A Noble Masquerade (24 page)

“Yes.”

“I refuse to interrogate a lady as to whether or not she's forgiven you. Besides, as you said, she doesn't know we know each other.”

Ryland examined his fingernails. “You could ask her about the card game.”

Colin burst from the chair and paced across the room. “You want me to go to this woman's house, ask her to go for a ride, and then proceed to embarrass her thoroughly so that you can have more information with which to create your plan of attack?”

Colin's knowing him well made things much easier. “Yes.”

“No. This is a courtship, not an army invasion.”

“One should always know the factors involved when creating a plan of action. Information is power, and I'm going to need all of the leverage I can get to bring her around. She's being stubbornly female about the whole thing.”

Colin scoffed. “How dare she?” He glared at Ryland. “Find yourself another lackey. I won't do it.”

Time stretched on, the clicking of the mantel clock the only sound as the two men stared at each other.

“My lady, Mr. McCrae has arrived.”

Miranda looked at the butler in surprise. If she were to make a list of all the people returning to partake of Georgina's special brand of refined rejection, Mr. McCrae would certainly not be on it. He had seemed much too intelligent during their conversation at the card party. A glance at Georgina revealed that she was stunned as well.

“Odious man,” Georgina hissed under her breath. “I don't wish to see him, Mother.”

Gibson cleared his throat. “He asked to see Lady Miranda, milady.”

“Oh.” Two sets of startled green eyes turned to Miranda. Mother's were glittering and crinkling at the corners with a small smile. Georgina looked dumbfounded.

Miranda couldn't quite resist the urge to preen. Odious or not, Mr. McCrae was rich and attractive and he'd chosen to visit her instead of Georgina. “Thank you, Gibson. Please show him in.”

Gibson bowed and returned to the front hall. Mr. McCrae strode in moments later.

He bowed to Mother first. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“Same to you, Mr. McCrae. I didn't know we would see you again so soon.” Her smile was a bit larger than socially acceptable. It warmed Miranda's heart that her mother still believed a match could be found for her eldest daughter, even if it was a mere mister and a Scottish one at that.

Mr. McCrae bypassed Georgina entirely, startling a muffled giggle from Miranda. “Lady Miranda, I know this is quite presumptuous of me, but would you care to go for a drive?”

Mother's smiled dimmed a bit. “I don't know—”

“Yes.” Miranda popped up from the settee. “Yes, I would love to.”

Mr. McCrae might not cause a stirring in her middle like Ryland did, but he had been a perfectly pleasant companion at the card party. It was worth considering him as a future husband. The fact that she would be unavailable for Georgina to use as a decoy for the afternoon only added to her anticipation.

And as much as she hated to admit it, loving wife and mother sounded much better than doting aunt.

“Oh, well, I suppose it would be acceptable.” Mother's light green eyes met Miranda's. “An hour. No more.”

Mr. McCrae bowed again. “Of course.”

Miranda placed her hand on his arm. Neither spoke as he escorted her from the room and out the door. The curricle looked brand-new. The seat was unworn, and no signs of mending marred the harness connections. Even the wheels looked free of scuffs.

Settling onto the seat, she realized the curricle was exceptionally well sprung. A vehicle like this would not have come cheaply. She watched Mr. McCrae with an assessing eye as he circled the curricle and climbed up beside her.

“This is very nice.” She ran a hand along the polished wood.

Mr. McCrae's grin was instantaneous and accompanied by a
self-satisfied chuckle. “A friend loaned it to me. I'm considering keeping it. He owes me. I'm doing him a grand favor.”

“Oh.” Miranda didn't know what to say. The answer was not at all what she had been expecting. On the one hand, the fact that he had gone through the trouble of convincing his friend to loan him such a fine curricle was flattering. That he was considering not returning it showed a lack of character she could not condone, although she knew gentlemen took their debts very seriously.

He clicked at the horse, a tall, sleek creature with a beautiful reddish-brown coat. The curricle glided smoothly into the traffic flowing toward Rotten Row. “I enjoyed meeting you last night. I haven't played such an interesting hand of whist in years.”

