The Fairy Tale Bride (28 page)

"They're only ice, Simon. They won't
last."

Just like your dreams, he thought, but did
not say. Of course, as he knew she would, she persevered. "By the
end of the evening they'll be puddles on the floor. Can I not have
them for this little while?"

He did not answer her, but turned his
attention to the footman, who had watched their exchange wide-eyed.
"Leave them. My wife wishes it."

He would have left her then, if she had not
slipped her hand in his. "Dance with me again, Simon. The room is
so full of strangers watching my every move. I would like to dance
once more with you."

He sighed, about to refuse and she stopped
him. "It is not much to ask, for a husband to dance one full dance
with his wife."

His eyes raked hers, wondering if she would
take his agreement as reason to slip into his bed once more. He
could not say with any certainty what she thought a dance would
mean as he gazed into the dark depths of her eyes.

But he nodded, realizing that it meant some
slight relief from the gossiping guests. It was the least she
deserved from him, since he could not give her what she truly
desired. "It is not much to ask at all." He led her from the dining
room and out into the crush of dancers.

To his surprise, the tension seemed to drain
from him as they maneuvered the intricate pattern of the dance. He
was smiling faintly at her, his face relaxed in lines of enjoyment
and pleasure in an unguarded manner he had not dared since they had
driven home on their wedding day. The thought was a sharp pain and
he immediately sought to distract himself.

"Your sisters are doing well," he said when
the dance step brought them together. "Even the shy one seems to be
gathering beaux."

Miranda whirled away from him in dance, her
gaze searching for her sisters. He hoped she approved of the glow
in both Hero's and Juliet's eyes as they were plied with food and
drink by the eligible bachelors carefully selected by Simon and his
mother as worthy candidates for the girls' affections.

As Miranda watched Juliet flirting
outrageously with four men at once, she smiled. "Yes," she
commented lightly when the dance brought them together once again.
"They are both ready for a Season. 'Tis fortunate that Hero is not
jealous that Juliet is coming out at the same time as she."

The dance ended, and they stood for a moment
catching their breath. Simon smiled. "Hero does not seem the
jealous kind."

The musicians struck up a waltz, and before
Miranda could protest, he had led her onto the floor again and she
was caught in the whirl of dancers. He noticed his mother, her
American lover conspicuously absent, watching them with an avid
eye. He wondered if she were simply ashamed of the man, or if she
had sent him away to prevent him from speaking with Simon.

Miranda tilted her head up toward him, her
eyes shining, and he worried that he had indeed raised her
expectations. "Sometimes I think Hero was born without the capacity
for envy. If the situation were reversed, I doubt that Juliet would
be so kindhearted. Although I cannot think it is a bad thing that,
with them both coming out, Juliet has less gentlemen upon whom to
practice her flirtation."

His hand pressed her side gently. "Do you
worry about Juliet being too bold?"

She answered defensively, "Juliet is not like
me."

His hand tightened; and he brought her close
enough for the dowager to frown as they swept past her. "No one is
like you."

His compliment warmed Miranda, but she knew
better than to believe he meant it in a favorable way. No doubt he
was thinking of the unorthodox manner in which they had come to be
married. "Juliet is so easily smitten."

He said nothing, but she did not think it
coincidence that, even as she spoke, the path of their steps led
them past Juliet and Hero. Both girls seemed singularly untouched
by the ardor of their suitors. Juliet gave them a small, gay wave
as they spun past. Seeing that Grimthorpe was among those in
Juliet's court, Miranda was not certain if she meant more to
reassure Simon, or herself, when she added, "I have warned her well
of my folly."

"I hope you have made it clear that you were
not a careless flirt."

"Of course I did. My foolishness was in going
anywhere out of sight of everyone else, and I have made that
abundantly clear to both Hero and Juliet."

Miranda remembered the conversation uneasily.
Hero had nodded gravely and promised never to leave the crowd,
unless accompanied by Miranda or Juliet. Juliet had laughed and
claimed she would not want to stop dancing or being adored by many
men simply to be alone with one of them. "Juliet seems to think
being adored by one man would be somewhat dull."

