A Noble Masquerade (22 page)

“One might think you have peeked at my cards, if you feel so sure of my tactics. Now that would be underhanded playing.”

Ryland's eyes met hers, and she was captured all over again by their silvery depths. The skin around his eyes crinkled a bit
as they stared at each other. The man was enjoying this! Miranda broke the connection first. “It is your lead, Your Grace.”

He extracted a card from his hand but didn't lay it down on the table. “Sometimes knowing something about another person's hand,” Ryland said so quietly Miranda was sure only she and Mr. McCrae would be able to hear, “lets you help them play it to its best advantage.”

Miranda's eyes were glued to the card as he flipped it into the middle of the table. The queen of clubs. Her eyes flew to his face, but he was staring at his hand, expressionless. She stole a glance at Mr. McCrae, but he only smiled expectantly at her, no doubt assuming she had the king and would be able to take the trick.

Georgina tsked and smiled sweetly at her partner. “That was not well played, Your Grace, but you've been away from civilized gatherings for a while, so I won't complain.”

Miranda looked at her hand. There was more at stake here than a simple card game. She had two options. If she played her king, what did that say? Would she be admitting that his knowing her smallest secrets only made him a better match for her? On the other hand, she could play the five and send the message that he may not know her as well as he thought. But then she would also be saying she was willing to spite herself in order to thwart him.

All of this assumed he was interested in pursuing the fledgling connection they had when he was a servant at Riverton.

Miranda's head pounded as she ran her finger back and forth across the two cards. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his grey gaze. Then she flicked her card into the air.

The delicate
whoosh
of the card drifting through the air echoed in her ears despite the noise of the rest of the party. She maintained Ryland's gaze with a slight feeling of desperation. If he kept looking at her until all of the cards had been played, he wouldn't see her king and then he couldn't draw any conclusions about it.

Georgina placed her card on the table with a
thunk
. “How unkind, Miranda, for you to take advantage of His Grace's blunder.”

Miranda raised her eyebrows, keeping her gaze steady on the duke. “I believe His Grace will understand taking advantage of one's situation.”

The corner of Ryland's mouth tipped in a slight smile. “One should take every opportunity presented. The unexpected ones are sometimes the most meaningful.”

Mr. McCrae coughed. From the side of her vision, Miranda saw him lay a card on the table and then collect the hand. He tapped the cards on the table a few times before setting them to the side.

Moments passed. Miranda had no idea how long it was, but
she was sure that Mr. McCrae and Georgina were beginning to wonder what was happening between herself and Ryland. It was unseemly for a woman and a man to spend such a lengthy amount of time staring at each other, but she couldn't break away.

“Sister dear, it is your play.” Georgina's voice was tight with clear irritation. She had made her intentions of snaring the duke plain and was no doubt miffed at his attention to Miranda.

Ryland's smile grew, and Miranda's heart sped up. Smiles had been rare in their encounters before now. His was breathtaking. She had never seen teeth so straight and even. The man was truly blessed.

He nodded toward her cards, his gaze still connected to hers. “You have the next move, Lady Miranda.”

“What if I don't want it?” Miranda whispered, forgetting about the card game momentarily.

Georgina huffed. “What do you mean you don't want it? You played the king, Miranda. Who did you think was going to have the next lead?”

Ryland sat back in his chair and inspected his cards, severing the invisible connection. “What are you going to play, Lady Miranda?”

She felt lost without the silver glow of his direct attention and then looked blindly down at her own cards. Her eyes refused to focus on the numbers, no matter how many times she blinked, so she snagged a card and threw it on the table without knowing what it was.

Once the stiff paper had left her fingers, Miranda slid her eyes shut and swallowed a groan. The silence at the table lasted so long that she peeked between her lashes to determine what she played. Her eyes flew open.

She had played the queen of hearts.

“You behaved like a green girl tonight at that card table.” Georgina waited only until the carriage door shut before berating her older sister. “What was all that nonsense? The duke must think you a total jingle-brain.”

Griffith froze in the middle of adjusting his coat to allow him to sit more comfortably in the carriage. His eyes darted to Miranda, but she turned to stare out the window at the other revelers climbing into their own conveyances instead of meeting his gaze.

He cleared his throat. “What nonsense?”

“It started when Marshington—”

“You're calling him Marshington now?” Miranda cut in, hoping to distract her sister from telling the story.

“He is a friend of the family, Miranda, I think certain liberties can be taken in private. This is hardly the dark ages anymore, is it?”

Miranda blinked at her sister's haughty smirk. What could she possibly say to that? When it came to taking liberties under the guise of family friendship, using the name
Marshington
in private didn't compare to all of the letters she herself had addressed to him over the years.

“As I was saying, Marshington made a simple strategic error, understandable given his years away from polite society, and Miranda turned it into some philosophical nonsense. He, being a gentleman, played along, of course.” Georgina folded her hands over the reticule in her lap.

“How, exactly, did he blunder?” Griffith's question was directed at Georgina, but his gaze remained fixed on Miranda. It was giving her an irresistible desire to squirm.

The sounds of the party drifted away to be replaced by the rattle of horse hooves and carriage wheels over cobbled streets. Georgina related the tale as she saw it, leaving out parts that she hadn't heard or didn't believe. Had Miranda not been there
to know differently, she would consider herself jingle-brained based on Georgina's version of the card game.

