My Lord Hercules (8 page)

“
But there was the strangest
tale swirling about him around Town today.”

Oh? Did he have a penchant for kissing
lots of girls in an attempt to warn them of the dangers of
scurrilous men? Did he break hearts all across Town? Or only
hers?

“
Seems some dark haired girl
found her way into a gambling establishment last night, dressed as
a young man. But Casemore escorted her out, tossing her over his
shoulder in the process.”

Heavens! How had Devlin heard that
story? “How strange,” she muttered, hating that her hands had
become moist under her brother’s scrutiny.

“
Strange, indeed.” Devlin
sighed. “Care to tell me what the devil you were doing
there?”

Miranda sucked in a breath, and a hand
fluttered to her chest. “Me?”

He snorted. “I have known you all your
life, Miranda. Feigning innocence won’t work with me. Now tell me
the truth.”

She hated him when he was haughty. Not
for the first time, she wished Simeon was still here. Simeon who’d
adored her and would have listened the first time she told him
about Tessie. “I just wanted a word with Lord
Woodsworth.”

“
This again?” Devlin barked,
bringing his fist down on the desk that had once belonged to their
father. “We have discussed this.”

“
No,” Miranda countered,
holding her head high. “You have discussed this. You haven’t
listened to me, Devlin. All I want to know is what happened to
Tessie, and Woodsworth can tell me.”

Her brother rose from his desk, his
nose flaring like that of an out-of-sorts bull. “You are not to go
near Woodsworth, Miranda. I don’t know how many times I’ve said
that, but this will be the last,” he growled. “You will not sneak
out of this house in men’s clothes. You will not enter gaming
hells. You will not go to Woodsworth House. You will act like a
lady, and you will encourage Casemore, if he truly is pursuing you.
He may not have his brother’s pristine reputation, but the man does
come from a good family. You could do worse.”

That was the edge of enough. Miranda
folded her arms across her chest and glared at her brother.
“Harrison Casemore can go to the devil, and you can
too.”

“
I’ve already been there.” A
muscle twitched in Devlin’s jaw. “You think I want to be Marston?
You think I wouldn’t rather Simeon and Father still be
here?”

Miranda’s gaze dropped to the floor at
the mention of Simeon and Papa.

“
But they’re not,” Devlin
continued. “And it’s been left to me to ensure yours, Alessandra’s,
and Penny’s futures.” He inhaled deeply as though to rein in his
temper, then he released that breath and said, “Go to your
chambers. I don’t want to see you until we head for St. Austell
house tomorrow.”

Miranda turned on her heel
and started for her chambers, irritation rolling off her in waves.
If Devlin would just listen for once! If he would only try to help
her find out what had happened to her friend…
Go to your chambers. I don’t want to see you until we head
for St. Austell House tomorrow.

Hmph. It really was too bad for Devlin
that he’d been so specific in his directives. So she couldn’t sneak
out of the house looking like a man, hmm? Well, then she’d just
have to sneak out of the house disguised as someone else, because
one way or another, Lord Woodsworth was going to answer to her
questions. Besides, refocusing her attention on the dissolute
marquess should keep her mind off of a certain Herculean
gentleman.

“
Harry,” his old friend
Albie Potsdon complained as he sank against the squabs and looked
at his watch fob, “I wanted to play Hazard some time
tonight.”

“
You always lose at Hazard,”
Harry replied, peeking out the window of his brother’s coach. “I’m
doing you a favor.”

“
A favor?” Potsdon
protested. “How exactly are you doing me a favor by spying on
Martston House?”

Harry kept his eyes trained on the
home in question. “You can’t lose your blunt if you’re here with
me, now, can you?”

“
What exactly are we doing
here?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?
Harry had no right, no reason, to keep a vigilant eye on Marston
House. Just a feeling that he should be there. And despite the fact
that she hated him, he was still drawn to her. He still wanted to
make sure she was safe. Although, he’d rather not be alone while he
did it, and Potsdon had always been fairly amusing.
“Waiting.”

“
For…” Potsdon
prodded.

For Harry’s destiny? His old friend
would laugh him out of the coach if he said such a ridiculous
thing. “A girl.”

Potsdon laughed anyway. “A girl?
Harry, if you’re looking for a girl—”

But whatever his friend meant to say
died on his tongue when Harry grumbled, “There she is,” under his
breath.

Damn it to hell. He knew it. He knew
she’d do something reckless. What was it with her affinity for
disguises? Last night a fop and now a maid? There was no doubt in
his mind the little maid who’d darted out from the mews and was now
scampering down Curzon Street towards Berkeley Square was Miranda
Bartlett. He’d know the shape of that bottom anywhere.

“
Harry,” Albie said, craning
his neck to see out the coach window, “I’m pretty sure that’s a
maid, not a girl.”

Oh, she was a girl, and if
Harry had played things differently today, she might have
been
his
girl. He
tossed open the coach door, climbed from the conveyance, glanced
back at his friend, and said, “Morris can take you on to Gioco’s
now.”

