That Kind of Woman (32 page)

The butler arrived with the refreshments, but he took one look at the two of them and backed discreetly out of the room.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Randa said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“How can you say that?” Emma demanded. “How could this do anything but hurt?”

“That was not my intention.”

Emma stared at Randa, and her anger began to flag. She would beg if she had to. “
Please
, Randa?”

“I know that you won’t understand this, not for a very long time, but I truly am doing what’s best for you.”

“It’s
not
what’s best. Not at all. Please, Randa, please don’t leave.”

“Oh, God, Emma, this is already so hard.”

“Then why are you doing it? It is Father, isn’t it? He’s said something dreadful to you.”

“No. No, Emma, it is
not
your father.” But fresh tears were welling up in Randa’s eyes, and a little sob caught in her throat.

“It
is
. I knew it!”

“The problem is me.”

“He only tries to make you think it’s your fault,” Emma protested. “He tries to do it to me all the time!”

Randa drew herself up and hardened her face. “Emma, stop it! You are old enough to face the facts. There is nothing and can never be anything between your father and me. And your Uncle George was rare among the
ton
. Most people of your family’s stature see someone like me as beneath them. Here, in London, I am damaged goods. In Stafford my father’s wealth and position will buy me some pardon for having been born on the wrong side of the blanket. You were right. Not about toying with you and your father. I really did not mean to do that. But my year of mourning is nearly up, and I am realizing that I may want to marry again.”

“What has that to do with me?”

“Nothing. I meant it when I said that. It simply is not realistic to think that we will see each other. I’m not coming back to London or Danford, and you have better things to do than to traipse after me.”

“Traipse—” Emma felt like she had been slapped.

“Your father is home for good, now. He’ll marry, too. You’ll see. You’ll get a mother, Emma.”

Emma closed her eyes and felt the hole in her chest fill up with ice water. “I had a mother. You were never my mother.”

“Of course not. I meant—”

She opened her eyes again to glare at Miranda. “I have survived for nearly six years without my mother. I can do without
you
.” Miranda’s eyes widened in hurt, and Emma felt a surge of satisfaction. Let
her
be the one to have her love thrown back in her face as she had just done to Emma. “
Go
, Miranda. Go to that house of your own and your life all alone. Just see if you can find anyone else like Papa and me.” She walked to the door of the sitting room, prepared to leave Miranda behind. Let her find her own way out!

“There is no one else like you,” Miranda said.

Emma paused in the doorway just long enough to fire one last shot in a voice so contemptuous that Lady Worthington herself would have been hard-pressed to match it.

“That’s right. No one had to pay us to overlook the fact that you’re the Duke of Montheath’s
bastard
daughter.”

She didn’t care when or how Miranda left. Emma fled straight down the hall and through the library doors, into the outstretched arms of her father. He gathered her onto his lap, and she curled up there, her face buried against his neck, her tears soaking his cravat. He held her close, and she didn’t move for a minute or more. Then she realized he had yet to ask her what was wrong.

She pulled away and looked up into his face. His eyes were filled with regret, and he reached up to smooth back her hair. The gesture did nothing to soothe her.

“You knew. You knew, and you left me to face it alone.
Again
.”

“No, Emma. I am not leaving you alone. You needed to hear it from Miranda. Only she could have explained it. I don’t understand it myself. But I am here this time, and I am not going anywhere.”

Emma lay her hand on her father’s whisker-stubbled face. “She’s leaving us both, isn’t she? I know that you loved her. I know you did! She’s cold and selfish, and I cannot imagine why either of us ever thought we loved her at all!” She put her head back down and breathed the warm, comforting scent of him in ragged sobs. She wasn’t alone this time. They had each other, and Grandmama and Henry, of course, but most of all each other. It was enough! It was plenty! She would never allow herself to need anyone else, ever again!

*

Andrew held his daughter close against his chest while her sobs gradually subsided. Miranda had kept her promise. She had made sure that Emma hadn’t blamed him. When he had heard his daughter’s invectives against her once beloved aunt, he had been consumed by guilt. Miranda had done the most selfless thing she could. He wanted to hate her for hurting his daughter, but he knew the truth.