"Let us hope she continues to feel that
way."

Miranda thought silently, let us hope that
she meets no one who affects her senses, as well as her common
sense, the way that Simon affects mine. Aloud, she admitted to only
part of her doubt. "My only fear is that she will form an alliance
with someone unsuitable. Someone who might break her heart."

His voice was hoarse, and ragged, as if it
were difficult for him to speak. "It is better not to have the
heart involved in marriage, but young girls don't always understand
that."

"No." Miranda agreed. "They don't. " And
neither do some young married women who were old enough to have
gathered dust on the shelf They kept believing, despite everything,
that their prince would arrive to wake them with a kiss.

Again they swept by the girls. Juliet was
laughing at a joke, her eyes bright as jewels against her pale
skin. Simon said calmly, "I do not think it would be wise for us to
let her choose her suitors. But put those fears to rest. I'm
certain I can choose her an excellent husband." His voice sounded
with confidence and his hands held her with an arrogant sureness
that piqued her.

Miranda resisted the pull of his arms. "I
don't want to have her husband chosen for her. How cold, how —
"

His steps grew more powerful, sweeping her
inexorably into his rhythm. "What is it you would have her do? Find
herself in some loveless marriage with a man who is not worthy of
her? Or worse yet, have her reputation damaged beyond repair by
some scoundrel like Grimthorpe?"

The waltz ended and he released her. She felt
dizzy and yet clearheaded at the same time as she looked into his
familiar face. "I want her to love her husband as much as I love
you." His mouth, so quick to smile, was now set in a thin line of
displeasure.

"I want her to be willing to follow her
husband around the earth to prove her love. I wish her the devotion
to pick up feathers, or look for cures, or whatever is necessary,
as I would do for you."

The moment she spoke, the noises of the
ballroom faded to silence for her. His throat worked soundlessly
for a moment and then he sighed. "Miranda ... " His voice became
inaudible as the musicians struck up another dance.

She leaned close to whisper, "Can you not
bear to hear it? That makes it no less true."

The lines around his eyes deepened as his
gaze narrowed, his irises the dark green of emeralds at dusk. "But
you will only be hurt."

"Yes." She wanted to ask him why, but she
could feel the pain and knew it would only be worse if she pressed
him. He would not tell her the truth. He did not love her. He had
packed his heart away in the leather pouch and he kept the contents
firmly guarded against even her. She held out her hand. "Shall we
dance while we are still able? We might as well take the
opportunity to set the tongues wagging at how well we dance
together."

He hesitated, and then swept her onto the
floor, his touch firm but light. "By all means."

The moment was still a fading tingle down her
spine when Hero began to scream. "He's turning purple. He can't
breathe!"

The room dissolved into chaos. Miranda tried
to turn toward the sound of her sister's voice, but found herself
wrapped tightly in Simon's arms, unable to see anything but the
lapel of his waistcoat. After a moment, when the dance floor was
emptied, he left her. Abruptly alone, she could see nothing but a
knot of people surrounding the area where Hero and Juliet had been
holding court.

As Simon forced a path through to the center
of the tight knot of guests, Miranda followed. To her horror,
Arthur lay on the floor.

His face was indeed purple. As Simon knelt
beside him, Miranda turned and fled toward the nursery and
Katherine.

* * * * * *

"He'll be fine, Your Grace," Katherine said
calmly. Miranda could see that Simon was, however, in no mood to be
soothed. "How can you be certain?" He paced in the hallway outside
Arthur's bedroom door.

The healer answered wryly, "I gave him
something that helped him vomit up most of the poison. And also
something to absorb whatever was left in his body. His color is
good. He is breathing well and has no fever."

Miranda said sharply, "Katherine knows what
she is doing, Simon." She had not meant to sound so sharp, but her
voice carried her own tension. He had sprinted the steps carrying
Arthur, meeting them on the landing. Even now, his breathing
remained ragged. She was afraid he had overexerted himself. "You
need to rest or you will be joining him in the sickroom.

