The Fairy Tale Bride (2 page)

The sense of loss was acute. But despite his
vow to become the devil himself and obliterate his saintly image,
he could not abandon her. Exasperated with himself, he determined
to warn Valentine of the threat to his sister's reputation. Puppy
or not, it was a brother's duty to protect his sister.

Unfortunately, the lad was nowhere about. And
worse, when he scanned the dancers, he saw that his cousin and Miss
Fenster were no longer among them.

As he entered a fortunately empty hallway,
wondering if they had passed this way, he heard the shriek and the
blow from behind one of the closed doors ahead. With a sigh, he
hurried toward the sound, reaching the doorway just in time to
prevent scandal from erupting around the woman he might have
married.

Miranda Fenster flung herself through the
doorway, her hair a-tumble, her mouth swollen from a crude kiss.
The lace of her bodice trailed in the air. But her eyes burned with
pride and anger – and sudden shame as she ran into Simon
himself.

"My lord, please excuse me," she said
distractedly as she attempted to push past him. But Simon stopped
her with a hand to her shoulder. The shocking warmth of her flesh
under his gloves almost made him remove his hand, but the sure
knowledge of the scandal that would be caused were he to let her
escape made him hold firm. He steered her back into the room and
closed the door.

She raised her chin a notch. "I don't believe
this is any of your business, sir."

He wasted no time on her feelings, though.
Instead he caught his cousin's gaze. "I think we both see Miss
Fenster is no willing miss. Matters would best be served if you
left and spoke of this to no one. Do you argue?"

His dashed cousin merely cast him an
unrepentant grin. "And if I do?"

"Then you will wed her."

Simon heard a gasp behind him, followed
quickly by a sharp protest, but he ignored her. He could not very
well reassure her that Grimthorpe would sooner wed a cabbage than a
meagerly dowered young miss.

His cousin's eyes widened, but he quickly
conceded. "As you see fit, Cousin." With a sour glance toward the
ring he had lost, he bowed and left the room.

Turning to the shocked-silent Miss Fenster,
Simon said curtly, "Wait here. I will fetch your mother." Within
scant minutes Simon found Valentine and sent him to collect his
mother from the ballroom with a minimum of fuss. Returning to
Miranda, he saw that she had made herself as presentable as
possible without the help of a lady's maid. She was much calmer
than she should have been as she bowed her head to him and said,
"Thank you, my lord. I am grateful for your assistance, although I
little doubt I could have handled the matter on my own."

"Indeed?" Her lack of gratitude stung him
somewhat. "Have you any idea what disarray you are in, Miss
Fenster? Have you any idea of the scandal your appearance would
have created?"

She blushed and put up a hand to tuck back a
stray curl. "I would have retired to the lady's dressing room,
naturally."

"And no one there would have remarked upon
your state, I suppose?"

There was a dawning horror in her dark eyes,
but still a defiant set to her shoulders as she opened her mouth to
reply. He was never to know her answer, however, because her mother
arrived at that moment. With the bustle of a desperate woman,
Miranda's mother threw her own lace shawl over her daughter's
exposed bosom, clucking softly in dismay.

When her eyes found him, he could see the
fear in them. She thought her daughter ruined. Without having
consciously made a decision, he stepped in front of Miranda's
scandalized mother, halting her flight from the room. The older
woman looked up at him, her face nearly the same lavender as her
gown. He heard Miranda's swift intake of breath as he said calmly,
"I certainly hope that Miss Fenster's headache is gone on the
morrow. May I see you to your carriage, ladies?"

He watched as realization dawned that he had
no intention of noising the scandal about, and the frantic mother's
face regained its normal color and expression. With dignity, she
released her tight grasp on her daughter's cloaked shoulders and
nodded. "Thank you for your kindness, my lord."

"It is nothing." They drew no comment from
the few people they met on their way, and Simon relinquished the
ladies into Valentine's care once they reached the hastily called
carriage.

Waiting for his own conveyance, he could not
help giving one rueful laugh. He still had a long way to go to get
this devil thing down.

