The Fairy Tale Bride (10 page)

Still he said nothing. "Valentine, this man
kissed me and unfastened my dress simply to teach me a lesson!"
Miranda blushed, realizing that she had gone too far in her
desperation.

As if he had not heard her, Valentine handed
Simon a glass. "She is a fine woman. You will not be sorry to have
her to wife. Certainly, Kerstone, you are the one man who just
might manage to slip the bit in her mouth and charm her into liking
it."

Simon spared her one grim glance before he
swallowed down his brandy. "I will consider it my very first duty
as her husband."

Miranda watched the two men talking each
other around to the reality of the marriage with growing
frustration. They treated her statements as if they were less than
the flap of gnat's wings.

Worse, she realized, she had no time for this
nonsense if she were to catch to coach to London. "I've no
intention of marrying you, Your Grace. Grimthorpe knows nothing for
a certainty."

She faced her brother. "Valentine, you must
tell Grimthorpe that I am away, and have been for the last two
weeks. I am certain he will lose interest in this matter in less
than a week's time."

With that directive, she spun around and left
the room to the two men. Perhaps their drink would bring them back
to their senses.

If not for the imminent arrival of
Grimthorpe, Miranda would have exited from the front entrance to
save precious time. The past few days had taught her to opt for
discretion, though. She turned toward the back hallway and found
two stunned men standing at the library door, their eyes trained on
her.

She realized that she had forgotten to give
her brother an excuse for her upcoming absence. Just what she
needed, Valentine trailing her to London now. ''I'm sorry I can't
stay to discuss this further with you, Valentine, but I am late
already. I have promised to help an invalid."

She pulled her cloak tight around her, hoping
that he wouldn't notice that she wasn't yet wearing a bonnet.
"She's seriously ill, so I don't know when I'll be back."

The silver thudded against her legs as she
said encouragingly to her brother's blank face, "Perhaps you might
tell Grimthorpe that I won't return for an entire month. I'm sure
that will put him off the scent."

CHAPTER SIX

Simon stared in bemusement down the hallway
after Miranda. It took several moments before he realized that she
had refused his offer – again. Would he have had this much trouble
if he had proposed marriage five years ago? He spent several more
moments battling his astonishment before he realized that she meant
to leave Anderlin as if that were the end of the matter.

His surprise was quickly overtaken by a
trifling sense of something out of place, not quite right about
Miranda's hasty departure. He carefully reviewed the previous
conversation.

She had been nervous, but that was to be
expected. She had thought to escape unscathed from her
escapade.

He frowned. She had even dared chide him,
reminding him of the leather pouch of papers she seemed so damnably
curious about.

Still, he held an unshakeable conviction that
something was off. A small yet significant inconsistency came to
his attention. Miranda had not been wearing a bonnet when she
left.

To his knowledge, young ladies, even
unconventional young ladies like Miranda Fenster, did not go
visiting engulfed in shabby, oversize cloaks and forget their
bonnets.

Sprung into action by that small
inconsistency, Simon clapped Valentine on the shoulder. "Don't look
so glum. I'll have her smiling at me by the time we take our
vows."

Valentine looked at him dubiously. A smile
crept to his lips, chasing away the shadows in his gaze for a
moment. "You will, if anyone will. Good luck, Your Grace."

Even though the smile faded quickly, the deep
weariness that had etched his face when Simon found him foxed and
distraught in his study was somewhat faded. There was a spark of
life in the blue eyes that had not been there at the first.

With a confidence he had not felt but a
moment ago, Simon held out his hand to Valentine. "As we are to be
brothers, please call me Simon. I'll leave you to handle Grimthorpe
alone. Perhaps it will be wise to imply the engagement is of long
standing."

Valentine shook his hand heartily.
"Certainly. Anything but Miranda's tale – can't count how many
people have seen her about, even these last few days. She's always
been one to fly off to someone else's aid.