Before Potsdon could utter another
word, Harry shut the coach door behind him, then dashed down Curzon
Street after the shapely little maid. With his longer stride and
faster speed – and the fact that he wasn’t in a confining dress –
he caught up to her in no time.

Miranda seemed to sense his presence
and glanced over her shoulder at him. Her hazel eyes widened in
surprise at the exact moment she stumbled forward. Harry reached
out his hand, capturing her arm and pulled her against him, saving
her from tumbling to the ground.

She felt so perfect against him, her
back to his front, his arms wrapped about her middle, anchoring her
to him. Her labored breaths made lascivious images dance in his
mind. He could have gone on holding her like that forever,
relishing in the feel of her body against his, if she hadn’t spun
in his hold and glared up at him. “What do you want?”

To kiss her again. To toss her over
his shoulder once more. To lay her beneath him and claim every inch
of her. Damn it all to hell, he’d lost his mind. “Have you taken a
position in service, Miranda?” he said instead.

She pushed against his chest until he
released his hold on her. “What I do is none of your
concern.”

But she was wrong about that.
Everything she did concerned him. He couldn’t stop thinking about
her, even knowing how much she hated him. “Still that determined to
make Woodsworth’s acquaintance, are you? No mind to your safety. No
mind to your reputation. You’ll willingly ruin yourself just to
meet the ne’er-do-well? Is that it?”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t
understand.”

Understand that she was clearly
infatuated with the blackguard? No, he couldn’t quite understand
that and never would if he lived to be a hundred. “Why, Miranda?
Explain it to me.”

“
So you can teach me another
of your lessons?” She shook her head. “No. I’ve learned all I
intend to from you, my lord.” Then she turned on her heel and
started to walk away from him.

Harry easily caught up to her. He
grasped her arm and pulled her to a halt once more. Then he dipped
his head toward hers and whispered in her ear, “I only want to help
you. That’s what I wanted ever since the moment I first laid eyes
on you.” He released his hold on her and softly ran his hand up her
arm.

Miranda shivered slightly, which made
Harry’s heart leap just a bit. Perhaps she didn’t hate him as much
as he feared. Perhaps…

“
Tell me why you want
Woodsworth, Miranda,” he urged.

She tilted her head to better see him.
Her hazel eyes looked so tortured, he felt it in his
bones.

Miranda was certain she was bound for
Bedlam. Why would she tell him anything after the way he’d treated
her in the park today? She ought to stomp on his foot and bolt the
rest of the way down Curzon Street. But he looked so forlorn, so
sincere. She didn’t have anyone else she could trust. But did she
dare trust Harrison Casemore?

She glanced around up and down Curzon
Street. She didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean she could speak
openly. Devlin could stumble upon them out in the open like this.
Miranda tilted her head toward the mews and tugged Harrison in that
direction. As soon as she felt certain they couldn’t be seen from
the street, she heaved a sigh and threw all caution to the wind.
“My friend is gone,” she said, watching his expression
carefully.

“
Gone?” His green eyes
narrowed as though trying to make sense of what she
said.

“
Missing. Theresa Birkin.
It’s as though she vanished into thin air. But Woodsworth knows
where she is. I know he does.”

Harrison’s mouth fell open. “You think
Woodsworth has done something with your friend?”

At least he didn’t dismiss her with
his next breath as Devlin had done. “I know it.”

He raked a hand through his dark hair.
“You have been trying to meet Woodsworth because you think he can
tell you what happened to your friend?”

Miranda nodded, waiting for him to
laugh or tell her how ridiculous she was, but all he did was
frown.

“
Miranda Bartlett, you need
a keeper. Do you know that?”

Well, that was hardly a complimentary
thing to say. She folded her arms across her chest.

“
How fortunate you are,” he
continued, “that I’m available and willing to take on the
position.”

“
I beg your pardon?” She
gaped at him.

Harrison pulled her into his arms,
then he tilted her chin up toward him and kissed her just as he had
done in the park that day. Miranda’s breath caught in her throat,
but then she breathed in his sandalwood scent and her eyes
fluttered closed. He nibbled on her bottom lip, then swept his
tongue inside her mouth.

A moan escaped her as her tongue
touched his, and she slid her hands up the stone wall of his chest,
finally settling them at the base of his neck. He pulled her closer
and closer to him until her breasts were pressed against him. Her
nipples strained against her chemise and desire pooled low in her
core.

Harrison’s lips left hers as he kissed
his way to her jaw, just as he’d done that afternoon. Miranda
steeled herself for another one of his lessons, cursing herself for
falling into his trap once again. Why did she let him affect her
this way?

“
Marry me, Miranda,” he
whispered in her ear, then kissed her neck, sending tingles racing
across her skin.

Miranda sucked in a breath. She
couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. “You want to marry
me?”