My Wicked Earl by Kathleen Ayers
16
GRAY COVINGTON 1836
Oh, my.Miss Lainscott seems to have forgotten to be timid and demure.
At the urging of her aunt, Lady Dobson, Miss Lainscott was coaxed into being this evening’s entertainment. The piano, one that Miranda’s father once played, seemed to come to life beneath the ministrations of Miss Lainscott. She was known to be skilled at music, but Miranda had no idea she played so well. Or with such unbridled emotion.
Most young ladies learned to play a piano or some other instrument passably well, even Miranda. Usually these same young ladies were trotted out to showcase their skills in the presence of potential suitors, to mild, polite applause. Blushing, the young ladies would bow and hopefully catch the eye of a young man who admired the musical skills presented.
In no way did Miss Lainscott’s playing tonight resemble those tepid performances.
Miss Lainscott’s slight form bent back and forth wildly, as if caught in a torrid embrace with a lover, while her fingers, gloveless, flew over the keys. Lashes flickering against her cheeks, her mouth widened in a beckoning smile as a deep rose suffused her cheeks. Her feet moved in time to the music beneath the bench on which she sat, skirts flipping up to expose trim ankles. The raw sensuality with which Miss Lainscott played completely transformed her. No longer plain and ordinary, she’d transformed into a siren. A seducer of men.
LADY DOBSON, thin lips curled in disapproval, regarded her niece with something akin to distaste. Angrily fluttering her fan from one boney wrist, she narrowed her eyes at Miss Lainscott, no doubt already thinking how best to punish the girl.
Miranda really could not wait for Lady Dobson to depart the premises.
On the other side of the room, Lady Cottingham and her daughter stood guard over the Dowager, monopolizing her attention. Lady Helen wore a gown of pale lilac adorned with ornately tied bows around the skirt. In her hair she wore an enormous feather suffused with jewel tones. The feather wafted gracefully about her cheek as she spoke to Grandmother.
It looked suspiciously like a peacock feather. She should tell Zander to check tails of all of the peacocks that made Gray Covington their home.
Lady Helen appeared to be discussing something of great importance with Grandmother, although it did not appear that the Dowager felt the same. Grandmother’s eyes held a faraway look as if she wished she were somewhere else. She turned slightly trying to catch Miranda’s attention over Lady Helen’s shoulder, possibly to beg rescue from the ladies Cottingham.
Miranda ignored the plea in her grandmother’s eyes.
Mrs. Cottingham and her daughter seemed unaware of the Dowager’s lack of interest. Lady Helen in particular seemed very agitated, even moving her perfectly gloved hands in order to make some point. Birds, probably. The action caused the feather she wore to become unmoored. It was tilting, the nib began to point up as the plume turned to caress Lady Helen’s neck.
It would be kind of Miranda to inform Lady Helen that her headdress was coming undone. The girl looked ridiculous with her hair adornment listing across her face.
Just then, Lady Helen stopped speaking, her mouth curling into a seductive smile as her attention was taken by the Earl of Kilmaire making his way around the room.
Miranda’s thought to inform Lady Helen of her mounting disaster with the feather was immediately discarded. She was not feeling especially kind towards Lady Helen this evening.
Lord Ridley and Lord Hamill were circling around Miranda like sharks smelling blood in the water. Each man constantly espoused their individual virtues while she nodded and pretended to carefully consider their suit. Lady Helen stalked Colin about Gray Covington as if he were a rare species of bird, even going so far as to boldly brush her breasts against him repeatedly at the breakfast table yesterday morning. The only person whose company Miranda enjoyed was that of Miss Lainscott.
Every bit of this nightmare was Grandmother’s fault.
Miranda’s eyes rested on Colin as he wandered about the room, greeting first her brother, then Alex. Again, he wore not a bit of color, his formal attire all black except for the snowy white shirt and neckcloth he wore. The scar flashed across his cheek, peeking through the waves of his honey-colored hair. She watched as he dangled a glass of wine carelessly from one hand, laughing at something Alex said to him. He hated wine.
She looked away, not wishing to be caught ogling the Earl of Kilmaire.
