Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3) (3 page)

Those
events had caused many titillated whisperings.

And not
to even mention the whispers about Anne Lloyd’s supposed madness.

Adrian
was not so tasteless as to mention any of this. But he would say, “Your life
has been shadowed by many scandals. They haven’t seemed to hurt you any.”

“I have
great wealth.” Jon replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “Anne brought even more
wealth to our marriage. She is the daughter of a man who was a well-positioned,
powerful duke. You, on the other hand, are in a precarious position.”

A knock
sounded on the door.

“Enter,”
Adrian called out.

The door
came open, revealing the flushed face of one of the maids. “Miss Jones is
asking for you, my lord.”

Adrian
reached for his coat then pushed past his cousin. “It’s time,” he said.

Chapter
Two

High-pitched,
sharp snores issued from the mouth of the minister who sat in chair, his head
bent, his open book forgotten. The sound jarred Miranda’s already strained
nerves as she watched the withdrawing chamber doorway, waiting for Adrian to
enter. Inside, her stomach began to tie itself into knots. She had expected
this to be a formality, yet a casual, relaxed business. But it was impossible
not to be tense under the Earl of Ruel’s formidable scowl. Was that a scowl? Or
was that merely natural his expression? His rugged looks were a distinct
contrast to Adrian’s handsomeness. Certainly the distinguished earl was
studying her intently.

Too damn
intently. As though he were searching for some flaw in her. As though he were
trying to penetrate her very soul to reveal her inner thoughts. And it was
clear that whatever he did see in her did not please him.

He had
been civil enough in their initial introduction, if brief in his speech.

She took
a deep breath against her rising nausea.

Just
get through this formality.

She
turned her gaze to Ruel’s right and met the pale blue, mild eyes of Lady Drake.
A small wren of a woman with light brown hair, her small hands folded over a
very pregnant belly.

The
kindness in that lady’s eyes eased Miranda’s angst a bit.

But
where the devil was Adrian?

Miranda
lifted the bouquet that Lady Drake had gifted her with and inhaled the heady
scent of lavender and roses, drawing calm from it as well. She had no idea what
flowers a bride should carry or if there even was a rule. There must be a rule
for countesses. There were always rules for countesses…

Oh, God!

She was
to be a countess!

She had
not even thought much on that.

Her
heart pounded with sickening intensity. She became weak, faint. She locked her
knees and forced herself to concentrate on slowing her rate of breathing.

She had
learned to project the image and personality of an elegant, sophisticated
courtesan when really, inside, she had been just a country-bred virgin with a
pretty enough face and striking red hair.

She had
learned to survive then. Surely, she could do the same now.

She
focused on Lady Drake’s kind face. She recalled the gossip that Lady Drake had
once been Lord Ruel’s laundress when he had served in the Dragoons. She had
also been his kept mistress here in England upon his return home. And she had
married a baron. She was now Lady Drake. She had apparently survived whatever
scathing disapproval and shunning had been directed towards her.

Yet,
Miranda suspected that Lady Ruel could not attend because of the scandal
attached to Miranda’s former profession. It didn’t matter. Miranda would just
as soon as had her maid and Adrian’s valet be their witnesses. She had not
wanted to face the righteous indignation of Adrian’s blood-relatives so soon.

Thankfully,
it was just the two of them. An invite had been sent to Charlie Sutherland but
no one had been able to locate him.

Lady
Drake tugged on Ruel’s dark blue sleeve. He glanced down at her and she
whispered to him, her blue eyes sparkling with teasing humor.

Miranda’s
stomach tightened even more.

So, now
they were making sport of her? Maybe the lady was not as kind as she appeared.

Ruel
scowled and shook his head. Then he pointedly made a study of his hands.

Lady
Drake cleared her throat, delicately, then looked at Miranda and smiled. “I
told Jon that it is rude to stare so hard at the bride, no matter how lovely
she is.”

An
awkward attempt at easing the tension?