“And then she laid the queen of hearts, Griffith. It was such a strange play to make. How could it be construed as anything but a flirtation? I was ashamed for her—really, I was.”

Tension eased from Griffith for the first time since entering the carriage. “She played the queen of hearts, you say? And what did you play?”

Miranda rolled her eyes. If Griffith was making this much of that silly card, who knew what Ryland was thinking about it.

“Well, I played the four, because I couldn't beat her queen. Mr. Macroy—”

“McCrae,” Miranda said.

Georgina waved a hand in dismissal. “He played the nine, but then the duke played the king, which was necessary to take the trick but made everyone at the table very uncomfortable.”

“I was just fine, thank you.” It was a complete lie, but Miranda felt she had to do something to temper Georgina's view of the evening.

Georgina reached across the seat and took Miranda's hand. “For someone who has been out in society for so long, I am surprised you haven't learned to hide your feelings better, dear sister. You were quite distinctly flushed. Anyone could see it.”

Another flush threatened to heat Miranda's cheeks, but she forced slow, steady breaths through her nose and thought about the rolling fields around Riverton. The calming trick had been working for years when she fought the desire to chuck her lady lessons out the window. She could only hope it was effective against blushing as well.

Then she remembered walking through those rolling fields with Ryland. The blush returned full force. Fortunately, Georgina had moved on by then.

“He couldn't leave the table fast enough once the hand was
played out. It was sheer luck that Lord Ashcombe was nearby and took the vacated seat.”

Griffith raised his eyebrows and concern drifted over his features as he looked at Miranda. “Ashcombe played cards with you tonight?”

“Yes, and then Miranda got a headache after the next hand,” Georgina continued, seemingly unaware of the underlying strain her comment had brought to the carriage. Miranda had never been more thankful for her sister's self-absorption. “So Lady Sarah Wrothington played the rest of the game.”

“Has your head recovered, Miranda?”

“Yes, I found a bit of fresh air did it wonders.” Miranda nodded to her eldest brother, hoping he understood her acceptance of his concern.

Griffith had always maintained that he felt a bit guilty for his part in the dealings that broke her heart and, possibly more importantly, her trust in the male portion of English society. Blaming him would have been pointless though. All he'd done was expose Ashcombe's true motivations and allow her to see that most men viewed marriage as little more than a business transaction.

Blessed quiet filled the carriage for the remainder of the short ride. Miranda was relieved to be back in the sanctuary of her home. The quiet tick of the clock in the red drawing room was the only sound once the front door clicked shut behind them.

“Will there be anything more, Your Grace?” asked Gibson, the butler.

“No, I think it's been a long night for all of us. We'll retire. Until tomorrow, then.” Griffith turned and led the little group up the stairs.

Miranda made to follow him, but Georgina's hand on her arm made her pause and turn back to her sister.

“When the duke comes to call on me, I expect you to make
yourself scarce. I can't have him thinking we're both lacking in the upper garrets.”

Miranda shook her head. If the duke came to call on Georgina he wasn't half the man she thought she knew. She would gladly agree to stay away from him should he be swayed into courting the youngest Hawthorne. With a murmur of assent, Miranda headed up the stairs, intent on finding her bed and dreaming of anything besides Ryland.

The following morning Mother arrived as Georgina and Miranda were finishing breakfast. They were to be at home again that afternoon.

Miranda was still a bit irritated with her sister's criticism from the night before, so she was feeling less than charitable about spending another afternoon smoothing the ruffled feathers of discarded suitors. “Mother, why don't you move Georgina in with you? Then you wouldn't have to come over here so early in the morning.”

“As much as I love William, he is only an earl, and his house, while nice, is not as impressive as Hawthorne House. Your father was a very powerful duke, Miranda, and I will not lose that advantage when it comes to finding Georgina the best possible match.” Mother fixed herself a cup of tea and sipped it slowly while her daughters finished eating. “Besides, as much as William loves me, he's already been through this with his two girls. He deserves a quiet home.”

Miranda made her last two bites of toast stretch into five to put off the inevitable. But when no more crumbs could be eaten without censure, she gave in and went upstairs to dress, bracing for the exhausting discussions that were to come.

Mother insisted on overseeing every part of Georgina's
preparation, determined that she be as close to perfection as possible. Since she hadn't sat in on Miranda's daily preparations in over two years, Miranda could only assume today's attentions were an effort to keep her from feeling neglected.

Normally, Sally had Miranda ready for the day within an hour. With Mother and Georgina deliberating over dress choices and coiffure suggestions, Miranda knew it would be at least two hours before the three of them would once again be seated in the white room awaiting callers.

She slid her Bible from the table by the bed, intent on rereading the passages she'd clung to while still in the country. Whatever they selected for her to wear would suit her. She had no intention of catching a gentleman's fancy anyway.

Ryland perused the front page of the newspaper while slowly chewing a succulent bite of ham. He had been enjoying the chef's efforts from the comfort of his room since arriving five days prior, but this was the first meal he'd ventured to the dining room for.

Continuing to avoid his family after showing his face at the tea shop was bad enough. Doing so after attending the card party would be unpardonable. Not that he regretted attending the party. It had proven a very worthwhile endeavor given the interesting verbal parlay over the first hand of cards. He'd also encountered the young couple from the tea shop. Newly affianced, they'd been too absorbed in each other to pay attention to anything else, even when the young lady's skirt got stepped upon, ripping the hem.