A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) (23 page)

“Dr.
Harper? Then you did engage him? He continues to visit her in Sussex?”

“Yes.
He’s the best. The others were incompetents who made her worse.”

“That
must be dreadfully expensive, especially in your current reduced
circumstances.”

“He’s
worth every penny.”

Cassandra
compressed her lips, briefly. “Your mama is still a lovely woman. Not a gray in
her hair or wrinkle on her face.”

Both
pride and love swelled in Miranda’s heart. She couldn’t help a tiny smile.
“Time has been kind to Mama.”

Cassandra
scoffed. “If she’s well now, she should have a gentleman. You know it. You
could force the issue but you choose not to.”

“Mama
has lost her taste for a gentleman.”

“She
was a fool over your papa.”

Papa?

No,
never Papa.

The
Duke of Winterton. At the mere sight of his grand carriage in the drive, Mama’s
eyes had lit with joyful anticipation, and everything else ceased to exist for
her but His Grace.

Even
Miranda.

“As
a child, I was never allowed to call Winterton Papa,” Miranda said firmly. “I
certainly shan’t begin doing so now.”

“She
was a fool over him,” Aunt Cassandra repeated without mercy.

Anger
flashed into Miranda’s blood. “Mama is a woman of deep passions.”

Aunt
Cassandra lifted her brows. “Is she?”

“Yes.
It is impossible for her to approach life practically.”

“Perhaps
she approaches life too shallowly.”

Miranda
shook her head. “No, Mama is a sensitive soul, capable of deep feelings. Unlike
myself.”

“Hmm.”
Cassandra undid the row of tiny pearl buttons on her glove and then smoothed
out several wrinkles. “Think what you will. I will not allow you to lie to
yourself as your mother did. Lord Danvers has the ability to hinder you. We
need his help.”

“Lord
Danvers thinks a great deal of himself.” She hadn’t missed the press of his
arousal against his breeches last night.

“As
I understand it, the man has cause.” Aunt Cassandra’s voice was warm with
amusement and her tone made her meaning clear.

Too
clear.

Miranda
snorted. “In
that
, they are all the same. And Danvers is the worst of
the lot. He is too controlling for my taste.”

“Perhaps,
but I doubt he would defer to his family and allow a mistress to be denied her
security.”

“This
argument grows tiresome, Aunt. Carrville is not to blame for what his daughters
did after his death.”

“He
was dishonest with himself about what his daughters would do.”

“He
loved his daughters. That’s why he never remarried. He couldn’t bear to have
them think he held a woman higher than their dearly departed mama.”

“You
admired that about him,” Cassandra accused.

“A
father should love his children.”

“He
was too soft. And you, my dear, too closely associate a man’s strength with
hardness and coldness.”

“What
you call a man’s strength, I call a man’s callous nature.”

“Not
all men of strength and will are as callous as Winterton,” Cassandra said.
“Given the correct amount and type of pressure, any nut will crack, including
Lord Danvers.”

Winterton
never did, she thought. But Aunt Cassandra would never, could never understand.
No one could.

In
her mind’s eye, Miranda saw Mama the morning after she had confessed her
pregnancy to Winterton. Her blonde hair coiled neatly about her head as she
bent over her needlework, her hands shaking slightly, making her miss stitches.
Patiently pulling the threads out of the cloth, she cocked her head. The
lamplight caught the greenish-purple hue of a bruise that marred her cheek.

No
one would hurt Mama
ever
again.

Not
as long as Miranda lived. Especially not the man with pale green eyes so like
hers.

“I
had to become a courtesan,” Miranda whispered. “What choice had I?”

“None,”
Aunt Cassandra said, soothingly. “In way, perhaps it is a blessing that
Carrville died.”

Miranda
jerked her head up and gaped. “How can you say that?”

“Your
mama let the loss of Winterton shatter her.”

“Of
course it shattered her! She loved him completely.”

In
a rustle of starched undergarments, Aunt Cassandra leaned forward and put her
hand on Miranda’s. “You need to hear this.”

Miranda’s
chin quivered.

“Men
leave.”

The
firm conviction in Aunt Cassandra’s voice shattered Miranda’s heated emotions.

