Everything Forbidden (10 page)

In the distance, she saw her own home approaching. She smoothed her gown and swiped a hand over her face. Calm. She would remain calm. Raising the suspicions of her family would only make things worse.

She slipped from the clearing onto the lawn with a smile that felt frozen on her face. She nodded to a gardener, waved to one of the stable boys in the distance. Yes, everything was fine. Everything was wonderful. She just had to get to her room. Once there, she could let all her emotions overwhelm her.

Reaching the house, she opened the door and slipped into
the foyer. The staircase leading to the family quarters was only a few feet away. She just had to sneak across the hall and she would be—

A floorboard creaked beneath her slipper, echoing in the hallway. Immediately, her younger sister Winifred’s blonde head stuck out of the parlor and her face broke into a smile.

“Miranda!” she cried, stepping into the hallway to give her a hug. “We thought you’d be with Lady Inglewood until tomorrow!”

“Hello, Winnie,” Miranda sighed, making her tight smile all the broader for her sister’s sake as she stroked Winifred’s blonde hair lightly. “I—er—”

“Miranda is back?” her mother’s sharp voice echoed from the room. Miranda’s eyes fluttered shut. Damn. “Why in the world are you home so early? You’re meant to be with Lady Inglewood until tomorrow!”

Miranda entered the parlor like a prisoner condemned. Her mother sat having tea with Penelope and Beatrice. When Miranda nodded in greeting, her mother’s gaze slipped up and down her form with a sniff.

“You made a poor impression on her, didn’t you?” Dorthea pressed.

“Your hair
is
a mess,” Beatrice offered helpfully, setting her teacup down with an expression of glee. Clearly she knew her comments would only spurn their mother on more.

Miranda gritted her teeth. “Lady Inglewood caught a cold. When I arrived, she was out of sorts and wished to rest, so she sent me home early.”

“Just as well. She is probably only laughing at our misfor
tunes down her nose anyway.” Her mother scowled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t go back there at all.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. “Mama, you cannot mean that.”

Dorthea responded by folding her arms with a petulant sigh. “Now that we have Lord Rothschild’s sponsorship, do we need her airs?”

Miranda’s head was throbbing. If her mother refused to allow her to continue her ruse, she had no idea how she would explain her absences while she paid her debt to Ethan.

If he still wanted her. She shoved that thought away with violence.

“We need all the good influence we can get, don’t we?” she asked.

Her mother seemed to ponder that for a long moment. “I suppose it cannot hurt to have another potential patron for our cause. For now, I will allow it to continue. But let us not talk about that any longer. Come, sit down.”

Her mother motioned to one of the empty chairs, with a look filled with expectation. It was an order, not a request.

Miranda looking at the door with a sense of longing. She wasn’t certain she could handle tea with her entire family. Not at the moment. If only the floorboard hadn’t creaked.

“Mama, I am tired from my walk. I would like to go upstairs and lie down for a while. After I’ve rested, I’ll be happy to share supper with you all.” She searched her mind for some carrot to offer her mother in return for a few hours peace. “Perhaps afterward we could play whist.”

She flinched at the thought. She hated playing cards with her mother.

“Posh! You may rest here and have your tea with your family,” her mother insisted. “
Sit down
.”

With a shudder, Miranda did as she had been told, too tired and emotional to face a drawn out argument. Penelope stared at her from across the table, concern plain on her face. Miranda struggled to keep her emotions from her expression in the hopes her sister wouldn’t press for information on her upset later.

It was a losing battle.

“Speaking of our new sponsor, we were just discussing Lord Rothschild before you arrived,” Beatrice said with a grin. “Mama is planning to host a huge ball in a fortnight to launch Penelope’s Season.”

“A ball!” Miranda repeated and thoughts of her own hurt and confusion fled. “Mama, the cost!”

Their mother glared at her. “It isn’t our money, my dear, so don’t begin your miserly ways. A ball will be the perfect thing. Your sister will be the center of attention and Beatrice and Winifred will even get to make a showing. We might as well use Lord Rothschild’s kindness while we have it.”

Miranda shut her eyes with a groan. Her mother might be correct in some ways. After today, her fears about Ethan’s intent were back with a vengeance. She hadn’t broken her word this time, she hadn’t pulled away. But they had never discussed the terms if
he
reneged on their deal. For all she knew, he would tell her never to come back again. If he did, they would all be lost.

Except that wasn’t the consequence that troubled her most. If she were honest with herself, the most upsetting part of today’s events was that she might lose her time with Ethan. She
wanted more. More of his touch, more of his body. More of everything.

