The Fairy Tale Bride (4 page)

"He said that you were right, and he should
never have overreached himself with Emily in the first place."

"Perhaps he is not as foolish as I had
thought. I will speak to him — "

His words dispelled Miranda's growing sense
of hope. Knowing her impertinence, but anxious that he heed her,
she put her hand to his cheek. The rasp of stubble against her
fingers startled her. "He has been badly hurt. Do not humiliate him
further by speaking to him as if he were an errant lad in need of
guidance. "

He turned his head so that his lips brushed
her fingers as he spoke. "I take your point, Miss Fenster."

Miranda let her hand drop away from his
face.

But the intimacy of being in his arms and
jolting comfortably against him at every step could not be
prevented. "Valentine must never know that I tried to intercede on
his behalf."

"It does not speak well of you that you would
deceive him."

Stung by the censure in his words, she said,
"Perhaps someday, when Emily joins our family, I shall tell them
both."

"Then you believe your brother will not give
up his hopes so easily?"

"Wouldn't you search for your Cinder Ella,
Your Grace, if you had once met her at a ball and wanted no one
else to be your wife?" He stumbled slightly, and her arms tightened
around his neck in alarm.

After a silence so long that she realized he
would not answer her, she said, "No. Valentine will not give up so
easily." Remembering her brother's slumped figure, Miranda wondered
if she spoke the truth. "I do understand that you only did what you
thought was best for Emily. I will be happy to act as though this
meeting between us never occurred."

They reached the cottage as she spoke. He
stooped slightly to enter the doorway, and his arms tightened
around Miranda. His breath against her damp neck made her shiver.
"And what if I am not?"

CHAPTER TWO

Simon stirred the fire, his back to Miranda.
It amazed him that he had not yet wrung her slender neck. So she
thought he could dismiss this gross invasion of his privacy? If she
had intruded any later, the damning papers in his pouch would have
been laid out on the table. She could not know how he had changed
if she thought he would not seek compensation for the way she had
turned his life upside down this night.

He had believed his infatuation with her long
dead, until today. Holding her in his arms, the feel of the rounded
underside of her breast against his fingers, and hearing her
innocently questioning whether he would play Prince Charming and
pursue his Cinder Ella had done more than rekindle those feelings.
He was ablaze with a desire so strong it was driving him mad. Why
else would he be considering seducing her?

Suddenly, all he could think of was the fact
that, in other circumstances, she would now be his wife. If that
were so, he would not have to play with the fire and keep his eyes
turned away from her or risk exposing the heat of his desire to
hold her, to kiss her, to make love to her. For a moment, he
regretted that he had never managed to turn himself into a devil,
despite his efforts. For a devil would have no qualms in seducing
Miss Fenster. But the old duke's training was too firmly branded
into his heart, despite its falsity.

He sighed into the fire, bringing it further
to life.

But he, Simon-the-no-longer-saintly, had more
than qualms. He had good reason not to marry and he'd not risk
getting Miranda with child and bringing a new bastard into the
world. Somehow though, the good reasons didn't seem good enough
tonight. Fate had literally dropped this woman into his arms. And
he was damned tired of the cruel jokes Fate had been playing on
him.

How many of his men had died in India,
fighting the barbaric practices of suttee and the cruel murderous
thugees who struck without warning? But not Simon. He had shrugged
at danger, had thrown himself into the midst of any situation
without a thought to watching his back. And still, he survived. But
he intended to cheat Fate of any satisfaction for leaving the
bastard duke alive. And he would do so without breaking the promise
he had made his father — no, the old duke. The newest duke would
soon be dead, replaced by a true-blooded heir. And Simon Watterly
would exist no more. He would take another name, another life — and
never would he take a wife.

Of a sudden the wind whipped up, wailing past
the cottage. Simon shivered at the sound, remembering how he had
stood motionless, surrounded by murderous thugees, daring Fate to
take him then and there.