“Yes,
I know,” she replied.

“They
become bored and leave. Sometimes they die, but they leave all the same.”

Miranda
swallowed back tears. How could she have doubted her aunt, her mentor, her dear
friend?

“Don’t
make the same mistakes that your mama made. Don’t throw away this chance to
have all that you deserve.”

All
that Mama deserves.

Miranda
shook her head. “I won’t. I won’t!”

Chapter Three

The
carriage stopped in front of Lord Danvers’ townhouse. Miranda shivered. Even
the cold façade of the house reminded her of Danvers. Miranda’s stomach began
to churn. Oh, why hadn’t she eaten even a little biscuit before leaving home?
The carriage rocked as the footman leaped from the carriage to the ground.

He
opened the door and extended a hand to her aunt. She descended the stairs, and
he released her and grasped Miranda’s hand as she took the two steps to the
ground.

A
little quiver of nerves rippled in her belly. She felt as if she were about to
enter the lion’s den. Aunt Cassandra started up the walkway, and Miranda
followed. Her aunt knocked, and a footman quickly opened the door. Cassandra
presented her card.

“This
way, Miss Jones.”

Miranda
followed her aunt inside, sweeping through the doorway, head held proudly.

Excellent
poise. Graceful, graceful!

Aunt
Cassandra’s voice rang in her mind.

Dark
wood paneling sucked away even the dim candlelight as they followed the footman
down the corridor. Here and there, a brass accent glinted softly in the light
spilling from the one open doorway up ahead.

The
low rumble of men’s voices echoed from within.

Miranda
took a deep breath and donned her best courtesan’s expression.

Polite,
but
not
too friendly. Be proud.

The
servant rapped on the door.

“Enter.”
The Earl of Danvers’ voice resounded above the other voices. A deep, assured
tone that Miranda would recognize anywhere.

A
tone that put a thread of unease into her belly. Her breath began to quicken.
She glanced at Aunt Cassandra and found the older woman’s expression cool,
composed.

She
should aspire to that as well.

Always
cool. Always composed.

But
her insides twisted like a writhing snake. Oh, what was Lord Danvers going to
say?

Aunt
Cassandra entered the chamber in a soft rustle of velvet skirts and starched
petticoats. Miranda glided in close behind, head held proudly, a polite smile
frozen on her face.

Miranda
forced energy into her whole being, the energy of feminine enticement. To be
every man’s fantasy of beauty and pleasure. To be slightly otherworldly. It
only took a certain attitude, didn’t it?

The
men froze, voices dying in mid-sentence as every head turned in their
direction.

“Cassandra
Jones!” said a serious-faced young man. The thick, curling chestnut forelock
gave him a romantic look, ardent emotion resounding in his voice.

“Good
morning, Lord Whipple.” Aunt Cassandra’s voice was rich, sensual.

“You’re
looking lovely today,” Lord Whipple replied.

“Why,
thank you, Lord Whipple.”

“I
have my own townhouse now,” Lord Whipple said. “You ought to come and see it
sometime.”

“How
kind of you,” Aunt Cassandra replied. “Perhaps my niece and I shall pop by
later this week.”

“Well,”
he said, his gaze sweeping Cassandra from head to toe and back. “I had meant it
for you, alone.”

Aunt
Cassandra paused and gave him an equally through examination, and then she
laughed, low and sultry. “You are a naughty boy, Jimmy.”

They
walked the length of the grand chamber and the men’s eyes riveted on both her
and Aunt Cassandra, hot, hungry, yearning.

Awestruck.

Such
a thing had frightened her so much when she’d first been turned out, in her
first elegant gowns and mature woman’s coiffure, when she had been only
eighteen.

Sometimes
the power still unsettled her.

She
took a deep breath, and forced more energy into herself, letting her smile warm
a bit, making brief eye contact with some of her long-term admirers.

Give
just enough warmth and promise to keep their desire alive.

They
came to the rear of the chamber, facing the bank of large windows. In the
periphery of her vision, Miranda saw a dark-haired man lounging on a settee.

She
caught her breath.

Danvers.

