Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3) (15 page)

With her
heart still reeling from the shock of what he’d revealed to her, Miranda
swallowed hard against a sudden rise acid in her throat. “It’s not always that
simple, Adrian.”

“I
understand that you were forced into the trade, because of Winterton, because
of your mama. I thought that you were different, at heart.” He took a long,
deep breath, calming himself so that he did not allow his emotions to show too
much in his tone, in his choice of words.

But
disappointment leached bitterly into his bones.

Into his
soul.

He
cupped her face with one hand. “I do still love you, Miranda. I don’t think
there’s anything that you could possibly do to change that. But I am forced to
look at you differently than the way I have since we became lovers. It’s my
fault, not yours. I fooled myself into believing that you were something else
than you are.”

“What
are saying, Adrian?” Her voice was hoarse with anguish.

“What I
am saying doesn’t really matter. These are our last moments and I do still love
you, desperately, with all my heart and soul.”

Her
lovely mouth dropped open. “Our last moments, what do you mean?”

“I must
go to Mayfair and I may well meet my executioner there.”

“But
Drake says he has a ship ready to take the three of us, you, me and Davey, to
South America.”

“I am
not running to South America.” He scowled at her, feeling the scathing
revulsion of her words. “Do you really think me such a craven coward that I would
run and leave Brentwood to face the shame of having such a blackguard for a
father? No, I must face this and attempt to tell my side.”

“But
Drake says you cannot possibly get a fair judgment in the House of Lords. Too
many hated your father and loved Winterton. And many others were afraid to
stand up to those who would condemn you.”

“I shall
have to take my chances, Miranda.”

“Then
take me with you.”

He shook
his head. “I don’t want you to have to go through all of this as well. And it
would be better for the scandal and for appearances if you modestly retreat in
the country. I want you to go and live at Jon and Anne’s cottage in Devon. It’s
quite nice there.”

“It’s
quite nice there?” She gaped at him in disbelief. “You say that as though I am
going for a pleasure visit.”

“What
else would you have me say, Miranda? It will give me comfort to know that you
are well-taken care of. Jon and Anne will always look after you and Davey, I
trust them.” He couldn’t help narrowing his gaze. “But stay away from Rebecca
and Drake, it is clear they do not have your best interests at heart and may
well lead you into dire trouble one day.”

“I see.”
Miranda cast her eyes down.

He
tipped her chin. “Now kiss me, my love, and wish me luck.”

****

As
anyone might have predicted, Adrian had been taken into genteel, house arrest
almost as soon as he set foot in Mayfair. Upon hearing the news, Miranda left
Jon and Anne’s country cottage and set out for Mayfair herself. If Adrian could
have his sentence lessened to manslaughter, he could plead the privilege of his
rank and escape penalty. But he could not escape the hangman’s noose if the
charge were murder—especially premeditated murder.

After
stopping at Sutherland House to freshen herself and change clothes, she went to
see her aunt, Cassandra Jones, for the first time since their angry parting at
Adrian’s country house, Applewaite.

Cassandra
swept into her withdrawing chamber, dressed in emerald green silk, cosmetics
flawlessly applied to make her look young and beautiful.

But for
the first time, she was showing her age, the sunlight showed harsh lines about
her eyes and mouth that no amount of rice powder could soften.

“Miranda,”
she said, simply.

“Cassandra,”
Miranda replied. She would never again honor the woman with the title “aunt”
when addressing her.

“What
brings you here today?”

“I
want—no, I need the money that you stole from me.”

Miranda
referred to the money that had been raised from the auctioning of her
virginity. Money that Cassandra had promised to save in a trust for her but
later revealed that she had taken it for herself.

 
“I don’t care that you say you’ve spent it,”
Miranda continued. “You can damn well mortgage this townhouse and sell your
jewels to pay me back what you took from me.”

Cassandra
nodded.

That surprised
Miranda; she had expected denial and angry retorts.

Cassandra
sat in her favorite wing chair, upholstered in gold colored velvet. She sighed.
“Oh I am tired. Always tired these days.” She frowned. “You need money. You
think money is the answer to Lord Danvers’ current troubles?”

“What
else?”

Cassandra
shook her head. “No, think Miranda. These men are wealthy, powerful. You have
almost nothing to offer them.”

Miranda
compressed her lips. “You’d do anything to justify your theft.”

Cassandra
closed her eyes. “The money is in the account.”

Miranda
gasped. “What?”

“Oh, my
darling girl. I told you that I didn’t have it because I did not wish to see
you throw it all away on your Mama’s endless troubles, you are far too
softhearted by far. I also didn’t wish to see you throw yourself away either.”

“Throw
myself away?”

“On a
penniless waste like Danvers.”

“Oh, a
waste, eh? I know what you did to his father, bankrupting him with your endless
demands.”

Cassandra
waved, dismissively. “He was well on his way there when I met him. If not me,
then he would have spent the remainder of his wealth on another woman. Why not
me? He was such a whining, overgrown puppy. He demanded everything. Why
shouldn’t I have been compensated?”

“It was
the death of him when you left.”

“He was
dying when I met him. He longed for death. Some people are like that, Miranda.
As I said, you are far too soft-hearted.”

“I know
what you did to Danvers.”

Anger
flared in Cassandra’s eyes. The woman had always hated being confronted with
any of her sins, especially the more sensual ones. “His father was acting like
a complete jackanapes! He deserved a little betrayal.” She shrugged. “It was
the boy’s birthday. I would have thought that he would count himself the
luckiest of eighteen year olds.” She made a wry expression. “He didn’t. That’s
all. No harm done.”

