The Fairy Tale Bride (9 page)

It was his reputation that concerned her. The
Dukes of Kerstone had been above reproach since the title was
conferred — before that even, when they were mere earls. Should the
duke be made a mockery of for a situation not of his own
making?

True, it would be a minor blot, nothing like
the shame attached to her. But Miranda had been in London briefly.
She knew the avid joy with which this piece of news would be passed
from vicious tongue to jaded ear. No one was more mocked than a
fallen saint. And no one deserved that mockery less than the
duke.

Putting those thoughts aside, Miranda briskly
hugged Hero and pushed her out the door. "Please make sure there is
no one in the kitchen to see me slip away." She added, hoping to
vanquish the odd stare her sister had given her as she turned away
and headed down the stairs, "I have no wish to marry, Hero. Truly I
do not. Not even the Duke of Kerstone, as much as I admire
him."

Becoming his mistress would have been a more
likely outcome — though, of course, she would not have considered
such a thing. One night, that was all she would have wanted — one
night to know what it was that his kisses promised her.

Thankfully, he had been too much of a
gentleman to take advantage of her. She had to be honest — he had
been meddling when he had kissed her the first time. Trying to
teach her a lesson had taught him one. She smiled. Even though the
kiss he had given her was more in the way of a lesson than a
liberty, she knew that he had enjoyed it much more than he had
expected.

Her smile died. He would have insisted that
they marry if he had made love to her. Perhaps Valentine was right.
She was foolish to think life was like a fairytale. Maybe there
were not always happy endings. This ending was the happiest she
would get — no marriage, no more of Simon's kisses.

Still, there was a touch of regret she could
not explain. Perhaps it had to do with the longings that had
plagued her daydreams since he had kissed her. She closed her eyes:
Daydreams were all she had of him. Though, perhaps if she had not
been a silly young girl five years ago ...

Her mind refused to consider the painful
possibility. She would simply have to be grateful that Valentine
would never learn of this. He had become such a prude since his
return from the military, he'd probably lock her in her room and
feed her bread and water for the rest of her life. Or he would try,
anyway.

There was a tapping on her door, and before
Miranda had more time than to snatch the cap from her head and
conceal her disguise in a swirl of dark gray cloak, her youngest
sister dashed into the room, blonde curls straggling from the
ribbon meant to hold them tight.

"Kate, you naughty girl, why aren't you
taking lessons with Juliet?"

The six-year-old's lower lip extended in a
pout. "She called me a terror and boxed my ears."

Miranda suspected there was more to the
story. "Whyever did she do that?"

Kate looked briefly discomfited. "Well ... "
But then, remembering something more important than her sad tale,
the imp smiled. "I forgot, Miranda. Valentine needs you in the
drawing room right away."

"He does?" Miranda considered letting him
stew until she got back from London, but decided that she couldn't
risk it. The trip would take the better part of today and most of
tomorrow.

Absentmindedly, she stroked her sister's hair
back into place. "Go and make peace with Juliet. You know she has
the most beautiful voice of us all, and I shall see that she gives
you a singing lesson if you behave for her."

"Will you also tell me a story?" the child
wheedled. Miranda had no time to bargain. "If you behave, sweet, I
will tell you a story tomorrow when I tuck you in to bed."

Kate nodded, then dashed madly out of the
room, ignoring Miranda's shouted warning. "Don't run, it is not
ladylike."

Miranda felt the weight of the silver thud
against her legs, giving her strength to face Valentine. If only
she could confide in him ... but no, he was no longer the loving,
trusting brother he had been.

Responsibility was a weight on his shoulders
he would not share. She pulled her cloak tightly about her so that
the gray gown was not in evidence and quickly hurried to the
drawing room.

She stopped at the sound of voices, shocked
to find that Valentine had company. The visitor's voice was
unmistakable, and the muscles of her stomach tightened in dismay.
Valentine's guest was none other than Simon Watterly, Duke of
Kerstone.