Stupid, stupid girl.

“Is there any way to change your mind?” Miranda asked on a sigh.

“No,” her mother snapped. “This is for the best.”

She pushed away from the table. There was no way to contain her frustration any longer, not when she was already on edge. “Then do what you like. I cannot argue with you any more after such a trying day. I will see you all at supper.”

She turned from the room, well aware of the gaping stares of her family at her back. She had never been so dismissive of their mother before. It should have made her feel guilty, but she was too emotionally wrung out to feel any more than the humiliation and fear and longing that already gripped her heart.

Trudging to the staircase, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she expected to see her mother at her heels, ready to chastise her for her behavior, but it was Penelope who followed her.

Which was actually worse.

“What has come over you, Miranda?” her sister asked in low, concerned tones. “I have never seen you so lost!”

Miranda flinched. Lost. That
was
how she felt.

“I am simply tired,” she lied, turning away.

Penelope caught her hand and held her steady. “It is more than that, Miranda! You’re my best friend. I can tell when you are troubled and pained and hurt. What is going on? Please, confide in me like you used to.”

Miranda yanked her fingers away. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just leave it be, Penelope.”

“Leave it be!” her sister said with a shake of her head.

Miranda caught her breath as a sudden sob wracked her. “Yes. Leave it be. Leave me be.”

Then she spun on her heel and rushed up to the privacy of her chamber.

Nearly a week had passed and Miranda had heard nothing from Ethan. She waited each day for some kind of sign as to how he felt about her, about their arrangement, about
anything
that had transpired the week before. But he had been tellingly silent.

She paced her room Thursday afternoon, practically leaping out of her skin with the waiting. If she didn’t hear anything from him, she had no choice but to go tomorrow just as they had originally agreed. She didn’t relish the idea of being dismissed by him in person or worse—she shivered—by one of Ethan’s servants, but it was a risk she would have to take.

She’d taken so many in the past few years, what was one more?

The door behind her opened and the lady’s maid she shared with Penelope and Winifred, Angelica, entered the room. Beatrice had insisted upon having her own servant and their mother’s
intervention had allowed their younger sister that foolish expense. Miranda ground her teeth every time she thought of it.

“Good morning, miss,” Angelica said with a quick bob of a curtsey.

She had a strange expression on her face, like she was keeping a secret and about to burst with it. Miranda sighed. The servant could get in line, there were plenty of people with secrets in this house and
she
was at the top of that list.

“I think a simple twist will do for my hair today,” she said as she took a seat at her dressing table and faced the mirror.

The girl nodded, but made no move to approach and begin her duties. She simply stared at Miranda in the reflection, her lips twitching.

Miranda sighed. There was no escaping it, she supposed. If she wanted to have her hair fixed and help with her gown, she would be forced to ask Angelica about her strange expression.

“What is it?” she asked with a forced smile as she turned back to the servant in her chair. “You look as though you have something to say.”

The young woman nodded as she dug a letter from her pocket. Miranda’s brow wrinkled. Was she resigning? She was certain the maid’s salary had been paid and the girl didn’t have to deal with pouty Beatrice. She couldn’t imagine either Penelope or Winifred causing her any trouble.

“Miss, I have”—Angelica stopped, chewing her lip nervously before she continued—“I have a letter for you.”

Miranda shut her eyes. So she
was
resigning. Perfect. Another item to add to her never-ending list of things to fix. “Won’t you give me a chance to rectify whatever grievance you have?”

“Oh, no, miss!” The maid took a step toward her. “It isn’t a letter from me. A…” she giggled. “A gentleman gave it to me and asked me to deliver it to you.”

Miranda was out of the chair before she even realized she’d decided to stand. “A gentleman?”

“Well,” Angelica blushed. “The servant of a gentleman.”

Miranda snatched the letter from her fingers and turned it over. It was Rothschild’s crest that sealed the papers together. Her heart began to throb as she looked at the note, knowing it could contain either her doom or her salvation.

“Thank you, Angelica. Why don’t you go and help Winifred or Penelope first and come back for me in a while?” she said without looking away from the seal.

The servant nodded, backing toward the door. But before she exited, she stopped. Her stare was hard enough that Miranda broke away from the note and looked up at her.

“What is it?”

“Miss, I know it isn’t my place. But I must tell you to be careful. A young lady such as yourself might not know about what kind of man Lord Rothschild is. I like you, miss. I wouldn’t want to see any harm come to you.” The servant blushed bright red. “I’m sorry to be so forward, but you’ve been good to me.”

