The Fairy Tale Bride (3 page)

The combination of being crushed against him
by his grip and the shock of his words brought a hot flush to
Miranda's cheeks. "Compromise you?"

His eyes bored into her, and his brow lifted.
Miranda realized the picture they would present to any casual
passerby — she lying tumbled casually atop him. She struggled once
again to rise, but he bent his legs and used them to pin her hips,
as he brought his arms up to pull her closer, until she was pressed
so tightly against him that she could feel the frantic beat of her
own heart against his unyielding chest. This was not the man she
remembered from five years ago. That man would have listened to her
long enough not to jump to such ridiculous conclusions.

Defeated, Miranda dropped her face into the
crook of his neck. The exotic scent of sandalwood took her breath
away for a moment, and her heart ached for the loss of the one man
during her foreshortened Season who had treated her as if what she
thought actually mattered. "I should have known I would make a hash
of this. I merely came to beg you to set right what you've ruined
for Valentine," she mumbled against the warmth of his neck. "I have
no intention of compromising you."

"Indeed?" His arms tightened around her
briefly; then he sat up abruptly, putting her aside. "I'm afraid in
that matter, as well, you waste your time with me. You would do
better to speak to your brother."

"I cannot speak to him. He has locked himself
in the study and refuses to answer to anyone at all." As if she had
not spoken, he rose to his feet and whistled sharply three times.
She would not have been surprised had his stallion come galloping
back. But it did not, even after another long string of whistles.
Miranda watched his long, elegant fingers brush at the dust on the
knees of his breeches as he waited in vain for the return of his
horse. She remembered with a shiver the feel of those fingers as
they held her tight against him a moment ago. She gasped as her
gaze continued downward. "I've ruined your boots! I'm so
sorry."

He ceased his brushing to stare at her for a
long moment. "You are apologizing to me for ruining my boots, Miss
Fenster?"

She recognized the absurdity. "I know how
important it is to a military man to keep a good shine on his
boots," she explained, as she rose from her undignified sprawl on
the ground.

He gave her a level look. "Do you?"

She resolutely ignored the insult that was
certainly buried in his question. "My brother was an officer in His
Majesty's service, just as you were, Your Grace." She hastily
added, ''Though he served in a much less distinguished way than
you."

He said nothing, but a flicker of annoyance
crossed his face.

"I've brought some refreshment for us, if
you'd like," she said, remembering her mission. "I have a basket
with cheese and apples, fresh-baked bread —" the last from the
kitchen and who knew what Valentine would eat in the morning, if he
ate at all — "and some very fine ale."

He looked her over pointedly from head to toe
until she was uncomfortably warm. His gaze was deliberate and
thorough. Blushing, Miranda indicated the copse. "The basket is
hidden in there."

"Admirable," he said. "Your planning seems to
be on a par with our great generals. It is unfortunate that you are
of the fair sex and so England is denied your campaigning genius —
except on the battlefield of love."

His sarcasm cut deeply. "Perhaps I would have
made a good soldier, Your Grace — even if I am only a woman."
Seeing his frown, she sighed. This was not the time for that
battle. "You must admit it is much too far to the Camberley's
estate for you to walk, as it will soon be dark." The clouds
foretold rain, and soon, as well, but she decided it was wiser not
to mention that fact.

"So you think you have won your battle?" His
anger was daunting. "I told you I have no intention of being
compromised."

Miranda flushed. He must hold the incident
five years ago against her, despite his kindness then. "I only wish
to convince you to intercede with the Earl of Connaught to win
Emily back for Valentine. They are meant for each other."

"So you said. I can only wonder how far you
are inclined to go to convince me." His gaze traveled her length
again. Miranda recognized the look she had endured in her short
sojourn on the marriage mart. But never once from Simon Watterly. A
painful twist in her chest made her short of breath.

"I will do anything — " His expression
darkened and she broke off in confusion.

He smiled his wonderful smile again, and
Miranda did not hear his words for the rush of her heartbeat in her
ears. "I beg your pardon?" she asked.

"I said," he repeated slowly, as if for a
daft child, "though the idea of spending the night with the
notorious Miss Fenster intrigues me, I must decline." Without a
further word, he turned and started across the field.

"I would suggest that you stop following me,
Miss Fenster, or you will find yourself in the awkward position of
being forced to explain yourself to the Camberleys. I hardly think
you'd like a scandal attached to your name after all this
time."

A light rain had begun to fall, a gentle
misting. Miranda scrambled to keep up with his long stride as she
stared angrily at his broad-shouldered back. "I care very little
what those shallow, hypocritical – " she broke off, surprised by
the painful wave of hurt that engulfed her at the injustice that
she could be ruined because some man had tried – unsuccessfully –
to take advantage of her friendship. All because she was a woman –
held to a higher standard, yet not believed competent to defend
herself.

He turned toward her so abruptly that she
nearly ran into him. In the half darkness, she could feel his fury
radiating toward her. "I would not have expected this of you, Miss
Fenster. I suppose it is to your credit that you are naively loyal
to your brother. I believe I can find it in myself to forget this
lapse if you take yourself home immediately."

Miranda found a tendril of comfort in his
words. He had thought her actions honorable – perhaps even
justified? No. He had labeled her naïve. She fought the urge to
tumble him to the ground again and pin him there until she'd told
him the full story and wiped the smugness from his expression. With
difficulty, she held herself in check. As much as she longed for
him to look at her and see that she was as competent – and as
flawed – as any man, she knew that his respect for her was not her
current battle.

It was Valentine's future she needed to fight
for now. And here, with the light rain pattering onto her face, and
the darkness soft around them, was her only chance.