Simon wasted no time getting to the stables.
There was no sign of Miranda. Both of her horses were unsaddled.
Where the devil was she? Before he could leave the stable, he heard
voices.

Quietly, so neither of the speakers would
make note of his presence, he slipped to the door. His view of the
yard was good, but he was disappointed to see that it was not
Miranda that Grimthorpe had accosted, as he had first thought, but
a heavyset older woman, obviously a servant, dressed all in gray
with a yellowed linen cap covering her head, obscuring her
face.

"Where is your mistress?" Grimthorpe demanded
for the third time. He was no more patient this morning than he had
been in the hunter's cottage with Betsy's mother.

The servant, her head bowed low, spoke in a
thick German accent. "Vich mistress do you mean? His Lordship is
not married and he hast six sisters."

"Do you expect me to be interested in any
schoolroom misses? It should be obvious that I mean his eldest
sister, Miss Miranda Fenster."

"Oh. Dat one." The servant scoffed. "She hast
been gone two veeks, a mont'."

"Gone? Gone where?" The doubt in Grimthorpe's
question echoed Simon's own. When had she had time to coach her
servant about her story?

"Avay. Far avay. She'll not be home for
veeks."

"Nonsense. I'm certain I saw her but a day
ago."

"Be off vith you, foolish boy." The servant
shook her head and began to sweep the courtyard vigorously, raising
a choking cloud of dust.

Grimthorpe raised his handkerchief to his
nose and changed his approach. Smiling, despite the dust which had
settled on the shoulders of his coat, he said silkily. "I stumbled
upon a pair of her boots and I wish to return them. Surely your
mistress would be pleased to have her boots returned?"

With a sweep of her broom, the servant aimed
a large cloud of dust at Grimthorpe's insolent form. "I told you,
Miss Fenster is avay. Her boots vith her. Go and ask his lordship
if you cannot believe the likes of me. I have no more time for you.
I haf vork to do."

Grimthorpe's smile dropped into a sneer. With
an oath that made the servant's jaw drop, he shouldered his way
past the woman into Anderlin's kitchen entrance.

Wishing Valentine well, Simon prepared to
step out and question the serving woman himself. Before he could
move, however, she dropped her broom in the dust and took up the
dark cloak that had been slung over a nearby bush. She started down
the garden path, moving with a speed and grace that greatly belied
her age and bulk.

As she passed by the stable doors, she
uttered an oath. He recognized Miranda's voice at once. The little
minx had thoroughly fooled Grimthorpe and nearly outwitted Simon
himself. What the devil was she up to? He doubted that she meant to
care for an invalid, as she had told her brother.

He watched as she took the path that led to
the village. He'd have to follow her. And he'd have to be very
careful to ensure she did not catch him trailing her. There was no
telling what she would do if she discovered he'd penetrated her
disguise.

Shortly thereafter, Simon had his answer. He
waited in an inconspicuous seat at the side of the livery barn,
hidden by a team of horses freshly unhitched from the coach from
London. He had tethered his own horse out of sight. He did not know
if Miranda would recognize his stallion on sight or not. Still,
knowing Miranda as he was rapidly coming to know her, it was best
not to risk the chance.

Calmly, he waited, hoping she had not
switched costumes before emerging into the village, or he would
have no hope of spying her. Fortune was with him. Shortly afterward
he caught sight of her gray matronly figure, dingy yellowed cap
hiding the lustrous curls. She crossed the road and shouldered her
way onto the top of the coach to London just as the new team was
harnessed.

Simon resisted the urge to mount his stallion
and head to London. He remained where he was, ever conscious of
Miranda's impulsive nature, until the coach lurched off and he
could be absolutely certain she was indeed on her way to
London.

When the dust had settled, Simon followed and
soon overtook the coach. With only a moment's indecision, he passed
the lumbering vehicle in a wide arc that kept him out of sight of
the passengers. He wanted to arrive well before she did. As he
rode, he considered how to organize his campaign to find out what
she was about, leaving her home in such a disguise without her
brother's knowledge or consent.