Miranda nodded. She was actually touched by her maid’s concern. Though the fact that another person had some knowledge, however vague, about her relationship with Ethan made her heart skip faster with nervousness. The more people privy to her secret, the more likely it would be exposed.

“Thank you for thinking of my well-being, Angelica,” she said with a smile. “But you have nothing to be concerned about.
I am well aware of Lord Rothschild’s reputation. I would not allow myself to be hurt.”

She flinched as she thought of just how hurt she had been since his dismissal, but shoved that away. Deep in her heart, she knew she could expect nothing from Ethan. If she kept a tight hold on that fact, he wouldn’t disappoint her when he finished with her and sent her away. It was inevitable, and she would be prepared.

“But Angelica,” she continued, crossing the room to take the girl’s hand. “It would make things very complicated for me if my family were to discover that he had sent a private note to me through such unorthodox channels. May I depend upon you to keep this a secret, even from my sisters? And certainly from my mother.”

The young woman hesitated and Miranda could see her concern was genuine and growing by the moment. But then she nodded.

“Seeing as you’re the one who makes sure we’re all paid, I’ll keep your secret. I wouldn’t want you to have any trouble.”

Miranda’s body went limp with relief and she squeezed Angelica’s fingers before she released her. “Very good. Now go and help Winifred. You may come back to me after you’ve finished with her and Penelope.”

With a quick curtsey, the servant left. Immediately, Miranda rushed to the fireplace where she would have the best light and tore open the missive from Ethan. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the sheet of paper.

“‘Dear Miss Albright,’” it began and she frowned at the proper address. “‘I hope you are not considering backing out on our
arrangement. The terms still stand and you have much to lose if you do not come tomorrow at our appointed hour. I expect to see you then. Yours, Rothschild.’”

Miranda stared in shock at the terse, almost threatening words. Here she had been waiting and worrying that Ethan would throw her aside, but instead he sent her such a cold letter that it seemed he didn’t even recall their emotional exchange a week before. He acted as if
she
were to blame for their early parting, when
he
had been the one to push her away.

Her emotions began to bubble inside her chest, but they had changed with just a few sentences from him. Where she had once felt regrets, she now felt anger. Nervousness was replaced by indignation. Anticipation with irritation.

How
dare
he? How dare he play with her like a cat with a mouse? How dare he make veiled threats and quiet accusations when she had followed his every direction to the letter?

Well, she was finished with his games. And tomorrow she would make sure he knew it.

“Miranda, did you know that Angelica began with Winifred this morning?” Penelope asked as she pushed her sister’s door open and stepped inside. “Are you well?”

Miranda turned from the fireplace with a start, Ethan’s letter still dangling from her fingertips. “Penelope, you gave me a fright.”

Her sister cocked her head. “I’m sorry. What’s that?” She motioned to the missive.

All the blood drained from Miranda’s face in an instant and her hands began to shake. “Nothing,” she lied, pulling the note behind her back. “Nothing.”

Penelope came forward, hand outstretched. “You’re lying. What is it? What’s wrong?”

Her sister reached around behind her, as if to snatch the note away and Miranda pulled back.

“You needn’t concern yourself,” she insisted before she tossed the note far back into the fire.

Penelope’s eyes went wide at the action and she stared as the note disintegrated into nothing more than ash. Then her gaze moved to Miranda.

“What is
wrong
with you? You have been acting so strangely for a few weeks now. You won’t talk to me, you won’t explain yourself, and now you burn a letter rather than let me see it.” Penelope’s voice trembled. “We have never kept secrets, Miranda, not from each other. But now it seems all your life is a mystery to me. I’m afraid for you. Afraid for us. What was that letter? Was it more bad news about Father?”

Miranda shifted. She hated that she was troubling her sister, making her worry, when all of Miranda’s actions were designed to reduce Penelope’s anxiety and make her life more comfortable.

“Please, Penelope.” She gripped her sister’s hands in a lame attempt to comfort her. “It is nothing. Let’s pretend as if this never happened.”

Penelope shook her head and her blue-green eyes grew even darker with increasing alarm. “I cannot do that. Was the letter from one of father’s debt holders? Are they threatening you? Trying to make more despicable bargains?”

Miranda swallowed past the bitter taste of one more hateful lie. “Y-Yes. It was from one of father’s debt holders. A horrid man who doesn’t…he doesn’t know what he wants.”

