Her Wicked Ways (22 page)

“Wait. You must listen to reason.” She raised her brow in a thoroughly supercilious manner, daring him to continue his flight.

“Fine.” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Persuade me.”

She straightened her spine and raised her chin. “As Mrs. Gates said, Stratham Hall itself will draw people to attend. Further, I’ve convinced Mr. Stratham to donate considerably more than his home.”

Fox pushed away from the wall. “What’s he doing?”

Shadows fell across her face. “He’s paying for the decorations, the food, the music.”

At once, Fox was pleased Stratham would finally put his money to good use, and disgusted he had to rely on the man who’d extorted that money from so many in the district.

She stepped forward and tipped her head up. Light splayed across the upper half of her face. “We can’t do it without him.”

She might as well have driven a knife into his gut.

Fox put his hands on his waist. “So he’s hosting this party then. With you.”

Her eyes widened briefly and her lips parted. “No, he’s not the host. Well, yes, I suppose he is. But it’s not as if we’re giving a party
together
.”

He felt his lip curl. “And this activity is within the confines of your punishment?”

She closed her mouth tight. Tiny lines formed on her forehead belying her irritation. “My punishment is none of your concern, but yes, I’m allowed to oversee this event because it is part of my work at Stipple’s End.”

“How convenient for you. I presume your parents must approve of Stratham, then. Perhaps he will even be your mysterious bridegroom.”

She arched her brow. “Actually, my parents believe he’s quite beneath me. They are currently husband hunting elsewhere.” She moved a hair’s breadth closer. “I’m not marrying Stratham.”

While her words mollified him, they didn’t change the fact she wasn’t marrying him, either. And if Stratham was “quite beneath” her, then Fox had to be positively inconsequential—not even worth discussing, he’d bet. In that moment, his pride dearly wished he could tell Miranda and her infernal father to go to the devil.

“Oh, Fox.” Mrs. Gates entered the back hallway and Miranda immediately stepped back. Another opportunity for compromise squandered. “Would you mind showing Miranda the room we use for storage up on the third floor? I’ve a baking lesson this afternoon.” She continued to the end of the hall and then outside.

Fox leaned forward, still angry at having to accept anything from a man he despised—and probably more than a bit irritated at his missed opportunity. Perhaps he should pull Miranda into an embrace and call Mrs. Gates back? Instead, he said, “I’m sure you don’t need my help. Should I send for Stratham?”

She put a fist on her hip. “You’re being obnoxious. We’re saving
your
orphanage. I know you can’t abide Stratham, but can’t you put your anger aside for the sake of the children?”

Put like that, Fox was a selfish ass. He started down the hallway toward the great hall and the main staircase. “Follow me.”

They went up to the second floor. When they reached the landing, he took her past the dormitories to the end of the hall where another staircase led to the third floor. The stairs were covered with a threadbare carpet that might have once been red. They creaked as he took the first step.

“I haven’t been up here in awhile.” Was he trying to excuse whatever disrepair or dishevelment they might find on the third floor?

Servant rooms lined the corridor, but none were currently used. An odor of aged wood and mildew assailed his nose. Christ, a leak probably trickled around this corner of the building as well. He swiped a hand over his face and crossed the hall.

He opened a door and stepped into a cluttered chamber. Trunks were lined against one wall and a sturdy wardrobe stood in the corner. A large window facing the front drive illuminated a film of dust covering everything.

Miranda came in behind him and immediately went to an old table, upon which were draped a pile of tapestries. Skimming her fingers over the muted threads, she said, “Help me turn this over.”

Fox went to help her and together they flipped the heavy piece. She gasped at the vibrant beauty on the reverse—a bucolic scene with rich green and gold fields and dancing children with rosy cheeks. “This is stunning.” She glanced up at him. “They seem very dear, don’t they?”

Fox knew next to nothing about tapestries. “I can’t say. They’re in far better condition than the ones at Bassett Manor. I’d wager Norris will at least be interested enough to come to your event.”

“It’s
our
event, Fox.” Miranda flashed him an exasperated look and then lifted the edge of the tapestry. “There are at least five of them here.” She grinned at him.

He felt her excitement as well as saw it in the sparkle of her eyes and the wide set of her mouth. Clinging to his foul mood was proving difficult.

“Let’s see what else we can find up here,” she said, moving to the armoire in the corner. She tried to open it, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“There’s a latch at the top.” Before Fox could get there and open it for her, she stood on her toes and pulled at the latch. Still, it didn’t move, and neither did she.

“My dress is caught.”

Fox went to stand beside her—
right
beside her since he had to get close enough to work the fabric free—and plucked at her sleeve. The ribbon trim at her wrist had unraveled and caught on the latch. Inadvertently, he loosed the latch and the door immediately swung open, taking her along with it. She skipped to the side, but lost her balance anyway.

Fox grabbed her around the waist. “Put your other hand around my neck.” While he held her with his left arm, he tried again to free her wrist with his right hand. Her spicy orange scent conquered his senses. Her golden hair tickled his chin. Her arm curled around his neck, her fingers splaying over his right shoulder. Heat spread from that shoulder to every part of his body. He needed to get her arm free, but at the same time couldn’t bear to let her go.

Her breathing came steady while his seemed shallow and uneven. He hoped to God she didn’t notice. After what seemed forever, he untangled the ribbon from the latch and set her on her feet.