There had been another way, and he had been the one to refuse it, however good the reason.

Reggie urged his mount into an easy canter over the deep carpet of grass that covered Hyde Park. He liked it here, where the smell of the green earth subdued the stench of the city. He had even found a little stretch that was nearly deserted. Of course, it was early, not quite ten in the morning, and the quiet gave him time to think.

It had been a disappointment to stop by Montheath’s and learn Miranda had left London over a month before. Truly, he had hoped to learn that she was still at Danford, biding her time till she could marry George’s brother and live happily ever after. And if she were not there, then at least in Town, where he might chat with her.

The Continent had not worked out as he’d hoped, and his usual haunts in London did not attract him. The most fashionable places seemed filled with couples, husbands and wives or illicit lovers. The less known retreats held their share of pairs, though these lovers were more often two of a kind. Among those who were, like Reggie, unattached, none held any appeal. He wasn’t ready for that, yet. In a few weeks, he would have been without George an entire year, and yet, he still found it hard to accept that he would never see him again, perhaps riding his horse across Danford lands.

For a moment, he thought he did see him. Across the park, confidently astride a horse that was surely of Danford lineage, he saw George as he had been when he was well. A lock of russet hair fell over his brow, and he was riding straight toward Reggie, his face intense and rigid.

And then Reggie realized who it was. Andrew Carrington snapped his riding crop, and the horse’s hooves ate up the distance between them. Reggie gave an inward groan. For all that he had loved George, and even George’s wife in another way, he had absolutely no use for the rest of the family. Then he sighed. Well, perhaps Emma, the little minx.

“I say, Lord Danford!” he called, pasting a pleasant smile across his face. “I trust you and Miranda have worked everything out since we last met?”

“Reginald Toller! How dare you show your face in this city? How dare you step foot again in all of England?”

Reggie’s eyes widened in alarm. Surely Miranda hadn’t led him to believe anything
had
happened between the two of them. “I beg your pardon? The last time I checked, every Englishman had the right to step foot on English soil.”

Andrew prodded his mount right up to Reggie’s. “I should have shot you the day we buried George! No—I should have shot you the very first time he brought you home from school!”

Reggie patted his own horse’s neck and murmured soothingly to it, calming the animal so it would not be intimidated. “I was under the impression we had settled our little misunderstanding.”

Andrew sneered at him. “Really? Are you quite certain we did not merely replace one misunderstanding with another?” He moved his horse in close again, and Reggie’s horse laid its ears back against its head, dancing in agitation.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Danford, leave the animals out of it! Back away!”

Andrew smirked, but he did rein his horse back, and Reggie felt his mount relax under him. He patted its neck once again, keeping his eyes on Andrew. “Thank you. Now what’s all this about? Whatever it is, I rather imagine we can discuss it like gentlemen.”

“I don’t think so, Toller. Discussing it like gentlemen would require that we both be
men
. One of us doesn’t quite qualify.”

The blood drained from Reggie’s face, but he did his damnedest not to let it show. How could she have betrayed him? “Miranda told you.”

“Have you hidden behind women’s skirts all your life? Is that how you came to be what you are?”

Reggie ground his teeth but held his tongue. He knew better than to expect a man like Andrew Carrington to understand what he was. “My life is hardly your concern.”

“What you do in your life affects people! Look what you did to George and Miranda!”

“I admit that we served Miranda poorly. Very poorly. But that was between her and George and me. And anyway, she is free now.”

“Served her poorly? My God, you have her convinced it was all perfectly normal in some sick, corrupted way. She thinks of you as her
friend
.”

“And that is why she betrayed me to you?”

“She didn’t—” Andrew paused. “It wasn’t like that. It just came out.”

Reggie pondered that a moment. It was a relief to know she hadn’t meant him any harm. “I think you and I have said all we have to say to each other. George is gone, and Miranda, too, I understand, which means we have no further need to speak again at any point. The past cannot be changed, you know. There’s no use getting worked up over it now.”

