My Wicked Earl by Kathleen Ayers

 

25

“Detestable man. Coward. Ass.”

Miranda sat back against a stone bench before the topiary garden, not giving a fig if the moss covering the ancient stone stained her dress. “A flirtation? Did he think I ran around London telling every man I loved him? Or gave my virtue so lightly?”

The three topiary monkeys making their way across the rolling lawn before her didn’t answer, of course. Perhaps the monkeys were more concerned about the topiary tiger that seemed poised to attack them. The tiger was her brother’s idea. Sutton hunted tiger in the jungles and described to Gray Covington’s master gardener, exactly what he wanted.

How often had she come to the topiary garden to hide from her mother?

The revelation that Mother went to such lengths to determine Miranda’s future was actually not that shocking. Not really. If one were listing all the terrible things Mother had done, ruining Miranda’s life would have been towards the bottom of the list. She’d been nothing more than an accessory to Lady Jeanette Cambourne, like a hat or a parasol. A tool to be used to further Mother’s own ambitions.

“God, she’s a bitch,” Miranda uttered bitterly into the breeze ruffling her hair. Her heart pinched for a moment, as it often did when she thought of Mother, but it came less these days. Sometimes Miranda envied Sutton, for his mother, Madeline, had loved her child.

“I shouldn’t complain. You loved me and Elizabeth, didn’t you Father?” she said to the wind, hoping that somewhere, Lord Robert Cambourne heard her. “I miss you. I could certainly use your counsel now.”

Miranda swallowed back the tightening of her throat, attempting to banish the tears she felt certain would pour out of her at any moment.

“He would tell you that Colin Hartley is one of the most foolish men alive.” The words came from behind her.

He’d approached without a sound. Colin would have made an excellent Indian scout. She’d read about those in a book on America her brother lent her. “It’s not polite to sneak up on someone in such a manner. I find it’s something else about you I don’t care for.”

Colin was right behind her, so close that his breath moved the hairs at the base of her neck. She could feel the brush of lips against her skin and she shivered slightly.

“I know you are angry.”

“Furious,” she spat back trying not to enjoy the feel of his mouth against her neck.

“Rightfully so.” He pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

“I don’t wish to speak to you. Go away. I must contemplate my marriage to Lord Ridley. After all, you seem to believe I can allow one man to bed me and still marry another.”

A hand fell to the top of her head, the fingers trailing through the strands of her hair and down the length of her back. “I deserved that.” Warm fingers ran up and down her spine. “I knew six years ago that I wasn’t good enough for you. I was out of my mind Miranda, after Mother sliced my face. The pain was unbearable. I longed for you, my touchstone. The thing that kept me sane,” his voice grew raspy with emotion. “Then the letter came.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you.” Tears fell from her eyes.

Colin came around the bench and sat beside her. “I know. But, I pray that you will. I’m lost without you, Miranda.”

The skin around his eye was rapidly turning a shade of deep purple as was the bruise along his jaw. His eyes had deepened to chocolate, so dark she could barely make out his pupils. He took her fingers and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. “I would marry you.”

“Because you’ve compromised me?” She pulled her hand away. “Because you feel guilty?”

He looked away to study the topiaries, his gaze lingering on the tiger. “Stop, Miranda. You know I do not wish to you wed you out of honor.” He took her hand again. “I’m not the least bit honorable.”

Miranda bit her lip and looked down at the larger hand enfolding hers, unsure as to what to say.

“I have never wanted anything as much as I have wanted you, Miranda Reynolds,” Colin’s voice was thick with emotion. “My life is empty without you in it. I merely exist, and not well, as you’ve probably guessed. I’m a bad bargain for you, I always have been. I brood. I drink whiskey. I have nothing but a crumbling estate and am the author of a series of lurid gothic novels.”

“They are my favorite.” Miranda said in a quiet voice. “That was the only pleasant surprise I’ve had in the last twenty-four hours.”

A very determined, possessive look crossed Colin’s poor bruised face. “You are free to refuse, of course. But it won’t matter.”

“It won’t?”

“Not in the least. I am willing to be quite ruthless. Six years? I refuse to go even six more minutes without claiming you. I will kidnap you and take you to Scotland for a hasty marriage. Ridley will meet with an unfortunate accident to prevent his interference.”

“How very Lord Thurston of you.”

He brushed a kiss against her lips, his hands, warm and ungloved as usual, cupped both sides of her face.

“I am hopelessly and madly in love with you, as I shall remain until I have passed from this life. I know you may never forgive me. I don’t blame you. You may no longer love me, but I will take you none the less. I’m that selfish. And I’m a bit disfigured to boot.”

“Colin.” Miranda pressed a finger to his lips, blinking back tears.

The chocolate eyes were warm on her. “Did I mention the brooding?”

“Yes.” God, she loved him. And she would forgive Colin. Eventually. The alternative would mean misery for them both.

“And the whiskey?”

“I’ll share a glass with you.” Miranda leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the puckered scar that split his cheek. Gorgeous idiot. “You do not sound appealing in the least.” She wrinkled her brow. “I really have no choice in this matter?”

“No.” The large body slid closer to her, and she was enveloped by his warmth. He smelled of horse and dust. “I promise, Miranda, that I will never doubt you again, nor give you cause to doubt me.” He lifted his hand to trace the outline of her jaw. “I love you, and I promise to tell you so. Every day.”

She could clearly see the stain of ink on his forefinger. Sometimes one cannot see the truth when it is right in front of them.

“You belong to me,” she whispered.

“Always.”

His lips met hers in a slow, lingering kiss that sent Miranda’s blood racing. The kiss also brought her peace. This was where she belonged, with Colin. She’d know it since she was eight years old.

“I should have left you a note this morning. I didn’t realize you would jump to the wrong conclusion. When I asked you to forgive me last night it was for-”

“Doubting me. I know that now. What was in London?”

Colin gave her a lazy smile. “I am a foolish man, Miranda. I never thought your mother would go to such lengths. When I left Cambourne House six years ago I wrote you a letter with my intentions and left you this. I should have put it on your finger right after—

“You ruined me.”

“Yes. I left a note for your father as well, declaring my intentions.” His fingers held up a battered gold ring. “It was my grandmother’s, the only thing I have left of her. I know it isn’t a great jewel. To the Irish it means,” his forehead touched hers, “that is to say, it’s a traditional way to announce one’s betrothal.”

“I know what it means.” Miranda’s heart ached with love for him as he slid the ring on her finger. “I accept your claim on me, Colin Hartley.”

“Good. As you’ve little choice in the matter.” His lips brushed hers again. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he pulled a piece of paper from beneath his coat. “I went for this as well.”

“A special license?” Miranda wrapped her arms about his neck. “I still haven’t said yes.”

“Haven’t you been paying attention? If I have to debauch you in full view of those topiaries to make you agree, I will.” Elegant fingers slid beneath the silk of her bodice to caress the top of her breast. “One hopes that your brother will not murder me before the wedding.”

Miranda pulled his mouth to hers. “Have a care for my dress.”