair. Firelight glinted off hair the color of faded gold, to frame a face all the more handsome for the damage done to it.
“What are you doing here?” She clutched her robe around her, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable in front of the large male sprawled in the chair before her.
“Brooding.” He held up the crystal glass in his hand and gave her a crooked smile. “You always insisted that I liked to brood. I suppose you’re correct. Your brother’s excellent whiskey is assisting me in my melancholy. I’m grateful that Hamill prefers brandy else we’d be fighting over it. Did you know I found him asleep in that chair,” he pointed somewhere to the left, “before we’d even gone to dinner? You’d end up his nursemaid, feeding him gruel with a spoon.”
“You’re foxed.”
“A bit, perhaps.” He raised a golden brow at the dressing gown and her bare feet. “Are you having an assignation?” The words growled from between his lips before he took a large swallow of the whiskey and glared at her. “Have I interrupted?”
“No.” She shook her head. “And if I were it wouldn’t—”
“Matter? You’re mistaken on that point. It shall always matter.” His face softened a bit, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t lessen. “I would hear all of it, Miranda, for I didn’t know.” His voice lowered to a delicious whisper. “I would not have you think I baited you deliberately. I am not that cruel.”
He leaned forward and tried to catch her hand. Fingers brushed against hers as he tried to pull her to him. “Tell me. Of Helmsby Abbey and Archie Runyon.”
Miranda looked down, loving the feel of his skin against hers. She’d always adored his hands, for they were possessed of a certain masculine grace. Not soft, like so many gentleman’s hands, not like Ridley’s. Instead, Colin’s hands were rough, probably because he didn’t care for wearing gloves. “I don’t think now is the time, Colin.”
“There is no better time.” He pulled her down to him.
Surprised, Miranda didn’t object, but allowed herself to be drawn down next to Colin. She perched on the arm of the chair, her feet against his leg and her knees pressing against the upper part of Colin’s thighs. The heat of his body seeped through the dressing gown.
Colin did not release her hand. Instead his thumb moved back and forth over the base of her palm. It was an intimate gesture meant to comfort. Or possibly arouse. Miranda felt both emotions equally.
“Miranda,” he urged softly, looking up at her from beneath those ridiculously long lashes he sported.
He didn’t sound as if he were aroused. Or attempting to seduce her. Possibly he was trying to be her friend, something he had not been since arriving in London.
She took a long shuddering breath.
What, exactly, should she say? Grandmother instructed her never to speak of it. Pretend the incident had never occurred. Alex and Sutton were so guilt ridden that the mere mention of that day left them both anguished for hours. Which left Miranda with no one to talk to about the thing that had forever altered her life.
Her mother’s cousin had been a terrible human being. Archie caused her family nothing but pain. He was to be blamed for the indirect death of her father, and the continued absence of her sister Elizabeth. But it was no small thing to end another’s life, even if that person were Archie Runyon. She’d prayed of course, begging forgiveness from God, but she felt no relief in doing so.
“I don’t regret that he is dead,” she finally said.
Colin’s eyes deepened to near black. “I do not either. The world is a better place without Archie Runyon. Go on.”
“I’ll have a bit of that, if you don’t mind.” Miranda nodded to the glass of whiskey Colin held in his hands.
Her hand shook as she reached for the glass. “I don’t wish your pity.”
“Good, for I have none to spare.” His hand covered hers to steady the glass. Gently he tipped it up to her lips. “You’ve taken to drinking whiskey?”
The liquid burned down Miranda’s throat and her eyes immediately watered though she managed to keep the cough moving up her throat from erupting. “No,” she choked. “But I find it difficult to talk about the incident. I thought perhaps the whiskey would help.”
Colin moved the whiskey glass back, but not before wiping at an amber drop that fell from her lip with his finger.
“I – I’m not sure where I should start.” Her lips burned both from the whiskey and the movement of his finger over her mouth.
“At the beginning. That is the best place to start.” He moved across the chair and in doing so, pulled her off the arm of the chair until she half sat in his lap.
Warmth emanated from him. He smelled of clean linen, cheroot, and the whiskey, a delicious combination that sent tendrils of longing through her.
“I – I did shoot him, Colin.” Her heart began to race, as much from his closeness as the remembrance of that horrible day. “He was going to kill my brother. Hurt Alex. I really had no choice.” A shudder ran through her as her body bent towards him, seeking the solace he offered.
“You absolutely had no choice, Miranda. No one, in the same situation would have done otherwise.”
His arm came around her shoulders to press against the middle of her back. The slight pressure brought her body against the length of his. “Continue. I’m here.”
He’s only trying to comfort me. “Sutton left Alex. When she was with child. Or, children, I suppose I should say, although she didn’t realize, of course, that she’d have twins. No one did. But, he left, I’m not sure he-”
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Colin leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. “Slowly, Miranda.”
