The Price of Indiscretion (14 page)

Along the way, on the children’s floor, he heard the sounds of his godchild, baby Diane, crying.

He pushed the nursery door open wider than a crack. In the golden lantern light, six-month-old Diane was lying wide awake in her bed. She’d only begun to fuss. Her nurse was asleep in a chair by the cold hearth.

When Diane saw her godfather, she rolled over and grinned a welcome.

On silent feet, Alex passed the nurse and picked up the baby, who watched him with wide eyes. He covered his lips with one finger, warning her to be silent. She tried to reach for his finger.

Alex left the nursery with the baby in his arms and continued on his way downstairs. No one would lock him out if he had the baby.

The Duke of Colster was everything that Miranda could have ever hoped for. He was sophisticated, handsome, kind, and intelligent, and his intentions toward her were very clear. He meant to woo her, and there wasn’t one woman there of marriageable age who wasn’t looking daggers at her.

She stood beside him at the party in her honor and smiled, met his friends, smiled, listened to everyone talk around her, and smiled some more—thinking all the while how pleased Charlotte would be.

Even Michael and Isabel were happy for her. Michael had mentioned before the party how the patronage of the great Colster could increase his business sevenfold. Certainly his request to attend this party in her honor had done such to the guest list. Everyone of importance who could scramble to be here had come. Meeting His Grace had created an opportunity for all of them.

The one person who might not be happy was Alex, and although she had caught a glimpse of him earlier, he’d seemed to disappear. Again.

Miranda was tempted to marry the duke just to spite him.

Lady Overstreet interrupted her thoughts by placing a hand on her arm. “If I can steal her for one moment from you, please,” Her Ladyship begged of the duke.

“Yes, but only a moment,” he chided good-naturedly.

Lady Overstreet led Miranda out to the back garden, which had been covered with a huge tent lit with white lanterns and decorated with arrangements of roses and greenery. Many guests were there, picking out tasty morsels from the elaborate supper spread the Severson cook had prepared. Others had found their way to the tables, and chairs set up for their enjoyment.

But Her Ladyship didn’t stop at the tables. She took Miranda to a far corner where they would not be overheard.

“Captain Haddon is here,” Lady Overstreet said without preamble.

“I know,” Miranda said.

“You know?”

“Yes, I saw him when he first arrived.”

Lady Overstreet opened her fan and showed her irritation by waving it briskly. “He’s impossible.”

“Yes, he is,” Miranda agreed airily. “But you needn’t worry about him. He is nothing to me.”

“Truly?” Her Ladyship asked, but Miranda wasn’t attending.

Instead, her gaze had gone to the doorway where Alex stood…holding Diane. The baby attempted to suck on a fistful of his hair and appeared completely content in his arms.

Her anger melted, replaced by a deep yearning for this man and a baby.

Alex saw her and started in her direction.

Lady Overstreet recognized the danger. “Oh dear,” she whispered, and stepped in front of Miranda as if she would ward him off.

Her movement brought Miranda to her senses. She couldn’t let Alex deter her. He was the one who always left her.

“Please,” Miranda said quietly. “No scenes. Perhaps it would be best if I had a moment alone with him.”

The older woman bristled at the thought. “I remember the last time the two of you had a moment alone.”

“It won’t be the same,” Miranda assured her. “We are surrounded by people. I won’t go off with him.” She wanted to hear what he had to say…and she needed to say a few words to him in return.

Lady Overstreet heaved a dramatic sigh. “Very well.”

Miranda turned back to Alex. He’d passed some tables, and she noticed how the women followed him with their eyes. She understood why. He was a handsome man whose presence rivaled the duke’s.

And then there was Diane in his arms.

She couldn’t help but smile.

He stopped in front of her. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Miranda returned, holding out a finger to Diane, who reached to grab it to put in her mouth.

Lady Overstreet stood beside them, a frowning duenna. Alex glanced at her. She scowled back, her expression saying louder than words that she was not budging from this spot.

After an awkward silence, he said, “This is a lovely evening.”

Lady Overstreet snorted and began tapping her toe.

“It is,” Miranda answered, growing impatient with Her Ladyship herself.

Suddenly Alex took the baby and dumped her into Lady Overstreet’s arms. “Would you please take Diane back to the nursery?” he said. “Her nappy feels wet.”

The look of horror on Lady Overstreet’s face was comical. She dropped her prized fan. “My dress will be ruined.”

“Perhaps one of the maids will help you,” Alex suggested.

Lady Overstreet went running to the supper table for help, holding the baby out away from her dress. Diane giggled over the bumpy ride and reached for one of the feathers in Her Ladyship’s hair.

