Suzanna Medeiros (7 page)

Andrew was careful to keep his expression neutral. “I heard you were in town and wanted to pay my respects regarding your uncle’s passing.”

Hathaway leaned back in his chair and gave a short, disbelieving shake of his head. “It will never cease to amaze me how quickly gossip spreads in a place as large as London. I only took up residence this morning.” He frowned before continuing. “But why, then, did you ask for my aunt?”

Andrew wondered if Hathaway had learned of his previous visit and decided it would be best to acknowledge that meeting in case he had.

“I’ve already expressed my condolences to Lady Hathaway, but I wanted to see how she was faring. Hers was, after all, the greater loss.”

Hathaway was silent for a moment, as though considering his next words carefully. “I wasn’t aware that you and my uncle were friends.”

Andrew shrugged. “We weren’t. We saw each other often in the Chamber, but usually from opposing sides of far too many bills.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re here. You want to sound me out on my political leanings.”

Andrew grasped at the excuse. “You can hardly blame me for wondering. We had a horrible evening yesterday, and it never hurts to have an additional vote on your side.”

Hathaway seemed to accept the excuse. “To be honest, I haven’t given it much thought. I do have my personal leanings, of course, but…” He shrugged. “Uncle hated the fact I was his heir, and the few times we saw one another, we never discussed politics. In fact, the few discussions we had centered on how he was going to make sure I didn’t inherit. Perhaps if he’d chosen another bride he would have succeeded, but he chose one who couldn’t give him what he wanted most.”

Considering what Miranda had told him about how her husband had stopped visiting her bed early in their marriage, he found the younger Hathaway’s assertions difficult to believe.

“When does the title go to you? I know it’s customary to wait to make sure the widow isn’t with child.”

“She isn’t,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Lady Hathaway told the family solicitor that my uncle wasn’t up to the task for several months, if you catch my meaning.”

Andrew’s head began to swim with the realization that Miranda hadn’t told him the truth. She’d told him her husband hadn’t bedded her in years. And was she really barren, or did the fault lie with the elder Hathaway? He knew sometimes it was the man who was at fault and not the woman. Was she so desperate to hold on to her current wealth that she didn’t care if everyone knew that any child she might be carrying wasn’t fathered by her husband?

He didn’t know what to think anymore. He did, however, know that he had to see Miranda and ask her himself, but he couldn’t insist on seeing her right now.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry to have met you under such circumstances.” He said the words despite the fact that it was clear James Hathaway was far from mourning. He stood before continuing. “If you would let your aunt know I called and asked after her well-being, I would be grateful.” He turned and started to leave, letting Hathaway know that the call was over.

Hathaway followed him to the door. “She’s no longer here.”

Andrew stopped and turned to face him, anger rising swift and hot. He didn’t bother to conceal it. “Tell me you didn’t cast her out. That she has somewhere to go.”

Hathaway’s jaw tightened. When he replied, his words were clipped. “She chose to leave. Her maid, whom she didn’t take with her, informed me that she’d had her personal belongings moved out, one trunk at a time, over the past week. I was surprised to learn she’d left behind all her jewelry—even the pieces my uncle had purchased for her.”

Dread settled deep in his belly. Andrew needed to speak to Hathaway’s servants, to find out what exactly had happened, but he couldn’t make such a request without revealing his more-than-casual interest in the new Viscount’s aunt.

“I suppose she wanted the comfort of her home on the estate until she can make other arrangements for herself.”

“She’s a damned strange woman, if you must know, Sanderson. She left a note saying she wasn’t returning to the estate or to her parents’ home. I’ve questioned the servants and no one knows where she’s gone.” He ran his hand through his hair. “What a disaster. Everyone will say I had her cast out into the streets without a penny to her name.”

The blood had frozen in Andrew’s veins. Miranda had left and no one knew where she was. He wanted to curse, to rail against her foolishness, but somehow he managed to hold himself together and keep from revealing himself.