Miranda
gaped at her. “No harm done?”

“Oh, I
have no patience with these idealistic men and their delicate sensibilities.
Danvers is a dreamer, I was always convinced of that, no matter how cold and
hardened he pretended to be. Such men are a sore trial on a woman. They expect
too much and never allow themselves to simply be happy in the moment. But you
have decided to throw your lot in with him.”

“I love
him, and he is my husband, if that is what you mean.”

“Glorify
it if you will. In the end, you traded a lifetime of wealth and luxury for a
worthless, bankrupted title and a man who will never be satisfied with you, no
matter how hard you try to please him.”

Miranda
chose to ignore the stinging accusations on Adrian’s character. She’d spent her
whole life ignoring Cassandra’s stinging barbs about Mama. She supposed she
would have to do the same as concerned Adrian. If Cassandra was petty and
bitter, life had taught her to be that way. Experience had taught Miranda that those
character traits were ingrained into Cassandra like a brand burned into a sheep’s
hide. It would do no good to try and change her. Miranda focused on what was
important now. On what could change her life with Adrian for the better. “If
what you say about the bank account is true, I am a wealthy woman in my own
right.”

“Yes,
dear, you are.” Cassandra’s look turned wistful. “Quite wealthy. I did that for
you. I can look back on my life and say, I did that for Miranda.”

A sense
of confused hate and resentment warred with that nagging sense gratitude and
unbreakable bond of blood that always beset her when dealing with Cassandra. No
one else had ever cared what happened to Miranda and Mama except Cassandra.

However,
Cassandra wouldn’t hesitate to use Miranda’s youth and beauty in any way that
she saw fit to do. It would be so easy and gratifying to vent her anger upon
the older woman and then slam the door on their familial connection forever.

Yet,
there was a note to Cassandra’s voice that sent a little shiver of dread
through Miranda. “That’s a strange way to put things.”

“Too
much opiate and self-reflection will do that.” Cassandra put a protective hand
to her stomach. “There’s no other way to say it.”

“To say
what?” Miranda’s voice rose in dismay.

“I am
dying, Miranda. I have a cancer growing rampant in my body.”

“Oh my
God…” All the animosity of the past year suddenly seemed unimportant. Besides
Mama, this woman was the only relative she had. The only person, before,
Adrian, who had given even one whit if she lived or died. She ran to Cassandra
and knelt before her chair and took her hand, feeling its thinness, its
coldness. ”What can I do for you?”

Cassandra
put her hand to Miranda’s cheek and shook her head. “There’s nothing anyone can
do for me now. I have my servants and comfits. And plenty of opiate. I shall be
fine. But you, my dear, oh…” She patted Miranda’s cheek. “Please do spend the
money that you earned wisely. Promise me.”

“I
promise.”

“But that
money will not save Danvers.”

“I must
save him. I love him completely. I can’t live without him.”

“Do
remember that I told you, all those years ago, to fix your affections on women.
Men are foolish and proud and selfish. Loving men leads to nothing but heartache
and disappointment.”

“I can’t
help it. I love him, no matter the consequences.”

“You
know that he is being held under house arrest?”

“Yes,”
Miranda replied, surprised that Cassandra knew this much. “But I do not know
whose house he is being kept at.”

“Heathford.”

Miranda
caught her breath, hearing the name she almost never let herself think of.
Heathford was the man who had won the auction for her virginity. He was the
source of her current wealth.

“He came
to me. Yesterday and he asked if I thought that you would come running after
Adrian or would you simply let him walk to the hangman’s noose alone.”

Miranda
gasped, horrified. “Terrible man. Evil man.”

Cassandra
rolled one shoulder up. “He is a powerful, wealthy man, Miranda. He also loves
female flesh. And he has a depth of desire that women of his station can’t
satisfy. You were too squeamish. You were a fool.”

Miranda
shuddered.

“Go see
him, Miranda. Not at his family home, where Adrian is being held. Go see him at
his townhouse.”

****

Miranda
had no wish to see Heathford. She tried hard to seek audiences with the men who
would decide the validity of the case against Adrian and how to proceed. But
none of them would see her. Finally, she was forced to do something she’d sworn
she would never do again.

She had
to humble herself before Heathford. She stood before him in his study at his
townhouse. He was tall, his body just as powerfully built as ever despite age
and silver hair. He even smelled the same, the lemon verbena cologne that made
her gag and retch in her nightmares now wafting over her.

He
touched a finger to the dip in her collarbone. “Tell me dear, does Danvers
know?”

She
shook her head. “I will never tell anyone the truth of that night.”

“Why
not?”

“Because
I would rather let the memory die. I would rather pretend the whole sordid
business never happened.”

“Did you
not tell your aunt how I had abused you.” He laughed again.

Miranda’s
face burned with the angry flush that suffused her whole body. “Of course I
didn’t tell her. She would never have sent me to a monster to be raped.”

He
raised a brow. “No? Did you know that I asked for the pleasure and privilege of
deflowering you the first time I’d seen you, at her home?”

Miranda
glared at him.

“She
knew what I am and what I am capable of and she said if I wanted to do
that—then I’d have to pay dearly. And then she arranged that farce of an
auction. But she did allow me to view your maidenly distress with her through
the peepholes. How utterly you showed your emotions then.”

Miranda
had all but stopped breathing. She clamped a hand to her mouth.

“Your
father was there, too, that night.”