He shook his head. "I need to see him."

"Tomorrow — " Katherine began.

"I don't intend to wait for tomorrow to make
sure my heir is not going to die." His breathing, rather than
slowing, had grown more rapid, and Miranda watched him with
alarm.

"Please, Katherine," she added her appeal.
'Just for a moment? To ease Simon's distress."

Katherine looked at him with doubt in her
eyes. Then she nodded. "But no questions. He is resting after an
understandable shock to his system and he needs no more difficulty
tonight."

Simon nodded brusquely. "I understand. I will
save my questions for tomorrow. Tonight I just want to assure
myself that he will be well."

Before he passed through the doorway, he
turned back to Katherine. "What manner of poison was it?"

She tensed and her brows drew together.
"Toadstools. I very much fear they were some I had discarded from
my basket this morning."

"Your basket?"

"When I take the girls for their stroll, I
collect leaves, bark, medicinal herbs —"

"And poisonous toadstools?"

She flushed, and Miranda gasped at the slight
to the healer held in his accusatory expression. "She discarded
them when she realized that, Simon. You heard her say so."

"So she did." He turned his head toward her,
and his eyes imprisoned hers. They were sharp as green glass.
"Katherine and I will get to the bottom of this, Miranda. You must
go back to our guests."

Miranda went downstairs reluctantly, leaving
Simon to check in on Arthur and question Katherine alone. She
worried that he would be too hard on the healer, as tense and angry
as he was. But he was a just man, and would listen fairly to her
story, perhaps finding a clue as to what — or who — was causing all
of Arthur's "accidents." It had become more than obvious to her —
and she was sure that Simon felt the same, that someone was
deliberately trying to kill Arthur. But who?

Downstairs, everyone seemed subdued. Although
the musicians still played, there were few dancers on the floor.
Many people had apparently chosen to retire, and had already been
led away by footmen to their guest chambers. She checked anxiously
for Hero and Juliet, relieved to find them still surrounded, though
sparsely so, by admirers.

Although, she reflected, seeing her sisters
still holding court in the ballroom, that meant they had not found
anyone to lure them out to enjoy the fragrant gardens. She smiled,
thinking that there might have been young men in the group
disappointed that neither girl had agreed to a walk in the garden,
or a turn about the balconies for fresh air. But she could only be
glad. Perhaps her sisters did have more sense that she had had at
their age.

A sinking feeling began in her stomach when
she heard a familiar oily voice addressing her from behind. "The
duke's heir seems likely to predecease him. Have you and my dear
cousin been making a concerted effort to produce a less
accident-prone male?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Miranda turned toward the sound of
Grimthorpe's chilling voice.

His smug demeanor so irritated her that she
wanted to tweak him where it hurt. But this was her home, every
nook and cranny filled with guests this weekend, and conversation
with Grimthorpe tended to end with trouble for her. She did not
want to embarrass Simon in that manner. No matter how angry she was
at him this very moment.

"Arthur is recovering nicely. It was only a
minor accident."

"If accident is the correct word for
poisonous mushrooms being served to him and him alone."

He was fishing, Miranda knew. But she was
beginning to become desperately afraid that he was right, as
distressful as she found agreeing with Grimthorpe on any subject at
all.

Arthur's accidents were stretching the line
of credibility to the thinness of gossamer. It was no surprise that
Grimthorpe had realized that someone intended harm to Simon's heir.
No doubt he would be pleased to spread the gossip as thickly as he
could.

She sighed. He would get no help from her on
that score. "We are all fortunate he is well. After all, he is
Simon's heir."

"Then there is to be no little Simon Watterly
running about anytime soon?"

Miranda was shocked speechless by his
audacity. Taking her silence as a sign of consent to the subject of
conversation, he moved closer. "Perhaps you would like me to hasten
matters?" Suddenly she caught the scent of him, the same scent he
had worn five years ago. Her fists curled of their own accord.