Her tightly reined anger made her bold. She
took his hands in her own and stepped close enough to look up into
his eyes. "I told you I don't give a fig for my own reputation. But
you have crushed Valentine – he and Emily were to marry and you
have torn them apart. Do you realize what your actions mean to my
brother? To my whole family?"

The frustrating man merely stared impassively
down at her as she spoke.

Driven to desperation, Miranda blurted out,
"Valentine and I are grown, but we have five sisters to bring
out."

His voice was hard as he removed his hands
from her grip and stepped back to bring distance between them.
"Your brother knew the risk when he attempted to elope with the
Earl of Connaught's daughter. If he wanted a dowry so badly, he
should have offered for one of the merchant's daughters. They are
always glad of a man with a title, even the title of baron."

Miranda did not want to admit that such had
been Valentine's intent when he had first gone looking for a bride
– to find one with a large, liquid dowry. "Emily is the only woman
for him. He has known it since he first spied her on the dance
floor – just as Prince Charming recognized Cinder Ella as his one
true love."

"He'd best get over it. Her father has set
his sights on a marquess or better for his son-in-law, and a false
prince, charming or not, will not do." A smile played at his lips,
which was quite infuriating. "And if your brother has five more
like you to bring out, he'll need all the ready he can marry."

Miranda stiffened in protest. "My sisters are
nothing like me. And Valentine is no false prince." Blindly, she
turned and walked away from him. Tears burned in her eyes and she
let them fall. He was some distance away and it was dark. Another
failure to add to her long list. It was her fault her sisters might
never marry well, her fault that the investments she had made in
Valentine's absence had nearly beggared them. Though she had hopes,
they had not yet paid out enough to make Valentine a "catch" on the
marriage market. Given her luck, they might never do so.

The tears obscured the rabbit hole until she
was upon it and Miranda fell with a pained cry. Another failure.
She pulled off her boot to examine her injury. Her insides twisted
in utter humiliation at the sound of bootsteps approaching on the
wet grass. He was beside her in moments, kneeling down, his fingers
quick and sure as he examined her twisted ankle.

"You were heading in the wrong direction,
Miss Fenster," he said. His gaze seemed focused on her as if able
to penetrate the cover of darkness and rain. For a moment she
feared he saw her tears.

Thankfully the rain came down harder at that
moment. She wiped the drops on her face. "Don't allow your pride to
force you to walk in this rain. Stay at the cottage, where it is
warm and dry. I will trouble you no further."

What she would do about Valentine's broken
heart was another matter altogether. Miranda rose, holding back a
gasp at the pain in her ankle. It wasn't broken; it would get her
back home. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, I cannot offer you shelter at
Anderlin … Valentine …"

He smiled grimly. "You will take a chill." He
whipped his short cloak from his shoulders and slung it around hers
before she could protest. Distracted by the long-ago memory of her
mother draping her lace shawl in the same manner, Miranda fought
back more tears, unable to speak. As he reached for her again, she
realized that he meant to lift her into his arms.

She warded him away with her hands, stumbling
only a little at the sharp pain in her ankle. "I am perfectly able,
Your Grace."

"No doubt," he answered, sweeping her up so
that her cheek was pressed against the damp linen of his shirt. She
realized that she had been chilled before, only because she was now
warmly nestled against his chest.

"You have no need to do this, Your Grace,"
she protested, a needle of humiliation plying through her. He
ignored her words as if she had not spoken and began walking
purposefully toward the cottage.

She settled back, surprised at how easy she
found it to relax against him, wrapped in the cloak that smelled of
sandalwood – of him. She was aware that he did not share her
comfort. His every movement indicated a great deal of tension. Hope
sprang anew that this twist of fate might allow her to reach the
Simon Watterly of old and convince him to help Valentine. But
first, she must lay his primary concern at rest. "I will not risk
compromising you, I promise. Anderlin is not far. I have walked it
in the rain before; I will again."

He did not answer.

The rain grew heavy and Miranda admired how
little note he took of the water that gathered in his thick
honey-colored eyebrows and run in rivulets down his lean cheeks.
The rain had darkened his blond hair and curls had sprung out on
the back of his neck. She twisted in his arms until she brought her
head level with his and drew the cloak so that it would protect him
from the worst of the rain.

Though she did not feel in the least
penitent, she knew he would expect an apology. In her experience,
men did not give apologies, they demanded them, deserved or not.
Best to give it now, and wait until they were dry and warm again
before she renewed the campaign to get Valentine and Emily wed.
"I'm sorry that I did not accept your refusal at the first. I'm
afraid one of my many faults is an inability to understand when a
battle is lost I would not blame you if you chose to scold me."

He stopped, oblivious to the rain, and turned
his head until their eyes met. His grip tightened. "Is that all you
think I should do? Scold you?" His voice was soft and strained.

Miranda became abruptly aware that his
fingers were touching the edge of her breast. She was grateful for
the darkness that hid the scarlet of her blush, and shadowed the
expression in his eyes as he stared down at her.

After he resumed walking once more, there was
a long silence between them. Miranda silently contemplated what his
words meant. She could not dredge up within herself any mistrust of
this man. He had behaved too well in the past and his reputation
was impeccable, though his years away had obviously hardened his
heart against lovers. And he had secrets dark enough that he would
ride to a ramshackle hunting cottage before he dared pull certain
items from his leather pouch and examine them.

She would not chide him for the tightness of
his grip. Really, how could he support her otherwise? And if she
had mended her stays weeks ago, she would likely have been
completely unaware that two of his fingers pressed against the far
side of her breast.

"I suppose I should be grateful that no one
shall ever know of this. My sisters do not need for me to create a
scandal before they come out. And it certainly could not help
Valentine's cause." She thought of Valentine, sitting listless and
mute in their father's chair before the fire. She had had to climb
through the study window to see him, for all the good it had done
her.

Miranda closed her eyes as sadness swept over
her.