Miranda flushed. She turned her face to gaze at the passing houses, hoping the edge of her bonnet shielded her face from his eyes. “I confess that I have not either.”

Mr. McCrae waved to a few people before speaking again. “Lady Miranda, may I be ruthlessly honest with you?”

“Of . . . of course.” Could there really be any other response to a question like that? One could hardly say that she would prefer to be lied to and deceived.

“We both know there was more afoot than a game of cards last night, and we also know that I could never compete with a duke as far as social status goes.”

“Mr. McCrae, I can assure you that I find you a most interesting gentleman.” Such a bald statement left her flustered and flaming. She tried to fan her cheeks with subtle hand movements in an attempt to dispel the heat in her face and neck.

He cast her a sideways glance before turning back to the road. “It's glad I am to hear that. I was more wondering if you would say that the duke was an interesting gentleman as well. As I said, I don't have much to compete with him.”

Miranda snorted, which caused her blush to return full force. “Have you had any dealings with him? Wait, that is a silly question. He's only been back in London for a few days.”

“I've worked with him a time or two before.”

“You . . . you have? Then you . . . I mean, you do that too?”

He looked down at the reins for a moment. A muffled cough preceded the lifting of his head. His lips were pressed into a tight line. “Do I do what?”

“Er, what he does.”

“Manage estates? Hardly. I dabble in a shipping company and manage investments.”

“Oh.” Miranda found herself confused. If Ryland had been acting as a spy for the past nine years, how had he worked with Mr. McCrae? “Did you invest money for the duke, then?”

He cleared his throat. “I don't like to discuss such matters. You understand.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

They turned onto Rotten Row, joining the parade of fashionable couples in their open-air conveyances.

“The thing is, Lady Miranda, I'm considering looking into some investments out of town. I know this is terribly forward of me, but I need to know if I should postpone my trip.”

“Mr. McCrae, I—”

“Do call me Colin. It's the least I can offer considering how personal I'm being at the moment.”

Miranda swallowed. “Colin, I don't know what to say to this. I have known you for a mere day.”

She felt trapped as he turned his head to catch her in his blue gaze. It was not the piercing intensity of Ryland's nor the powerful demand for respect she often saw in Griffith's. It was captivating. Like watching the dancing flames of a fire or the repeated licks of the ocean against the sand in Brighton.

He sighed. “There's something between you and the duke,
isn't there? You're a beautiful lady, but I have a sense I shouldn't waste my time courting you. Am I right?”

She opened her mouth, intending to deny the charge that her heart was already taken, but nothing came out. Her encounters with Ryland floated through her memory. For the first time she allowed herself to see how genuine he had managed to be, even while playing the servant. Allowing herself the freedom to imagine a future with the duke, she began to smile and cry at the same time. Getting past the hurt and mistrust was not going to be easy, but maybe it would be worth it.

“I'm sorry, Colin, but I think maybe you are. I'm not entirely sure what will happen with the duke, but I owe it to myself to find out.” A sad smile curved her lips. Colin seemed like a good man. He didn't deserve to have the woman he was courting thinking of another man.

“I understand. Shall we simply enjoy this sunshine, then, as I take the route back home?”

“That would be wonderful, yes.”

They drove on in companionable silence, occasionally breaking it with a remark on a particularly interesting hat or ramifications of seeing certain couples riding out together. They discussed the ball she was to attend later that evening. Miranda participated in the conversation by rote, her mind focused on acclimating to this new way of thinking about Ryland. Was she in love with him? If the answer was yes, what was she going to do?

Colin pulled up in front of her home and jumped down. As he walked her to the door, he looked over his shoulder at the vehicle. “It is a fine curricle, isn't it?”

“It is. I hope your friend will allow you to borrow it again when you find another young lady to take for a drive.”

That large, self-assured grin spread across his face once more. “I think I'll keep it. It's the least Ryland can do after putting me in a position to anger such a lovely woman as yourself.”