After telling Colin the whole of her scandal and the death of Archie Runyon, Miranda felt immeasurably better. The burden of carrying the tale of that day within her took a toll Miranda hadn’t acknowledged until she was free of it. She’d never discussed that day with anyone. Not her brother, nor Alex. Not even Arabella, her dearest friend.
A wave of sadness washed through her. Colin had always been at the very center of her world. First, during her childhood at Gray Covington, then later, as the young woman she’d once been. His rejection pained her. Was he incapable of love? Did he only seduce her for sport? Last night, as they sat together in the library, Miranda had allowed herself to hope, only to have that hope thrown back in her face. The worst part was, she didn’t know why.
I may never understand. Perhaps I am better off not knowing.
Her eyes followed Colin’s form as he made his way through the room. Miranda inhaled, imagining she smelled cheroot and whiskey, two things she would always associate with the Earl of Kilmaire. The physical attraction between them had not dimmed with the passing of years. Even being in the same room with him caused a prickling of sexual awareness that frightened her. As it had in the library.
She’d been avoiding him ever since.
After her discussion with Colin the night before, Miranda had gone down to breakfast in a rather poor mood. Lady Helen’s behavior that morning, practically throwing herself on Colin’s plate like a serving of kippers, only increased Miranda’s annoyance. She declined to join the other guests for a picnic near the ruins of the ancient Cambourne keep, insisting she needed to pay a call on the vicar’s wife, who was ailing.
Over her grandmother’s objections, she’d taken a basket of freshly baked bread and some cheese to Vicar Paulson’s wife. The simple task of visiting Mrs. Paulson and catching up on the village gossip had done Miranda a world of good. And Mrs. Paulson as well. The poor woman had been laid up for several weeks with a broken ankle after tripping over her dog.
Upon her return, citing exhaustion, Miranda took a tray in her room and did not go down for dinner, only joining the party to hear Miss Lainscott’s performance.
A crescendo of music echoed through the room as Miss Lainscott launched into another piece on the piano, a rather erotic and sensual sounding piece.
Lady Dobson snapped her fan loudly, clearly announcing her irritation to the room.
Lord and Lady Payne sat near Lady Dobson and her annoyed fan. Miranda had known the Earl of Payne for many years, as their land bordered Gray Covington to the east. Their daughter, Lady Barbara, had been a childhood friend of Miranda’s, though Miranda was several years older.
Lady Barbara’s copper hair caught the light as she leaned in to say something to her mother, her profile delicate and refined. Lady Barbara was slender, athletic and renowned for her horsemanship. Everything Miranda was not. Miranda was far from athletic, except for her excellent marksmanship, and she didn’t think that actually counted. She was also not “willowy” a description one often heard in conjunction with Lady Barbara.
She would at least be a better choice for Colin than Lady Helen.
Lord Payne was notoriously protective of his daughter ever since his son and heir, Lord Benjamin, disappeared in the wilds of America. Miranda’s father and Lord Payne had often shared a bottle of scotch together, each mourning the loss of their sons.
Except Sutton came home, and Benjamin has not.
Miss Lainscott’s passion appeared to have dissipated. She bent low over the piano, slender fingers caressing each key with infinite sadness. The melody slowed, becoming cheerless and forlorn. A thin sheen of sweat coated Miss Lainscott’s forehead and cheeks.
Miranda turned and caught sight of Welles, leaning against the wall, his form nearly hidden in the shadows lingering in the corner of the conservatory. He watched Miss Lainscott with a bemused look on his face.
Lady Dobson suddenly stood, the veins in her neck sticking out like the strings of a violin. Approaching the piano and her niece, she leaned her skeletal form forward, shaking her head in admonishment. The angry vibration of Lady Dobson’s chastisement could be heard, if not the actual words she used.
Miss Lainscott’s fingers left the piano rather abruptly. Her mouth opened as if she would challenge her aunt, but she quickly looked down, and nodded obediently to Lady Dobson.
