Her Wicked Ways (12 page)

“You look inordinately pleased.”

She snapped her gaze to his. “You stopped the music.”

“And yet you’re still dancing.” He continued to move her in time, as if the music played on. “Why were you smiling?”

“Our dancing alone together like this is a bit scandalous, isn’t it? Or at least it would be in Town.”

His eyes widened slightly, and his step faltered, but he didn’t halt. His gaze was intense. “You said you
liked
bold.”

“And that’s why I’m here instead of in London.” Miranda returned his regard. He looked handsome tonight. As clean and well-turned out as he’d been at the vicarage. Here was a man who worked hard, yet seemed as comfortable on an imaginary dance floor as in the field. Remarkable.

They swirled about the floor as if they danced every night. “I’m surprised you didn’t attend the assembly. You dance divinely.”

He seemed to stand even taller. “Mrs. Gates insisted I learn to dance. And I, ah, I rather enjoy it.”

She adjusted her hand on his shoulder, smoothed it over the blue wool. “Then I’m doubly surprised you didn’t go to the assembly.”

He flicked her an intense glance. “I’m too busy to bother with social endeavors.”

She felt the burden in the knotted muscles beneath her hand. “The orphanage?”

His fingers splayed across her spine, and the divine closeness of their dance rushed over her once more. If he’d been any other man... “And other responsibilities, yes.”

She tilted her head, working to ignore the shocking thrill of his touch.
Focus on his words, Miranda
. “Bassett Manor?”

He raised a brow, seeming to have regained his earlier sense of happy amusement. “Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

He inclined his head. “It’s been in my family for centuries. It was built in the late 1100s, destroyed by fire a few centuries later and rebuilt. When the house was ruined, our neighbors at Stipple’s End invited my ancestors to stay with them. The prolonged visit culminated in the marriage of my several times great-grandfather from Bassett Manor to my several times great-grandmother from Stipple’s End, thus joining the properties. Together they make up just over two thousand acres.”

She’d no idea his holdings were so vast or the history so rich. “It’s no wonder you’re so busy, especially since the leak in the hall started up again.” She studied him. He seemed so capable, and yet...“How can you let it go unchecked?”

He stopped. Abruptly. Miranda tottered on her feet, but he steadied her before dropping his hands. “It’s not unchecked. I am well aware of the threat it poses.” He turned and strode to the fireplace, keeping his back to her.

“I’m no expert, but surely you can at least throw a piece of canvas over the hole.”

He turned and the stark lines of his face were cast into relief as firelight flickered behind him. “Do you have a spare piece of canvas, Lady Miranda?” His tone chilled her mood. The camaraderie they’d shared during the waltz gone as if it had never been.

Too late, Miranda wondered if he couldn’t afford canvas. She’d no idea how much it cost. “There’s no call to be boorish.”

He took a step forward. His eyes sparked. “I can see you have no conception of how the real world works.”

Why was he so angry? She hadn’t insulted him. At least, she hadn’t
meant
to. “Perhaps not. But what is the real world, Mr. Foxcroft? What is real to you may not be what is real to me.”

The flesh around his mouth tightened. “Just because you don’t see it, don’t understand it, doesn’t mean it isn’t real. This orphanage, these lives,” he swept his arm in a wide arc, “are more real than anything you’ll ever encounter.”

Now he was insulting her. “I’ll just go back upstairs until Mrs. Gates returns. Good night, Mr. Foxcroft.”

Miranda turned on her heel and quit the room. Only as she climbed the stairs did she realize she hadn’t gotten a book.

Chapter Six

FOX slammed his fist on the mantel. Things had been going perfectly, and he’d allowed his pride to get the better of him.

She’d danced with
him
. Fox. Not the highwayman. Not Stratham.
Montgomery Foxcroft
.

Hell’s teeth, he was an idiot. She hadn’t meant to insult him. At least he didn’t think so.

He pushed away from the mantel and stared into the fire. The repair they’d completed last month hadn’t held, and the leak had begun dripping again yesterday. A review of the roof that afternoon had revealed further damage, courtesy of the cold, wet weather. They
could
cover it with canvas, and he was damned irritated he hadn’t thought to do that. He’d been too focused on the repair. Or perhaps distracted by a tempting heiress.

The seemingly silly London chit had come up with a solution, at least temporarily. The canvas would probably be sufficient for the summer, provided the weather improved, allowing him time to come up with additional funds. And he’d obtain those funds…from marrying her?

Not bloody likely
. Fox swiped his hand through his hair, not caring how tousled he appeared. She wouldn’t be coming back. He clenched his fist. He’d held her in his arms and allowed her to slip away.

Would she have done so if she knew he and the highwayman were the same person? Had she even an inkling? She hadn’t seemed to. With the highwayman, she’d flirted, she’d teased, she’d invited. What about him brought those things out in her? How could he, as Fox, elicit those same responses?

He’d been so close with the waltz. She’d been impressed, laughing, beautiful. Carefree. Unlike any woman he’d ever known. Ah, but to be as unfettered as she for even a short while. But he had been. In her arms.

Heels tapped in the doorway. His head snapped up.

