Breathless (7 page)

“I've made you very angry,” he said, sounding sorrowful. “I didn't mean to. It's only a word, Lady Miranda.”

“So is whore. Lightskirt. Trollop. Outcast. All only words.”

He appeared unchastened. “Not to mention monster. Abomination. Villain. You can be assured I know a great deal about the power of words. I hadn't thought you were so vulnerable.”

She stiffened. “I'm not.”

“Of course you are. I apologize. I wouldn't want anything to hurt our friendship.” He took her arm, and his hand covered hers, stroking her reassuringly.

She knew she should pull away again. But he was looking down at her, his pale eyes were like ice, sharp and hypnotic, and she'd given up so much already. She didn't want to give him up as well, even though she knew she should. This man was truly like a scorpion, a poisonous sting when one least expected it.

And then, to her amazement, his fingers brushed her cheek, turning her stubborn face to his. “Forgive me?” he said softly, and she felt herself slipping again, under his spell.

No wonder they called him the scarred devil. The Scorpion, who hypnotized its victim before delivering that lethal sting. When he touched her face she felt
more than Christopher St. John had ever managed to elicit from her. It was dangerous, it was seductive and it shocked her, but she couldn't move. She stood perfectly still, staring up into his ravaged face, and he moved closer, and she wanted him to kiss her.

“Ooops, sorry, old man,” someone said from the end of the hallway, and the couple disappeared in a welter of giggles and whispered comments, but he'd already moved back from her, and the moment was over.

“Don't worry,” he said in the soft, seductive voice. “They didn't recognize you. They're talking about me and what poor victim I'd lured up here.”

She took a deep breath. “Did you lure me up here?”

“Not at all. I asked you to accompany me while I helped a friend. Nothing secretive about it.” He nodded toward a pair of chairs tucked into the embrasure. “Do you mind if we sit while I continue to abase myself? I find it difficult to stand for too long.”

The last bit of offense vanished as concern flooded her. “Of course,” she said. “I should have thought of that. I'm sorry—when I'm with you I forget about…”

“Forget that I'm a monster?” He sounded amused but also faintly surprised. “If so, then you're the only one.” He waited until she sat down, and took the chair opposite her. “While I, on the other hand, have to stare at that loo mask and wonder exactly what you're thinking.”

She glanced at the empty hallway, then reached up and untied it, letting it drop into her lap before she raised her chin to meet his gaze.

“Ah, that's much better. You're quite lovely, you know.”

“I hadn't realized your vision was impaired, as well,”
she replied quite fearlessly. “I'm perfectly ordinary and you know it. Ordinary brown hair, ordinary shape and height, ordinary brown eyes.”

She startled him for a moment, and then he laughed. “I like it that you're almost impossible to intimidate, Lady Miranda. My vision is perfect, and even stronger in the shadows. Are you that needy for compliments that you want to drag them out of me? Surely you've had more than your share?”

“Surely I haven't,” she replied. “I'm considered quite ordinary. The only thing remarkable about me is my fall from grace, and I hardly think that's an advantage.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and she felt his gaze like a touch, running from her dark hair, down her face and slender neck, over her breasts and her waist, down her legs to her feet and then back up again. It was a thorough examination, and if she'd been missish she would have blushed, but she withstood it calmly. And then he smiled.

“Someday,” he murmured, “I'll tell you about yourself. But this is neither the time nor place.”

She opened her mouth to speak, when she heard a sudden thump against the wall of the bedroom opposite them, and a frown crossed her companion's face.

“What was that?”

“A very clumsy mouse,” he grumbled. Another inebriated couple appeared at the end of the hallway, and he glared at them, so swiftly that they practically ran the other way. It happened too quickly for her to replace her mask. She could only hope it was too quickly for them to get a good look at her.

“A mouse?” she said dryly. He must be keeping guard for one of those illicit dalliances he'd talked about,
making sure no one walked in on a friend who was in bed with someone else's wife. But he had no friends, he'd said, no true friends. And he was hardly the type of man to do a favor for an acquaintance.

“A slow, clumsy mouse,” he said, leaning back. “Who needs to hurry up. In the meantime, why don't you tell me about your family. You have brothers, do you not? Any sisters?”