A light airy tune soon filled the room as Lady Dobson made her way back to her seat, smiling like a crocodile who had just taken a bite out of an especially tasty water buffalo. She made a great show of smoothing her skirts before laying the fan in her lap.
“Lady Miranda.” Lady Helen, unfortunate peacock feather still untethered, perched herself next to Miranda. “I’m so sorry you missed our outing to the ruins. Your cook prepared a most marvelous picnic.” The feather dipped until it dangled near her chin.
“Unfortunately, I needed to pay a call on the wife of our vicar. She’s been ill. I wished to assure myself that she was on the mend.”
Lady Helen waved her hand, dismissing Miranda’s words, not at all interested in Miranda’s visit with the vicar’s wife. “Lord Kilmaire escorted me, of course. I was so grateful for his assistance as the ground was strewn with stone. Why, I nearly stepped into a hole, but luckily Lord Kilmaire caught me.”
Miranda could just imagine. Lady Helen blithely sailing about the ruins, probably in a pair of slippers more suited for dancing than for climbing. Tripping gracefully to allow Colin to catch her in his arms.
Ugh.
“How fortunate for you that Lord Kilmaire was in attendance.”
“Indeed.” Lady Helen allowed a satisfied smile to creep across her lips. “Fortunate for Lord Kilmaire as well.” She laughed at her own cleverness before tilting her head toward the piano and Miss Lainscott.
“She plays beautifully, doesn’t she? Though I fear it won’t help her in finding a husband. Only her enormous dowry will assist with that. Perhaps if she weren’t so terribly plain.”
Mean-spirited little twit. “Musical talent of such magnitude,” Miranda’s voice hardened, “is a gift. When Miss Lainscott plays, her beauty shines through. Every man in the room was in awe of her.”
Lady Helen’s fan stilled for a moment at Miranda’s defense of Miss Lainscott. Or perhaps it was the thought that the gentlemen in the conservatory paid attention to someone else other than Lady Helen. She cocked her head, considering her rebuttal, then shrugged her small, perfectly formed shoulders.
“I’m told the grounds at Gray Covington are absolutely splendid for bird watching. In fact, perfect for all manner of things.” Lady Helen purred, eyes hardening into bits of flint. “After dinner last night, Lord Ridley took me for a turn around the garden so I could hear the evening bird song.” She blinked at Miranda in pretended innocence.
Miranda regarded her blandly. Waiting.
“Oh, please,” Lady Helen spouted in false apology. “Do not misunderstand me. He only escorted me as you were absent. I’m sure Lord Ridley is quite taken with you. I do hope I haven’t distressed you in any way.”
“Perish the thought,” Miranda replied, her tone neutral and polite.
“Lord Kilmaire, of course, was not pleased.” Lady Helen fluttered her lashes, lowering her voice as if exchanging a confidence. “He’s quite enamored of me.”
Miranda’s heart constricted painfully, though her face remained serene. “How could he not be?”
The girl was deliberately baiting her. She doubted Lady Helen was astute enough to sense that Colin and Miranda had a past together. After all, no one else had. No, it was more likely that Lady Helen needed to be the center of attention, particularly masculine attention.
“I consoled Lord Kilmaire with the promise to accompany him on a walk to search out the ruby-throated thrush. I’m quite passionate about him.” She covered her mouth in mock horror. “Oh, dear, I meant to say the ruby-throated thrush, Lady Miranda.”
Lady Helen deserved a good spanking. What a rude child she was.
“I am not a bird watcher myself, Lady Helen, but with the immense parkland that surrounds us, I would assume that your efforts would not go unrewarded. I am sure if you consult our steward, Mr. Smythe, he could tell you where many of the birds you seek can be found. He is more familiar with the grounds than anyone.”
Lady Helen tilted her head closer to Miranda’s, the feather she wore tickling across Miranda’s cheek. Her perfume, something so sweet it made Miranda’s stomach roil, floated in the air.
“Lord Kilmaire tells me there are many paths that lead to more isolated parts of the woods, “she said pointedly, leaning back. “That is where we’ll find the ruby-throated thrush, I’m sure. Or perhaps, something else.”
