Dangerous Secrets (68 page)

She shook her head.
‶
That burst of
physical attraction you spoke of seems to bring most men to behave in
completely unacceptable ways.″ She sighed.
‶
But you yourself have risen
above such physical cravings, Your Grace, so you must recognize that there is
something finer, and more satisfying in a higher meeting of souls.″

For a moment, Simon considered revealing how
much he had been enjoying the way her soaked muslin gown revealed her slender
figure. He imagined her lips parting slightly in shock. But then she would
cover herself, no doubt regaining that formidable composure of hers within
minutes. No, he needed something more ... shocking ... to bring Miss Fenster to
her senses. And he did not want to forgo the pleasure the sight of her curves
gave him. It was like probing a sore tooth with his tongue: looking at her,
knowing the danger — to them both — in seducing her.

His own clothes were as soaked through as hers,
which gave him the idea for which he sought. He had already stripped his sodden
jacket off and thrown it over a stool near the fire. Casually, as if he did not
know she was watching him from the corner of her eye as she worked, Simon
stood, unfastened his shirt, pulled it loose from his breeches and removed it.
He hung it on the iron pothook for the fireplace, positioning the hook so that
the shirt was far enough away not to burn, but close enough to dry quickly in
the heat from the fire.

He seated himself on the stool, removed first
one boot, then the other, placing them neatly beside a dusty pile of blankets.
He stood up, reaching for the fastening of his breeches.

At last, she gasped.
‶
What are you
doing?″

He turned slowly to savor the sight of her, jaw
agape, frozen in surprise with a bowl of fruit cradled in her arms, as if for
protection. Wickedly, he spun the moment out just slightly longer than
necessary before he answered,
‶
I′m ensuring that I don′t take ill.
Shouldn′t you do the same?″

At that, she looked down at her own gown, the
skirts dragging the ground from the weight of the water, then back up at him.
There was a puzzled frown on her face that deepened as he started to peel away
his riding breeches. But she did not turn away from him as he had expected.
Instead, she stared at him, up and down the length of him, with a hint of
wonder.

Suddenly, with her gaze transfixed upon him, he
felt as shy as an untried boy. He snapped,
‶
I am not a ham, Miss Fenster.
Kindly stop gawking as if you were at market.″

He was warned by the narrowing of her eyes.
‶
If
I were at market, and you were a ham, I should certainly not ogle you. You are
no gentleman to insult me so.″ She whirled away, but not so quickly that
he couldn′t see her mouth twist in pain as her injured ankle gave way and
she lost her balance.

Simon started forward to offer a steady hand as
she struggled to maintain her balance against the hampering cling of her wet
skirts. Before he could reach her, she lost the struggle with a last toss of
her arms. The bowl of fruit she had held struck him in the chest, taking his
breath away. She landed in a sprawl on the floor.

He held out his hand to her, unable to resist a
gentle barb.
‶
You
can see now how dangerous wet clothing can be.″

She refused his hand as she rose. Without
looking at him, she swept her disarranged hair from her cheek where it clung.
She had the grace to blush and suddenly he was not so much angry as sad. A
woman with such courage and loyalty, not to mention that unique flair for
skirting disaster, would have made an unforgettable duchess – under his
tutelage to smooth out the unfortunate tendency to impulsiveness, of course.

But that was not to be. Anything he had to
teach her must be taught tonight. He felt the old emotional wound open as he
stared at her hair, half fallen out and curling with the damp. And she
certainly deserved a lesson for this foolishness. If he were any other man, he
had no doubt that she would have her skirts around her ears, by now. The
thought made him groan aloud as he captured a handful of damp curls, the same
color as cinnamon, and let them rest in his open palm.
‶
You should see to
your own health, Miss Fenster. You are as wet as I.″

Her eyes were huge, but still trusting. He
wanted, more than anything at that moment, to make love to her, to make sure
that she would never put herself in this position again. He stepped closer.
‶
It
would be a misfortune should you take ill … before I have received my
compensation for the trouble you have put me through.″

She breathed shallowly, as she tried to avoid
his bare flesh.
‶
I
agree that you deserve some recompense, Your Grace. Perhaps I might shine your
boots?″

He was tempted to laugh, which amazed him. He
had not laughed in a long time and Miss Fenster had coaxed the urge more than
once in under an hour.
‶
I would prefer payment of another kind. Do I dare
hope that the infamous Miss Fenster will agree? I well remember the black eye
Grimthorpe sported the morning of the duel.″