Miranda paused just inside the library. She was lovely with her golden hair swept up from her neck, a few gentle curls wisping about her face. She wore an emerald gown, probably far grander than most at the assembly tonight. The color made her aqua eyes appear deeper, richer than any precious gem. Chin held high, swathes of color bloomed in her cheeks “Mr. Foxcroft. I came for a book. I forgot to take one with me.”

“Is there a particular book you’re looking for?” Fox cleared his throat for he sounded as if he’d eaten sand.

“Uh, no.” Her gaze moved over the room. She hesitated for a moment and then stepped before the bookshelf.

He walked toward her, intent on making the most of this second chance. “I apologize for my behavior. I didn’t mean to insult you.” He stopped a few feet from her and rested his hand on the bookcase.

She turned her head, her lashes sweeping over her eyes quickly before she looked forward once more. “You’re right. We’re from different worlds. I shouldn’t have presumed to know you or your work.”

He ran his finger over a copy of
Lyrical Ballads
. “Actually, your tent idea is a good one. And you really must call me Fox. We might be from different worlds, but you’re in my world now, and in my world everyone calls me Fox.”

She pivoted and fixed her aqua gaze on him. His body, already in heightened awareness, heated beneath her regard. She plucked his book from the shelf. “What were you reading?”

“
Tristram Shandy
. It’s a particular favorite of mine.”

She handed the book to him. “It was my brother’s favorite also. My eldest brother. The one who died.”

He accepted the tome, wrapped his palm around the spine. “I’m sorry about that.”

She glanced back at the bookshelf. “Don’t be sorry for me, be sorry for Jasper. He went from careless spare to scrutinized heir in the blink of an eye.”

He loved hearing these details, wanted to know everything about her. And not just because it might make his seduction easier. “That was hard for Jasper?”

The ghost of a smile played upon her face. Something kept her emotion for her family at bay. “Yes. He’s very active and though our father encouraged athletic pursuits, he expected Jasper to be good at all things—including academia. Not that Jasper isn’t terribly intelligent, but he’s much happier riding than reading. These are all poetry here?” She inclined her head toward the row of books.

“Yes. Novels are down there.” He turned to lead her down the wall, but paused. “I shouldn’t assume you want a novel. Perhaps you’d prefer a treatise on crop rotation?”

She let out a soft, gentle laugh. It was short, but a sweeter sound he couldn’t imagine. “A novel, I think.”

They strolled a few feet down the shelf and he stopped before the novels. “There are quite a few.”

“You’re very knowledgeable about the orphanage library. Do you spend a lot of time here, then?”

“Yes, you could say this is my library in that I don’t keep many books at Bassett Manor. It makes more sense to keep them here where the children may use and benefit from them.”

“Your dedication to the orphans is remarkable.” She looked up at the shelves, strolled back and forth twice.

“Do you want to look up there? I’ll get the stairs.” Fox deposited his book on the shelf and went to the mobile stairs in the corner. He pushed the large oak contraption toward Miranda, its wheels squeaking along the wood floor. He brought it to a stop in front of the novels.

She turned to him, her pink lips parted. He imagined her tongue darting out and committing unspeakable acts. His temperature rose even higher, and suddenly his infernal cravat threatened to squeeze off his air supply. He held his hand out to assist her onto the stairs.

She took it, her soft flesh connecting with his. The jolt of pleasure he’d enjoyed during their waltz spread through his frame. She seemed unaware of her effect on him. “Thank you.”

Fox merely nodded. He assumed a position at the base of the stairs and watched her ascend, trying not to ogle her swaying backside. She perused the shelf another minute or two and then removed a volume before turning. As she stepped out to descend, her foot caught something—truthfully he wasn’t watching her feet—and the book flew out of her hands.

And into his nose.

“Oh!” She hurried down the stairs, stopping near the bottom so she stood at eye level with him.

Fox managed to catch the unintended weapon with one hand. The other he used to massage his stinging face. She brushed his hand away. “Let me see.” She leaned forward and studied his nose while Fox tried not to think about how close her lips were, how alluring her spicy citrus scent was, how badly he wanted to kiss her again.

And then she made matters worse by
touching
him.

She reached out and ran her fingers along his nose. “It’s not broken, is it? It doesn’t look swollen, just very, very red.” Her eyes met his. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“Fine.” And then her words about boldness came back to him, and he gave in to impulse. “You could kiss it.”

She pulled her head back the tiniest fraction, but seemed to consider, her golden brows drawing together.

Had he gone too far? “I thought you liked bold.” He said this with less confidence, but infinite hope.

“Hmmm. Perhaps I should.” She leaned forward again. If he took the first step, just below her, his mouth would replace his nose—

“Here you are!” Mrs. Gates bustled into the library, thoroughly shattering the moment.

Fox stepped back instead of onto the stairs, put his head down instead of up, urged his body to relax instead of enflame. He handed the novel to Miranda.

She took it without looking at him. “Good evening, Mrs. Gates. How did you enjoy the assembly?”

His surrogate mother clapped her hands together and beamed. “Delightful. Simply delightful. I can’t thank you enough. And the children, they were no trouble?”

Miranda shook her head. “None at all.”

Mrs. Gates looked at Fox. “The boys were no trouble, either?”

He stared at her while trying to form a coherent answer. His mind was still kissing Miranda, disrobing her, savoring the feel of her body…Christ, he couldn’t fantasize about that right now. “Perfect angels.”