Miranda wanted to slap Lady Helen for her outlandish behavior. What young lady speaks of seduction in such a manner? Or speaks of seduction at all?
“I keep a journal of my birds, documenting those I see with notes and drawings,” Lady Helen continued in a breathless voice. “Lord Kilmaire is fascinated by my hobby. Absolutely fascinated.” She gave a practiced shake of her head so that her blonde curls fell artfully to her shoulders. “I find Lord Kilmaire to be quite handsome, in spite of that dreadful scar, don’t you? He’s quite infamous. As his countess, I suppose I would also have to tolerate scrutiny.”
Lady Helen would no doubt thrive on Colin’s infamy. Who wouldn’t wish to dine with the Cursed Earl’s wife? Or pay a call on the Countess of Kilmaire?
“I’m sure you will manage,” Miranda replied wondering how much longer Lady Helen would feel the need to engage her in conversation.
“I shall tell you a secret,” Lady Helen giggled. “I’m certain a proposal is forthcoming. Why, he’s even told me that I may call him Colin.” She pressed a gloved hand to her lips. “It’s rather exciting.”
Miranda again resisted the urge to bat Lady Helen away as one would do an annoying gnat.
“I do hope he won’t try to steal a kiss.” She looked sideways at Miranda.
Of course, Lady Helen wished Colin would steal a kiss.
“Lord Kilmaire will make an excellent tour guide,” Miranda murmured, allowing her disinterest to show. “I daresay he knows the woods around Gray Covington as well as any member of our family. He visited often during holidays from Eton with my brother, Lord Cambourne. I’m sure you will enjoy your outing together immensely.”
“Oh, I am certain of it.” Lady Helen waited for Miranda to say more, snapping her fan impatiently when Miranda turned her attention back to Miss Lainscott.
If Lady Helen sought to intimidate Miranda, the girl would need to do better than that. Miranda had years of experience dealing with vain, cruel women who felt they were superior to others. Mother had been an excellent teacher.
Lady Helen’s perfect pink lips pursed together. She didn’t care at all for being ignored.
“I do hope you’ll forgive me, but I quite admire you.” Lady Helen’s face took on a look of innocence.
Miranda turned, knowing what would come next.
“I apologize if I speak out of turn, for I have nothing but admiration for the way in which you have handled,” she hesitated as if it pained her to continue, “the circumstances that surround you. Gossip and rumor do such terrible things to a lady’s reputation.”
Miranda clasped her hands in her lap and waited politely for Lady Helen to continue. If the girl thought she could ruffle Miranda with a mention of the scandal, she was sadly mistaken.
“Why it’s terrible.” Her pretty face appeared mournful. “Mother and I have spoken at length about it. We nearly did not accept the Dowager Marchioness’s invitation.”
Miranda wanted to laugh at the blatant lie. No one declined an invitation from the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, especially a social climbing harridan like Lady Cottingham.
“You understand, with it being my first season and my father’s title fairly recent, that we cannot have an ounce of scandal attached to us.”
“Of course.” Miranda replied. “One wonders then, why you would entertain the suit of the Cursed Earl.”
Lady Helen’s perfect brow wrinkled as if she were wrestling with some inner dilemma. “Well it’s quite different for a gentleman, obviously. Scandal only makes some men, like Lord Kilmaire, that much more attractive. Women, however, become unsuitable. I’ve often thought it unfair. You’re so terribly brave to withstand such talk and still go about in society.”
What a little bitch Lady Helen was. “What makes you so certain,” Miranda said softly, “that you are not considered unsuitable?”
Lady Helen’s perfect composure faltered. She reddened, rather unattractively. “You are—”
Miranda turned in her seat abruptly and leaned forward, her nose nearly touching Lady Helen’s. “I am the sister of the Marquess of Cambourne, your host. My lineage and that of my family would never be in dispute, nor would I need to marry to gain social standing.”
Lady Helen fell back as if slapped.
“I would consider what you say next, Lady Helen, very carefully. My circumstances, of which you have very kindly offered your sympathy, will be nothing compared to the circumstances you will find yourself in should this conversation continue further. I would beg you to remember who my grandmother is and the damage she can inflict with only a few, well placed words. I fear neither you nor your family could withstand such an assault.”