Her trembling lips tightened and her voice was
a soft whisper.
‶
Mother
never told me that I′d blackened his eye. I′m surprised she
didn′t add that to my long list of sins.″ Her chin came up a
fraction more, and suddenly the blade of the paring knife rested against the
flat of his stomach.
‶
As you were not harmed then by my actions, Your
Grace, I cannot believe you would allow me to be harmed now by yours.″

Though he was relieved that she had the sense
to realize she was in danger, Simon reacted as swiftly as if she had been a
London cutthroat, disarming her of the knife before she blinked.

Her eyes wide, she stared at the knife he now
held, as she cradled her wrist gently in her other hand. He had not the
slightest doubt that she would not have harmed him. Still, it was better that
she know she was outmatched. She might take the lesson to heart, at last.

A smile twitched on her lips as she breathed
out softly.
‶
You
are magnificent. How could you disarm me so swiftly?″

Magnificent? He was magnificent? Did the dashed
woman not understand that he was seducing her? Simon used the back of his hand
to stroke gently and slowly from her chin to her ear. She stood still for his
caress, making no protest, not even the softest of sighs. Her eyes captured
his. He did not know how to read them, did not know how to look away. Her skin
was firm and silky under his fingertips. Simon closed his eyes briefly. When
would she protest? When would she finally believe he had gone too far?

Goading her further, Simon drew his forefinger
across her lips. They parted slightly, her breath came warm on his finger. And
all the while, her gaze was upon his, trusting, worshiping and, dear God,
desiring. Simon fought his urge to touch her lips with his own, or to allow his
hands to explore the curves displayed by the clinging of her damp clothing.

He reminded himself sternly that he wanted a
reaction from her, not from himself. But Miss Fenster swayed toward him
slightly, apparently unable to oblige him with the affronted response he was
seeking. And all he could think of was that she could have been his wife. He
could have had her in his bed every night.

Pain supplanted desire at the thought; he could
not bear to seduce her and discover fully what it was that he had lost.

With a sigh, he grasped her shoulders and
turned her away from him so that he could unfasten her dress. Her shoulders
stiffened in his grip.

‶
What are you doing?″ Her
voice was husky – with fear, he hoped.

‶
Helping you out of your wet
things. You can drape yourself in a blanket.″ He wondered if his
impertinence would finally spur her into response. But she stood silently as he
peeled the clothing away from her back.

Simon exhaled sharply.
‶
What is
this?″ Through her damp, practically transparent chemise he could see the
faint, but unmistakable white scars that came from severe lashing. One of his
fingers came up to trace a scar that snaked wickedly down to the small of her
back and beyond.

She shivered and pulled away from him.
‶
My
father did not approve of my outspoken nature.″ Her shoulders stiffened,
and he heard the ring of defiance in her words.
‶
I will never let another man
have such complete power over me that he could beat me for my belief in my own
abilities.″

Anger swept through him and made his words
intemperate.
‶
You
say you will not give a man power over you, and yet you stand here, uncorseted,
in a dress so damp it hides not one curve – except for at the bosom, where it
threatens very enticingly to fall away and display your breasts.″

She stared down at her loosened bodice and
clutched it tight. But she did not pull away from him.

He sighed.
‶
You have allowed me to all but
undress you, Miss Fenster. I daresay I could take you here and now if I
wished.″

She opened her mouth as if to protest, and then
closed it. For a moment, uncertainty crossed her features.

She blinked rapidly, and he realized that she
was about to admit her weakness. He turned away from her, to prevent the
confession for it was best left unsaid. He crossed the room and tossed a
blanket to her across the few feet between them.

She blushed crimson.
‶
I was not thinking
…″

‶
That, my dear Miss
Fenster,″ he interrupted her hastily,
‶
seems to be a trait you and
your brother share.″

He had hit a nerve with that, he saw, when she
drew herself up haughtily and replied,
‶
Valentine′s integrity is
as great as yours, Your Grace.″ She crossed the few feet of distance
between them to stand close enough to burn him with the heat of anger in her
eyes.

He realized that she still had no idea what she
risked being here alone with him. Her head was full of dreams and ideals of
love and honor. It struck him that she was still as naive about men and women
as she had been five years ago. So far, she had been fortunate to have been
pursued by men for whom she had felt no physical passion.