“It is clear from your worry that is not the case. No doubt she was too deeply affected by her husband’s death to think clearly. I’m sure she just needed some time alone and will send word shortly.”

“I hope so,” Hathaway said.

Andrew made his way from the house. His thoughts kept coming back to one seemingly unalterable fact—Miranda had lied to him. Her husband had never given up trying to beget an heir. He tried not to think about what it must have been like for her to suffer his attentions over the last twelve years. She’d been surprised that first time he’d brought her to fulfillment and he knew she’d never before reached that peak.

He suspected now that she’d never intended to pass off a child of his as the heir to the Hathaway title and fortunes since it appeared everyone involved already knew it wasn’t possible that she was with child. And she certainly wouldn’t have disappeared if she’d hoped to blatantly pass off a bastard as the heir.

It had all been a lie.

Chapter Eight

It took Andrew almost one month to find Miranda after she disappeared that last night they were together, much longer than he’d expected. He’d hired Bow Street’s finest to investigate, but she had covered her tracks well. Finally, when he started to fear they might never find her, one of the agents learned she’d traveled to a small village in Yorkshire where she was renting a small cottage.

The man who’d discovered her whereabouts assured Andrew that when he’d seen her in the village she’d looked well. That should have been the end of it. When he’d hired the Runners, he’d reasoned that he only wanted to make sure no harm had befallen her, but deep down he’d known he was only lying to himself. Their three weeks together should have been more than long enough to get her out of his system, but somehow she’d managed to burrow deeper under his skin. Damn him for a fool, but he was still in love with Miranda Hathaway.

Now that he knew where she was hiding, he had to see her again. Aside from his unwelcome feelings for her, there were too many questions to which he needed answers.

It took him two more days to reach her. When he finally arrived at the village where she’d last been seen, it was almost evening, and he stopped at the posting inn to leave his horse and ask for directions. He was hot and dirty, and politeness dictated that he rent a room and bathe first before calling on Miranda. He was too close, though. A small, irrational part of him feared that if he delayed further, she might slip away yet again and he would lose his opportunity to see her.

By the time he reached the small cottage twenty minutes later, the sun had almost set. As he stood before the modest home, he couldn’t deny the irony that it was, in appearance, very similar to the house he’d rented so he and Miranda could meet in private.

He rapped on the door and didn’t have to wait long before a stout woman he assumed to be the housekeeper answered.

“I am here to see Lady Hathaway.”

The woman was clearly surprised that a gentleman, alone, would be paying a call on her mistress, but she didn’t comment as she showed him into a small sitting room. Miranda sat by the fire, working on a small square of needlepoint, and he took a moment to drink in the sight of her. He enjoyed the way the golden light of the fire gilded her skin and reflected the chestnut highlights in her dark brown hair.

“Who was it, Mrs. Evers?” She looked up then and paled when she saw him standing in the doorway. “I see. Thank you, Mrs. Evers,” she said in what was clearly meant as a dismissal.

Andrew didn’t miss the way the older woman glanced between the two of them, a speculative gleam in her eye, before inclining her head and turning to leave.

Miranda placed her needlework on a small table and stood. She smoothed her hands over her black skirts in a nervous gesture, and he was alarmed to see she’d grown even thinner over the last few weeks. Seeing the wariness in her expression, he held back the almost overwhelming need to start demanding answers.

“Good evening, Miranda.”

She licked her lips before replying, and his groin tightened in response.

“Andrew,” she said, allowing him the briefest of curtseys. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I can imagine,” he said, unable to keep the note of bitterness from his voice.

She sat again. “Are you hungry? It is late, but I can ring for tea and refreshments.”

He lowered himself into the chair opposite her. “I see we’re back to social conventions.”

She looked away without replying.

“I thought,” he continued, “that after everything we’d shared, we could have parted on better terms. A farewell, perhaps, or a small wave as you ran away from me again.”

She raised her shoulders in a small shrug, but he could tell from how stiffly she held herself that the casual movement was far from indicative of how she truly felt. His presence here had rattled her.