He urged his mount on. He would need several
hours to gather the things he needed for the plan he had in mind
....

Hours later, he watched as Miranda, clad in
her bulky disguise, climbed from the coach. He was relieved to see
that she had actually arrived, and not disembarked at some earlier
stop. It was obvious she knew where she was going. She asked no
directions, spoke to no one, and was careful to avoid the less
respectable of those abroad the teeming streets.

He followed her for a short distance, careful
to stay far enough away that she would sense no danger.

Fortunately for his temper, her destination
was not far. He recognized the street they were upon; a block of
lesser-known jewelers he had never frequented himself, but he knew
of others who had bought their mistresses' trinkets in these
streets.

A burst of intuition told him that she was
going to sell some of her few remaining valuables in order to keep
her family in funds. He wondered for a moment at his assurance, and
then remembered the faded patches of wallpaper and nearly bare
mantelpiece he had noticed at Anderlin. There was no reason for the
relief that flooded through him at the realization.

After all, Miranda had turned down marriage
with him under the very mistaken impression that she could take
care of herself. What else might she be capable of?

He had not truly thought that Miranda's
errand might be a visit to a lover, or something more sinister. Now
that he knew her destination, it was time for him to teach Miranda
Fenster a lesson of which she was sorely in need. When next she met
the Duke of Kerstone, she would fling herself into his arms and beg
for marriage.

He adjusted the padding of his own hastily
acquired costume so that his right shoulder seemed to reach to his
ear. With a squint on his mud daubed — and now whiskery, thanks to
a theatrical friend — face, he hunched low to disguise his true
height. He enjoyed the irony of playing the beast to her beauty. He
wondered if she would appreciate it once he was through.

His powerful, fluid gait transformed into a
more awkward, rolling one, as if his legs were of two different
lengths. The distance between them closed rapidly. He was confident
that Miranda would not recognize him when he drew up to her side
and bore her into the nearby alleyway before she had any notion of
what was happening to her.

"How dare you, sir," she said, struggling
against him. "Unhand me."

There was no immediate sign that she
understood the dangerous situation she was in. He did not find that
a surprise.

"Where be ye going, girlie?" he asked in a
harsh rasp as he pinned her up against the rough brick and
deliberately let his breath assault her. It was worth the three
cloves of garlic he had chewed to see the expression on her
face.

"That is none of your concern, sir," she
answered sharply.

But he noticed her lower lip begin to tremble
as she realized the depth of trouble she had gotten herself into.
He hoped that she realized she had been a fool to come unescorted
to London.

She drew breath to scream, and he pressed his
hand against her mouth. He did not want his prized pupil rescued
before the lesson had even begun. "Be quiet, girlie. I've got a
knife. Do you understand?"

Fighting tears, she nodded.

"Where be ye going?" he asked again.

"I have business in the street," she
answered.

Though her voice was shaky, her eyes were
fierce as they trained on him.

He was thankful for the dimness of the
alleyway, not certain his disguise would hold against her
inspection if given the full light of day. "Would your business be
with any of the jewelers?"

"No." Her eyes narrowed, betraying the truth
even as she denied it.

"Ah. Would it be Dofflinger ye be
seeing?"

She shook her head. "I told you I'm not —
"

"Wendell then. Wendell would be a good man
for buying from a pretty piece."

"A pretty piece!" Miranda's eyes widened in
astonishment. "I'm as large as ... " She clapped her jaw shut,
cutting off the words. With a lift of her chin, she started over.
"Never mind, that is of no consequence. My business is my own, sir.
I choose not to share it with you."

"I've no wish to share yer business — only
yer profits."

"Then you must free my arm so that I can
reach my purse."

Simon stepped slightly away, but warned by
the light of hope in her eye, he drew his forearm across her
throat, keeping her pinned to the wall.

The reticule she had clutched so carefully to
protect it from the pickpockets was quickly fished from a deep
pocket. She held it out to him. "Here. This is all that I
have."