CHAPTER ONE

Kent, 1837

Miranda slipped deeper into her hiding place
as the duke appeared over a small rise with the setting sun at his
shoulder. The hooves of his chestnut stallion flashed through the
few remaining wildflowers. The last rays of the sun gleamed onto
his fair head, giving him a halo that Miranda had always thought he
well deserved – until yesterday.

Was she a fool to hope she could persuade him
to help her brother? After all, army life changed men. It had made
Valentine laugh less and shout more. It had destroyed the equality
between them when even her father's pompous speeches about woman's
inferiority and his harsh punishments for her childhood
transgressions had not.

What battle scars might the duke possess if
he could quash her brother's elopement with heartless efficiency? A
warning unease curled in the pit of her stomach, but Miranda forced
it away with a memory of Valentine as she had left him — sitting
forlorn and broken in the darkness of Anderlin's drape-drawn
study.

She shifted to ease the stiffness of her
knees and the prickling of the yew branches that concealed her, as
she watched the duke dismount near the hunter's cottage, tether his
horse, and disappear inside. She refused to surrender to the doubt
that made her limbs heavy and gave her heart a wild beat as she
left her shelter and headed for the cottage.

The roughly-hewn wooden door swung open
easily at her touch, revealing the familiar room and its occupant.
His back was turned away from her as he sat at the rackety old
table that served the cottage for furnishing. As she entered,
Miranda did the best she could to soften the forwardness of her own
behavior. She smiled demurely, dropped a perfect curtsy and said,
"Good evening, Your Grace." To her surprise, her throat went dry
just as she began to speak. Her voice came out in a broken croak
just as the door swung closed behind her on noiseless rope hinges.
The room fell into darkness save for the single candle the duke had
lit.

She realized her error when his shadowy
figure rose abruptly and whipped around to face her. His voice rang
out harshly, "What the devil?" Miranda had only the briefest
glimpse of a worn leather pouch before it was hidden within his
jacket. Aware of the precarious balance of the table, Miranda
warned, "Do be careful. That table ... " The table rocked sideways,
and the candle fell. They were plunged into darkness.

"Who the devil are you? What do you want?"
His voice was no better than a snarl.

"I apologize for startling you." Miranda
eased her way across the floor toward the spot she had last seen
the candle. "Don't move, and I will soon have your candle lit."

His breath hissed inward, as though he were
outraged by her suggestion, and he was silent for a moment before
answering abruptly, "I assure you that I do not wish my candle
lit."

Miranda halted in confusion for the barest
second and then continued her search. "Here, I have it. The candle
has come loose, I'm afraid. Let me just find — " Her foot touched
the loose candle. "I do so hate the dark, don't you?"

She rose from the dusty floor, intending to
light the candle now reset in the holder. Her skirts brushed
against something unyielding and she could feel him, only inches
from her. Startled, she froze, trying to gauge how far away he
stood. Only a rustle in the darkness forewarned her before the
candlestick was abruptly pulled from her hand.

"I have no quarrel with the dark, only with
young women who consider me easy prey." She felt the heat that
radiated from his body, so close they almost touched. Belatedly,
she realized that his anger was greater than she had first
thought.

Seeking to soothe him as she might an ill
child when the child was in the throes of a temper, Miranda stroked
his upper arm gently. "I am sorry, Your Grace. I truly did not mean
to startle you."

The muscles of his arm tensed under her
fingers as he spoke, sending a flush of warmth through her as she
realized that he was no child and she had no business touching him
so intimately. "You would be wise to consider yourself fortunate
that I have not seen your face, young woman, or you and your mother
both would feel the sharp side of my wrath."

"My mother is dead." Miranda whispered,
pulling her hand away, as the flash of familiar guilt spilled
through her.

"Go out to your aunt, then, or your guardian,
and tell her your plan failed. You are dealing with me, and I will
not be caught like a baited hare."

