Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3) (11 page)

“Can you
walk, Lady Danvers?” Lady Drake asked.

“Yes, I
can walk just fine.” Miranda said, but as she ascended the stairs, following
close behind Davey, her legs went limp, refused to obey the dictates of her
mind.

Drake
rushed to her side and swept her up into his arms a second before warm darkness
swallowed her up.

Chapter Seven

In the
weeks that followed, Miranda came to know Rebecca as a truly kind person. It
was so relieving to find someone in a situation similar to hers. Rebecca Drake
had been the Earl of Ruel’s long-term mistress previous to his marriage to Anne
and now Rebecca had married a nobleman. Yet, she still wasn’t accepted by most
in Mayfair society.

The two
women spent their afternoons working to clear the flower and herb gardens
behind the house. Rebecca had cheerfully suggested that they ought to tackle
the daunting chore and it gave Miranda a much-needed physical outlet.

 
“I have to admit,” Miranda told her new
friend, hugging herself as they watched Drake leave the general yard of the
dilapidated house, carrying his rifle into the woods. Presumably to hunt, but
then Miranda took nothing for granted about the enigmatic man who had
ruthlessly abducted her and Davey from their home.“ I am still not certain that
I shouldn’t be frightened of your husband.”

Rebecca
had smiled sympathetically. “You’re not the first to say that to me.”

“I don’t
imagine that I am.”

“He
would never harm you. He means well. You must believe that,” Rebecca said,
urgently. “But Stephen is… different from other men.”

“I
shouldn’t say more. He is your husband.”

“I have
made my peace with his eccentricities,” Rebecca replied then she frowned. “Are
you unhappy here, Miranda?”

Miranda
couldn’t say that she was unhappy. Rebecca made sure that the staff saw to her
every need and comfort. Davey had recovered his fatigue and was thriving. His
cheeks had grown rosy during long hours spent out-of-doors exploring the
grounds and playing. Miranda and Rebecca spent a good portion of the mornings
playing shuttlecock and other games with him and Rebecca and Drake’s toddling
daughter, Becca. Becca was a beautiful child with masses of coal black curls
and pale blue eyes and her bubbling laughter cheered everyone. It was
impossible to remain sad or focused too deeply on worries when in her company.
Miranda longed so acutely for a daughter of her own that she lavished much time
and attention on the child. Rebecca laughed and said that Miranda would spoil
the child shamelessly.

Stephen
George Michael Drake, Rebecca and Drake’s infant son, whom everyone called Puck
for some unknown reason, was also a joy. He had a round, sweet cherub’s face
and a most loving nature.

Both
children provided much distraction.

But at
night, all Miranda’s worries and fears came to haunt and torment her with
dreams of Adrian being shot. Adrian ashen-faced and bleeding to death. Adrian,
unconscious in a bed, dying from a putrefactive fever.

She
would awake, sweating and shaking and many times stumbling from the bed to find
the chamber pot and vomit.

Then,
with sleep eluding her, she would wrap her pelisse over her nightdress and go
walk in the yard, drawing strength from being near the gardens that gave her
such distraction during the day. But she often ended up, sitting on one of the
stone benches, with her chin on her knees and hugging her legs tight. And here
alone, out of sight of Davey, she would give vent to her anxieties and cry.

This was
how Rebecca had found her one night. The older woman had urged her back into
the house and taken her to the kitchen to give her a large mug of heated wine
laced with honey.

Miranda
had eventually blurted out all her worries and fears.

Not just
the honorable fears and worries for Adrian’s safety and well-being.

No, she
even poured out all the dark, unworthy, illogical feelings that she scarcely
admitted to herself.

Anger
that Adrian had withheld his plans to strike back at Winterton from her.

Her fear
that he loved only her beauty and would tire of her in time.

Then
stumbling over the words, she dared admit her fear that she wasn’t sexually
skilled enough to please him long-term. That like Carrville had, Adrian would
eventually keep women on the side who would indulge a gentleman’s more exotic
tastes that she could not bring herself to satisfy.

She
choked out the whole sordid story of the night Winterton had attacked her
mother and what she had witnessed, though she omitted the part where she had
shot her father.

Then,
finally, staring into her empty mug, she barely whispered her most shameful
doubt: Fear that Adrian had perhaps been tempted by other women in America
during his extended visit there.

Rebecca
smiled, her kind eyes radiant with sympathy. “Oh, my dear.” She took Miranda’s
hand. “You only feel this way because you were raised in the courtesan’s life.”
She squeezed Miranda’s hand. “You are his wife. He chose you out of all the
women he might have had. He turned aside from his option to increase his wealth
and power through an advantageous marriage to a high-born virgin of good
family. He’s courting scandal and now he risks the gallows having challenged
your wicked father.”

“Challenged
my father?”

“Oh
come, Miranda, you don’t believe a civilized urbane man like Lord Danvers would
have shot Winterton in the back if the head, whilst he was asleep in his bed?”

“No, no
I don’t really believe that,” Miranda admitted, feeling the heavy weight that
she had been carrying around with her all this time lift.

“I don’t
either.”

“But
Lord Drake says—”

“My
husband reports the facts until he hears otherwise. At least to others. But
privately, only to me, he has confided that he doesn’t believe the stories
coming out of America.” Rebecca patted Miranda’s hand. “You have doubted Adrian
because he did not share his plans with you. It is understandable that your
imagination should run away with you.”

“Yes,
that is exactly it.” It felt so good to be able to admit that to another
person. And to have that other person understand. Miranda breathed a
considerable sigh of relief and accepted a second half-mug of wine, as well as
some bread and cheese.

