My Wicked Earl by Kathleen Ayers

 

24

Colin flung his reins to a waiting groom and raced up the front steps of Gray Covington. The sun had begun to descend across the sky and twilight was gathering. Even leaving as early as he had, the ride to London and back still took most of the day. His hasty departure was borne of urgency. The need to claim Miranda, immediately, and end Ridley’s courtship was paramount in his mind. Pressing a kiss on her forehead, he left the soft warmth of her body and dressed as the sky lightened to pink. After quietly leaving her room, he washed and requested a horse be saddled. Cook pushed a fresh biscuit in his hand as he strode out, only to glance back at Miranda’s window.

A light, heady feeling coursed through him as he rode. The sun shone on him for the first time in six long years. Happiness, he mused, was something he meant to get used to.

It was not until he reached the outskirts of the city that Colin remembered that in his haste, he’d neglected to leave Miranda a note. It was rather careless. And he had promised himself that he would never again be careless where Miranda was concerned. Nor take her for granted.

During the entire ride to London, he’d thought of nothing but the fact that he would need to tell Miranda about her mother’s machinations and in doing so, confess his own sins.

Bloody Jeanette. I hope to never set eyes on the woman again.

He should have done the honorable thing. Explained the letter and begged her forgiveness for having doubted her. Instead, he’d ravished her. Made sure that she would have no choice but to marry him after he ruined her yet again. For hours. Ruthlessly.

She was well and truly compromised. While he was certain no one saw him leave her room, the same could not be said for entering her chambers. But then, he rather hoped Ridley had witnessed Colin entering Miranda’s rooms.

Standing for a moment on the step, his hand went to the inside pocket of his waistcoat, to assure himself that the items he’d brought from London remained safe.

“I’ll make her happy. I swear that I will.”

The door opened before Colin could knock.

“Good evening, Lord Kilmaire.” Zander, Gray Covington’s butler, narrowed his eyes at Colin, taking in his dusty coat and muddy boots. “I’m afraid you’ve missed dinner.”

“Where is Lady Miranda?” Colin stepped inside, his eyes immediately going to the staircase as if his words would cause her to appear.

Zander lifted a brow. “Lord Cambourne instructed the staff that if you returned to Gray Covington you were to be escorted directly to his study.”

“I would see Lady Miranda first. Is she in the gardens?” What did Zander mean if Ireturned?

“I do not know the current whereabouts of Lady Miranda, my lord. However, as I’ve explained, I have very specific orders that you be escorted to Lord Cambourne.” Without waiting for an answer, Zander started down the hall towards the Marquess of Cambourne’s study, marching away as if a stick had been shoved up his arse.

Bloody little tyrant.

“I should at least change clothes. I’ve been riding all day.” Colin said, waving a hand down his wrinkled riding coat. “And I smell of horse.”

“This way, Lord Kilmaire.” Zander’s tone was curt. Stopping before the large mahogany doors, Zander rapped with his knuckles and poked his head inside. He said something in a low tone, then ushered Colin through the doorway, before stepping deftly to the side.

The first blow from Cam’s fist hit Colin squarely in the jaw, splitting his lip and knocking his head back.

“What the bloody—”

The next punch landed in the middle of his stomach, doubling Colin over and knocking him to the floor. He fell sideways, his head lolling against the fine Persian carpet.

Blinking to clear his vision, Colin attempted to focus on the pattern of blue and green swirls he lay upon, stupidly wondering whether the swirls were supposed to be flowers. He thought they looked like teardrops.

“You bastard.” A pair of boots landed squarely before Colin’s nose. “Get up.”

It occurred to Colin as he studied the carpet, that while it was certain that his friend had not known of Colin’s relationship with Miranda before, Cam sure as hell did now.

Zander’s lack of welcome should have given Colin ample warning. His observation skills aside, Colin was mainly concerned that one of his closest friends was about to beat him to death.

Christ, he hits hard.

Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth as he pushed his tongue against his lip, wincing a bit at the pain. He’d been in many a brawl. After all, he’d grown up with two older brothers, but he was not going to fight Cam. Cautiously Colin stood, bracing himself against the door.

Cam rolled back on his heels, fists clenched, ready to beat Colin to a bloody pulp at the slightest provocation.

“Cam,” Colin held up his hand in a gesture of supplication. “Where is Miranda? I can explain—”

Pain exploded in his temple and cheekbone. Colin’s head swam a bit, and for just a moment, he saw two furious Lord Cambournes standing before him.

“Bloody hell, Cam. Stop for just a moment.”

“No.” Cam’s grunted with a snarl. “Stand up. Fucking Irish—”

“There’s no need for insults,” Colin replied a bit flippantly. “Besides, even your grandmother agrees I am only a quarter Irish.” He wiped at the stream of blood dribbling down his chin, anger flaring at Cam’s words. “Are you trying to ruin what’s left of my looks? You never could tolerate any man being as pretty as you.”

Cam made a sound like an enraged bull and moved forward but halted as a voice emanated from the large leather couch facing the fireplace.