He shuddered, thinking of how willing she had
been for his caresses. All because he was a hero of some trumped-up tales of
bravery she had heard secondhand. He closed his eyes. In London there would be
dozens more
‶
heroes″
who could ignite that same fire, no matter how much his ego cried out that she
felt such things only for him. And, despite her father′s cruel
discipline, she had no defenses in place to prevent her own ruination.

His urge was to call upon Valentine and insist
that a husband be found for Miranda at once. But he had no right to do such a
thing. And he could not, without Valentine learning the whole story. Still, he
felt a strong desire to ... to show her just what danger she courted.

Even as he took her in his arms and bent his
head to kiss her, he told himself he intended to give her no more than a taste
of what could happen when a woman was at the mercy of a rake. But when she
opened her mouth under his in a small gasp of surprise and then curled her
hands around his neck, he forgot all but the taste of her.

A scrabbling noise from the loft above cut into
Simon′s consciousness.

Chapter 3

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Miranda,
holding a finger to his lips that turned her bemusement into a narrow-eyed
silence. He was fleetingly glad to see that her cheeks were flushed. He hoped
it was a sign that he had taught her to be wary.

With the stealth and silence that had kept him
alive more than once, he grasped the frayed rope that hung from a ceiling beam
and handed himself slowly and silently up into the tiny loft area. Except for a
little moldering hay put by in one corner, the rest of the loft was swept bare
of anything but a layer of mouse and owl droppings.

Simon grabbed up the pitchfork, brandishing it
as if it were a bayonet.
‶
Come out of there now,″ he said in the voice
that had made his bravest men jump.

There was a twitch in the hay, but nothing
more.

Simon directed his attention to the area of the
twitch and swore softly at the sight of a bare foot protruding from the hay. It
was covered with grime — and small.
‶
Come out, boy.″

There was no movement from the hay. Behind him,
Miranda gasped.
‶
It
is but a child you′re frightening?″

He turned his head, surprised to see that she
had climbed up after him. There were not many women of his acquaintance
he′d credit with the ability or inclination to climb a rope.
‶
I
can see you′ve forgotten London life, Miss Fenster. Can′t turn your
back on the little beggars.″

To his surprise, though nothing he had
previously done had eradicated one glimmer of the hero-worship in her eyes, his
comment seemed to have brought him down a notch.

‶
Little beggars!″ With a
scornful look at him, she marched up to the pile of hay, which was trembling
now, and knelt beside it.
‵
′I′m sorry if we frightened you.″
When there was no further movement from within the pile of hay, she coaxed,
‶
You
must be hungry. Would you like food? I have apples and cheese and fresh bread.
Why don′t you come out?″

Her voice was soft and persuasive, but the
child remained hidden in the hay.

Simon′s gaze, trained as it was on
Miranda′s slender back, still bared by her gaping dress, was caught by
the series of shivers that shook her. With an impatient oath, he dropped the
pitchfork and reached out for the child′s exposed foot. One swift pull,
accompanied by a soft squeal, revealed a young girl, no more than three or
four, with long blonde braids and big brown eyes.

Even Simon could not be wary of the girl once
he saw how tiny and frightened she was. As he held the child in his arms and
jumped from the loft to the floor below, he felt a flash of gratitude that she
had made her presence known when she did. He could think of no more effective
means to prevent him from seducing Miss Fenster tonight. Certainly his own
willpower had failed.

He left Miranda to tend to the frightened child
while he gathered wood. When he returned, chilled, but with what he hoped was
enough wood to last through the night, he was not surprised to find Miranda
draped in a makeshift toga, with the child beside her, cleaned up and bundled
into a blanket of her own. The child held a half-eaten slice of bread in one
hand and was well into the story of how she had come to be at the cottage.

‶
He said I was pretty as my Mam,
and he gave me a sweet before he went in to her.″ Her eyes rested on
Miranda with complete trust, as a child might look at her mother. Simon′s
gut clenched with shock at the unwelcome realization that he and Miranda might
have had a child this age by now. He dropped the wood into the basket with a
thunk.

‶
Why′d that handsome
gennulmun tell me he dropped a gold piece at the crossroads?″

‶
I don′t know Betsy, but I
can′t believe he knew you′d go looking for it and get lost.″
Miranda met Simon′s gaze.