Traitorous body. She was about to recite the most horrible moment of her life and her body was paying her mind no heed. The tips of her nipples were hardening to pebbles beneath the nightgown and an ache started low in her belly from just the merest touch of Colin’s mouth on hers.
His arm slid down until it rested on her waist.
“Sutton left because Mother,” she couldn’t keep the venom out of her words. “You know that Alex and Sutton had a scandalous start to their marriage. Alex was once engaged to Cousin Archie. But of course, after Sutton and Alex were found together, her betrothal to Archie was over. Thank God.
“He told me.” Colin’s fingers moved lightly against her.
“Everything was fine. Then Mother filled Sutton’s head with nonsense about Alex. That she had married him for other reasons. Even though Grandmother and I told him differently, he took off to be part of some ridiculous expedition. He left Alex with barely a word. He didn’t know about the child yet. I mean the twins.” She waved her hand. “Maddy and Robert.”
Colin brought the whiskey to her mouth again, allowing her a sip. He took it back from her and tossed back the remainder before setting the glass down on a table next to the chair. He turned her hand and laced his fingers through hers. As he used to. Before.
“Nick did not intervene?” Colin’s fingers squeezed hers. “I’m somewhat surprised, because he has a strange propensity for doing so. He enjoys meddling in the affairs of others.” His voice hardened. “I’m a bit surprised Nick didn’t rid the world of Archie Runyon himself as a favor to the Dowager.”
“He wasn’t here. Bermuda.” Miranda whispered. “Nick left for Bermuda, but he dispatched several men to watch over Sutton. He knew of Mother’s desire to harm my brother. Several attempts had been made on Sutton’s life since he’d returned from Macao. We all knew, deep down inside, that the attempts were somehow Mother’s doing. Without Sutton’s knowledge, Nick instructed several men to watch over my brother as he was being an idiot. Thankfully. Though Grandmother and I didn’t know then. About the men, I mean. My mother and her merry band of assassins.” A small choking laugh came from her. “God, she’s horrible. I don’t even know what she expected to accomplish.” Her mouth held a terrible bitter taste that she felt certain only more whiskey would dispel.
“I don’t suppose I could have some more whiskey?”
“In a moment. Thank God for Nick’s meddling. He’s as bad as the Dowager. Inside the Devil of Dunbar beats the heart of a matronly busy body.”
Miranda gave him a weak smile. “Alex was alone in Hampshire at her family’s estate. At Grandmother’s urging, I went to visit her. She was nearly ready to give birth and big as a house. You should have seen her. At any rate, I didn’t want her to be alone just because my brother is an idiot. Just before I left for Hampshire, I received a note from Sutton. He’d finally come to his sense after being such an—.”
“Ass.”
“Yes. Sutton was being an enormous ass. And he finally realized it. He arranged to surprise Alex and beg her forgiveness. I was to take the carriage and pick him up in the village on the outskirts of Helmsby Abbey. I told Alex a package had arrived from London.”
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against the knuckles. “A bit of the truth, then.”
She remembered every detail of that day, for she dreamt of it often enough. Her gown was of light blue muslin with daisies gracing the skirt. The slippers she wore matched, with tiny daisies decorating the toes. Of course, the slippers were ruined. Blood splattered the daisies, dotting the tiny fabric petals. The blood on Archie’s lapel. He’d looked so surprised.
“I -I had a new bonnet. With green ribbon. I’m not sure why that seems so important, but I can still see that ribbon trailing in the wind. My bonnet fell off, you see, when I shot him.”
The stone façade of Helmsby Abbey loomed again before her as she sprinted up to her rooms to retrieve the pair of pistols in her valise. The smell of her own sweat filled her nostrils as she cursed those ridiculous slippers, wondering why she hadn’t worn a sturdy pair of walking boots for her trip to the village.
“When – when,” she took another breath, remembering the smoke that had billowed out of the barn that day. “When we arrived at the house, the servants were struggling, screaming to get out of the barn. He’d locked them all inside. He meant for them to burn. Sutton yelled for the groom that accompanied me to the village to open the barn doors. We heard Alex scream,” she shook her head slightly, “and that’s when Sutton took one of the carriage horses and rode into the woods.”
The servants of Helmsby Abbey, many of them elderly, fell through the barn doors, choking and gasping for breath.
“I almost didn’t bring my pistols. They were a matched set. I was so proud of them. I meant to show Alex how I could hit the tip of a tree branch from several yards away. At the time, I thought I was being foolish.” Her voice was shaking. Her mind often relived the what ifs of that day. What if she hadn’t brought her pistols? What if Sutton hadn’t come to Hampshire and instead stayed in Macao?
She still smelled the scent of the forest, felt the way the wet leaves slid beneath her feet as she ran toward the sound of Alex screaming. The thought that she would never be able to wear the pretty daisy slippers again for the mud ruined them. Before the blood.
“Who taught you to handle a pistol?” Colin’s hand trailed along her thigh to pull her closer into the shelter of his arms.