"But ... I am alone — " Perhaps she should
not have come. Perhaps he had become unbalanced as well as
hardened? Nervously, Miranda reached for the candlestick and met
the warmth of strong fingers. A shock passed through her, and she
pulled the candlestick sharply from his grip.

He bent toward her in the dark, so close that
she could feel his breath on her cheek. As she backed away, only to
find the table blocking her path, he said, "Has she left you here
and driven away? Does she not know the danger in that? Do you
not?"

She struggled to make out his face, but it
was only a deeper shadow in the darkness of the room.

"I trust you, Your Grace. I know your
reputation after all." She struck a feeble spark and the candlewick
began to glow.

His voice was grim. "That reputation fits me
no longer."

Miranda lifted the light of the flame until
it banished the shadows that held the duke. His mouth hung open in
astonishment; then his scowl turned to stern surprise.

"Dash it all. I would never have believed
this of you, Miss Fenster."

The words Miranda had carefully rehearsed
flew from her mind. She blushed and her heart hammered painfully at
the disappointment that sped across his face and disappeared into a
chilling indifference. With less confidence that she had possessed
moments before, she drew a breath and made her plea. "I wish to
speak to you on a matter of grave importance, Your Grace."

His brow lifted, and a smile curved the left
side of his mouth. "I trust, then, this is your brother's idea of
revenge?"

His amusement discomposed her. "Valentine
knows nothing of this."

He smiled so widely that a dimple graced his
left cheek, but his green eyes were wintry. "I'm afraid, Miss
Fenster, that even for someone with your ... notoriety ... I am
sadly unable to oblige you by being the prince in your
fairytale."

Miranda was momentarily distracted by his
smile, so that it took a moment for her to register the insult.
Indignation seared her. How dare he? "You are certainly not acting
like any fairy-tale prince."

He held up one hand. "Don't be offended. I
have been stalked by the best and I rank your efforts highly. You
simply should have chosen someone other than me."

"You are the only one who can help!"

The smile died on his face. "That is
unfortunate, then. For I will certainly do nothing. Good day." He
turned and left the cottage without further word.

The heartlessness of his action stunned
her.

He had been so certain Valentine only wanted
Emily's money. A moment's worth of listening to the pair would have
shown him the truth of their love. Knowing that she could not give
up until he had all the facts, Miranda followed him outside into
the rapidly deepening twilight where he was untethering his
stallion. As she approached, the stallion whinnied and shied away
nervously.

His glance held a pity that chilled her, but
she put her pride aside to beg his indulgence. "Please, you don't
understand. Let me explain."

"Nothing you can say could change my mind,
Miss Fenster. Have the courage to face the fact that you have
failed."

Failed. All her life she had failed at the
most crucial times. But not today. His words sent a spark of anger
through her, so that instead of appealing to him once more, she
slapped the skittish stallion sharply on the rump. Her only intent
was to move the horse farther away and give herself some time to
plead with the duke. The chestnut, however, tore the reins from the
duke's hand and bolted. In dismay, Miranda watched the mount gallop
off. Then relief flooded her — now she had his full attention.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean ... " Her apology
cut off as she turned and saw his fingers lift to his mouth. Her
advantage had been illusory. The stallion was trained to come at
his whistle.

"No!" she whispered. One of the tricks she
and Valentine had employed as children surfaced in her memory, and
she launched herself at his waist like a maddened bull until he
overbalanced, unable to whistle. Unfortunately, as he fell, she
followed, landing atop him like an ungainly goose.

When she lifted her head from his chest to
look him in the face, her stomach gave a lurch. His green eyes held
no more amusement, no more pity — only fury. Certain that she was
crushing him, she tried to rise, but he held her tightly. She could
not tell if it was anger or fear that made her limbs tremble, but
whatever it was lent heat to her words. "Do you not understand what
it is to love?"

Something deep and painful flashed behind his
eyes, and then disappeared. "I will not be compromised by anyone,
Miss Fenster. I would have expected you, of all people, to
understand." To his credit, he sounded calm as his hands held her
hips still.