“I didn’t see the point,” she said, meeting his gaze. “You were tired and needed to sleep. And when I returned home I discovered my courses had arrived. Since I’d failed to conceive a child, I saw no point in remaining.”

“Tell me, Miranda. When did James Hathaway move into the house?”

Her lips tightened before she said, “If you’re implying that there was anything untoward between us—”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. Even if he was tempted, Hathaway’s heir would hardly be foolish enough to do anything to risk the line of succession at this point. He certainly wouldn’t want you to fall pregnant.”

Her breath blew out in an offended hiss and he didn’t know what he’d said wrong.

“Meaning it was James’s ambition that kept him from accepting my wanton advances?”

“No, of course not. You are hardly that type of woman.”

She was silent for a moment before replying. “I was with you.”

How well he remembered. “I find it most curious your husband didn’t try harder to produce an heir.”

It took her a moment to adjust to the abrupt change in subject. “I think he took comfort in the knowledge that James was such a capable young man.”

She held herself almost unnaturally still when she replied, just as she had when he’d first seen her again in her drawing room almost two months before. He’d been watching her closely and it didn’t escape his notice that she couldn’t meet his eyes when she spoke the lie. How had he not noticed that telltale giveaway during his first visit when she’d laid out her ridiculous proposal? He’d been so astonished by her suggestion that he hadn’t been paying attention to the signs that revealed what was now obvious to him—Miranda was lying.

“That may be true, but a man still wants to have his own son inherit. Nephews and such are never a first choice.”

She met his eyes then and he couldn’t tell at first what he was seeing in her expression. Defeat? His conscience pricked at him. He’d have preferred her anger. But damn it, he wasn’t the one who’d lied.

“It is late and I am tired. I don’t have the energy to play these games with you.”

He suspected she’d lied, as well, about having received her monthly courses that last night they were together, but he didn’t think she was with child. Not after all those years of trying if Hathaway’s nephew was to be believed. Despite that knowledge, his eyes moved down to her midsection. She noticed and stiffened.

“What is it you want to hear, Andrew?”

“The truth would be a pleasant change.”

She glanced away and considered her response for several seconds before finally saying, “I was wrong to leave without a word to you. I felt awkward after everything we’d done together. I knew we’d failed, and I was a little ashamed at my attempt at deception.”

“Liar.”

The accusation was softly spoken, but echoed in the room.

“Excuse me?” she managed when she overcame her surprise.

“I’m tired of your lies, Miranda. Tell me, truthfully, why did you leave?”

“I told you everything. I’m sorry if it’s not what you want to hear—”

“Do you want to know what I think?” The room was small, their chairs placed close together, and when he leaned forward Miranda had to lean back to maintain the distance between them.

“No” she said, but the words, again, were obviously a lie.

“I think you ran away because you were overwhelmed. I think you knew from the beginning that you couldn’t have children, but you latched on to this mad scheme as an excuse to lure me into your bed.”

She laughed, the sound brittle. “You have a very high opinion of yourself.”

But he’d seen her shock before she’d attempted to conceal it behind false levity.

“I know it’s the truth.”

“It’s clear to me that you wouldn’t recognize the truth if it walked right up to you and introduced itself.”

“Enough, Miranda.” His voice was louder than he’d intended and a stab of guilt went through him when he saw her flinch. He continued in a softer tone. “I spoke to James Hathaway. According to him, his uncle was quite desperate up until the end to ensure he never inherited. A man in that situation would never leave his wife alone year after year. No, a man who wanted to secure his succession would keep trying. I know you lied about that.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes and silence stretched between them for what seemed an eternity before she finally looked at him.

“You are correct. My husband wasn’t at all happy when I failed to fall pregnant each month.” She must have seen the anger that surged through him at her admission, because she hastened to add, “He didn’t treat me badly, but he was very disappointed in me.”

He didn’t want to hear the details. Twelve years, and in all that time she’d never known pleasure in the bedroom until she started her affair with him.