Penelope backed away and scrubbed a hand over her face. “Let me help you,” she whispered. “Let me at least council you so you don’t have to do all this alone.”

Miranda sighed. “You cannot help me, Penelope. Not with this. But I promise you, the matter will be resolved quickly enough.”

Her sister pursed her lips, clearly upset that Miranda refused to allow her help. She couldn’t blame her sister. She could well imagine her own upset if Penelope were the one shutting her out after so many years of close friendship. But it was for the best. Her sister didn’t need to know what kind of bargains Miranda had made on the family’s behalf. She could only imagine her sister’s reaction if she ever found out.

Penelope shook her head as she moved to the bedroom door. “Miranda, I know all you do is to protect our family, but I fear you will sacrifice yourself in the process. That is why I know that I must find a good marriage, as quickly as possible. I promise you that I’ll succeed and take some of this pressure off of you.” She opened the door, but turned back before she departed. “I fear that my marriage will be the only way I get to see my sister…my
real
sister again.”

“I am your real sister,” Miranda protested. “But everything is changing now and I have no choice but to change with it if I am to keep our family together. Sometimes that means doing things that you might not understand or approve of. But in the end, what I do will help us all, I promise you that.”

Penelope regarded her for a long moment. “For your sake, I hope you resolve whatever it is that is troubling you. And do it quickly. Nothing, not even the family, is worth seeing you suffer.”

Then her sister slipped from the room and shut the door be
hind her. Miranda stared at the place Penelope had stood with wide, unseeing eyes. Yes, this situation had to be resolved quickly. And she intended to do just that. Tomorrow.

Ethan was sitting in his chamber down the hall from the room where he knew Miranda was waiting. She had been waiting for nearly half an hour by his pocket watch. By now, she was probably pacing, worrying. Wondering.

It was all part of his plan to show her, and himself, that
he
was in control of this bargain, not her. Just as his disagreeable note yesterday had been. And as unpleasant as it was, he would continue to exert that control once he went to her.

He shifted his weight, staring at the door and then his watch again. Just five more minutes and he would join her. The seconds ticked by and he checked the clock.

Four minutes, thirty seconds.

This wasn’t control. It was mind-shaking anticipation. If he couldn’t keep himself on a leash in his own room, how could he expect to maintain his calm when he actually came face-to-face with Miranda?

“Damn it,” he grumbled as he strode to the door, wrenched it open and made his way down the hall to the other chamber. He went inside, thrust his shoulders back and passed through the second door.

He was shocked when, the moment he entered the chamber, he found Miranda waiting for him. Her arms were folded, slipper tapping beneath her faded skirt, her face a cool mask of anger.

Not what he was expecting at all and he came to a sudden
halt at the sight of her. Dear Lord, when she was angry, she was even more beautiful. She wore all passionate emotions best, and he found himself wondering how he could keep her in this state constantly just to enjoy the fire in her stare.

“You,” she breathed, one finger coming out to point at him. “How dare you?”

“Make you wait?” he said blandly as he pulled the door shut behind him. “Your time is mine today. I may waste or use it as I see fit.”

She shook her head. “I don’t give a damn about the time, Ethan. I mean your treatment of me this week.”

He arched both brows. “My treatment of you? I don’t recall encountering you this week. How could I have offended you?”

She stepped forward, hands clenched at her sides. “Last Friday you sent me out of here like you could hardly stand to see me in your presence. And then you let me linger all week, wondering if I had displeased you so badly that you wouldn’t want me back. When you
did
contact me, it was to imply that I might not return and would back out of our arrangement. Well, I am tired of your behavior.”

He tilted his head, utterly confused. “What are you prattling on about?”

She gritted her teeth. “Do you want me or don’t you?”

He stepped back, surprised by her candor. He liked this bold Miranda, though her question took him aback completely.

“Because if this is all some twisted game you delight in playing, than you can keep your money and forget our bargain. Good day, my lord.”

She stalked toward the door behind him, but as she passed by, Ethan snaked out a hand and caught her elbow, drawing her up short.

“It
is
a game, my dear,” he said as he yanked her against him. She glared up at him, though he could see the trembling beginnings of desire in her stare. “I never claimed this arrangement was anything but a game.”

She yanked against his grip to escape, but he held fast.

“I don’t like being your pawn,” she all but hissed. Anger came off of her in waves, but there was also desire. “We made all kinds of agreements about what would happen if I refused to fulfill your desires. But what if you refuse to fulfill mine?”