She shook her head. “Just the three brothers. Benedick, the oldest, is the heir. He and his wife are expecting their second child. Charles is the middle brother, just returned from Italy with his new wife. And there's my younger brother Brandon, whom I adore. He's in Yorkshire right now with the rest of my family, but when he returns I'll introduce you. I think he would love to meet you. I think my entire family would.”

A faint, cold smile crossed his face. “I imagine they would.”

She heard a muffled sigh from beyond the thin walls, the low murmur of voices, and she smiled. “Someone is clearly enjoying themselves. Is that why we're standing guard?”

He blinked. “What makes you think we're standing guard?”

“A favor for a friend, you said. I imagine you're making sure no one interferes with his tryst. I'm guessing one party or the other is someone so well-placed that the shock of exposure would topple the government, and therefore for the sake of the kingdom we're here to make certain no one walks in on them.”

He was clearly amused. “You think I care about the safety of the kingdom? Not likely, but I suppose that's as good an explanation as any. If people come in search
of an empty bedroom they'll see us sitting here and head in another direction, making life a great deal simpler. But don't we have more interesting things to discuss? For instance, why you greeted me with icy reproach? Have I done something to offend you?”

For a long moment she said nothing. And then she met his gaze fearlessly. “You're playing the game…and I'm well out of it. I can simper and smile and say ‘of course not' and you'd pursue it and I'd laugh and hide my face behind my fan. But I don't have to do that anymore. I spent four hours alone in your company ten days ago, having a wonderful time, the best I've had since I can remember. We talked about everything, and I thought we became friends. Good friends. And then I heard nothing from you for ten days. I was left to assume that the feelings of friendship were one-sided and I'd been foolishly optimistic, and then you stroll into my life again as if nothing had happened.”

“I assure you, I don't stroll,” he said, his voice cool. “So you're angry that I haven't paid enough attention to you?”

It sounded so petty. She should have simply lied, as everyone else did. “Yes.”

He surveyed her for a long moment. “Honesty is a very unsettling trait. It's not something I'm used to.”

“I'm sorry. You have many friends, I only have one. I put too much importance on a simple conversation and…”

“Stop it!” he said sharply, his silken voice becoming harsh. He took a deep breath. “I didn't pursue our acquaintance because I was afraid your family would get wind of it and interfere. And I didn't want to embark on a friendship that would be terminated abruptly.”

“But why should my family object to our friendship?”

“My reputation precedes me. I'm afraid I'm quite notorious, and I'm known to have some most unsavory acquaintances. Most families bar me from the door.”

“My family doesn't tell me what to do. I live my own life, independently. If we choose to be friends, then they have nothing to say in the matter.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then ride with me tomorrow. In full view of everyone. At four in the afternoon, we'll ride down Rotten Row and give the old biddies something to talk about.”

“Absolutely.”

There was an odd look in his pale eyes, one almost of triumph, but at that moment there was a muffled double knock on the wall, and the earl rose, leaning heavily on his cane. “Then that's settled. May I drive you home?”

Miranda shook her head. “I came with my friend, and I need to find her.”

“Ah, yes. Miss Pagett with the miserable fiancé.” He was leading her away from the mysterious room, chatting amiably. “I'm afraid you're having a very deleterious effect on your friends, Lady Miranda. You're leading Miss Pagett astray.”

Miranda flushed. “I tried to stop her.”

“And yet, here you are, and for that I'm indescribably grateful. Shall we go in search of her?”

“No need,” she said as they turned the corner. Jane was sitting in a corner, her loo mask gone, an odd ex
pression on her face. And then she saw Miranda and her relief was plain as she rose on unsteady feet.

“You go to her,” Lucien said, releasing her arm. “I doubt Mr. Bothwell would appreciate his future wife being introduced to the Scorpion. I'll pick you up at four tomorrow. Be ready.”

“But…” He'd already walked away, disappearing into the crowds, and Miranda moved ahead, catching Jane's trembling arms in hers.

“Jane, dearest, did something happen? You look upset.”

Jane's laugh was a little shaky. “You won't believe it when I tell you, but you'll have to wait until we get back to the house. Let's get out of here.”

Miranda cast one last look behind her, but Lucien de Malheur had disappeared. She turned back to her friend with deep foreboding. Jane was looking just as she ought to look—happy and excited and in love.

And Miranda knew that something was very wrong.