She hesitated, wondering if she dare enter.
Surely he would not have spoken of their encounter to Valentine.
That would be tantamount to ruining her. Her heart soared with hope
for a moment. Perhaps he had come to help Valentine win Emily back?
After all, he had had time to think over everything that Miranda
had told him.

She took a deep breath and swept into the
room, prepared to be surprised to see the duke after five long
years.

Valentine's frown stopped her cold.

His face was white and his lips were drawn
into the scowl that he had inherited from their mother. "Have you
completely lost your sense of propriety, Miranda? How could you
have done this?"

"Done what?" Miranda asked innocently,
refusing to believe that Simon would have told her brother the
truth. After all, he had as much to lose as she. She would never
forget that bitter laugh of his when she reminded him that they
would not suit.

"Is something wrong, Valentine?" she asked,
hoping that his anger had some other source than her ill-spent
night with Simon. Perhaps Valentine had missed the silver
candlesticks she planned to pawn in London?

"I expected you to have told your brother
everything by now, Miss Fenster." Simon was having none of the
pretense. He made it clear with one crisp sentence that the truth
was out.

Miranda spent one frozen moment in silent
distraction as she stared at his beautiful, strong mouth. She could
not help the rebuke that fell from her lips. "Some people keep
their secrets, Your Grace — in leather pouches, perhaps, but they
keep them."

His lips pressed tightly together until they
were a white line. But he said nothing in apology.

And then, turning to her brother, she tried
to recover the situation before it got out of hand. '"It was a
dreadful mistake Valentine, but don't blame His Grace for it,
please …"

"You had to try to save the family your way,
didn't you, Miranda?" She'd never seen him look so drawn. There
were lines of worry creasing his face that had not been there a few
short weeks ago. His blue eyes showed clearly that he had lost all
shreds of faith in her. "Why didn't you tell me your plans?"

She was incensed at his accusation. He was
speaking to her as if she were a child, not his twin sister. "If
you recall, you were not speaking to anyone – including me when I
climbed though the library window."

"Then you should have waited until I was
better able to deal with your foolishness."

His words, so very like their father's, stung
Miranda deeply. "I don't see any point in telling you anything any
longer, Valentine. You're not the brother I knew."

"I am the head of this household. You should
have told me your plans."

Miranda felt the tears start in her eyes and
was surprised to find that they were tears of happiness. Her
brother was fighting with her again. "You'd have locked me in my
room." She smiled.

Though Valentine did not return her smile,
irony was all that remained of his irritation when he replied, "I'd
have locked you in the attic; you would just escape your room.
Miranda, do you realize what you've done?"

She glanced nervously at the duke. How much
had he confessed? Surely not about the kiss … or anything else. He
was being annoyingly stoic, though, for his expression betrayed
nothing. "No one knows, Valentine. I'm sure that Simon will be
discreet."

"Simon?" Valentine's eyes widened and his
mouth tightened again into a scowl.

Miranda blushed. The familiar address had
become natural in her daydreams.

"I mean His Grace, of course. I'm just
rattled that he brought this matter to your attention. I thought we
had settled it satisfactorily between ourselves."

She turned a stern glance on the duke. "It
was to be a secret between the two of us. No one else was to
know."

"What of Grimthorpe?" he asked in
amazement.

Valentine exploded. "Grimthorpe? I don't know
how you manage these things, Miranda. To accost the duke was
misguided, but to be caught by Grimthorpe is beyond the pale."

"You sound as if you believe that was part of
my plan. And His Grace is overstating the incident. Grimthorpe saw
naught of me. He simply has my boots."

Seeing her brother's stubbornly set face,
Miranda abandoned the attempt to reason with him and turned on the
duke. "We agreed to keep this between ourselves, sir."

"Unfortunately, I could not persuade
Grimthorpe to see it our way. He is set on visiting you and no
doubt is on his way here even as we speak."

"What?" Valentine and Miranda spoke together,
their voices blending into one.

"He cannot know for sure it is me," she said
firmly, though she didn't believe her own words. Grimthorpe coming
here?