He wondered, seeing her doubtful expression,
how much of what was an obvious attempt to distract a child while the
‶
gennulmun″
tumbled the mother, was apparent to Miranda. The girl′s clothes, though
carefully patched; were little more than rags. She probably came from one of
the poorer of the village folk, grateful for money any way they could earn it.

‶
Do you come from Watson or
Nevilshire, girl?″ he asked.

She smiled proudly,
‶
Nevilshire, Your
Grace.″ With a gleeful glance she checked with Miranda, as if to ensure
that her salutation had been correct. She was rewarded with a smiling nod from
Miranda.

Simon sighed inwardly. Doubtless Miranda had
not thought of a child′s wagging tongue before she′d informed the
girl of his title.
‶
I′ll take you back to your Mam tomorrow.
Tonight you′ll bed down with us.″

Her eyes sparkled as if he′d promised her
a pony.

‶
Yes, sir. Thankee sir.″
And then her eyes darkened.
‶
My mam will be sore mad at me. She told me not to
never go too far away.″

Miranda said gravely, although Simon suspected
that a smile lurked under her sober demeanor,
‶
I′m sure if you convince
her that you′ve learned your lesson, she′ll forgive you.″

Betsy looked doubtful.

Miranda smiled at her.
‶
Why, I remember
when I was your age, my nanny told me about another young lady who also
wasn′t the best at heeding her mother′s warnings. She did learn her
lesson one day, or so my nanny said.″

Betsy′s eyes were sparkling once more.
‶
What
was she called?″

Miranda′s brow knitted.
‶
I
don′t think Nanny Hilda ever told me the girl′s name, now that you
ask. But she did tell me about the wonderful warm cape that her mother made
her, of a most beautiful red, the color of a cardinal. So why don′t we
call her Little Redcape, as my nanny did?″

Betsy nodded her approval, and despite a
mouthful of bread, asked,
‶
Did she get lost too, like me?″

Miranda shook her head, more patient with the
child′s curiosity than he would have been. He settled in to tend the
fire, and to listen to the tale, sure that there would be some happy twist that
could only come from the inimitable fairytale-loving Miss Fenster.
‶
No,
not exactly. You see, her grandmother was ill, and Little Redcape′s
mother asked her to take a basket of herbs and some soup and fresh bread to
her.″

‶
And she didn′t?″

Miranda laughed and leaned forward to whisper
as unselfconsciously as if she′d been in the nursery of her own home
telling a tale to her sisters.
‶
She did indeed – and met a wolf on the way.″

‶
A wolf!″ Betsy′s
round face was a study in delight.

‶
Truly.″ Miranda nodded as
she took the remains of the bread from the child′s fingers and smoothed
back the blonde hair. Simon was tormented by a vision of how it would feel if
those fingers were smoothing back his own hair. As she spoke, she quietly
tucked Betsy in, smoothly unbraiding and rebraiding her hair. Without a peep of
protest from the unwary child, Miranda had readied her for sleep. He watched
her expression change by turns from happy to ferocious to frightened to cunning
as she told her fairytale. He wondered if Miranda understood the allusions to
straying from the path – and the danger of the wolf.

He found no answer; her attention was all for
her story, and for the child listening raptly, right up until Redcape used the
ax she had hidden in her cape to free herself and her grandmother from the
wolf′s stomach. And then, to Simon′s utter amazement, the child let
out a contented sigh, turned over, and began to snore very quietly.

Miranda eased herself away from the sleeping
child, rose, and came over to him by the fire.
‶
I expect she will sleep now.
She was so frightened. I thought a story would calm her.″

‶
Indeed. But I imagine the
lesson would have gone more deeply if Little Redcape had realized she was not
capable of saving herself from the wolf after she′d been eaten.″

‶
Nonsense.″ She shook her
head, strands of cinnamon-colored hair falling from the loosening knot at her
nape.
‶
Redcape
had a happy ending. She learned her lesson. You′ll never find her talking
to strange wolves again.″

‶
Happy endings are rare in life,
Miss Fenster. Look at what happened to you when you ran into a London wolf.″

‶
I?″ Her gaze reflected
her puzzlement.
‶
What
wolf have I...? Oh.″ There was a fierce light in her eye.
‶
So
such men are called wolves? It suits their predatory nature even more than the
term rake, I think.″