“Y
ou did
what?
” Miranda demanded, staring at her friend in astonishment.

They were back in Miranda's cozy little house, the dominos discarded, the dancing slippers gone as well, sitting by a fire in the small salon where Cousin Louisa usually held court. That stout lady had retired to bed, and they were entirely alone.

“I didn't do it! He's the one who kissed me.” She blushed. “And I have to say it was quite delightful. You never told me men use their tongues when they kiss.”

“They do?” Miranda said doubtfully. “I don't remember St. John doing anything like that, but he was fairly abrupt and practical about the whole horrid business. So you're telling me you were thoroughly kissed by a jewel thief and you didn't scream for help?”

“I promised I wouldn't,” she said with a weak smile. “He definitely wasn't a gentleman—I could tell that by his voice. But he was very tall, and very strong, and yet quite gentle when he kissed me.” She had a faraway look in her eyes, and Miranda's heart sank.

“Love, I don't want you to marry a stiff, prosing bore
like Bothwell, but you simply can't fall in love with a member of the criminal class. You know that, don't you?”

For a moment Jane looked deflated, and she nodded. “But you managed to change your life by running away.”

“Not necessarily for the better. I enjoy my life tremendously, but I wouldn't wish it on you. And did this ruffian ask you to run away with him?”

“Of course not,” she said, sounding disappointed. “And if he had, I certainly wouldn't have gone. It was just so…so…”

“Exciting?” Miranda suggested, but Jane shook her head. “Frightening? Distracting? Entertaining? Tempting?”

“Delicious,” she said with a shy smile, brushing her hair away from her face.

Miranda froze. “What the bloody hell is
that?
”

“
What?
” Jane said, confused.

“On your finger. That's not Bothwell's tiny little ring.”

Jane looked at her hand, and jumped, uttering a distressed squeak. A very large, very handsome diamond now rested on the ring finger of her left hand, and she yanked at it, trying to pull it off. It wouldn't budge.

“Oh, no,” she moaned.

“Where's Bothwell's ring?”

She held out both hands, but the plain, cheap little ring was nowhere in sight. “Oh, God, what am I going to do, Miranda? How will I ever explain this to him?”

“Try your pockets.”

She did, hurriedly reaching into the pockets sewn
into her dress, and breathed an audible sigh of relief. “It's here.”

“Now all you have to worry about is getting the other one off.”

“And returning it to its rightful owner,” she said, yanking at it.

“Don't do that—you'll make your finger swell and it'll be even worse. We'll use warm water and soap and it will slip right off. I presume it belongs to the duchess of Carrimore?”

“Of course it does. What else would draw a jewel thief in the middle of a party? We have to get it back to her!” Jane looked as if she wanted to cry.

“That'll teach you to go kissing jewel thieves in the middle of the night,” Miranda said cheerfully.

“Don't laugh! This is a serious problem.”

“You meet a quixotic jewel thief who kisses you and slips a diamond ring on your finger. Next thing we know he'll be asking you to marry him.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” She stopped fretting at the ring. “I'm marrying Mr. Bothwell.”

“Of course you are…. Unfortunately. But aren't you glad you at least had a taste of adventure?”

Jane absently put her hand to her mouth, and the diamond ring sparkled in the candlelight. Miranda watched, and an unexpected spark of jealousy danced through her. The dreamy expression still lingered in Jane's deep brown eyes, and the fingers that touched her slightly swollen lips were a subtle caress. Miranda had never been kissed like that, and it was more than likely she never would. She'd never know that swept-away feeling, that tender, almost painful longing for something you
could never have. She had been ruined in more ways than one.

“I think,” said Jane sadly, “I might have been better off without it.”

Miranda could feel the pain in her voice. “The good thing is, no one knows about it. No one but the thief, and he's hardly likely to start talking. You'll forget all about this once you're happily married.”

“I thought you didn't want me to marry Mr. Bothwell.”

“I don't, but it's better than running off with a jewel thief,” she said frankly. “And don't worry about the ring. I'll ask the earl what we should do about it.”

“You aren't going to tell him what happened!” Jane protested, horrified.

“Of course not. I'll tell him I found it. But he's a very clever man—I expect he'll figure out a way to re turn it with no one the wiser.” She couldn't rid herself of the sudden suspicion that the earl knew far too much about the jewel thief and the Carrimore diamonds. But that was absurd—he was a peer of the realm. With a worse reputation than she enjoyed. But still, it was ridiculous.