He expected her to inspect her tattered dress. Instead, she cradled her wrist in her right hand and looked up at him. “Thank you.”

Fox stared at her, studied every nuance of her reaction. Her pulse beat in her throat, strong and maybe a tad fast. Perhaps she wasn’t as immune as he’d originally perceived. “I’ve wanted to apologize for the day at the pond. I meant to ask you in a different setting.”

She massaged her wrist and her fingers played with the torn velvet ribbon, avoiding his gaze. “I hope you understand my choices are not really my own.”

Was she saying she might have chosen him if she could? Maybe he should drag her off to Gretna Green…

She dropped her hands. “My marriage will be for my parents, not for me. Fox, you’ll make someone an excellent husband.” She reached out and touched his hand, igniting a fire of need that would not—could not—be doused. “I truly hope that for you.”

And she did. He could see it in her eyes. Even so, it did nothing to assuage his disappointment. He’d fallen in love with her. Not that it mattered. She’d be leaving soon to marry someone else, unless he did something drastic. Perhaps something that would ensure she never loved him in return. Could he do that?

“Shall we look through the armoire, then? We did go to an awful lot of trouble.” She smiled impishly, but Fox wasn’t in the mood to return the sentiment.

“I’ll let you continue the search. I’ve other matters that require my attention.” He glanced down at her hand, still resting on his. He clasped it between his and used every bit of his willpower not to press a kiss to her palm. “Thank you for all you’re doing. Stipple’s End will sorely miss your presence when you leave.”

Something flickered in her eyes, but he couldn’t discern her emotion. “And I shall miss it, too.” She retracted her hand, and he felt the loss all the way to his toes. “I’m not gone yet, and before I go, I mean to raise so much money that you won’t need to worry at all.”

God, but he had never wanted to touch another person more than he wanted to touch her in that moment. “If anyone can, it’s you, Miranda. I’ve no doubt it’s you.” He wracked his mind for another tortured moment, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but let her go.

Chapter Eleven

THE following week, a carriage rattling up the drive to Birch House drew Miranda’s attention from the list of food she was making for the benefit. Though the day was dim and gray, and the view from the drawing room window was distorted from sheets of rain sluicing down the panes, she could just make out her father’s crest on the coach.

Had they come to fetch her? How ironic of them to appear at the moment she actually wanted to stay.

Beatrice leapt to her feet, exhibiting the excitement for Miranda’s parents’ arrival that Miranda couldn’t muster. “It looks as though your parents are here to take you to your betrothed.”

The coachman jumped down and approached the house—alone. If Miranda’s parents were here, they wouldn’t wait for her outside. “I don’t think my parents are in the coach.”

Fitchley entered and held out his hand. “A letter for you, Lady Miranda.”

“Just a letter?” Beatrice sounded a tad disappointed.

Fitchley gave a perfunctory nod and departed.

Miranda tore open the paper and scanned the missive. Her heart dropped into her stomach. Beatrice had been right, although her parents hadn’t come to escort her. “They’ve found a potential husband and wish me to come to Wokingham at once.”

“Are you betrothed, then?”

“Not yet.” But she would be soon. Probably to Lord Walter. “Oh, I can’t leave now!”

“Well, you can’t disobey your parents.” Beatrice blinked. “Can you?”

Miranda ignored the question and began to pace. “I’ve four days until the benefit. Wokingham is a day’s journey. I can leave in the morning, arrive tomorrow night, spend a day doing whatever it is they require, and return in plenty of time.”

Beatrice made an inelegant snort. “You think you can swoop in, become engaged, and be allowed to rush back here?”

Did Beatrice not want her to come back? She didn’t seem disappointed Miranda had to leave. And did Miranda hope for Beatrice to miss her? She shrugged the idea away, unwilling to admit she might want Beatrice’s friendship. “I’ll be back in time for the benefit. I can’t expect you to oversee things.”

Beatrice visibly bristled. “It’s not as if I couldn’t manage it. In fact, perhaps it would be best if you didn’t return. I’ll be the one who’s here in the future, not you.”

Hadn’t Beatrice bemoaned the fact she wouldn’t ever get married, wouldn’t ever have to plan an event like this? And now she acted as if it was as natural to her as reading a hymnal. “My guidance is necessary, Beatrice. You’re learning quite nicely, but surely you realize this event requires experience and polish. I’m certain I will return in time. Count on it, in fact.” Throughout Miranda’s speech, Beatrice’s eyes had narrowed, but Miranda didn’t have time to smooth the girl’s ruffled feathers.

Miranda picked up her letter and her list. “I’m going upstairs to pack. Would you please inform your parents of my departure?” She didn’t wait for Beatrice’s response.

FOX timed his arrival at Stratham Hall the following day perfectly. The Carmodys’ carriage pulled up the drive as he climbed out of his landau.

He glanced down at his new coat, glad he’d let Rob talk him into having it made along with the ensemble he would wear to the benefit. How could he refuse his friend when Rob had offered to pay for it?

Fox shook his head. Pathetic he had to rely on the kindness of others. But then, he worked hard to ensure people like Rob lived with a small measure of comfort. Even if it meant he didn’t.

The Carmodys’ carriage came to a stop behind Fox’s landau. Fox stepped toward it and waved up at the coachman, indicating he’d open the door. A little bubble of anticipation worked its way up his chest. He wondered if Miranda would notice his new coat.