So Wild a Heart (3 page)

Miranda sighed. "Oh, all right I guess I can meet the man. But I'm not promising anything. You understand?"

"Of course, of course!" Joseph agreed happily, coming over to his daughter and enveloping her in a bear hug.

"Oh, my," said a soft voice from the doorway. "What joyous thing has occurred?"

The two of them turned at the sound of Mrs. Upshaw's voice. Miranda smiled at her stepmother, and Joseph beamed. Elizabeth Upshaw was a short blond woman who fluttered whenever she walked—hands, hair, ribbons, laces, me ends of her shawl. When Joseph had met her, she had been a pretty young woman, but over the years, time and inactivity had taken their toll on her, blurring the lines of her face and figure with fat. With a matronly cap on her head and wrapped in shawls as she always was, she looked several years older than her actual age. Though only ten years separated them, there were many who assumed upon meeting them that Elizabeth was Miranda's mother.

"Elizabeth!" Joseph exclaimed, going to take his wife's elbow and escort her to the sofa as if she were too weak to walk. Elizabeth had long suffered from a variety of real and imaginary illnesses, and her husband entered happily into her presentation of herself as a fragile woman. Miranda could not quite understand why Elizabeth enjoyed spending her life reclining on couches and beds, bearing her ills with a gentle smile, but if that was the way Elizabeth chose to live, it didn't bomer her. She was quite fond of her stepmother, whose kind heart more than made up for her litany of gentle complaints.

"The grandest thing has happened," Joseph went on, settling his wife on the couch and making sure her shawl, an afghan and several pillows were settled around her. “I didn't want to wake you this morning to tell you, not as poorly as you've been feeling from crossing the Channel."

"I know. I've always been sadly affected by
mal de mer,"
Elizabeth Upshaw agreed in a die-away voice. "I dread returning to New York because of it."

"Perhaps you won't have to," Joseph said happily. "Or at least, not for some time."

"Why? Whatever do you mean?"

"Miranda just may marry an earl."

"An earl!" Elizabeth exclaimed, sitting up so straight in her interest that her shawl slid down from her shoulders unnoticed.

"Papa!" Miranda said in exasperation, putting her hands on her hips. "There you go. I told you I would meet the man. I have no intention of marrying him."

"But an earl!" her stepmother breathed, one hand going to her chest as though the news were too much for her heart. She looked wide-eyed at Miranda. "You would be a Countess. Oh, Miranda, that is more than I ever hoped for."

Miranda sighed inwardly, wishing that she had not let her father wheedle her into agreeing to meet this nobleman. Joseph would not have to badger her, after this news, her stepmother would take care of that for him.

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled, and her face was lit with an animation unusual for her. “Just think—the parties, the wedding—" A thought struck her, and she turned toward her husband. "Do they have a house in Town?"

“No, the Countess told me last night that her husband had to sell it. I believe her son, the Earl, keeps a small bachelor house, but she has to lease a home during the Season. It sounded to be a sore trial to her."

Elizabeth nodded sagely. "It would be. Having to give up one's no doubt magnificent home and make do with a rented house every summer. Knowing that everyone knows it... It's too bad not to be able to have the wedding party in a grand house." She brightened. "But you can buy one, dear. I mean, we will have to have a house in London if we are to stay here any length of time, and—"

"Elizabeth, please," Miranda put in gently. "I'm not planning to marry the Earl of Ravenscar. I just said—”

"What?" Her stepmother stared at Miranda, her face suddenly pale and her eyes wide. "What did you say? Who?"

"The Earl of Ravenscar," Joseph put in. "That's the fellow we're talking about Miranda's marrying— er, that is, meeting. Devin Aincourt's his name."

"Oh, my God." Elizabeth rose to her feet, her hands clenching together. "You cannot marry him. The man is a devil!"

_{Chapter 2}

This pronouncement had the effect of rendering her audience speechless, as Miranda and her father stared at Elizabeth. Under their gaze, Elizabeth colored a little self-consciously and sat back down.