Lady Jeanette Cambourne had not been much of a mother to Miranda, but she had imparted some useful lessons to her daughter. Namely, how to give a set down to a malicious little bitch.
Lady Helen’s lips moved as if she would speak but could not. She now resembled a sputtering tomato with an atrocious hair ornament.
“And since you are so terribly fond of gossip, I would remind you that there is always a grain of truth in every rumor.” Miranda straightened her gloves. “Most of it is conjecture, of course, except the part in which I am a crack shot. I often practice in the woods. Pray be careful as you walk.” She stood and looked down her nose at the younger girl. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Lady Helen, but if you will excuse me, there are other guests who I must attend to.”
Standing, she strolled away from Lady Helen, listening to the poofs and squeaks of outrage the girl made. How dare that social climbing little twit insult her.
Everyone’s attention, thankfully, remained on Miss Lainscott. Miranda doubted anyone had seen the exchange between she and Lady Helen. Still smarting from the girl’s snide remarks, Miranda took a deep breath. She needed a moment alone to get her wits back and the conservatory was not the place to do it.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Zander who nodded back, seeming to understand Miranda’s unspoken request.
Grandmother had rebuilt Gray Covington, and her first request, besides the completion of the gardens, was that as many rooms as possible have a view of the magnificent parkland surrounding the estate. A terrace had been constructed along the entire back of the house that overlooked a maze of paths all leading into the gardens. Each room that faced the gardens also contained large, floor to ceiling doors that opened to the grounds.
A footman immediately opened a pair of those doors and swung them wide, inviting the evening air to filter through the conservatory. The scent of moist earth and the delicate aroma of roses filled Miranda’s nostrils.
Peace.The gardens of Gray Covington offered sanctuary to Miranda, as they had when she was a child and sought to escape her nanny, or as she grew older, the constant scolding of her mother.
Laughter sounded from across the room, low and deep.
Colin, his hair shining like a beacon in the candlelight, tilted his large form over the arm of the couch on which Lady Barbara sat. He laughed again, his eyes crinkling at some joke the pair shared.
Lady Barbara lifted her chin and gave what looked to be a saucy reply.
Jealously Miranda decided, was an awful, dark emotion. It made one wish to stride across the room and punch her childhood friend right in her lovely face.
Almost as if she bade him, Colin turned.
Their eyes caught and held. His lips moved, speaking to Lady Barbara, though his gaze never left Miranda.
Miranda blinked and looked away.
She barely felt the touch of Lord Ridley at her elbow, agreeing to his suggestion of a walk in the garden without thinking.
Anything to get her out of this room and away from Colin.
COLIN SPENT the better part of Miss Lainscott’s performance longing for Miranda. To be fair, he’d spent nearly every moment since coming to Gray Covington wanting her. But the passionate playing of Miss Lainscott seemed to enhance his desire. And her playing was quite passionate. He wondered that Miss Lainscott didn’t burst into flames before their eyes while at the piano.
Miranda seemed not to notice him, perched as she was upon a damask settee, her powder blue skirts draped provocatively about her generous curves. Curves he had felt through the thin protection of her dressing gown as she’d confessed her role in the death of Archie Runyon and the ensuing innuendo that followed. No one would ever be able to prove the truth, but the suggestion that Miranda had been involved was enough to tarnish her.
He’d awoken in the library as the sun was barely lighting the sky, his mouth dry as parchment and his head aching. As the sun rose higher and the sound of the maids making their rounds met his ears, Colin struggled to unwind his form from the leather chair, wincing at the slight twinge in his neck. Lavender and honey permeated his shirt, along with several, long inky black hairs. His heart ached for Miranda, along with the thought that had he not been holed up at Runshaw Park, he could have protected her somehow. Which was ridiculous.
I only wished to comfort her. I’d had too much whiskey.
He recognized the thought for the lie it was. Once Miranda sat in the circle of his arms, nothing else mattered to him. Not St. Remy, nor the damned letter with his ring rolling out. Certainly not the amount of whiskey he’d had. None of it.