The door opened behind Miranda but it felt as if the pavement had just crumbled beneath her feet.

Colin continued speaking as he bowed to her and backed down the four steps to the street. “Do tell him for me at the ball tonight, won't you? That I'm keeping his horse and curricle? He'll understand.”

He tipped his hat.

Miranda stomped into the house. Apparently Colin McCrae was not such a nice man after all.

“You're going to break that fan.”

Miranda ceased the staccato slap of her folded fan against her arm and turned to find the younger of her brothers leaning against the wall. It didn't surprise her. He'd been her shadow since the card party, waiting to see what would happen next between her and Ryland.

Miranda was beginning to wonder herself. It had been a week since Colin had taken her for a ride. During that time Ryland had kept their interactions brief and public, never giving her the chance to confront him about what he'd done. The conflicted emotions it was causing were maddening.

She glared at her brother. “Do you have a point?”

Trent shrugged and pushed away from the wall, strolling the two steps necessary to reach her side. “That it would be a sad waste of a fan, I suppose. After all, it's done nothing to harm you. Your energy would be much better spent if you directed it at the actual problem, wouldn't it?”

“The problem, as you put it, has not seen fit to make an appearance yet this evening.” Her volatile mood had driven her to the corner to sulk and glare at the doorway, daring Ryland to appear. Agitation sent her hand into motion once more, the
lace border of her fan doing little to pad the clicking of the ivory ribs as she tapped her arm.

“Maybe he doesn't know you're here.” Trent eased a hand toward the fan. Miranda rapped him on the knuckles before resuming her rhythmic motion.

“He knows. Somehow he always knows. He knows when I go shopping so I'm positive he knows when I attend a social event.” Her foot joined the fan in announcing her displeasure. The infernal man had driven her to abandon her carefully held ladylike veneer. It terrified her that he had caused such a lack of decorum and he wasn't even in the room. That more than anything revealed how much he must matter to her. It wasn't smart to let him matter to her. She still had questions.

Trent cleared his throat. “Do you want him to show up?”

Did her grin look as evil as it felt? “Oh yes indeed. You see, if he doesn't show up he can't ask me to dance, and if he doesn't ask me to dance, I can't give him the cut direct he so very much deserves.”

Her brother's sputter brought a momentary flash of happiness to her mood. “You . . . you intend to cut him here? In the ballroom? If you refuse to dance with him you'll be sitting out everything for the rest of the evening. To dance with someone else would be unforgivably rude.”

“Then maybe I'll be unforgivably rude. Unlikely though. I spend more and more time on the fringes as it is. If I find it too tedious, I can always go home.” Miranda shrugged and returned her attention to the door. Had she missed him come in while Trent distracted her?

“He's a duke, Miranda!”

“So I hear.”

Ryland appeared in the doorway to the ballroom.

Miranda's heart skipped a beat as she took in his broad shoulders and exquisite male grace. He moved through the
ballroom easily, despite its packed confines. His height allowed her to keep track of him. His head didn't swing back and forth as most people's would, but she sensed he was methodically searching the ballroom. Maybe it was prideful, but she assumed he was looking for her.

She tried to remember how she felt after Colin had taken her riding. She thought through every question Ryland's actions had raised since she'd returned to London. She did everything she could to remind herself that she was angry at the handsome man.

Memories from the week warred with her disgust for the front of her mind. His tweaked lips when he asked for a recommendation of a good stationery store. Preferably one specializing in colored parchments.

Him “dropping” his greatcoat in front of a woman huddling with two small children outside the opera house. He'd waited until Miranda had climbed into Griffith's carriage, but she'd still seen the caring deed.

Him offering to hold her packages while she and Georgina stepped into Gunter's for ices one afternoon.

She frowned and brought to mind the memory of him talking to her about her letters in the guise of Griffith's valet. If that didn't keep her ire up, nothing would.

Trent stepped forward, abandoning his careless position. “You can't cut a duke.”