“Ah,
good morning, Miss Cassandra Jones,” he drawled, his voice rich and deep as
black coffee.

She
could just picture his look of satisfaction. She needed his approval. He had
the power to forbid her.

He
believed her guilty of causing Carrville’s early demise, and he intended to
block her success with Froster.

She
didn’t want to see his look of satisfaction at having brought her here, to his
house, to plead for his favor.

She
refused to look in his direction.

She
pretended not to notice him and turned to her right.

A
man with luxuriant, sandy blonde hair like a lion’s mane, and amber eyes,
looked down at her, his face broadening into a smile.

She
returned his smile. “Lord Holston, how is Sally doing?”

At
the mention of his favorite mare, his eyes lit with affection.

The
animal had recently been ailing, and Holston had been beside himself with
worry.

They
spoke in hushed tones for several moments, and she learned that the mare was
slowly improving. He was being so magnanimous, more than she had expected from
him, for he had made her a generous offer, one she had rejected.

“Well,
well, Danvers, what did you do to get so lucky as to have two such lovely
ladies visit so early in the morning?” Lord Holston asked.

Ladies
.
Sometimes the gentlemen intended to flatter her and Cassandra with such a
term, yet it always made Miranda bristle.

None
of them had stood upon her entrance. They had remained seated, their bodies
casually sprawled in those positions men take when only amongst the company of
their own sex.

Those
men who smoked had not rushed to extinguish their cigars.

No
one had apologized for the vulgar jest that one of them had been telling the
moment before Miranda’s entrance.

And
that really told the whole story, didn’t it?

No
gentleman considered them to be ladies, worthy of the same protections and
privileges that ladies had. No lady had to earn her living or earn her
security.

But
Miranda did.

And
she had a limited number of years in which to gain that security for herself
and Mama. She must do her best to sparkle and glow then, mustn’t she? 

The
soft touch on her shoulder startled her.

“Gentlemen,
would you please excuse us?” Danvers’ voice sounded close to her. The rich,
deep tone sent alarm beating into her blood.

She
was all too aware of his fingertips resting lightly on her shoulder. A light
touch but lingering.

A
touch that burned through his suede glove and the velvet of her sleeve.

Those
fingers moved ever so slowly. A gentle caressing motion, sending tiny tingling
sparks over her flesh. Heat sweeping through her belly. That damnable sense of
swelling deep, deep within her pelvis.

How
dare he!

Heat
swept through her blood, pure outrage. She stiffened. She couldn’t help
compressing her lips. He had made her no proposal of protection and support.
She wasn’t some tavern harlot available for petting and pawing by the public!

When
Carrville was alive, no man, gentleman or not, would have dared walk up to her
and touch her.

But
Carrville was gone.

Aunt
Cassandra made a sound like clearing her throat. The censure communicated
clearly to Miranda.

Mind
your place, hold your tongue.

Miranda’s
face flamed as Danvers continued to move his fingertips in that caressing,
somehow dominating, sort of way. She hated that she had to allow such
familiarity, especially with him. Hated that, of all the men who had sought her
out since Carrville’s death, he was the one who could cause warmth to spread
through her lower belly. Cause heat to spread lower.

And
lower.

“I
have something private to discuss with these…ladies.” Danvers’ deep,
pleasingly-melodic voice seemed to rumble within her belly.

Then
it struck her, how his tone had turned ironic at the word ‘ladies.’

That
was the final insult!

She
jerked her head to face him.

Large,
heavy-lidded eyes stared down at her.

Beautiful
eyes, not the usual shade of blue but rich and vivid as lapis. Or was it that
the outside of his irises were ringed in a darker blue, making the inner
lighter color all the more intense?

What
did it matter what caused the effect? They were the most beautiful, fascinating
eyes she’d ever seen, so unexpected in a man. A thick fringe of long,
coal-black lashes and heavy though well-shaped dark brows accentuated the
effect.

Those
gorgeous eyes betrayed his amusement. Cruel amusement and…intense dislike. That
realization sent another wave of alarm pounding through her.

Why
the devil did this particular earl dislike her so much?

And
why, since her return to London, had he sought her each time she’d been out?
And heaven above, why had he been determined to put his hands on her?