Loss created a giant aching pit in his stomach, an abyss that widened and became more immense with each passing day. He sat for the longest time in the library, ignoring the maids, who in turn pretended that there wasn’t a large man with a scar looking as if he’d slept in a chair all night with a decanter of whiskey at his elbow.
The two maids dusted around him and carefully removed his empty glass.
As he sat thinking, the maids rubbed beeswax into the table next to him, Colin pondered the insanity of the situation he found himself in.
I am planning on marrying a woman I don’t want to restore an estate I don’t care about.
He was deeply conflicted where Miranda was concerned. Colin was not the most trusting of men to begin with and Miranda had betrayed that trust in the most terrible way possible. His mind insisted that she beg his forgiveness. Admit her mistake. Express her regret.
By the time he decided to find Miranda and speak to her, Colin was reminded, gently by Zander, of a planned excursion to view the Cambourne ruins. The Cottinghams swallowed him up as soon as he came down the stairs.
Miranda did not join the excursion, much to Colin’s disappointment.
Lady Cottingham and her daughter stuck to him like burrs. Clothed in some ridiculous pink confection, completely inappropriate for an exploratory walk through stone ruins, Lady Helen resembled an extravagant cake topper.
She immediately took Colin’s arm as they alit from the carriage in a death grip.
He resisted the urge to shake her free.
Miss Lainscott and her aunt settled themselves on a blanket, placed according to Lady Dobson’s instructions by one of the footmen.
Lady Dobson spent her time ignoring the repast of cold chicken, cheese and an assortment of fruit prepared by the Gray Covington cook in favor of shooting hot scathing looks at the Cottingham’s.
Miss Lainscott watched Lady Helen’s antics with laughter glinting in her eyes.
Lord Hamill wandered off, probably to drink the brandy Colin knew he’d been stealing from the sideboard in Cam’s study.
Lord Ridley jarred the senses with his coat of bright yellow, looking like a large, mustached, canary. He wandered off to smoke a cheroot and was joined by Lord Cottingham. Which was just as well because Lord Cottingham rarely spoke and was not known for saying anything interesting when he did.
Four agonizing hours later, Colin thankfully found himself back at Gray Covington.
Now he stood in the conservatory, pretending not to watch Miranda when in fact he could look at nothing else. Lady Barbara, a gorgeous redhead, failed to hold his attention, even though under ordinary circumstances he would find her quite attractive.
Something beckoned him to look up.
Green eyes shone like emeralds from across the room to meet his. She wore her hair down this evening, the ebony strands falling in a heavy mass of curls to her waist. Small diamond pins held the inky tresses back at her temples to reveal tiny diamonds glinting in her ears.
The punch of desire to his gut was swift as he caught her eyes. He could not remember a time when he didn’t want Miranda.
You belong to me Colin Hartley.
Always.
His lips formed the word even as he watched Ridley make his stumbling way over to Miranda, a toothy smile on his face. The viscount consumed a considerable amount of wine at dinner and it looked like he was still imbibing.
Ridley cupped Miranda’s elbow and pulled her towards the doors open to the gardens.
Miranda did not shake him off.
“Lord Kilmaire?” A hand lightly touched Colin’s arm. “Are you feeling well?”
Colin gave a polite nod of his head. “Lady Cambourne.”
“You’ll pardon me for saying, but you look a bit green.” She turned her head towards the terraced doors. “The wine sauce for the quail was perhaps a bit rich?”
“Dinner was delicious, my lady, though I feel the need for some air. Perhaps a cheroot. A walk around the gardens should set me to rights.”
“I do not think a walk in the gardens will prove as beneficial for Lord Ridley,” her voice was polite, but her eyes glinted with mischief. “He’s had a bit more to drink than is wise and it is dark. I do hope he doesn’t trip.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Lady Cambourne, Lady Barbara.” Colin executed a small bow before leaving both women, his attention taken with the crawl of Ridley’s hand on Miranda’s back.
“Enjoy the air,” Alex said as he walked away.
