Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3) (18 page)

“No? What else did she do? Did she betray you?”

“It felt like a betrayal.”

“But it was not exactly a betrayal?”

“It certainly an example of exceedingly bad judgment.
And proof that she has not completely left the morals and reasoning of a
courtesan behind.” Adrian exhaled loud and lengthy. “I love her, I do.
Completely. But I do not know that I can forgive what—”

“Listen to you. You would risk losing all that you
have with her because she had a moment when her judgment wasn’t what you felt
it should be? Perhaps she was angry and hurt with you? Maybe this clouded her
powers of reasoning?”

“You mean that she deliberately did it to strike back
at me?”

“Maybe not something that intentional. Women have so
few choices when compared to men. And they are so powerless.”

“Powerless?” Adrian scoffed. “From my view, women
have always held the reins in most situations.”

Ruel shook his head. “No, you think only of your
father’s situation. He was a man bent on his own destruction. He placed himself
into predicament after predicament, seeking punishment, inviting abuse. Any man
who believes that women don’t suffer from a lack of power and choices in our
world, is deceiving himself in the worst of all possible ways. I remember how
my grandfather forced my mother from his house and forced her to leave
 
me behind. I have never forgotten.”

“I have not treated Miranda in any fashion that could
ever be called abusive,” Adrian responded, his indignation growing by the
moment.

“But you did treat her most unfairly. You left her
here in England, telling her that you would be gone only a matter of months,
you were gone nearly a year. With no valid explanations. And then without
consulting her, you took it upon yourself to risk your liberty and life to do
away with the problem of her father—

“Was I to let that devil live?”

“No, of course not. I would have done the same. But
she deserved to know your plans. You left her in the worst state of worry and
concern.”

“I did what I felt was necessary to protect her and I
didn’t want her to worry.”

“There was no way for her to escape the worry.”

“I did what I felt was the best for all concerned, I
am the one responsible. I owed no one any explanations.”

“Not even her?”

“No, not even her. Not at the time.”

“Adrian, she no longer your whore.”

“Watch what you say and your choice of words,” Adrian
replied, in a growling tone.

Jon returned his glower calmly. “I repeat for you
since you are so obviously not listening. She’s not your whore, she’s your wife
and yes you did owe her explanations. What if you had died? Did she even know
how and what she must do to safeguard herself and Davey?”

“You would have helped her.”

“She’s your wife. Your countess. What good is the
title if she doesn’t feel that she’s really your wife in more than a name? That
she has the full power that any other countess would have? Why raise her up to
the title if you never intended to extend her full respect?”

Indignant anger rose hotly within Adrian. “You have
not always managed your marriage in the best possible way.”

“No, I haven’t. And I nearly paid a most dear price
for that failure.”

Adrian said nothing.

“Don’t let this episode spoil your happiness with
her.

“Arrogance will surely be your downfall,” Jon said.
“If you don’t take care you will lose her.”

“I will never give her up.”

“You can lose her love even if she remains your wife.
Surely you realize this.”

Adrian crossed
his arms over his chest and directed his attention out the window at the
drizzle falling on the street.

Chapter Thirteen

The sound of someone entering by the main door of her
house in Chelsea sent Miranda flying from the upstairs corridor where she had
been hovering, waiting… She ran down the stairs just as Adrian was handing his
hat to Mrs. Williams.

“Good evening, Miranda.”

Miranda nodded a greeting back to Ruel. But the lump
in her throat wouldn’t allow her to speak.

Adrian turned. His eyes met hers, cold and blue as
the sea in winter.

“Adrian—”

“Hush, Miranda. Not now.” He approached her and put
one hand on her shoulder then gave her a quick, harsh kiss.

She watched his departing back with her mouth
slightly open. He went towards the study. The sound of the door shutting held
finality that made her stomach lurch. She turned back to Ruel, knowing her eyes
were full of questions.

Ruel’s thin lips twisted. “He’s acting like a horse’s
arse. Let us hope that some time alone does improve his disposition.”

Her insides seemed to be collapsing upon themselves,
with dread. “Does he… know?”

“Know what, my lady? Heathford told him great many
things. Things I suspect that are not the full truth.”

Oh, no. God, no.

A miserable moan escaped her. “Does he know that
Heathford is demanding that he leave England?”

Ruel nodded, his expression grim. He stepped towards
her then took her hand. “Come my lady, you look utterly exhausted. Let us have
some wine.”

****

The clock had just chimed three in the morning.
Tucked in her bed, Miranda stared at the ceiling. Ruel’s final words to her
kept echoing in her mind.

Someone has to give over first. Men aren’t usually
very good at giving over.

But why should she be the one to apologize?

She couldn’t imagine what Heathford had told Adrian but
couldn’t he understand that she made a sacrifice for his safety. To save his
life?

She’d done nothing in her way that he wouldn’t have
done, that he had already done—for her in his own way.

But this was also about what had happened between
herself, Rebecca and Drake.

But why couldn’t he understand that she had done
that, trying to heal and grow, so that she could love him more completely?

You broke my trust and you’ve done it for nothing…
I have no wish for that act as you call it, from any woman. Not even you.

Adrian’s words tormented her and with a cry she
rolled to her stomach and gave her pillow a few punches.

It didn’t really help to release her pent-up tension.
She exhaled with a low growl. Cassandra’s words came back to challenge her:

Miranda, you’ve always been a proud girl. Being
Winterton’s child, I don’t suppose there was any chance you would come out any
other way. But if you love this impoverished, overly arrogant nobleman that
you’ve selected, then you must love him in the way he needs to be loved. Not
the way you imagine would be fair.

Had she really inherited her pride from Winterton?
Gads, what a frightening, unsettling thought!

