Her Wicked Ways (18 page)

“You could dance with Mr. Foxcroft,” Delia suggested.

Every head in the room swiveled toward the door. She spun around. Fox leaned against the doorframe. He arched a brow, and she couldn’t determine his reaction at being called out like that.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to see that the instruction of dance may not be your forte.”

She arched a brow at him in challenge. “And you think you could do better? The children have asked for a waltz demonstration, if you are so inclined.”

“I’m willing to give it a go. Though I’m not wearing the right shoes.” He glanced down at himself. True, his scuffed brown boots were not at all conducive to an elegant waltz, but he looked rather nice today in tan breeches, dark blue jacket, and simply knotted cravat.

“Are you begging off, then?” Had she sounded hopeful? While he danced superbly, she didn’t want to get that close to him. Not after they’d done such a good job avoiding each other.

“Certainly not.” He joined her in the center of the room and looked around. “Is there music?”

Miranda gestured to the eight-year-old boy sitting near the windows. “Young Martin has been playing his flute.”

Fox smiled at him. “Can you play something to which we can move like this?” He stepped his feet in three-quarter time.

Martin nodded and began to play.

Fox faced her and bowed. Cornered, she took his hand, not at all sure she wanted to touch him. Since turning down his marriage proposal, she’d barely spent any time with him, let alone in close proximity. She held her breath, sure their awkwardness with each other would translate into a disastrous demonstration.

He swept her into the waltz, transporting her back to the perfection of their first dance. Today, with the accompaniment, they moved as one, and it was the closest she’d been to her old life since she’d been forced to leave it.

She closed her eyes briefly and let him lead her, let the music relax her tension, let herself enjoy the moment. When she opened them again, his gaze burned strong, intent, reminding her exactly of their first waltz. She couldn’t look away, nor did she want to.

And so they danced.

Until Martin finished his song. In fact, she didn’t realize until after he finished that the music had stopped. As with their previous waltz, they’d continued to dance without music.

“So beautiful,” one of the girls murmured.

“Yes,” Fox agreed, but Miranda knew he and the girl were not commenting on the same thing. A spike of heat burned her neck, and Miranda stepped back. The jade of Fox’s eyes seemed to drown out the gold, as if the flame within him had been doused, before he looked away from her.

“When can we learn it, Lady Miranda?” Lisette clasped her hands before her in an urgent plea.

Miranda smoothed her suddenly dewy palms against her skirt. “Soon, I’m sure. But we’ve had enough today.”

As if she’d overheard, Mrs. Gates appeared at the doorway. “It’s time for afternoon chores. Past time actually.” She smiled. “But I hated to break up such a beneficial lesson. Did you all enjoy your dancing?”

“Oh yes!” The girls twittered all at once, both to Mrs. Gates and to each other. They began to file out of the library. As the last pair passed, Miranda overheard a conversation.

“Maybe Lady Miranda will marry Mr. Foxcroft, and then she’ll be with us forever!”

“Nonsense. Why would she stay here when she could go back to London?”

“But they dance so divinely together!”

Miranda looked away from them, and her gaze connected with Fox’s. From the way he stared at her, she guessed he’d overheard them too.

Beatrice got up from her chair. “Miranda, I’ll be ready to leave in a trice. I just need to run up and fetch, er, something.” She ducked out of the library before Miranda could ask what. Besides, Fox was still staring at her.

And now they were alone. Again. Good Lord, but the country was unconcerned with propriety. When she thought of it that way, Wootton Bassett seemed the perfect place for her to be. Ironic that her parents believed her safe from herself out here—or at least safer than she’d been in London.

Her brain urged her to pick up her feet and flee Fox’s presence.

He stood maybe twenty four inches from her. “Do they know you’re leaving?”

Miranda’s gut clenched and her feet remained rooted to the floor. “No. But
I
don’t even know that I’m leaving.”

His body shifted, opened up somehow. “You mean there’s a chance you’ll stay?”

She caught the hope quickening his voice and remorse twitched her shoulders. “No. I was speaking sarcastically. Of course I’m leaving. I just don’t know when.”

He exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath during her response. “They love you, you know. And you seem to have grown fond of them. Why wouldn’t you consider staying? Or perhaps visiting?”

“Oh, I may visit.” But Miranda couldn’t think of when or how. Once she returned to her life, there would be an endless succession of social engagements and obligations, as there had always been. At one time, she’d been sure she could never endure a summer without such activities. Except she had. And, in truth, didn’t miss them as she anticipated she would.

The gold in his eyes reignited. “Is that why you turned down my proposal? Because you can’t see yourself living here?”

Miranda’s insides heated. “Partly, yes.”

“And the other partly?”

“There are many other ‘partlies.’”

“And you’re not going to offer any of them, are you?” The tone of his voice deepened. It rustled over her like a silk chemise.

“Why did you propose?” As soon as she asked the question, she wished she hadn’t. She didn’t like any of the probable answers: he wanted her money, he needed to beat Stratham in some primeval masculine competition, or he lusted after her. The last possibility renewed the heat that had tripped along her spine a few moments ago.

He stared at her a long moment. “I hold you in high esteem.”

That was not what she’d expected to hear. “Esteem? You want to build a marriage on esteem?” It was good enough for most people she knew, but Miranda wanted more. “No, thank you.”

His eyes darkened and he moved toward her. “Among other things.” He took her hand and a shiver raced up her arm. “Esteem is an excellent basis for a successful marriage. As is mutual respect. Similar interests. Dancing compatibility.” His lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Attraction.”