“Sutton. I begged him, when Archie returned to London. Nagged him every day until he took down one of Father’s old pistols and showed me how to clean and load it. He allowed me to shoot in the garden when Mother was out. I destroyed the birdbath.” Her eyes began to fill with tears and she couldn’t stop it. “My father’s favorite birdbath. The only thing my mother ever brought from Italy that he loved.”
“Sutton is a terrible shot.” A kiss pressed against her temple. “It was Nick, wasn’t it?”
Miranda nodded slowly. “Sutton taught me to shoot, but Nick made me practice, until he left for Bermuda. He worried because he was leaving, and he had to go. Grandmother told him he must. After that, I practiced on my own. Sometimes Bevins helped. Did you know that Bevins had been in the army? He fought in France.”
“I have renewed respect for Bevins.” His pulled her closer until her head lay against his shoulder. “I have you, Miranda. It’s all right.”
Wetness slid down her cheeks at the gentle words. She hadn’t cried truly, about the incident. Not really. In fact, she’d cried more over Colin than shooting Archie Runyon. A deep heaving gulp of air filled her chest.
“Miranda,” the sound of her name was gentle. “Few men would ever have been as brave as you, love. I am in awe of you.”
She trembled, her fingers playing at the collar of his shirt, plucking at the fabric. The words tumbled from her lips as she gasped and sobbed.
“Alex was begging for my brother’s life, Colin. Pleading with Archie to spare him even as that- that monster threatened to cut the baby out of her womb.”
“Oh, Miranda.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. “That’s enough, love. Enough.”
Colin’s fingers trailed up and down her back, rocking her gently against him as she wept. One hand moved to thread through her hair as he murmured words of comfort.
“I knew what Archie was capable of. When I came upon them in the woods, Archie was laughing. He thought my brother was dead. I – I thought Sutton was dead. And Alex-” Miranda wiped at her eyes. “That bastard was so busy taunting Alex, saying horrible things to her, that he never heard me approach. I didn’t hesitate. I shot him.”
“Shh.”
“My bonnet flew off my head when I shot him. He was so surprised. He shook his head at me before he poked his finger in the hole I’d made with the pistol. He always told me I was just an ornament to be hung on some gentleman’s arm. I think that’s why he was surprised.” She wasn’t making sense, she knew it, and still she could not stop talking.
“Yes.” He wrapped his body around hers, as if to shelter her from the horror of that day. “It’s all right now. I have you.”
“I’m an excellent shot.” The words barely left her mouth before she began to sob violently, her entire body shaking. She cried until there was nothing left, pouring out her pain and fear until Colin’s shirt lay damp beneath her cheeks.
It felt so good to finally tell someone everything. “I think I’ve ruined your shirt.”
“I have others.” He released her hand, but not his hold around her waist.
The light of the fire threw Colin’s features into shadow, hiding the scar and for a moment he looked as he did years ago.
Reaching up, he gently tucked one errant, ebony curl back behind her ear, allowing his finger to linger against her cheek.
“Breath, Miranda. It’s over. You are safe.”
Snuggling closer to Colin, her entire body gave a sigh of pleasure. This was where she always wished to be, safe in the warmth of Colin’s embrace, with his heart beating strong beneath her cheek.
He whispered something into her hair and gripped her tighter.
Miranda lifted her head and looked up at the man who held her as if she were a cherished object. Though she’d long since stopped crying, his hold on her had not lessened.
Light blonde bristles stood out against his jaw, glistening as if he’d been sprinkled with fairy dust.
Her fingers lifted to his face, brushing against the bristle of his night beard before moving to trace the line of the scar. She pressed her lips to his ruined cheek
Come back to me. Her heart whispered to his.
“No matter what Miranda, I hope you know that I do care for you.” Colin’s eyes were closed, the length of his lashes dark streaks against his cheeks. His breathing slowed and his grip on her slackened.
“I care for you as well,” Miranda swallowed and summoned her courage, “does this mean that you will not marry Miss Lainscott?” Her heart was beating rapidly but not with passion.
“I have no intention of marrying Miss Lainscott.” His voice drifted off.
That was only part of Miranda’s question. “Will you then end your pursuit of Lady Helen?”
A wry half-smile twisted his lips. “I would not call it pursuit, exactly. More duty, I suppose.”
She didn’t move, nor flinch at the words that broke her heart. Devastation filled her. She should not have asked a question she didn’t really want an answer for.
A small snore sounded from the man beneath her.
Miranda was desolate. Humiliated. Pained. Gently, so as not to wake him, Miranda stood. How peaceful Colin looked as he slept, his face relaxed and open. She supposed he did care for her, as much as he was capable. Perhaps he did not so much leave her as run away from her, away from love and all it entailed. He didn’t want to be loved. Maybe he should marry Lady Helen.
Miranda supposed she should pity Colin, but instead her heart broke for them both. She made her way carefully from the room, her robe clutched tight about her, forgetting the book she’d meant to retrieve. Nothing would allow her to sleep this night.
