Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3) (8 page)

Ruel was studying her. “You’ve turned
pale.”

She touched her cheek. “Have I?”

She heard the sudden shaking in her
voice.

“Are you sure that you are feeling all
right?”

She nodded.

“You look more afraid than ill.” He
paused. ”Lady Danvers, surely you don’t fear than I am going to do anything
untoward?”

“Oh goodness, no, I…”

He frowned and studied her all the
harder. “It is indelicate to mention it, but given your history, surely you
understand men better than that.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Lady Ruel has been with child and rather
unwell with it for some time now. But you think that if I were of a mind to
betray her that I would wait until tonight?” Mild amusement lit his gaze.
“You’re certainly a desirable young woman. It is not hard to guess why Danvers
lost his head over you.”

A pang of alarm resurged beneath her
breast. Yet, she saw no trace of lust in his gaze.

Instead, there was a softness there that
she had never seen from him before. A sincere type of friendly regard.

“Adrian had said that you were more
innocent than you seemed.”

Again, she didn’t know what to say. She
didn’t really know how to interact with a nobleman outside a sexual type
situation, did she?

Oddly, she felt a blush heat her cheeks
and she looked down at her book. But the words on the page were still a jumble.

“So, you’re going to put Danvers through
this business some day, eh?”

“Err, what business?” she replied,
dumbly, his words not registering through her flustered senses.

It wasn’t simply this awkward moment with
the Earl of Ruel. Lady Ruel’s labor had brought back all the disturbing
memories of the night Mama had struggled so hard to bear her brother.

All that struggle and yet, he had died in
his infancy.

The remembered grief, both for her brother
and for Mama, weighed upon her.

It also brought to mind all her sadness
about her delayed childbearing, all the years that she thought she would never,
ever be a mother, for Carrville’s seed had never taken root.

But she also was aware of all her buried anxiety
over what it would be like to deliver her own child. To be a mother to a
helpless infant.

God, was she even adequate to fulfill
such a responsibility?

“This business of childbearing.” He
paused. She heard the sound of him pouring another drink. “She can be so proud,
so stiff-necked, knotty-headed proud.” He said this last as though he were
alone, his words slurring more noticeably. “You women live to torment us men,
don’t you?”

She attempted a smile but she couldn’t
look at him. His intoxication, his self-revelation made her feel like an
interloper. “I suppose I should find my chamber.”

“You know you’re not going to sleep.”

“I should try—”

“None of the adults in this house will be
able to sleep a wink this night.”

Thwack!

Something had hit the table.

She looked up and saw a deck of cards
splayed there.

“Indulge me,” Ruel said.

She stared at him, dumbly. “But you don’t
like to play.”

“I think we both need the distraction—”
He glanced up at the ceiling. “At least take pity on me and give me some
friendly distraction until my girl’s pride wears thin and she calls for me.”

They decided upon vingt-et-un and he
dealt the cards but they both played listlessly.

“Danvers will return from America a
wealthy man.”

“You are kind and beyond generous to have
done this for him,” she said.

“The favor is all on his part. I need
someone close to me. Someone I can trust.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I have
a wife and young children now. I have my duties in the House of Lords. I cannot
simply pack my valise and travel to manage these matters.”

“
These
matters?” she asked.

“I hope that Adrian develops a taste for
the variety and excitement of travel. A taste for the kind of life that wealth
and its resultant power can bestow upon him.”

“Indeed?”

“The scandal of your marriage will haunt
the two of you. The incident with Brentwood is but a taste.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, sadly.

“I need someone in the Orient, to be my
eyes, my ears. I need someone who can make instant judgments and decisions that
I can trust.”

Hearing Lord Ruel talk of this job made
it seem all the more real.

“Yes, Adrian mentioned this.”

“Aye, he did?” Ruel raised his light
brown brows. “And may I pry into a wife’s confidence and ask what he thought of
the whole matter?”

“Adrian is an Englishman.”

Ruel chuckled. “That’s what he said to me
too. But once he has a taste of his own real wealth, that’s going to be a
temptation that will prove hard for him to resist.”

Miranda’s heart began to beat hard. Not
because she wished Adrian to take this job. No, she feared this job.

Yes, Adrian would likely become
accustomed to the wealth. But at what price?

He was a grown man and if he accepted a
longer-term job from this protective older cousin, it would be like being owned
by another man.

She didn’t think that would be a good
thing.

But who was she to say? Adrian was a man
and an earl. He was used to making his own decisions, and any wife had to
accommodate herself to a husband’s decisions.

Especially a countess.

More so for an unsuitable countess.

The sound of running feet made her turn
her head.

Two young housemaids came bursting into
the hall.

“My lord,” the taller, older appearing
one said breathlessly. “Lady Ruel is calling for you.”

Chapter
Five

Miranda took George Jonathon Lawrence
Lloyd, or Laurie as he was called, from his mother’s arms, being careful to
place her hand under his bottom and to refold the blanket over his tiny chest.

He stared up at her with his mother’s
dark blue eyes and he already sported a thick thatch of coal black hair. She
studied his light-olive hued face. The tiny slashes of black brows and
surprisingly long and lush eyelashes for a boy.

The sight of the baby, the feel of him in
her arms, always brought such her longing to hold her own child in her arms.

Adrian’s child.

She would likely already be pregnant if
he had not left her.