The thunder of gunfire and the screams of the
dying men had sounded very much like the laughter of the gods, and
he had not died.

And now he was here, in a one-room cottage
with Miranda only a few feet away. She had been in his arms, had
touched his cheek with her gentle hand. He wanted to believe that
she was truthful when she assured him she was not trying to
compromise him into marriage. He had thought her entirely honest
five years ago.

But of course, that was before he had learned
that Fate was not done playing with him. Since he had been home,
acting as the Duke of Kerstone until he could install a
true-blooded heir, at least a dozen or so young "innocents" had
thrown themselves at his head in some most ingenious schemes, no
doubt configured by their ambitious families. He had found them in
his bed, in his carriage, half-dressed in the garden, and
fully-nude in the library.

He had extracted himself from all the
situations cleanly — even the miss in his bed. She had been the
most innocent-looking of all of them, and he'd paid off her papa
before she had even finished dressing.

Was Miranda like them? Unable to resist, he
glanced over his shoulder. If he had any doubt at all that this
innocent-seeming young woman was wearing no stays, the sight of her
cheerfully slicing fruit and cheese in the lamplight in her damp
dress answered definitively that she was not.

With a hope of dimming the smile on her face
that drew the tension in his belly to a sharp point, he said, "Your
brother would not approve your being alone with me."

Her answer was calm, but her smile actually
widened. "Valentine does sometimes worry overmuch about my
judgment, but I assure you it is sound enough to know that I am
safe with you."

He checked his impulse to pivot and face her,
instead turning his gaze back to the flames. "If you believe so,
you are a fool."

There was a momentary silence, and he
pictured her imagining herself seduced and abandoned, until she
dispelled that notion, her voice ripe with amusement. "I felt
certain that I could trust a man who risked his life to pull one of
the men in his command away from a suttee fire in which he had been
thrown — or who saved a wounded man from death at the hands of
thugees, using his own body as a shield." Her voice softened, all
traces of amusement gone. "Or one who dared scandal by helping a
foolish young lady escape misfortune with her reputation intact.
"

Simon was taken aback. How on earth had this
sheltered miss heard such tales, true as they were? Valentine's
judgment must be as sorely lacking as his sister's. "A man can be
brave in battle and craven in —" he searched for a delicate way to
state his meaning and then decided that Miss Fenster could do well
with a little shock — "lust."

"Not you, Your Grace," she demurred, forcing
him to turn away from the dancing flames to stare at her. Was the
girl completely daft or supremely crafty?

Was it possible she didn't understand what
could happen to her, even after Grimthorpe's assault? "Let me make
it quite clear to you that, even if it were public knowledge about
our ill-spent evening, I could walk away from you with only a blot
that would quickly fade. Your reputation, however, would be ruined
forever."

"You needn't tell me." Her hands stilled for
a moment. The tight line of her lips softened suddenly as she
smiled with a shyness that was absurd given their present
situation. "I was never able to thank you for seconding Valentine
in the duel."

The look in her eyes was even more dangerous
than that of a young woman determined to make herself his wife. He
had seen such a gaze before, in the eyes of his youngest, most
untried men. Dear God, the woman had a case of the hero-worships
for him.

He half rose from his crouch at the fire to
protest, but she lifted the paring knife from the cheese wedge she
was slicing and waved him to silence. "Valentine told me all about
it, you know, even though Mama strictly forbade him."

She lowered her eyes and sliced into the
cheese.

"It was to be my punishment — to hear nothing
more of London. As if I cared." She pressed her lips together,
silencing herself as she took an apple and began slicing it,
wielding the knife with a stroke that cleaved the fruit cleanly
into halves, then quarters, then eighths.

He was shocked. "Surely you had another
chance at a Season? Your reputation remained unmarked. Your parents
must have known you'd grow sensible enough for a second try?"

"I don't know. They never said any such thing
before they died." With a quick shake of her head she added, "Then,
of course, there was no possibility of a Season. I had my sisters
to see to, and Valentine was too far away to be of use."