“That wasn’t nice,” Miranda said.

“But effective.” He looked down at her, his expression suddenly serious. “Come with me.”

His words caught her off guard. Her heart rose. “Why?” she asked, silently daring him to repeat the “I love you” she could have sworn he’d said the night when they’d made love.

The set of his mouth tightened. “I want you.”

Those weren’t the words Miranda wanted to hear. Not now when she could feel the pressure of giving her sisters everything they’d ever wanted, of heaping pride on her family name versus the shame she’d once faced over her foolish love for Alex.

And she did love him. God help her, she did.

But too much had passed between them. She was older. Wiser. Lady Overstreet was right. She had responsibilities, and she’d not shirk them just because he “wanted” her.

“You belong to me,” he said, pressing his suit.

“There has to be more,” she answered.

He nodded. “Of course. Your family is mine. I will always take care of your sisters. You can spend all of my money on them. Buy each of them a thousand pairs of stockings if it will make them happy.”

Alex didn’t understand, and she realized he couldn’t. Perhaps she had misheard him the night they’d made love. Perhaps she had wanted him to say he loved her so much, she’d imagined the words.

“I’m sorry, Alex, I can’t.” That’s all she could say. She turned, and without looking back, made her way around the tables where a growing number of guests were sitting down and eating. She waited until she reached the house and then leaned against the wall, suddenly unable to go any farther.

What had she done?

Her stomach tied into knots. She was tempted to go back and explain herself, but at that moment the duke came upon her.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he confessed, heedless of who could have overheard him. “I was hoping you’d let me escort you in to supper.”

She looked up at him. Perhaps His Grace had her confused with his late wife, but at least her emotions weren’t involved. He could “want” her, but from Alex, she’d needed something else, something he apparently would never give her. Whether the cause was the many disappointments they’d found in each other over the years or that Alex didn’t love her the way she wanted him to didn’t matter. The end result was the same—Alex would break her heart.

The duke wouldn’t, because she would never give it to him. However, he would restore her family’s prestige…and for the moment, that was enough.

She smiled. “I’d be pleased if you would.”

Alex couldn’t believe that Miranda had walked off. He’d declared himself to her, and it had not been enough.

He glanced around the supper tent to see if anyone had noticed. The others in the room were busy eating and carrying on conversations concerning their own lives. They didn’t seem to notice anything at all.

And then he saw Miranda enter the tent on the arm of the Duke of Colster.

Of course.

It didn’t make any difference how much money Alex had or how deeply he cared for her—she wanted her bloody title.

She didn’t look at him but let Colster lead her to a table in the opposite corner. He then left to fill a plate for her, a mating ritual if ever there was one.

And if Miranda thought Alex would stand here and watch another man claim her, she was wrong.

Alex stomped out of the tent, shouldering aside anyone who was foolish enough to step in his way. His anger roared in his ears, drowning out the sounds of music and people enjoying themselves. At the front door he scowled at the footman who had dared to let Lady Overstreet lock him out of the house. The man practically jumped behind a chair to hide.

As he went down the front steps, he thought he heard Michael call his name. He kept walking and walked several blocks before hailing a hack to take him to the
Warrior
.

Oliver was playing cards on the pier with Jon and some of the others. His mate came to his feet and took the pipe out of his mouth, obviously surprised to see Alex return so soon.

“Are we ready to sail?” Alex asked as he walked by.

“We can be. Most of the lads are here, and those that aren’t are across the way in the pub.”

“Then drag them out and let’s be on our way,” Alex ordered starting up the gangway.

“
Now,
Cap’n?”

Alex stopped. “Is there a problem with leaving now? Is the tide not with us?” he asked silkily.

Oliver swallowed. “We only have half our cargo since we transferred some to the
Sea Serpent.
She was leaving—”

“I know,” Alex said. “I’m the one who gave the order.” The
Sea Serpent
was another of the ships Michael and Alex owned.

“Aye, sir.” Oliver took a deep breath before adding, “And then we’ll have to engage a pilot.”

“Engage one. Now. I don’t wish to wait a moment longer,” Alex answered. “Tell the man I’ll pay twice his rate, but I want to be gone tonight.” He went to his cabin and once there, yanked the silver collar from his throat and threw it across the room.

It barely made a clatter as it hit the floor.

Alex dug his hands in his long hair, raising it and letting it slip between his fingers.
This
was who he was. Or who he’d thought he was.

Lady Overstreet’s accusations haunted him. He
could
have changed for Miranda. He hadn’t.