Anne sat back in her chair and sighed.
“All these months and not even a sniffle. He is as healthy as his sisters.”

She glanced down at the floor near her
feet, where the Ruel heir, Midhurst, sat on a blanket, stacking colorful wooden
blocks. Her gaze was full of love but also a fierce protectiveness.

As Miranda understood it, Midhurst had
suffered several life-threatening lung fevers in his infancy.

Miranda and Davey no longer lived with
Lord and Lady Ruel. She was only here for a visit to their Mayfair townhouse
and she had left Davey behind in the care of his nurse.

There had been some difficulty and
awkwardness in her leaving.

Miranda remembered that night that Lord
Ruel had come to the hall, drunk and anxious about his countess. It had been a
long one for the entire household that had stretched into morning.

A few moments after the grand walnut
clock had rung eleven in the morning, the maids who had been working
half-heartedly and finding any excuse to haunt the upstairs corridor broke into
shrieks of joy.

A second son had been born into Blackmore
Castle.

Lady Ruel rose from her bed within the
week and became all but obsessed with the complete care and well-being of this
infant son. In addition, she was nearly as vigilant about the elder, Jonny, who
she was determined would not contract any lung fevers this year.

She literally never left the nursery
wing.

In her absence, Lady Charlotte became a
regular hellion, if not more truthfully told, a bully.

Davey was loath to raise a hand, even in
defense, to a cousin who was younger, much less a girl.

Under the circumstances, Miranda pled a
graceful exit and, not eager to face a full staff of servants who were
potentially still loyal to Jane Sutherland, she escaped with Davey to her house
in Chelsea.

When informed of the change via letter,
Adrian had not been exactly happy about her decision. But he had accepted it.

In fact, his letters had become shorter
and terser in tone as time had gone on.

Now he had been gone seven whole months.

Heaviness weighed on Miranda’s chest and
she took a ragged breath and forced herself to smile and make pleasant talk
with Anne.

All the awkwardness and bruised feelings
in the wake of her departure from Blackmore Castle had eased by now.
Thankfully.

Lady Ruel was one of the quietest women
that Miranda had ever known but one must only direct the conversation to her
children and she became most animated, her olive face glowing with love and
pride.

But Miranda had come today so that she
might speak with Lord Ruel.

She couldn’t help glancing at the
doorway, each time her heart seeming to leap into her throat as her anxiety
rose.

Finally, the sound of boot falls echoed
in the withdrawing chamber and she looked up to see his tall, powerful frame in
the doorway.

Lord Ruel’s face bore a shadow of stubble
and the lines about his hard mouth seemed deeper as though with strain or
fatigue. He still wore his blue and buff suit that marked him as a Whig. He had
likely just come from a night of debate in the House of Lords.

Never had his fierce visage inspired such
a warm feeling in Miranda, a relieving balm over her sore heart.

Surely, he would know the truth. And then
she could stop her endless worry and the heaviness would lift from her chest.

She could eat and sleep again.

“Papa! Papa!” Midhurst cried excitedly,
standing on his thin legs and rushing over to meet his father. “Will we go
riding?”

Lord Ruel ruffled his son’s dark hair,
his tired expression lightening and his dead eyes coming alive. He exchanged a
quick, amused glance with Anne. “Aye, we’ll go riding but later,” the earl
replied.

The boy chortled, dancing a bit in his
obvious joy. Then he turned towards Miranda. “Lady Danvers has come for a
visit.”

Ruel smiled. “Good afternoon, Lady
Danvers.”

Miranda longed to simply blurt out her
questions. But she knew she couldn’t be so rude.

Like automation, she smiled and exchanged
greetings, only with great effort holding back from gushing the questions that
burned on the tip of her tongue.

But she must wait.

Wait whilst he sat beside his wife on the
rich burgundy velvet settee and bent close to kiss her cheek. Anne flushed
slightly, her dark eyes sparkling.

Midhurst climbed onto the settee, nearly
slipping off the silken richly hued velvet but Ruel caught him and pulled the
toddling boy, who was small for his age, into his lap.

More pleasantries.

Lord Ruel patiently chatted with
Midhurst, discussing what the child had been doing thus far today.

Normally, Miranda adored this kind of
family interaction and the fact that she was accepted into their fold and
allowed to witness such intimate moments. But today, the questions burned to be
asked.

Yet, she must wait through a seemingly
endless round of questions about her health. Davey’s health. His studies.

Then finally, a pause. She took the
opportunity to transfer Laurie back to his mama then settled back in her own
chair. “I received a letter today from Adrian.”

Lord Ruel looked up from a deep
contemplation of the wood block that his son had handed to him. “Indeed, what does
he say?”

Her breathing quickened and her heart
pounded with the increased angst the topic produced in her and had been
producing in her ever since she had seen it.

“He says he is in New Orleans now.”

Ruel’s features froze.

Her blood froze in response. “Isn’t that
part of your plan?” she asked, unable to keep the anxiety from her voice.

“It wasn’t.”

“Nor was this extended time away from
England,” she replied, not even bothering to keep the vexation from her tone
this time. She couldn’t help blaming Ruel for their Adrian’s continued absence.

Did she see a shadow in the depths of
those blue eyes?

Now it was gone and he flashed her a
quick grin. “I trust Adrian’s judgment implicitly. If he felt the situation
warranted a longer stay or travel to New Orleans, he must have his reasons.”