The Fairy Tale Bride (12 page)

Her hands clenched. If she had carried a
small dagger or a pistol with her, maybe she would have had a
chance to fight the cutthroat off. It was amazing the way he had
known she had something hidden beneath her skirts, almost as if he
could read her mind.

She felt a shiver go through her. He had been
one of the meanest, ugliest creatures she had ever had the
misfortune to meet. She would never forget the stink of his breath,
nor the bushy dark beard that hid his face from her. She hoped
never to come across him again.

She entered the darkened study quietly, so as
not to disturb Valentine if he were sleeping. The fire had burned
low and she could make out only a shadowy outline in the chair by
the fire. The sound of his breathing was even and light. She hoped
he slept soundly, for then she could avoid any awkward
questions.

With an ease born of a lifetime's
familiarity, she moved carefully through the darkness. One thing
she needed, whether he approved or not, was a medicinal glass of
brandy to steady her nerves.

She nearly dropped the crystal decanter when
she heard the duke's familiar voice. "How does the invalid you
tended fare, Miss Fenster?"

She whirled to face the figure in the chair.
If he was still here, it meant that he intended to try once more to
convince her that the marriage was necessary. She would need all
her wits about her. Looking at him she had to suppress a shiver of
anticipation when it crossed her mind that he might kiss her yet
again in his attempt to change her mind. "Where is Valentine?"

Fortunately, he dispelled the image of a
passionate embrace when he said calmly, "I imagine he has quite
sensibly retired, considering the hour. I expect he thought you
would stay the night with your invalid.

She flushed in the dark, wondering what had
possessed her to think of kissing when she needed to think of how
to convince him that she was not interested in marrying him. "Yes.
Well, as you can see, I did not." She replaced the lid on the
decanter, and put the bottle back. She wasn't comfortable taking a
drink with Simon present.

"What kind of an illness was it, Miranda, to
be over so quickly?" he asked.

Miranda frowned. She felt that if she told
another lie to him she would become the poor bitter girl in the
tale who spit frogs and snakes when she spoke. "That is of no
consequence, Your Grace. No doubt you wish to discuss another, more
pertinent matter, but I'm afraid this very conversation with you is
improper. Perhaps we should continue it tomorrow, in Valentine's
presence."

"I will be taking my leave at sunrise." He
rose from the chair and crouched by the fire. "Besides, I find I
enjoy speaking with you at night, by firelight. And my question is
a simple one – do you wish to be married here, in your family
home?"

Unbidden, the image of Simon in the old
chapel, smiling as he awaited her vows, came to her. Miranda
brushed it aside. "What has made you change your mind about
marriage? I recall when you thought I was trying to entrap you, you
were quite certain that you did not want to marry me."

He did not look at her as he answered. "I'm
surprised you need to ask, after the night we spent together."
Suddenly, he looked deep into her eyes. "Remember – you are the one
who is so certain that physical attraction can cause a man to
behave foolishly. Surely you can understand that I have accepted
that the only way for me to have you in my bed is to marry
you."

Miranda felt the heat of his words all the
way to her toes. She refused to give in to it. "But I am a woman,
Your Grace. And my mind has not been changed. I do not want to be
married to a man who does not love or trust me –" Afraid her words
were too harsh for his, after all, gallant behavior, Miranda tried
to soften them with a touch of honesty. "Even though there is a
physical attraction between us."

His whisper was as loud as a shout in the
silent room. "A strong attraction. The kind worth risking a little
pain for."

"Surely you would not force me to marry you
when I am so set against it? This is not the eighteenth century,
sir." She appealed to his honor, knowing how much a part of him it
was. "You are too fine a man to do so."

There was a short silence and then the
shadowy figure stood. "Perhaps it is the taint of bad blood in me,
Miranda, but I want you and I will do everything in my power to
have you."

"Bad blood? The Earls and Dukes of Kerstone
have an impeccable line."