She had thought that her pride was a self-protective
mantle. A justified protection given the course of her life.

Yet now she was wed to a man who had, in the past,
given to her without reservation. He made the ultimate risk and sacrifice to
protect her.

She had been in love with Adrian all this time. She
had accepted his quirks and habits. But she had not yet come to a deep, wifely
understanding of how best to show him that love. What chance had she had? He’d
left her almost as soon as they had wed.

Surely, if he loved her, she deserved a second chance
to prove her loyalty?

She wasn’t sure.

Aside from the little she’d been exposed to Anne and
Jon, she had never witnessed a true marriage. She had only seen provider and
courtesan alliances.

Jon had shared a most intriguing opportunity with her
tonight. But in order for them to make the most of it, it required her and Adrian
to be strong in their commitment with each other. But they couldn’t be strong
with this matter of their hurt feelings and bruised pride between them. They
must learn to overcome such impasses or else they would destroy their love and
themselves in the process.

I would have thought you would be stronger your
pride, Miranda.

Cassandra’s final, challenging words taunted her.
With a groan, she threw off the coverlet and found her wrapper, drawing it over
her nightdress.

She went to the study door, raised her fist and
knocked.

A strong, confident sound, she noted with
satisfaction.

“Enter.”

Adrian’s deep voice sent currents of apprehension
through her but she pushed the sensation away, lifted her chin and opened the
door. She would make this simple and to the point. She would accept his
judgment of her wrongdoing in the matter of Stephen and Rebecca and say that
she was sorry that he had found that hurtful. Then she would assure him that
she had managed to sway the noblemen without giving herself.

She would remain cool and in control. She would inspire
his confidence and respect.

She softly closed the door behind her then turned to
face him.

He wasn’t sitting at his desk, as she thought to find
him. She scanned the chamber and found him lying back on the settee near the
fire. He was in his shirtsleeves, his open waistcoat showing his rumpled shirt
glowing yellowish white in the firelight. His hair was mussed, as though he
might have been running his fingers through it repeatedly.

His expression was no longer closed and cold.

Instead, he looked somewhat boyish, his expression
somehow… lost.

She attempted to stand straighter, to say what she
had come to say.

But her knees went weak and she began to shake all
over. Memories of today, of Heathford, were holding all the power over her. All
the emotional power of her desperate hopes. Her distaste to think she would
have service those men. Her miserable fear upon her failure to be able to play
the harlot, it all came crashing over her.

A sense of the utter ugliness of life overwhelmed
her.

“Oh, Adrian!” The words torn themselves from her,
despite her desire to remain dignified. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh Adrian…” It
was all she could say.

He extended a hand.

She ran to him.

He pulled her into his embrace and helped her to
settle herself part way in his lap. Her legs splayed ungracefully behind her on
the settee. “My love,” he said, before putting his lips to the top of her head.

She pressed her cheek against his chest and began
pouring out all the details of the afternoon.

“I couldn’t do it, Adrian, I couldn’t do it.”

“Hush,” he said. “I am glad that you couldn’t do it.”

“But what if you had paid the price for my failure?”

“I didn’t. Whatever you did, whatever you said, it
was not a failure. It must have been exactly the right thing to reach their
better sense, their common decency.”

“But we must leave England.”

“I must leave England.”

“You cannot imagine that I will refuse to follow
you?” she asked, then in a smaller voice. “You don’t wish for me to follow?”

“I don’t know, Miranda.” He exhaled, loudly, as
though attempting to release all the tension within him. “I had always feared
such passionate love. But when I found it with you, I was helpless to deny
myself its pleasures. But God, Miranda, I am not sure that this love of ours is
good for us. It may well end up destroying us in the end.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“We are very different, Miranda.”

“Not so different.” She pressed her cheek more firmly
against his chest. “This is about what happened with Rebecca and Drake, isn’t
it?”

“It’s not so much what happened, Miranda. Not now. It
is about my own reaction to what happened. You are a former courtesan. Such
sharing and voyeurism in matters of sex was commonplace to you. I should not
have held you to blame for being what you are. I should have forgiven your
lapse. However, I do not think clearly when it comes to you. I am too often
driven by extremes of jealousy and I fear what that may do to us in time.”

“This breech between us is partly my fault, too. When
Rebecca approached me, I should have used better judgment. But after what I
learned today about Cassandra’s actions in the past, I realize that all my
examples of how women should behave have been those set by courtesans. That
life has been all I have known. I have been surrounded by people who meant well
but were corrupt in their morals. I have to admit now, though it is a great
blow and shame to my pride, that I may not always know what is and is not the
proper choice.”

“Then I should offer you guidance and support in
learning what is and is not proper. I should set clear and well-explained
limits for you as my wife and lover, as to what is and is not proper for you
with others. I should never respond with anger and allow my disappointment to
get the better of me when your intentions are for the good.” He paused and, to
her surprise, he hugged her tighter. “And you did mean it all for the good. You
said that you did it for us. To learn how to love me better.”

“Yes, that was my thinking at the time. But as I
said, I have come to see how corrupted Cassandra is.” She told him all the
things that Heathford had told her about the night he had taken her virginity.
About Winterton and his desire for revenge and Cassandra’s greed.

Afterwards, great, gulping sobs consumed her. Shivers
racked her, visceral reactions to
 
the
horrors of that night. She could see the whole episode more clearly and she admitted
feelings to Adrian that she had never admitted to herself before. Sharing the
horror with him made it more real, and yet at the same time, more bearable.

Adrian held her and rocked her. A long, long time
passed and finally she lay weak and spent against him. Limp from the release of
such emotion that had been so long suppressed.

And still, he caressed her. Rocked her. Soothed her.