"Surely you were not left to yourself to
provide for the family? Had you no uncle to step in?" Once again,
Simon wondered at Valentine's lack of responsibility, to leave a
young woman in charge of a badly out-of-pocket household.

Her chin lifted and her gaze met his,
although her face was flushed with color. "I am quite capable, Your
Grace. Valentine never doubted my abilities to attend to things
while he was away."

"I'm surprised you didn't set your cap for a
wealthy spouse, as he did."

She shuddered. "Quite honestly, I was
determined to never marry."

He nearly laughed aloud at the candor he
remembered so well from five years ago, but the subdued panic on
her face reminded him, suddenly, of the expressions of young
soldiers who had not yet gone into battle as they listened to their
more experienced comrades trade stories. "Indeed?"

"Husbands are as bad as fathers. They believe
they have the right to decide how a woman will live her life — and
to beat her if she will not comply."

There was scorn in her voice. For the first
time, Simon was certain that she had not set out to compromise him.
His curiosity rose. "Perhaps you should have conveyed that thought
to Emily. She might not have consented to elope with your brother,
then."

Her chin lifted. "Valentine is different. He
is in love."

"With a well-dowered woman,
conveniently."

"With Emily. And he would love her, dowry or
no."

"Then he will need to adjust his
expectations, and love her from afar, for he will never have
her."

"Does that not break your heart? That anyone
must love from afar when both parties wish the match? It seems so
cruel." Her voice was low, and should not have squeezed the breath
from his lungs as it did. Her gaze met his directly. "Can you not
intercede? Convince your uncle of what a fine man Valentine is? He
is, I promise you."

Simon admired her loyalty, though he wished
she didn't have the tenacity of a dog with a meaty bone. And how
had she turned their conversation from her own danger to the tricky
matter of broken hearts and star-crossed lovers? "Once he makes up
his mind, he never unmakes it."

She sighed. "Yes. That's what Emily said when
she convinced Valentine to run for the border."

Simon laughed softly. "The little minx. And I
always thought her so responsible — for a woman."

Her eyes flashed with momentary indignation,
quickly controlled. "She wanted to help Valentine realize his
dreams. They talked of what use they would have for her inheritance
— Anderlin is in sore need of repair, and they wanted to invest in
the West Indies trade ... "

"Well, if he wants such dreams to come true,
I'd say it is clearly Valentine's duty to find an heiress whose
parents are not so particular. As a beginning, he could bestir
himself from his misery, and not rely on his sister to cure his
troubles."

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes
wide. And then, to his surprise, she bent her head as if in defeat.
Her voice was a mere whisper; "I have done it again, haven't I? I
only wanted to make things right for him, and now I've convinced
you that he is truly the heartless fortune hunter you thought him."
She raised her gaze to his. "It isn't true, Your Grace. I came of
my own accord. Valentine would have stopped me, if he'd known."

"I don't doubt that, Miss Fenster. Still, he
shared a womb with you. I would expect him to know you well enough
by now. If he can't handle you, he should find you a husband who
will."

Her chin lifted. "Valentine is not fool
enough to marry me to a man who seeks to control me. And I would
not want him to marry but for love."

Hearts and hero-worship; he should have
known.

"Then you are both fools, for love is a
temporary aberration, and marriage requires a sharp business acumen
— to ally oneself with an inferior partner will bring you nothing
but disaster for your lifetime." He watched her eyes flash with
fire and wondered how she might ever find a husband who was not
inferior to her magnificence. The thought of her as another man's
wife bred fury in him.

"Valentine is not an 'inferior' partner. He
would have — he
will
make Emily a fine husband. And
certainly you should not speak so cynically. You have had your
choice of alliances and yet you have not married. Surely you are
waiting for the one who touches your heart as well as adds to your
pedigree? Perhaps someone from whom you would not need to hide the
contents of that leather pouch of yours."