He stirred restlessly. "Perhaps from my
mother's side, Miranda. One never knows these things, does one?
Now, about the wedding – will it take place here? Or shall I make
arrangements at my seat? Or would you prefer London, perhaps?"

Discomforted, she noticed that there was an
edge about him that there had not been there earlier. Somehow, he
was quite certain she would marry him – and it was not simply
masculine arrogance. She had dealt with that before.

This was more, and she was afraid of his
intensity as he stared down at her in the darkness of the quiet
study.

"Why? When we neither of us have a true
desire to be wed?"

In the darkness he moved to light the
candles, one by one from the dying glow of the fireplace until the
room was filled with leaping shadows and she could see his
implacable eyes. "That makes us a perfect matched pair."

Aware that a scream would merely complicate
matters and bring the rest of the household down around their ears,
she settled for grinding her teeth. "Your Grace, please, I would
prefer that you allow me the liberty of crying off."

He came toward her, until she could see his
face clearly. "But my dear, the ink on our engagement announcement
is still wet. Surely you will not embarrass me so?"

She bit her lip. That was a dilemma, was it
not? If she cried off … "Well, then,
you
cry off. My
reputation and feelings are of no consequence."

He shook his head and smiled. "I cannot
humiliate myself that way. I made a promise to the old duke on his
deathbed never to disgrace the family name. I have made an honest
bid for you, and Valentine has accepted it."

"Valentine is not thinking clearly."

"Your brother knows his duty, my dear. And I
mine. I don't know why you persist in fighting your own. Have you a
tendre for some other fellow?"

"Of course not."

"Then why not marry me?"

"Because Grimthorpe is the only reason you
feel the need to marry me. I know it is not physical attraction
that compels you to make the offer – it is your damnable sense of
honor."

He interrupted the abrupt silence with a deep
laugh that held an irritating amount of smug satisfaction. "I think
you have mistaken the reason for my offer, my dear. Though, of
course, it might not have happened if not for Grimthorpe. I look
forward to the task I have set myself."

She was confused. "Task?"

"I have decided it is my job to make you into
a wife any man might take pride in – especially your next husband,
should you decide to marry again."

She felt the sting of his insult first, then
took in the import of his final words. "My next husband?"

He sighed. "I want you, my dear, but I cannot
keep you."

"You are making no sense. Marriage is not a
temporary state. Are you foxed?"

"No. I have not been drinking. I am trying to
explain that you will have me as a husband for only six months'
time."

"Are you going away?" Some former soldiers
did that, she knew, to explore India and Africa. But, as duke,
Simon had responsibilities. Surely he would not shirk them?

"You might say so."

"Do not be cryptic with me now. Where will
you be in six months' time?"

His gaze focused on the leaping flames in the
fireplace. "In six months' time, Simon Watterly, Duke of Kerstone,
will be dead."

She gasped. "But how? Have you the pox?"

It was the duke's turn to gasp. "Where the
devil did you hear about something like that?"

"I overheard Valentine's friends. They say
many soldiers …"

"No, Miranda, I do not have the pox. And I
assure you that you will not be overhearing such conversations in
the future. As my wife, you will begin to keep suitable company and
discuss suitable subjects."

She ignored his comments, more intent on the
unbelievable thought that this vibrant man was dying. "You are
certain of this? Perhaps if you see another doctor?"

"There is no hope, Miranda. I have seen all
the doctors I need to see to be certain."

She stared at him as she reeled under the
impact of the news, unable to accept it. Her objections to the
marriage were swept away in a single breath. "Perhaps we should
apply for a special license?"

For a moment, there was the faintest of
smiles on his lips. "I would not be averse, but do you think
Valentine can stand the strain of gossip?"

"Valentine admires you very much. I should
think he would be happy to know that I will be applying my
abilities toward getting you through this crisis and making you
well again."

The smile on his lips was not at all faint
this time. "Ah, yes. I would delight in as quick a recovery as your
patient had."