Her eyes studied the walls, where rectangular
patched of lighter-colored wallpaper indicated the paintings that
had been sold to cover her father's debts. The mantel was nearly
bare, when it had once held porcelain boxes and figures, as well as
the two sets of candlesticks she had weighing heavily against her
legs.

These were details in which Grimthorpe would
delight. But that was of no importance at the moment. She turned to
Valentine. "You must tell him that I am away visiting a sick
relative."

"Miranda ... "

Knowing she had to take the upper hand unless
she wanted to become a duchess, she interrupted her brother. "Tell
him I've been gone for weeks and will not be home again for a
month. That will convince him that he is mistaken in his
assumptions. And no one need know."

She threw a reproachful glance at Simon. "I
wish that you had come to me first, Your Grace. You have shared our
secret with Valentine, and it will be a hard one for a dutiful
brother to accept."

"It will be impossible," Valentine
sputtered.

"There is no need for upheaval," the duke
said smoothly. "Your sister and I are now officially engaged. I
sent an announcement to the Times last evening with my manservant.
It should appear tomorrow."

He had done what? Miranda and Valentine were
both stunned into silence.

After a moment, Miranda demanded, "How could
you have done such a thing?"

Simon addressed Valentine, brushing off
Miranda's question as if she had not spoken. ''The marriage will
take place in six weeks time, if that is satisfactory."

His eyes touched on Miranda in a way that
made her heart beat faster. "Since Miss Fenster and I were
introduced five years ago, perhaps we could put it about that we
nursed secret longings in our hearts that came to a quick fruition
this past week, during my stay at the Camberley's estate." His
smile had a twist of irony in it. "No one should find that
difficult to believe of her that she wished to live out one of her
own fairytales."

Valentine bristled. "How could you put an
announcement in the paper without speaking to me first? That is
simply not done, Kerstone."

Miranda added, "I have no intention of
marrying you." Neither man paid her the slightest bit of
attention.

The duke focused his attention on Valentine.
"You must see that I had no choice, given the situation."

"I should call you out for this."

"Valentine." Miranda was truly alarmed now.
Shattered as he was at losing Emily, she was afraid that he meant
what he said. "You may not call out the duke. He was not at fault
in any of this." The duke was a crack shot — and to have either man
wounded would be unbearable. To have been the cause of their
dispute would be ten times worse.

Valentine brushed off the restraining hand
she laid on his arm. "Keep out of this, Miranda."

Exasperation made her shout. "How I wish I
had." Both men, again, ignored her.

Simon stood straight, looking magnificently
autocratic. "I should be the one calling you out. You are
responsible for her. And she has made one hell of a mess of my
life. I shall be months untangling this foolishness."

For one moment Miranda thought her brother
would strike the duke. She again rushed to grasp his arm.
"Valentine, be reasonable. You of all people know how my plans
sometimes go awry."

Her brother looked at her as if she were a
stranger.

Miranda continued, her heart squeezed with
pain. "I simply wanted to help you and Emily be together."

He stared blankly at her, and she continued,
not looking at the duke. "His Grace has been very understanding,
except for this nonsense about marriage. Can't you find it within
yourself to be the same?"

The old Valentine suddenly returned as his
blue eyes gazed at her. There was warmth and amusement and
affection radiating from him as he said, "You are right, Kerstone,
she is my responsibility. Until you are wed. And then I'll leave
her to you."

"Valentine! You cannot agree to this
preposterous farce!" Her brother merely laughed and moved to
embrace her.

Aware of her bulky disguise — and somewhat
miffed Miranda stepped away. "Would you sell me to the duke,
then?"

"Mother always told you to think of the
consequences before you acted, not after." He reached for the
brandy — the last of their father's stock, Miranda knew — and
poured two liberal drafts.

"As I am. Should this marriage take place,
the consequences are too horrible to detail." When Valentine did
not respond, Miranda continued. "You promised me that I would not
need to marry if I could not find a man content to let me run my
life."