A flame sparked to life in Miranda’s belly, warming her body from the inside out. She’d felt like this when the bandit had kissed her… Damn if she wasn’t attracted to both a highwayman and Montgomery Foxcroft, of all people! Why couldn’t she conjure even a modicum of desire for someone like Stratham, or better yet one of those milksops in London her father would approve of?

She snatched her hand away just as Beatrice reentered the library. Miranda took a step back lest Beatrice draw a disastrous conclusion about their proximity.

Fox’s mouth hardened. As engaging as he’d looked a moment before, he appeared the complete opposite now—his features cold, unyielding.

Beatrice clutched a package. “Are you ready, Miranda?”

Fox’s mouth turned up once more, but there was bitterness in his expression. “We were just enjoying a nice,
private
discussion.”

Miranda caught his inflection on the word “private.” What was he about? She narrowed her eyes at him. “Thank you for your assistance this afternoon. Good day, Fox.”

Beatrice said goodbye and exited with Miranda. In the hall, Beatrice picked up her bonnet from a table and tied it under her chin. “The children really do adore you. Today was chaotic, but everyone had such a good time. You bring that to them. A sense of…joy.” She blinked at Miranda as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

Miranda should have felt happy, but while she’d given the children an afternoon to cherish, she’d given Fox another memory he’d probably like to forget.

And what would her lasting impression be? Would she recall her time here fondly or be glad to leave it behind her? She hoped it would be a combination of the two because she didn’t want to miss them.

But she suspected she already did.

FOX looked down at the ledger, staring at the columns of numbers until they blurred together. The money he’d stolen from Stratham hadn’t been as much as he’d hoped, but would’ve been sufficient to fix the roof. If half the food store hadn’t gone rotten because the kitchen now leaked. If a half dozen of the children hadn’t fallen ill and required medical attention. If three of the boys hadn’t needed new clothes and shoes.

Money was always short at this time, but the upcoming harvest usually promised an influx of funds that would see them through another year. Usually. But what crops hadn’t died over the cool, wet summer wouldn’t provide enough product. It was going to be a lean winter. And spring. And summer.

Fox rested his temple against his hand and looked out the window into the backyard. The children were playing ball. Miranda came into view, her golden hair swept onto her head, her peach dress, like everything else she wore—like her—still too fancy for their humble orphanage.

With fall nearly upon them, he supposed she would be leaving soon. And she’d confirmed she’d be going. He chastised himself anew for not taking her into his arms and kissing her senseless when Beatrice had entered the library after the dance lesson last week. A perfect opportunity to compromise Miranda wasted.

And he’d made the decision to compromise her. He’d done it on the road after stealing Stratham’s tribute money and kissing her had only stoked his need.

That day he’d stood in the doorway at least a quarter hour watching her lead the children in the complicated steps of some dance. The task had been difficult, but she’d shown patience, compassion, and some other emotion…could it be love?

Love.

The word drove a knife clean through his heart. Did he love her? He didn’t know, but he wanted her for more than money. More than desire. He wanted her here. With him. With all of them. He’d never seen the children so happy. So light.
He’d
never felt so happy or light—and that said a lot given his cursed financial woes.

And they were as bad as ever. He slammed the ledger shut. He was running out of time and she was clearly avoiding him, ensuring they were never alone together. Making a compromise all but impossible. Dammit, but he wished he could turn back the clock to the night of the assembly. He got to his feet and strode into the corridor. As he entered the main hall, Mrs. Gates was just letting Mr. Carmody inside. He’d be an excellent witness to a compromise.

The older man nodded. “Good afternoon, Fox. Where might I find Lady Miranda?”

Mrs. Gates answered before Fox could. “I’ll just run and get her.” She bustled from the hall, leaving the two men alone.

Carmody’s gaze traveled the length of the hall and settled on the barrel in the corner. The roof wasn’t dripping, but they’d left the barrel just in case. “You’ve got a leak there?”

Fox swallowed a sarcastic retort. “Yes.”

Carmody continued his perusal. “Must be a lot of work, a building this old.” He looked directly at Fox. “But then, your own estate is just as ancient, is it not?”

Fox said nothing, gritting his teeth instead.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Miranda entered the hall and suddenly the tattered furniture and threadbare rugs seemed even more decrepit. She glanced over at Fox before fixing her attention on Carmody.

Beatrice followed on Miranda’s heels. “Good afternoon, Father. If you’ve come to fetch us home, we’re not ready to leave.”

Carmody glanced at his fob watch. “You may stay. I’ve come to collect Lady Miranda. Her parents have arrived.”

Fox’s stomach collapsed on itself.

Miranda’s eyes widened. “My parents are here?”

Carmody nodded. “At Birch House. I bade them rest after their journey while I came to fetch you.”

Fox noted Miranda’s heightened color and the flexing of her hands against her skirt. After a moment she said, “Am I to return to London?”

Carmody slid a bored look at Miranda beneath hooded lids. “I’m sure I don’t know Their Graces’ plans. But you’d best not keep them waiting.”

Beatrice touched Miranda’s arm. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

Carmody straightened. “That won’t be necessary, Beatrice. I’ll send the carriage back at the appointed time. Your presence is not required.”

Beatrice pursed her lips and gave a slight nod before retreating from the hall.

Miranda shook her head as if she’d drifted off for a moment. “I should say goodbye to Mrs. Gates and the children.” She looked at Fox, and the sadness in her eyes twisted his gut.

Carmody cleared his throat. “There isn’t time.”

She turned toward the back of the house. “It won’t take but a moment.”

“Once again you demonstrate why your parents sent you here in the first place,” Carmody snapped. “We should have been on our way already if not for your argument.”