Jane glanced down at the ring, a wistful expression on her face. “That would be for best…wouldn't it?”

“Yes, dearest,” Miranda said, tucking her arm around Jane's waist. “You can't keep it, as gorgeous as it is. Don't fret about it. You just get a good night's sleep and tomorrow everything will be resolved.”

But she knew Jane would do no such thing. She would lie in bed, and touch her mouth again, and remember what her mysterious admirer had said and done. And the
sooner she got married off to the odious Mr. Bothwell, the safer she would be.

It was a great deal too bad that safety no longer looked so appealing.

 

“You did what?” Lucien de Malheur demanded of his criminal confederate.

“I kissed a proper young lady who happened to stumble in on me while I was gathering the duchess's extra diamonds. I don't know how she got there—probably the servants' access. One moment I was alone in the room, scooping up the diamonds, in the next she was there. What else was I to do but kiss her?”

“Break her neck?” Lucien suggested dryly.

“You know I wouldn't do that. Not to an innocent. Besides, she was such a shy, sweet little thing. Though not so little, if I recall. Clearly she needed kissing.”

“You're just lucky she didn't scream her head off.” The earl's voice was sour; he'd been thinking too much about Miranda Rohan and it had put him in a foul mood. Jacob's romantic dalliances didn't help.

“Oh, I made sure she couldn't,” Jacob said. “And even if she had it wouldn't have been a problem. I could have just dove out the window and be off before she managed to raise the wind on me. You would have been perfectly safe.”

“I wasn't worried. I just think you're being a little reckless. You had half a dozen men who could have done your job tonight, and yet you chose to endanger yourself and me.”

Jacob Donnelly shrugged his wide shoulders and began using his aristocratic accents. “Don't worry,
I won't be seeing her again. I don't even know her name.”

“I do. It's Jane Pagett. She's engaged to marry some dull stick named George Bothwell, and she happens to be Miranda Rohan's closest friend.”

Jacob looked undaunted. “Too bad we can't have a double wedding.”

Lucien swore. “How many wives do you have at this point, Jacob? Half a dozen?”

“None of them legal,” Jacob said cheerfully. “And there's none that calls themselves that at the moment. I'm fancy free.”

“Keep it that way,” Lucien said in a chilly voice. “My life is complicated enough.”

“And how are your plans working out? Is the lady enamored?”

“Completely. She's a great deal more outspoken than I expected, but in the end that will serve me well, I think. I'll just move things up a little faster than I planned.”

“You were seen with her tonight—I heard the servants talking. It won't take long for word to get to her family, and then all hell will break loose.”

“I know what I'm doing. I wish I could say the same for you.”

“Jesus, Lucien, it was only a kiss.”

“Just so long as you keep your distance in the future. You're sure she didn't get a good look at you?”

“It was black as night. I saw her, she couldn't see me. Ah, but Lucien…” he said, shaking his head, leaning back in his chair. “She tasted…delicious.”

 

The next few days were almost too lovely, Miranda thought in retrospect. That in itself should have been a
warning—after twenty years of a singularly blessed life she'd learned that things could turn ugly very quickly. Who would have thought falling in love with Christopher St. John would have led to such disaster?

She'd accepted she would spend the rest of her life as a disgraced nun, shunned by former friends, living a secluded life empty of love and life and joy. A calm life.

But now, suddenly, there was Lucien De Malheur. Not so handsome, not so charming, and yet he totally bewitched her, with his soft, lazy voice, his wit, the faint tinge of malice directed toward those who deserved it. The way he moved, despite the limp, the way he mocked the prudes who looked down on them both. And there was something in the pale eyes that watched her, something she refused to define, that nonetheless filled her with the kind of longing she thought she would forever be impervious to.

They rode together, laughing, knowing disapproving eyes were watching them. He joined her for tea, much to Cousin Louisa's fascination and Jane's astonishment. He teased her into calling him Lucien, he flattered her so extravagantly all she could do was laugh. He took her to the opera and kissed her hand decorously and she wondered if it were possible that after all she had been through, after all this time, she was capable of falling in love.

She hoped not. She knew perfectly well that those hopes were doomed.