He stretched out his arms, feeling the smooth movement of muscle and bone, and wondered why God had made him the way he was? Or why He’d dangled Miranda in front of him if it wasn’t ever to be? Alex had been fine without her.

“Just perfectly fine.” He spoke the words aloud with an intensity that was disturbing.

His gaze rested on the bunk. He never looked at it without remembering making love to her that night, being deep inside her and having her joined with him. It had been a magic moment, one that had given him a sense of wholeness he’d never known.

Dear God, he hated London or anywhere else that she was. He had to leave or he would do something foolish…like crawl back to her—and then he’d be as weak a man as his father was.

The realization of how closely he feared being his father was shocking. He pushed the notion aside. He would never be led around by a woman. Ever.

Work would help him forget her. Work was the only antidote.

And so he worked. None of his men worked harder.

He saw the ship up the Thames and out into the sea. If there was a job that had to be done, he was in the middle of it. And when the sailing was good, when there was nothing physical to be done, Alex climbed the rigging and stood on the yardarm, letting his hair blow in the breeze.

Here, he was free.

Or so he wanted to believe.

It was at times like these that he found himself wondering what it had been that she’d wanted from him. What more could he have given her?

It took more than a week out to sea for Alex to realize, not only was he running from her, but he’d been running all his life. He’d had to prove that he didn’t need anyone, not the mother who had once abandoned him or the father who had deserted him.

But he wanted Miranda.

Lady Overstreet’s accusations echoed in his ears. He’d always thought he’d been honorable and reasonable to Miranda—but what if he hadn’t been? What would have happened if he stepped fully into her world? Would she see him differently?

Did he have the courage to find out?

Alex ordered the
Warrior
turned back around toward England. His first stop would be to see a tailor.

His second would be to see a barber.

M
iranda was a success. She was the talk of the season, and the situation made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t accustomed to so much attention.

Every day the Seversons’ house was flooded with invitations to parties, balls, and musicales, and she could accept only the most exclusive. There was not enough time to attend all. Lady Overstreet had assured her this was what should be done, and Isabel had concurred. These were the social niceties she must learn.

His Grace, the Duke of Colster, had a name now. Phillip Maddox. Miranda referred to him as “His Grace” although he had given her his consent to call him Phillip in private. It seemed odd that one must have permission to call someone by his given name. She’d told him as much, and he’d patronizingly teased her about her stubborn streak of Americanism.

He was very clear about his intentions. He called on her every morning and sent flowers every afternoon in spite of his busy, very important schedule. He included her in his inner circle that counted among its number the very cream of London society.

Miranda feared she was in over her head. This was all so new to her. Isabel was a godsend. She helped Miranda through the nervous moments, and there were many of them.

Even now she was starting near-riots whenever she appeared in public. If she wore her hair in a certain style, the next night every other debutante dressed her hair the same way. If Miranda wore green ribbons on her dress, there was a fad for green ribbons. They would be everywhere.

People gossiped about what books she borrowed from the lending library, what foods she preferred, and where she shopped. The papers referred to her as the season’s “incomparable” in sly tones as they shared with their readers her comings and goings, most of which were manufactured. Miranda couldn’t have gone to half the places they claimed she had.

What shocked her most was the day a glove maker sent two new pairs of his wares to her without charge. His card said he hoped she would wear them in good health.

“I don’t understand why he just gave these to me,” she’d said to Lady Overstreet as she tried them on. The leather was baby-skin soft and reached past her elbows. “They are beautiful and must cost a fortune.”

“He wishes your patronage.”

“Whatever for?”

“So that he can claim you as a special client of his. Then everyone will flock to his shop to buy the exact sort of gloves you are wearing so they can be like you.”

“But these are too expensive for a gift,” Miranda had protested.

“Pish posh,” Lady Overstreet had said. “He was happy to do anything for you. I had him make three pairs for me.”

“Whatever for?” Miranda had trouble believing he would give such an expensive gift to her, let alone Lady Overstreet merely because she was associated with Miranda.

Her Ladyship smiled benignly. “How did I know the quality was of the sort you should be seen wearing? I had to see for myself.”

“I find this unsettling,” Miranda answered. “One should be paid for one’s work. You don’t give your trade away and expect to keep your doors open.”

“Careful,” Lady Overstreet warned. “You sound like a shopkeeper’s daughter.”

“I
am
a shopkeeper’s daughter.”

“You are the granddaughter of Lord Bagsley,” Lady Overstreet corrected and leaned forward to confide, “Besides, this is the way things are done when one is of the
haut ton
. They rarely pay for anything. Ask Colster when the last time was he paid for gloves.”