“Sutton,” the imperious voice commanded, “I insist you stop this instant. I’ll not have Lord Kilmaire’s blood all over the carpet. The rug was quite expensive and a favorite of your father’s. As it is, I fear Zander will never be able to get the stain out. And your language. You’ve forgotten yourself speaking so in front of me.”

Colin stared in disbelief at the couch.

The Dowager peeked around the side, her gloved hands wrapped around the head of her cane, expression bland as if she watched Cam engage in fisticuffs every day and tolerated the spectacle. A silver brow raised as she noted Colin’s regard, and there was no welcome for him in her face.

He moved a step towards the couch.

Cam snarled at him.

Next to the Dowager, sat Miranda. He swayed with the urge to go to her.

The ebony locks of her hair were pulled back and tied with a ribbon, allowing a cascade of dark strands to curl over her shoulder. She was busy twisting the sprigged muslin of her dress, wrinkling the fabric. Deep emerald eyes gazed at him without the slightest hint of mercy.

“My God, were you both going to allow him to beat me to death? Miranda?”

She turned away from him.

Bloody Hell. I should have left a note.

The Dowager pursed her lips in disapproval. “You are impertinent, Lord Kilmaire.”

“Why did you come back to Gray Covington? Did you forget something in your haste to follow the Cottinghams to London?” Cam hissed.

“Why would I follow the Cottinghams anywhere? Let alone to London? They were here when I left Gray Covington.”

“The Cottinghams returned to London this morning. Lord Cottingham admitted that he would soon have a titled son-in-law.” Cam grit his teeth. “You bastard.”

Colin struggled to sit up and removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket to dab at his battered lip. His eye was already swelling. “Well, it’s bloody not me. I have no intention of marrying Lady Helen. I have an aversion to birds.”

“You glib Irish—”

“I thought we all agreed I was barely Irish. Quit flinging that about. It’s insulting.”

Cam took a deep breath and shot him a murderous look. “I don’t care if you’ve promised to marry Lady Helen.”

“I didn’t. I’d never...” God his ribs hurt. “…marry that pea-wit.”

“You will marry Miranda. You’ve ruined her. Her reputation is—”

“Already in tatters,” Miranda said quietly from her place beside the Dowager. “Besides, Lord Kilmaire did not seduce some virginal spinster under your roof last night. I have not been a maiden for some time.”

Cam turned the most disturbing shade of beet. Had the situation not been so serious, Colin would have laughed out loud.

“Who . . .” Cam sputtered and turned wild eyes on Colin. “I’ll kill you.”

“And I will not be married to a man who doesn’t want me.” An anguished look shadowed her green eyes. “Whether he decides to marry Lady Helen, or any other woman, is not my concern. I would not have him marry me out of misguided duty. Lord Kilmaire has made his feelings toward me abundantly clear.”

“Apparently, I haven’t.” He’d held her all night, worshipped her as he had nothing else in his life, and still Miranda didn’t know what was in his heart.

“I will marry Ridley,” Miranda continued calmly, her voice barely hesitating as she said the viscount’s name. “I’m sure he’s still lurking about Gray Covington.”

“Miranda.” The Dowager took her hand. “The man is a disaster. A bounder.”

Stunned by her declaration, Colin found he couldn’t speak. Was she insane?

“I’m certain he can be convinced to overlook my indiscretion,” her voice caught, “in return for my substantial dowry. Grandmother can put out the story that it was not Lord Kilmaire leaving my room this morning, but was in fact, Ridley. Lady Dobson’s eyesight is a bit poor, is it not, Grandmother? There will be a tad of scandal, but it will not be insurmountable.”

Lady Dobson had seen him leave Miranda’s room? That certainly explained the welcome he’d received from Cam.

“Miranda, have you lost your mind?” Colin spat blood onto the handkerchief he’d found in his pocket. One of his lower teeth wiggled. “No. Absolutely not. You will not marry Ridley. I did not leave you to go chasing after Lady Helen. She’s an insipid twit.”

“Colin,” she looked at him, lovely and resolute. “You do not have to do the honorable thing. I did not hold you to it years ago and I will not do so now.”

“Yes, he does.” Cam growled.

Another punch to his side, drove Colin down on one knee. Wincing with pain, he tried to take a deep breath. He’d be lucky if he could explain about the letter before the entire damn family murdered him in the drawing room. The Dowager refused to say a word, even though she knew full well what happened. God, even she believed he’d left Miranda for Lady Helen.

He needed to be the one to tell Miranda.

“Stop,” he looked at Cam, “doing that. Miranda,” he implored, “please listen to me, for just a moment. I did not leave you six years ago. Well, I did, but not for the reasons you assume. Ian fell ill, and I had to return to Runshaw Park. I left you a note with one of the footmen and one for your father. After my mother’s attack I received a reply, from you.”

“My God. I thought you were my friend. While I was in Macao you ruined my sister?” Cam raised his fist again. “I will call you out, I—”

The Dowager thumped her cane. “You will do no such thing, Sutton. I forbid it.” “Allow Lord Kilmaire to speak in his own defense. You were about to say, Lord Kilmaire?” This time, her eyes twinkled with a bit of encouragement.