It
wasn’t effective. Miranda’s stomach was still in knots.

Ruel
cleared his throat now, a deep, jarring sound.

“Lady
Ruel sends her regrets that she cannot attend. She is with child and feeling
poorly of late,” Lady Drake said, in her soft, girlish tone.

But from
the way Ruel’s jaw tensed and his hard mouth drew into a tighter line, Miranda
suspected that her first suspicion was the truth. The Earl of Ruel did not wish
to subject his wife to this scandalous marriage between his younger cousin and
a former courtesan.

He cut
Lady Drake an irritated glare. “I had already made Lady Ruel’s excuses.”

Lady
Drake lifted her hands, palms up, a placating gesture. “I was only trying to—”

“I can
speak for my own wife.”

Lady
Drake compressed her small mouth. “You’re behaving just like a horse’s arse.
This is supposed to be a joyful occasion.”

The look
that he shot Lady Drake then sent waves of alarm sparking along Miranda’s
already jarred nerves. It was a glare that should have made the most fearsome
man recoil in dread.

Lady
Drake’s expression remained mild. “Do not glower at me, my lord. You know that
I am right.”

He
scoffed, his brows still tightly drawn.

“Anne
would not approve, you know that too.” Lady Drake’s voice held a gentle yet
chiding note.

Ruel
stood. “Where the devil is Danvers?” he asked, mirroring Miranda’s thoughts.

He
strode from the chamber.

Lady
Drake lifted her narrow shoulders in a shrug. “He doesn’t like my husband. I
suspect that he thinks Lord Drake has taken charge of things today. It must
annoy him for he is quite protective of Adrian.”

“Protective?”
Miranda mused aloud. “But Adrian is a man.”

Lady
Drake laughed—a girlish sound. “Jon cannot see past the vulnerable boy he once
knew. Adrian was greatly inconvenienced by the former Lord Danvers. I think
Adrian was quite hurt by the whole matter. And Jon felt responsible for not
being able to shield him from that. Jon is quite protective of those he feels
are under his charge and Adrian was always special to him.”

Miranda
had never known Adrian as anything other than the hard, cold arrogant man she
had first met. Through their passion, she came to know his softer, warmer side.

But she
had never thought of him as a vulnerable, hurt boy.

The door
seemed to burst open. Lord Drake was all smiles as he ushered three modestly
dressed, matronly ladies into the chamber. One held a harp and one held a
violin. The third carried a stack of papers and books. Lord Drake carried their
music stands.

“One
cannot possibly have a wedding without music,” he said, in such a happy tone
that Miranda had trouble reconciling his demeanor with the man who had first
appeared in her vestibule and stared up at her with eyes so coldly intelligent
that they sent chills through her.

He
approached the piano.

“I don’t
think that has been tuned in a very long while,” Miranda said.

Drake
lifted the lid and tested several keys. The sound pierced through her. He smiled.
Lord, what a smile. The man was handsome, there was no denying that.

“It
seems tuned well enough,” he said.

The trio
of women was getting their stands and sheet music ready.

Drake
was still smiling, radiating sincere warmth.

That
warmth eased into Miranda, easing her cold, nauseated anxiety of a few moments
ago.

What a
kind gesture the man had made.

How long
had Adrian known him? She had been aware that Adrian had any true, close
friends outside of family.

But this
gentleman seemed like a true friend.

She
turned and saw Adrian standing near the doorway, his expression so serious it
was grim as he spoke with Lord Ruel.

Lord
Ruel did not like what Adrian was saying, that much was clear from his
deepening scowl.

The knot
began to twist in her stomach again.

A man
cleared his throat behind her a deep, impatient sound.

She glanced over her shoulder and
saw that the minister had put his book down. He was ready to get this business
done. She turned back to face the doorway. Adrian approached her. His tall, leanly
muscled body was elegantly displayed in his well-tailored suit. With his
coal-black hair, he was utterly gorgeous. Masculine perfection.