Miranda would ask him nothing of the sort. She was intimidated by him. It was one thing to think you wanted to marry a duke and another to actually do it. He wouldn’t have questioned receiving free gloves. When maids and footmen and lord and ladies bobbed curtsies to him, he considered it his due. The man was surrounded by servants who saw to his every whim. Just riding in his coach called for two drivers, a footman, and a boot boy.

But what made her the most uneasy was the incredible amount of animosity directed her way from the other debutantes and their matchmaking mothers. She overheard them gossiping about her. Even though she was no stranger to being the food for such conversation, the vehemence directed toward her was disquieting.

She confided her reservations to Isabel, who told her there was nothing she could do—except give up His Grace.

“Would you be willing to do that?” Isabel had asked her.

“No.” Miranda had worked too hard to reach this point. She would not disappoint Charlotte and Constance.

Isabel patted her hand. “You will grow into being a duchess. In time, you’ll accept all this attention as commonplace.”

Miranda didn’t know if that would be true.

One thing she did not do was ask Michael about Alex. She didn’t need to. Without being told, she knew he had left England. That ship of his made it easy for him to escape.

Sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, she would lie awake thinking about him. She’d marvel that the moon in the clouds outside her window was the same moon that shone on him…and yet they were lifetimes away.

Had it really been so hard for him to say he loved her? And why would God be so cruel as to bring him back into her life, only to take him away again?

She found no answer.

When the Duke of Colster invited Miranda, the Seversons, and Lady Overstreet for dinner, Her Ladyship almost swooned.

“No one is invited to Colster House,” Lady Overstreet intoned. She waved the card that had just been delivered, with the duke’s own slashing handwriting, in the air in front of Miranda and Isabel.

They were in the sunny morning room, which overlooked the garden at the back of the house. Isabel balanced baby Diane on her shoulder, having just fed her. Miranda admired the fact that in spite of the trend of sophisticated young London matrons to hire a wet nurse for their babies, Isabel delighted in every aspect of being a mother. Miranda thought she herself would be the same way. She’d not want someone else to care for her baby…although the services of a nanny were to be much appreciated.

“This is the most exclusive invitation in the city,” Lady Overstreet declared. “I doubt even the Prince of Wales has seen the inside of His Grace’s dining room. You know they don’t get along. The duke thinks Prinny is a flibbertigibbet.”

Miranda couldn’t imagine His Grace saying such a word, but she nodded agreement. Lady Overstreet enjoyed nothing more than trading on her new acquaintance with the duke.

Tapping the edge of the card on the palm of her hand, Lady Overstreet said, “He’s going to ask you to marry him.
This
evening.”

Now she had Miranda’s attention. “What makes you believe so?”

Her Ladyship touched the side of her nose with a knowing look.

Miranda turned to Isabel. “It does seem possible,” her friend said.

“Nor should it surprise you,” Lady Overstreet said. “Everyone in London is expecting it. Indeed, they are all holding their breath in anticipation.”

“I wish they wouldn’t. I just don’t understand all this preoccupation over other people’s lives. It’s as if there is no world beyond London.”

“There isn’t,” Her Ladyship declared. She leaned forward to add, “And you shall reign over it. Why, the papers adore you. You are young, beautiful, and will be a duchess. Not even the queen could have so much power.”

“I don’t know if I could take more scrutiny than I have now,” Miranda answered.

“You have no choice,” Her Ladyship returned. “The matter has been set in motion. With my help, may I remind you. None of this could have happened without me.”

“Your services will be sought after,” Isabel commented.

“They will, won’t they?” Lady Overstreet said, pleased. “I shall never have to worry again. Especially after I settle with the duke.”

The comment startled Miranda. Of course she had known Lady Overstreet was in this game for her own gain, but what had seemed reasonable in New York now sounded vulgar. It also meant that not only was her sisters’ well-being resting on Miranda’s shoulders, but Lady Overstreet’s fortune as well. “Have you said anything to him about payment?”

However, before Lady Overstreet could reply, Michael appeared at the door. All three women were taken aback to see him. He usually left very early in the morning for his offices and didn’t return until late.

“Michael,” Isabel said in greeting, “what brings you home in the middle of the day?”

His gaze lit on Miranda. “May I have a word with you?”

He was so grave, it made Miranda uneasy. “Nothing has happened to my sisters?”

“No,” he assured her. “But it is a private matter.”

Lady Overstreet clasped her hands excitedly. “
He
’s asked.”