He looked at the mantel. "It is quite dark in
here. I can't see your face. Perhaps that is because of the lack of
candles. You really ought not to allow the servants to polish the
silver without replacing the candlesticks promptly."

She suppressed a start. The candlesticks
would never be back and it was certainly not the servants' fault.
She realized, very suddenly, that if the duke married her, all
would be well for her brother and her sisters.

It was only her own foolish, miserable heart
that would suffer. And certainly she deserved that. "I hope you
never regret marrying me. I am impetuous and …"

In a moment he had crossed the distance
between them and swept her into his arms. "And loyal and brave and
sweet." His lips brushed her neck as he whispered.

"I don't know what good I can do your health,
Simon, but I will do all that I can and more to see you well."

"I won't need anything but your
companionship."

His arms tightened around her, leaving her in
no doubt about what he meant. "Although perhaps your nursing skills
might be brought to bear upon my heir apparent. He always seems to
be sniffling — when he isn't falling off his horse."

"I have enough patience for two patients."
Miranda gave herself entirely up into his embrace. "I shall do my
best to make you a good wife."

She had expected a look of subdued triumph to
overtake his features, not the bitter twist that came to his mouth.
"I think, Miranda, that I will be the one making you into an
excellent wife. And your next husband will no doubt thank me."

Miranda would have protested, but his mouth
came down on hers and all thoughts were swept away in the pleasure
of the kiss.

Betsy swept a pretty curtsy as Miranda came
up the pathway to the neatly kept cottage. Unfortunately, in her
excitement, she forgot that a young lady never ran and dashed away
behind the cottage calling loudly for her mother.

Miranda had to quickly stifle her laughter
behind her palm as Katherine came running, clutching two handfuls
of uprooted herbs. Her eyes lost some of their panic when she saw
Miranda. Her face became quite pretty when she smiled.

"How did the wormwood tonic do?"

"Oh, quite successfully, thank you.
Valentine's spirits and his appetite have both picked up," Miranda
answered, her smile disappearing as she remembered her task here.
"But I'm afraid I need more than a simple remedy this time."

Katherine's expression grew grave. "For
yourself?"

Miranda shook her head. "No." She looked into
eyes she had learned to trust, after only one short meeting a few
days ago. Katherine had been nothing like Miranda expected. She was
indeed a good mother — and no lightskirt. Grimthorpe had come to
her for a remedy of a very personal — and herbal nature.

Though it was obvious the family had no
money, the garden and pathways were well kept, the cottage itself
in repair and neat. Miranda took a deep breath, knowing that she
was trusting Katherine with a very important secret. "His Grace has
confided in me that he is very ill."

Katherine murmured in shock. "No."

"His doctors have told him that he is to die
within six months' time." Miranda grasped the other woman's slender
arm. "Can you help him? He sounds as if he's given up hope."

The healer frowned. "He certainly seemed
healthy the little I saw of him. "What are his symptoms?"

The logic of the question caught Miranda by
surprise. She had been so shocked by Simon's news that she had not
thought to find out. She shook her head in annoyance at her own
stupidity. "I never thought to ask."

Katherine smiled sympathetically. "Will you
see him sometime soon? Could you ask him then?"

"We are to be married tomorrow — "

Katherine laughed, and Miranda was surprised
to hear it. Such a serious demeanor had led her to believe that the
healer was incapable of laughter. Then she realized the cause and
blushed. "It is not what you think –"

"I think nothing but that when you speak of
him your eyes glow. And I shall do my best to see that you have him
for as long as you live." Her eyes darkened. "Although, knowing
nothing, I cannot promise. Still, he seemed so hale I can't believe
…"

Her voice drifted off as she looked full at
Miranda. "My goodness, if you are to be married so quickly, how
shall I find out the cause of his illness. Will you write?"

Miranda shook her head and began to guide her
into the cottage. "No. I have a plan..."

CHAPTER SEVEN