For someone who usually had command of the spoken and written word, Colin found himself at a loss to explain his own role in the end of his relationship with Miranda. He’d seen the love in her eyes last night and the fact that he’d ever doubted her shamed Colin to the core.

“I never would have. . .” Colin took another breath trying to find the right words. “A letter arrived at Runshaw Park announcing your intentions to marry Lord St. Remy.”

“The Duke of Langford,” Miranda automatically corrected.

“The letter stated, rather bluntly, that you found me incredibly unsuitable for marriage. That the,” he hesitated, “affection that lay between us was no more than a mild flirtation. I wasn’t myself,” he said by way of apology. “and the token I had left for you was enclosed with the letter. I assumed—"

Miranda sucked in her breath, her hand pressed against her stomach. “You thought I would say such a thing to you, after…after…” The dark locks spun about her shoulders as she shook her head in disbelief. “We have been apart for six years because you received a letter? You never even tried to find out if it was true, did you? Never sought me out to hear such a thing from my own lips? Anyone could have written that letter. And what token? You gave me nothing.”

“Miranda, love, I’m so sorry.” Colin said. “Please, can we discuss this alone?”

“It was my mother, wasn’t it?” Miranda swiped at her eyes as the Dowager took her hand. “She did this.”

“Yes,” the Dowager stated. “I cannot imagine that anyone else would have done such a thing deliberately. And your mother,” the Dowager’s shoulders sagged, “well, she did wish a different match for you.”

“Bitch,” Cam hissed.

“Yes, we all know what my mother is, Sutton. God knows, she could never allow me any happiness. I’m not surprised she would do such a thing. But, you, Colin, should have known better.”

Miranda was angry. Furious. Hurt. He saw every emotion play along her beautiful features. Disappointment. That was the worst of all of them. She may never forgive him.

“I told you how I felt about you, Colin Hartley. You chose to believe the ravings of the woman who bore you and some ridiculous curse an ancient gypsy sprouted, but not me.” A tremor entered her words. “Not me. Who loved you. I’ve loved you all of my bloody life, and yet it was me you chose not to believe.”

“I never received another letter from you. Not even after the Mad Countess carved me up like a Christmas ham. Why did you never write me?” Even to his own ears the defense sounded weak. “And the ring—

“I did.” Miranda shouted. “You left me a bloody ring? You couldn’t be bothered to give it to me and declare yourself?

She strode over to him, angry and so hurt it broke Colin’s heart. A lone tear ran down her cheek and she wiped at it furiously. “I wrote you nearly every day. I begged you to allow me to come to you when Father told me what happened. You never replied. Nor did you reply to any of Father’s letters. It broke his heart, Colin.” She swiped at another tear. “I even tried to bribe a groom to take me to you, but Mother caught me.”

“Miranda,” Colin wanted to weep himself. This was not going at all as he’d planned. Miranda was not going to forgive him. He may as well allow Cam to beat him to death in the study. The Dowager would no doubt assist in Cam’s endeavor by using her cane. He reached his hand out to Miranda in a silent plea.

“Don’t,” Miranda stepped back, pulling her skirts behind her. “Six years, Colin. Six years and you never once tried to see if I’d actually married. Hiding away at Runshaw Park, brooding. Probably sitting alone in your study, drinking in the dark. Did you ever even think of me?”

God, she knew him so well. “Jesus, of course I did.”

She flinched. “When did you find out that I did not write such a thing?”

“A sherry, Sutton. Please,” the Dowager said quietly.

“Yesterday,” he winced and wiped another trickle of blood from his lip. “Your grandmother and Alex showed me a letter you were writing to Arabella. The handwriting did not match.”

Her brows raised. “I wondered why I found my unfinished letter to Arabella in my chambers as I swore I’d left it in the drawing room.” Her face didn’t soften. “So, once you realized you’d made a mistake, you came to my chambers.”

“Miranda,” he implored. “I had already decided that it didn’t matter, that St. Remy didn’t matter. I told Lord Cottingham I would not marry his daughter before I knew the truth about the letter.”

The look on Miranda’s face told Colin he had said exactly the wrong thing.

“You idiot.” Cam muttered under his breath, handing the Dowager her sherry.

Miranda’s eyes hardened to bits of flint and her lush mouth grew taut with anger. “What a grand gesture for you to make. You assumed I wrote the letter but forced yourself to overcome your disgust and forgive me. How fortunate I am that you decided to overlook such a large flaw in my character.”

“Christ, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you want to know why I left this morning?”

“No. I find it doesn’t matter. Now, if you will all excuse me.”

She spun from Colin, her entire body vibrating with anger as she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

A choked sound came from Cam as if he found amusement in the horrible situation. He sat down next to his grandmother.

“You should bear in mind, Kilmaire,” he said, his voice still hinting at his earlier rage “that my sister is a crack shot.”