Lord.

That
look on his face. Like stone. His eyes like blue ice.

She had
never seen such a look on his face before.

It froze
her blood.

Was he
having second thoughts?

Had his
older, presumably wiser cousin talked sense into him?

She
opened her mouth to say what?…that she didn’t know. “My lord?” she said,
hearing the uncertainty in her voice.

He
touched her arm, his expression gentling.

But his
eyes remained cold.

“I…” she
began.

He gave
her arm a slight squeeze as his gaze moved over her. Those beautiful eyes went
from blue ice to flame in an instant. Not tenderness, which would have soothed
her, but hot lust.

And possessiveness.

He’d
asked her, repeatedly, not to hold that need to possess her against him.

Yet,
this morning, standing amid nobles, it did feel threatening to her. Yet, she
couldn’t turn away from the intensity of those blazing blue eyes. Such passion
from the man she loved intoxicated her.

It also
disquieted her. He loved her beauty. Beauty was illusory and would fade as she
aged. She had a limited number of years to make him love her soul as much as he
loved her beauty. And she surely must for she loved him deeply, insanely,
completely.

What had
made her love him so well?

His
tender, compassionate side.

His
devotion to his sons.

That
thought broke her entranced state. “Davey?” she whispered.

The
possessive look was immediately replaced by tenderness. He smiled and this time
it reached his eyes. He turned away and walked to the doorway and left. After
several moments, he returned. “He’s coming. Mrs. Peters had some difficulty
finding a suitable cravat.”

The trio
began playing a soft, somehow otherworldly sounding piece. It might have been
one of Haydn’s works but she wasn’t sure. It soothed her. But she wished that
this moment could have been more intimate. That she and Adrian didn’t have to
share it with these other people. These people who were strangers to her.

For the
countless time since he’d entered this chamber, Adrian let his gaze move over
Miranda. Her hair glowed more vividly red. She admitted that she had stopped
treating it with some herbs that before had darkened it. She wore it down. It
lay in loose curls about her shoulders. It gave her a soft appearance that he
loved even more than he had admired her previous sophisticated fashion. A
circlet of pale pink roses gave her a more girlish look and the lack of
cosmetics enhanced the sense of softness.

Just
seeing her sent his heart pounding. He loved her so much it was like a pain in
his heart. He would do anything to keep her safe, to provide for her. To do all
in his power to make her happy.

She was
his.

His.

The
thought pounded through him with each heartbeat, adding to his urgency. Let
them just get on with the wedding and then no one and nothing could lure her
away from him.

But
Winterton could take her from him through some act of wickedness, violence
against her…

Damn it,
what was taking so long with Davey?

He cut a
glance at the doorway and saw Davey, being hurried along by his nurse. The boy
was wearing his best pale blue suit and a lace trimmed cravat. Adrian was sorry
that Brentwood, his heir, could not be here. Adrian had thought to wait, to
have a few days to cherish Miranda alone, without the intrusion of the world,
of the strain that would be caused to her by the differences in their social
status and the disapproval of those closest to him. But Drake had been correct;
the wedding must take place without delay.

Davey’s
nurse led him to a chair in the rear but Adrian extended a hand. “Davey, come.”

With a
solemn expression, Davey slowly walked toward Adrian and Miranda, his wide eyes
glancing repeatedly at the other adults.

When he
reached Adrian’s side, Davey stopped. Adrian put his hand on the boy’s
shoulder. “Stand here with me,” he said.

But
Davey wasn’t listening. He was staring up at Miranda, spellbound. Then he
turned to Adrian.

“Are we
marrying Miranda today?” he asked, speaking her name slowly, like Mir-and-ah.
His piping voice carried weakly over the music of the trio. Adrian was glad.
The other adults could not have heard him. It was a private moment between
himself and his son.

He
nodded. “Indeed.”

“Really
and truly?”

“Really
and truly,” Adrian flashed a smile at Miranda.