“It cannot be changed,” Andrew averred, “but it can be atoned for! Meet me here again at midnight, if you wish to settle this like
gentlemen
!”

Reggie gave him an incredulous stare. “Surely you’re not serious!”

“Deadly.”

“I seem to recall we already agreed that you are the more experienced marksman.”

“Blades?” Andrew taunted. “I have no objection.”

“Yet another advantage for a soldier such as yourself,” Reggie rejoined.

“What then? It was I who issued the challenge. The choice of weapon is yours!”

Reggie sighed. He had no intention of dying, nor would he have any part of killing the brother of the man he had loved. “Very well, and if you don’t mind, I’ll presume to choose the time, as well.”

“The sooner the better.”

“I quite agree.” He slid easily from the back of his horse and looked around. “The park is nearly empty. I choose bare knuckles. Right now.”

Andrew gave a half-laugh. “I am to beat you to death?”

Reggie smiled back. “If you can.”

Andrew dismounted, keeping his eyes on Reggie as they both shed their coats. This suited him better, truth to tell. A duel required seconds and posturing and almost always fetched a crowd. Here, now, there would be no witnesses, no questions. And he had no doubt he was fully capable of killing Reginald with his bare hands. It hadn’t been far from his thoughts from the moment he had first set eyes upon Reggie across the park. Andrew had come for a morning ride and a little peace and quiet. Now, it seemed he would gain some satisfaction, as well.

He untied his cravat and draped it over his saddle. His horse had spent plenty of time on the battlefield. Napoleon would hardly balk at mere fisticuffs.

Reggie smiled at him, and for a moment, the confidence in that grin caused a fresh surge of anger in Andrew. The cocky little bastard. Did Reggie think he was playing games? He gave his opponent just enough time to toss his own cravat aside and face him before Andrew charged. Reggie was right there, in front of him. Andrew could almost feel his fist connect with flesh and bone as he pulled back to throw the first punch.

And then Reggie was gone, ducking to the side and dancing out of reach. And he was laughing!

“Keep your head in the fight, old boy!” he taunted.

Andrew held back, a little. Reggie kept his fists in front of him and his eyes on Andrew’s torso. He wasn’t watching only Andrew’s fists. He was observing his shoulders, his feet. Unfortunately, Andrew should have been doing the same with Reggie. He had been aware of Reggie moving in closer, but he didn’t see the sudden setting of the stance, the tension in the shoulders. He didn’t see the punch coming until it was a blur in front of his face. Andrew dodged just in time to turn the potential solid uppercut into a glancing blow. Before he could feel any sense of relief at the near miss—
CRACK
—his face was filled with blinding pain. He had felt it snap. Heard it snap, just like a dry twig—the cartilage in his nose. Then the taste of metal and the splattering of scarlet over his white linen shirt. He backpedaled, and ran his hand across his upper lip, smearing blood across his face and the back of his fist.

“Shouldn’t be too bad,” Reggie called to him as he danced away. “That was just a little poke. Something to get your attention.”

Andrew spat blood on the ground and put his guard back up. He had underestimated his enemy. He wouldn’t do it again.

Reggie moved in and out, forcing Andrew to swing at air more often than flesh. Finally, Andrew managed to get in two clean punches—forceful blows to the stomach. Reggie barely reacted, despite the fact that Andrew felt like he had broken his hand. It was frustrating, embarrassing! Then Reggie moved in, two blows to the stomach and one to the face before he hopped back out of reach, though Andrew swung wildly.

“Goddammit!” Andrew hissed.

“Do you never wonder how a fellow like me—no title, no lands—pays his tailor’s bills?” Reggie asked. He wasn’t even out of breath, and Andrew hated him for it. “Ever seen the size of the purses in top-notch boxing matches?”

Damn! A pugilist? Reginald Toller? Why hadn’t he known that?

Because he had spent the last eight years in the army or in the country. How the bloody hell was he to know who the latest rages in the ring were? He backpedaled again and watched all the more closely. The next time Reggie closed in, he was ready, and though he took a couple of body blows, he landed his own punch to Reggie’s left eye and finally wiped the arrogant grin from his face.