And
why did his touch give her such peculiar sparks? Like a tingling flame sparking
along her flesh. Her belly doing a little flip-flop, as though she had been
waiting for his touch.

As
though she would ever, could ever,
want
him to touch her.

The
very prospect made her bristle all the more.

His
thin yet supple-looking mouth stretched into a smile. The charm of that smile
could have sent any woman swooning upon the richly-hewed carpet at his boots.
His lean, elegantly chiseled face was as handsome as any woman’s dream of sin.

But
now his eyes glinted cold and hard as stones. He gave her shoulder a slight
push. “Come, Miss Jones, you and I have a matter to discuss.”

As
he gently propelled her, Miranda found herself compelled to walk to the doorway
with him.

“Now
wait just a moment,” Aunt Cassandra said.

He
stopped and turned to face her.

The
woman beamed him a smile of pure beauty. “Surely you can’t expect a young lady
like Miss Jones to accompany you all alone.”

“She’s
not an innocent to be protected, is she?”

Aunt
Cassandra’s smile didn’t falter; indeed, it seemed to grow more radiant.

There
was always an odd sort of tension between Aunt Cassandra and Lord Danvers,
despite their light, often playful banter.

It
made Miranda uneasy.

Did
it have something to do with the way Danvers treated
her
?

Aunt
Cassandra had laughed off Miranda’s questioning before. However, Miranda almost
believed that Aunt Cassandra was just as intimidated by Danvers as she was.

And
few noblemen intimidated Aunt Cassandra.

Or
was it less intimidation and more an apologetic manner?

But
why?

“My
niece has something far more valuable to protect than mere innocence.”

“And
you have a vested interest in that, do you?”

“Indeed
I do.”

He
made a motion with his hand. “By all means then, come along.”

In
the corridor, he cupped Miranda’s elbow and escorted her, as though he were her
swain.

Her
protector.

The
comparison made Miranda’s teeth itch. She focused on the click of his boots on
the highly polished wood floor, on the gentle rustle of her skirts.

All
the while, his touch burnt into her upper arm. To her dismay, heat flooded her
lower belly, making her knees rubbery. She didn’t even want to acknowledge that
slow, steady flow of wetness between her legs. She was also too aware of his
body so close to hers. The aroma of his cologne carried to her, reminiscent of
sun-warmed woods, with a hint of something crisp and cool.

So
compelling was the scent, it evoked vivid memories of childhood walks in the
woods on autumn days. She could almost imagine she walked there now, with him.

The
direction of her thoughts disturbed her, and she gave herself an inward shake,
forced herself to concentrate on the mahogany wainscoting, the brass lamps in
their sconces on the walls. They neared a doorway where a servant in rich
claret-colored livery stood waiting.

The
servant opened the door, and Danvers canted his head in Cassandra’s direction.
“Age before beauty,” he said, his voice deep yet hushed.

The
cruel humor in his tone took something away from the beauty of that rich,
masculine timber.

Aunt
Cassandra preceded them, and he led Miranda to a chair and then saw to it that
Aunt Cassandra was seated. He leaned against his desk, bracing his hands on
either side of him. His coat fell away from his body, putting his cream-colored
waistcoat on display. The satin clung to a flat midsection. Buff-colored wool
trousers covered impossibly slim hips, the kind of masculine build that
developed from countless hours of horsemanship.

What
a pity he was such a bastard, for he undeniably possessed many fine qualities.

“Would
you ladies like some tea and cakes?” His smile showed even white teeth and a
squared yet elegant jaw. It put a sensual curve to his mouth.

Miranda’s
stomach did another of those odd little flip-flops. And strangely, she was no
longer hungry in the least.

Aunt
Cassandra shot her a look that clearly said,
remember to keep quiet
.

“We’re
quite fine,” Aunt Cassandra said.

“What
brings you here today?” he asked, as though he did not know.

Miranda
bit back the heated words that rushed to her tongue.

“My
Lord Danvers, why have you decided to deny Miranda an invitation to your
party?”

“No
insult is intended, but I must keep a very exclusive guest list.”

“Miss
Jones would make a lovely adornment to any gentleman’s party.”