"That is, well, I mean, I don't think that it would be a good idea for Miranda to marry him. He is, well, he has a...an unsavory reputation."

"Do you know him, dear?" her husband asked.

"Oh, no. He was far above my touch, of course. But.. .I had heard of him. Everyone had heard of him. He had a scandalous reputation. That was before he was the earl, of course. His father was Ravenscar then."

"What was wrong with him?" Miranda asked curiously. "What did he do?"

"Oh, the usual things that young noblemen do, I imagine," Elizabeth replied vaguely. "Not the sort of thing suitable for your ears."

Miranda grimaped. "Oh, Elizabeth, don't be stuffy. I am twenty-five years old and not a bit fainthearted. I am not going to collapse in shock."

"Yes, what did he do, Elizabeth?" Joseph prodded.

"Well, he gambled and...consorted with unsuitable types."

The other two waited expectantly, and when she said nothing more, Miranda asked disappointedly, "Is that all?"

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. "He was, they say—" her voice dropped "—a womanizer. He seduced young women, led them astray."

She colored at speaking so plainly and began to ply her fan.

"Ha!" Joseph let out a short bark of laughter. "I'd like to see him try anything with my Miranda. Besides, if he's marrying her, you can scarcely worry about him ruining her reputation.''

"I suspect she is worried more about his
faithlessness,
Papa," Miranda pointed out wryly.

"Faithless? To you?" Joseph's brows rushed together, and he said again, "I'd like to see him try! Trust me, my dear, I'll make sure he knows what's expected of him."

"Nothing is expected of him," Miranda stuck in pointedly. "I'm not marrying him."

“Of course, dear, not unless you want to,'' Joseph replied easily. He turned to Elizabeth. "Besides, Lizzie, that was years ago. He was just a boy then. Lots of men are wild in their salad years, but they straighten out as they get older."

"Yes, I know." Elizabeth agreed, but her forehead remained creased with worry.

"Besides, we would make sure it was all wrapped up right and tight before she married him. You know we would not allow a wastrel to endanger Miranda's fortune."

"It wasn't her fortune I was thinking of," Elizabeth retorted with an unusual touch of asperity. "It was her happiness."

"I know." Touched by her stepmother's putting Miranda's happiness over her own desire for her to marry a peer of the realm, Miranda went to Elizabeth and sat down beside her, taking her hand. "And I appreciate that. Truly."

"Miranda can hold her own with any man," Joseph said confidently.

"Yes, I can," Miranda replied with a grin. "And that includes you...so don't go thinking that you've won me over." She squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "I only agreed to meet this earl, and I have no intention of marrying him, I assure you."

Her stepmother retained her worried expression. "But you haven't seen him yet. He's, well, the sort who can change anyone's mind."

"Handsome, is he?" Joseph asked. "Well, that's good, isn't it, Miranda?"

"And charming—or so I understand," Elizabeth added.

"That was fourteen years ago," Miranda pointed out. "Fourteen years of dissipated living can do a lot to change one's looks."

"That's true." Elizabeth brightened a little.

"Anyway, I am not about to be swayed by a pretty face. You must realize that. Remember how angelic looking that Italian count was? And I wasn't the least tempted to accept his offer."

Elizabeth did not look entirely reassured, but she smiled faintly at Miranda. "I know. I can still see the shock on his face when you turned him down."

"And this one will look the same," Miranda told her confidently. "You'll see."

******************

Devin could not get the idea of the American heiress out of his mind after his relatives left. Finally he picked up his hat and left the house. He walked, hoping that the air would clear his still-aching and foggy head, but when he arrived a few minutes later at Stuart's apartment, he felt little better. Stuart's valet answered the door and looked a trifle shocked when Devin suggested he awaken his master.