He noticed that she stood close to him without
fear. Obviously, she did not consider him a rake.
‶
Indeed. But my
point remains, Miss Fenster. And the wolf did no more than taste you.″ He
couldn′t help adding,
‶
And I′m none too convinced that you′ve
learned your lesson.″

Impulsively, he reached out and pulled the few
anchoring pins from her hair, allowing it to fall about her shoulders.
‶
What
if he had managed to eat you, my dear?″

Her color heightened, she snatched the pins
from his hand and said sharply,
‶
I refuse to believe there are
no happy endings, Your Grace — for Little Redcape or for Valentine and
Emily.″ She looked at him, a challenge in her eyes as she said softly,
‶
I
even believe you, a man of two-and-thirty might still have a happy ending for
yourself.″

No. That was not possible. Simon closed his
eyes to block the sight of her, hair tumbling down over one bare shoulder, as
enticing as a nymph. Was she trying to drive him mad? Or was she playing a
game? He knew that a woman could seem innocent and honest and be rotted inside
with guilt and lies. His own mother had taught him that truth. Somehow, he
didn′t believe it of Miranda.

Without opening his eyes, he said,
‶
The
rules are different for men and women. You are a woman. I am a man.″ He
wondered if there was any possibility that she was as aware as he was of that
simple fact.

There was a bare hesitation before she
answered.
‶
The
rules make no sense. They put restrictions on women, who are not ruled by
physical attraction, and allow men free rein to indulge themselves with the
naïve and unwary, as Grimthorpe did with me.″

He gave in to his urge to touch her and grasped
her lightly by the shoulders, caressing the soft, exposed skin.
‶
What
might have happened if you had been aroused by Grimthorpe′s
attentions?″

‶
He was a toad.″

‶
Agreed.″ Simon asked a
question for which he was not sure he wanted the answer.
‶
What
of your country suitors? Did none of them make you wish for a stolen
kiss?″

‶
I am well able to control my
actions, wishes or no.″

‶
Then the answer is yes?″

She hesitated, but his trust in her innate
honesty was rewarded by a sharp,
‶
No.″

‶
And my kiss left you
unmoved?″ She tried unsuccessfully to pull away from him, but he
continued relentlessly.
‶
If we had not discovered Betsy, would you have
allowed me to make love to you, Miss Fenster?″

He opened his eyes. Instead of the expected
dawning of wariness in her eyes, her gaze seemed fixed on his face, as if she
sought to puzzle out a mystery. It was clear that she had no idea of her
current danger. Or perhaps she did not recognize this feeling between them as
dangerous. He felt pushed to the wall. With an angry growl low in his throat he
loosed her shoulders, swept her off her feet, and carried her the few steps to
where the blankets had been laid out in a cozy nest.

‶
As you pointed out not that
long ago, Miss Fenster,″ he said as he brought the both of them to the
floor and pinned her beneath him,
‶
I am a man of two-and-thirty.
Has it ever once crossed your mind that I might not connect seducing an
innocent but foolish young woman with any sullying of my honor?″

She lay stiffly beneath him, and he was
satisfied to feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest as she stared
up at him, finally wary.

After a moment′s silence, she said
quietly,
‶
You
would regret it in the morning, Your Grace. We both know that.″

He brought his head down, as if to kiss her,
pleased to note the sudden catch in her breath. His face was so close to hers
that he could not see her expression as he whispered softly,
‶
I
would not regret it half so much as you, Miss Fenster.″ Abruptly he
pulled away and flicked the last of the blankets over her, satisfied to see
relief in Miranda′s expression, worried lest she see the same feeling
reflected in his own. He had doubted his own sanity for a moment.

He turned his back on her.
‶
I
pray that you have learned your lesson, but if you have not, I am content to
let some other man give you the proper ending to your fairytale.″

Ignoring the little quiver in his gut that
indicated he was lying, Simon lay his head on his arm and forced himself to
remain still atop the cold hard floor.

An hour later, still unable to sleep, he heard
the slow rhythmic creaking of cart wheels. He rose, crept to the door, and
cautiously cracked it open. The rain had ceased. Lantern lights dotted the
field and glimmered at the edges of the wood.

After a moment, the night′s breeze
carried the sound of a woman crying, and then a deeper voice, calling,
‶
Betsy?
Betsy, my pet? It′s time to come home.″