Michael didn’t answer but turned and walked down the hall in the direction of his study, obviously expecting Miranda to follow.

Isabel reached out and gave Miranda’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It will be all right,” she promised.

Miranda nodded and went after Michael.

His study was a book-lined room made comfortable with heavy leather stuffed furniture, a deep Indian print carpet, and a huge globe of the world. Miranda had walked by many times, seeing him contemplating the globe while Diane slept in his arms.

He had never invited her into his haven until now. She didn’t sit but stood, waiting.

Michael didn’t sit, either. “Colster has sought my permission to ask you for your hand in marriage.”

Miranda’s knees went weak.
Here it was.

“What shall I tell him?” Michael asked. “He wishes to speak to you privately tonight after dinner.”

Her mind was scrambled by the realization that the evening Charlotte had imagined had come to pass.
A duke
. Her sisters would be so pleased.

She
should be pleased…

“Have you heard from Alex?” It was not a question her pride wanted to ask, and yet she must.

A frown line formed between Michael’s brows. “No, but this is not unusual.” He raised a hand as if asking for understanding. “You know Alex. He captains his own ship and does as he pleases.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” she agreed, her voice tight.

Miranda walked over to the globe. America seemed so far away right now. She wished Charlotte was here; she was glad she wasn’t.

“What if I say no?”

Michael came to her side and turned the globe so that England faced up. “I’m certain Colster will be disappointed. He wants this match, and he isn’t a man known for making rash decisions.”

“He says I remind him of his late wife.”

“Yes, I know. He told me.”

There was a long moment of silence. She weighed the decision in front of her, wondering whether
she
was going to spend her life pining for Alex.

She ran a finger along the curve of the globe. “Will he come back?”

Michael turned to her. “I know him better than any man. He is my blood brother and once saved my life. I have no answer for you, Miranda. I’d always sensed that there was someone in Alex’s past, and when I met you, I knew who it was. I’m surprised he left. I thought—” he started and then stopped.

“Thought what?” she prompted.

“That this time he would find peace,” Michael finished. “He’s a proud man. An independent one.”

“He asked me to go with him once. I don’t believe he will ask again.”

Michael didn’t answer.

She squared her shoulders. She was no longer sixteen and she had her family to consider. “It would be nice to be betrothed to a duke when my sisters arrive,” she said quietly. “It would make them happy.”

“What of yourself?”

Miranda waved him away. “I think the time has come for me to consider my own happiness.” And to think with her head and not her heart. “His Grace is a fine man. He’s well respected. I would be honored to be his duchess.”
Duchess
. The title had a fullness about it. For the first time since she’d entered the study, she drew a full breath and released it. Yes, this was what she should do.

“I will inform His Grace that you are receptive to his offer and will be pleased to speak to him this evening on the matter. Come, let us tell the others. I’m certain Isabel is as curious as Lady Overstreet.”

Miranda paused before going out the door. “Thank you for this and for all that you’ve done.”

“I did it for Alex,” Michael answered.

She frowned at the formality in his tone. “Do you think me foolish?”

“I don’t know what I think, Miranda. I’ve gone from considering you a callous woman who had hurt my closest friend, to thinking you a fortune hunter, to finally realizing you are a young woman trying to make her way in the world as best she can. I like you. Alex is the fool.”

He opened the door, and they went to break the news to his wife and Lady Overstreet.

That evening Miranda chose a dress of the palest hint of blue, trimmed in silver ribbons. She papered and perfumed herself and used every artifice she could. Alice helped her style her hair in a halo of blond curls held in place with tiny silver stars on the tips of pins.

Miranda needed to look her best. She’d made up her mind she would be honest with His Grace. She wouldn’t mention Alex, but she’d let him know that she wasn’t completely pure. She owed him that much.

Colster House was one of the largest and oldest private homes in London. It was a grand place with many halls, more windows than a cathedral, and a huge circular drive hidden behind iron gates decorated with the leaping stag from the ducal crest.

There was a small crowd outside that gate when the Severson party arrived. Bewigged footmen in black and hunter green livery hurried to open the gate while keeping the onlookers at bay.

Lady Overstreet was so excited, she couldn’t sit still. “They are here for
you
,” she whispered to Miranda. “They know something is afoot.”

“How could they know?” Miranda asked, her stomach fluttery with nerves.

“They know,” Lady Overstreet assured her breezily as they drove through the gates into the inner sanctum of the Duke of Colster.

Isabel reached over and covered Miranda’s hand with her own. It was a sign that she was as nervous as Miranda. Even Michael appeared a touch awed.