With an impatient noise, Devin pushed past him and took the stairs two at a time up to Stuart's room, the valet running at his heels, squawking anxiously. The noise awakened Stuart, and he was sitting up in his bed, sleeping cap slipping to the side, looking both annoyed and befuddled, when Devin opened the door and stepped into the room.

"Hallo, Stuart."

"Good Gawd, Ravenscar," his friend replied without any noticeable appreciation of his visit. "What the devil are you doing here? What time is it?"

"It's two o'clock in the afternoon, sir," the valet put in, wringing his hands. "I beg your pardon, sir, I could not keep him out."

"Oh, give over." Stuart waved the nervous man out of the room. "I'm not blaming you. No one can keep Ravenscar out if he decides to come in. Just go fetch me some tea. No, make that coffee. Very strong."

"Very good, sir." The man backed subserviently out of the room.

"When did you get him?" Devin asked, strolling over to a chair and flopping down in it. "Nervous sort."

"Yes. I know. Afraid I'll let him go. I will, too," Stuart went on meditatively, "if he don't stop messing up my ascots. I miss Rickman. Damn that Holingbroke for stealing him away from me."

"Hardly stealing," Devin pointed out mildly. "I believe he offered to actually pay the man."

Stuart grimaced, muttering, "No loyalty." He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "Damn, Dev, what are you doing here? I have the most ferocious headache."

"Mmm. Not feeling too well myself. But my mother and sister visited me an hour ago."

"No excuse to inflict yourself on me," his friend pointed out reasonably.

"Lady Ravenscar wants me to marry."

Stuart's eyebrows rose. "Anyone in particular?"

"An American heiress. Fur trader's daughter or some such thing."

"An heiress, eh? Some people have all the luck. What’s her name?"

"I have no idea. I have no intention of marrying her."

"Good Gawd, why not? You're on your last legs. All of London knows it."

"I'm not done in yet," Devin protested.

Stuart snorted. "You owe at least three gentlemen of our acquaintance gambling debts, and you know your name will be blackened if you don't pay them soon. Last night we had to leave by your back door, if you'll remember, because that damned bill collector was hanging about out front. No need to pay a tradesman, of course—won't ruin your name. But it's a damned nuisance, tripping over those fellows all the time."

Devin sighed. "I know. It's worse than it was that time Father cut me off. At least then everyone knew I had an inheritance coming when he died. Between gambling and putting people off, I did all right."

"Not the same now, though. There's no blunt lying in your future. I've experienced it for years—younger son, they know I won't inherit, never give me an inch. It's bloody unfair, but there you have it. Tailors are the worst. As if it don't bring them plenty of other business, my wearing their suits."

Devin smiled faintly at his friend's logic. "That's true. It's terribly selfish of them to want to get paid."

"That's what I told that Goldman chap, but he just kept chattering about payment. Finally had to give him a few guineas to shut him up." He brightened a little. "Mayhap I'll pay him off, now that I won that pot." He stopped, frowning. "But no, there's that gold-handled cane I saw yesterday—rather spend it on that. What's the use of paying for something you already have?"

"Good point. I am sure Goldman will understand."

"Oh, no." Stuart, not given to sarcasm, especially upon waking, shook his head. "He'll squawk. I may have to start going to another chap. Pity. Fellow knows how to make the shoulders of my coats exactly as I like them."

"Padded?"

Stuart rolled his eyes. "Why did you say you came here?"

"The American heiress."

"Oh, yes. Are you saying you're thinking of not jumping on the offer?"

"The last thing I want is "a wife."

"Yes. Damned nuisances, usually. Still...hard to argue with having coins in your pocket. What else are you going to do, anyway? You've run through your entire fortune. Told me so yourself."

"Such as it was. The earls of Ravenscar have been improvident for years. Even my father, holy soldier that he was, spent money like water."

"There you have it. Have to do something to recoup the family fortunes. It's your duty as an Aincourt and all that. That's the good thing about being a younger son. Don't have to worry about family duty much. Usually involves doing something boring, duty does."