The food
settled wonderfully on her stomach, smoothing the burning ache, and she began
to feel rather contented.

“We
women are often at a loss to understand a man’s actions,” Rebecca said.
“Especially when they refuse to share their plans or motivations. You must keep
your chin up and wait for him to arrive and explain all to you. Until then, all
you have are baseless speculation and that speculation is bound to be of a
sinister bent, not helpful.”

Miranda
cupped her hands about her mug, enjoying the warmth. “Of course you are exactly
right.”

Rebecca
studied her. “But you still worry over his really being happy with you, because
of those things you cannot bring yourself to do?”

Miranda
nodded.

Rebecca
smiled sympathetically then a naughty glint entered her gaze. “Those things can
be enjoyable. A woman can hold a great deal of power over a man in those
moments, even whilst appearing to be utterly submissive. But when he is
mindless with pleasure…” Her smile broadened. “It is a heady sensation to be
sure.”

Fierce
longing seized Miranda. “I wish I could conquer my fears, my distaste. But I
cannot.”

“You
simply have a certain image of what that act is. It is burnt into your memory.”

“Yes, it
is,” Miranda said, sadly.

Rebecca
bit her lip, her eyes glowing with compassion and naughtiness at the same time,
a very odd but compelling combination. “What if you could watch someone, a
couple, engage in that act? Not in violence but in a loving manner?”

Miranda’s
mouth fell open and she dropped her mug to the table with a clang. “Wh-what are
you suggesting?”

“You
could watch us.”

“You
and… and Lord Drake?”

“It
would give you something to replace the memory of what you saw with Winterton
and your mother.”

“Oh
goodness…” Miranda’s insides seemed to turn upside down.

“Miranda,
forgive my bluntness, but in your previous life, you must have at sometime seen
others make love? Or at least seen them petting each other very close to
engaging in the act of love?”

“Well,
yes, but…”

“But
what?”

“I have
told you. I am still more than a little afraid of your husband, I cannot even
fathom being in a bedchamber with— well, it would be unfaithful to Adrian, it
would be—”

“Miranda,
you needn’t be in the chamber with us.”

“No?
Then I don’t understand, how should I be able to witness—” She gaped at her
friend. “Surely you don’t mean for me to be skulking around in the bushes
outside the window?”

Rebecca’s
girlish laugh echoed in the kitchen and, feeling more and more absurd by the
moment, Miranda joined her in mirth.

Rebecca
waved her hand dismissively. “No, no, not like that at all. Some of the guest
chambers in this house have peepholes.”

“Peepholes?”

“Yes, of
a sort. Stephen has used this house for years to engage in his…” Rebecca pursed
her lips a moment. “His business.”

“I see.”

Rebecca
leaned forwards and touched Miranda’s hand. “Don’t worry. Your chamber and
Davey’s are not equipped with the peepholes and special mirrors. I would never
have done such a thing to you.”

“Thank
goodness for that.”

“Yes, it
is a little disturbing, to think about such an invasion of privacy but he has
found it necessary at times in his trade.”

Miranda
had come to realize that what Rebecca referred to as Stephen’s “trade” was
spying and perhaps something even more sinister.

She
really didn’t wish to know. “Goodness.”

It was
all Miranda could think of to say.

“Miranda,
you could stay in the secret antechamber and my lord and I will go into the
bedchamber where you can watch us without having any contact with us and being
in complete privacy. You will be completely safe. Believe me.”

“Oh my
goodness!” Miranda exclaimed.

But
inside, she was beginning to feel curious.

“Since
you won’t actually be interacting with us during the act, it is not an act of
adultery on your part. It is just watching, learning what that act, done in
love, really looks like.”

Extreme
longing to witness this began to burn in Miranda’s blood.

“Lord
Drake will know?” she asked, her voice small.

“Of
course he will know. Don’t worry. He can be more discreet than most. He will
never use this experience to act in a manner untoward to you or to cause you
shame. You will not be compromised, ever, by either of us.”

Miranda
shook her head.

“What
now?” Rebecca asked, her voice soft and kind.

“Why
should you and Lord Drake agree to open your intimate life like this?”

“My
dear, we should be happy to help you attempt to overcome such a violent past.”

“And?”
Miranda urged.

Rebecca’s
cheeks flushed lightly. “We should also find it rather arousing to have an
audience.”

“Oh,”
Miranda said, now flushing slightly herself. She had known of such desires. She
just hadn’t expected such a proper and sweet-natured lady to have them.

“Take
some time and think about it,” Rebecca said, not a trace of bashfulness on her
face for having admitted such a potentially compromising desire.

Suddenly,
Miranda’s curiosity grew to overwhelming proportions.

Dare she
partake of her friend’s generous offer?

Chapter Eight

With a
thousand butterflies battling in her stomach, Miranda settled herself on the
plush, velvet covered settee. She looked to the pane of glass before her.

She
could see straight into the other chamber. She gasped and fear tingled through
her. A light-headed urge to run sent energy shooting down into her legs and
made her fidget.

But
Rebecca had assured her, repeatedly that the occupants in the other chamber
wouldn’t be able to see her. At all.

All
that nervous energy made her jump up from the settee and ran to the glass. She
touched it, in wonder.

The
door to the other chamber came open and Miranda caught her breath. Her heart
thumped hard and she laid a hand on her collarbone.

Waiting.

Stephen
and Rebecca came into the chamber. He was dressed in his shirtsleeves, his
cravat untied. Rebecca was clad in a rich plum wrapper. She held a wineglass
and was drinking the last bit. He took the glass from her and sat it on a side
table then he took her hand and drew her towards himself.