The Fairy Tale Bride (29 page)

She stepped back, "You forget yourself, sir."
She turned on her heel, and would have departed except that his
hand had somehow fastened tightly to her elbow, preventing her from
moving away into the safety of the group of remaining guests.

"Don't hurry away, my sweet. You have not
heard the ways in which I'd please you." His face was slightly
flushed. Perhaps he was foxed? "I am known among the ladies for my
prowess. Surely you would enjoy a taste of spice now that you have
had your fill of the dull attentions of the saintly Simon."

"I will assume that you have enjoyed the
spirits a bit too freely this evening," Miranda said frostily,
doing her best to imitate the dowager in her most quelling mood.
"And I will not tell my husband of this incident, nor ask you to
leave, if you release my arm at once."

Instead, his hand tightened, and he leaned
forward until she could smell the brandy upon his breath. ''Just
one kiss for a pair of boots? Doesn't that seem like a reasonable
request?"

She went cold with panic. Not now, not
another disaster upon the heels of Arthur's poisoning. "Take your
hand from my arm immediately." He did so, with haste, when he felt
the muscles in her upper arm clench. Obviously, he well remembered
their last encounter.

"You will regret spurning my attention, one
day, Your Grace." There was vicious emphasis on her title.

Wondering if he intended to display her boots
to the remaining guests, Miranda found that she did not care.
Arthur's accident had made such a trifling matter seem completely
beneath her notice tonight. "I already regret having this
conversation. I should have walked away immediately."

She half-turned to leave, adding, "But that
is something I can rectify immediately. I hope the rest of your
weekend is pleasant, but I am certain that you understand my
reluctance to spend time in your company."

He did not seem to understand her words. The
smile was still fixed upon his lips. But he did not look at her,
rather beyond her.

She understood why when Simon's voice, deep
with anger, sounded from close behind her. "My wife has bid you
good evening, Grimthorpe. Did you not understand her clearly?"

She twisted to glance up at him, and Simon
enjoyed the feel of her soft curves pressed against his torso as he
looked down upon her serious face. With her bottom lip caught
between her teeth, she turned back to see Grimthorpe walk stiffly
away from them.

He felt the tension drain from her, leaving
her weight resting against him. "Simon, why is it that some men
cannot believe that a woman does not desire him?"

He wondered that very same thing. "Lust is a
strong emotion in most men, Miranda. I have seen it turn the most
reasonable person into a gibbering idiot, and yet I cannot tell you
why."

Smiling, she turned, bringing herself into
his arms.

She laid her cheek against his chest. He
could not resist encircling her with his arms, despite the ache of
need that filled him immediately.

"I am so glad that you are not like other
men, Simon. I cannot imagine you behaving so foolishly." There was
a touch of wistfulness in her voice. It called to the spreading
need that he felt almost all the time nowadays.

He buried his face in her elegantly coiffed
hair, enjoying the faint scent of roses there. "Nor can I," he
lied, knowing how close he was to taking her upstairs to his bed
then and there, be damned with their guests, be damned with
begetting a child. Be damned with dying.

He released her and stepped away. It was
becoming harder and harder to resist the urge to bed her, to make
her his true wife. To make love to her. He groaned softly. If only
there were some way to bring her with him. But he could not ask her
to exile herself from her sisters, her brother. Nor could he ask
her never to hold a child of her own in her arms. He knew what it
felt like to lose a family.

He forced the sorrow away again, though he
found it more difficult each time. Still, there were serious
matters that needed his attention. He could not waste any time
cursing fate. "Katherine discarded the toadstools in the dustbin.
We checked. There are several missing."

Her eyes darkened. He knew she would not miss
the meaning of such a thing. "But who would have known that they
were poison? If only we could find out, we'd have some
answers."

Nothing about this matter would be easy.
"There were several guests around who might have overheard
Katherine's lecture to the girls about the danger of those
particular toadstools. She spent several minutes going over the
dangers, and the way to recognize those toadstools from
nonpoisonous mushrooms."

"She did not know who, then? She gave you no
names?"

"At the time, her concern was with ensuring
that the girls understood the danger fully; her attention was given
over completely to them."

Miranda shivered, her eyes huge in her pale
face. "What does this mean? There is no doubt now that someone is
trying to do away with Arthur. But why?"

He embraced her tightly, wishing that he
could reassure her. "It seems that someone does not want Arthur to
succeed me to the title."

She nodded. "How long have you
suspected?"

Since I learned that the heirs who came
before Arthur on my list all died unexpectedly before my agent
found them."

"Is there nothing we can do?"

"I may send you to stay with your family for
your own safety." He had just thought of it as he held her in his
arms and realized how vulnerable she was. The murderer, if this was
the work of one fiend, had no way of knowing that his bride was —
and would remain — a virgin and in no danger of giving birth to a
ducal heir.

"I won't leave you. I'm no coward."

He smiled. "You are indeed no coward, my
fairytale warrior. Still, I would rest easier if I knew you were
out of harm's way."

"I'll consider it." Her voice was cool, and
he looked down to see her watching the deserted ruins of the
decorated dance floor. "As soon as our last guest has left. "

He would have felt a bit more comfort if the
hairs on the back of his neck did not prickle when she spoke. He
had no doubt he needed to find his answers swiftly, or risk having
her launch herself in to the effort beside him.

He wished once again, as he held her tight,
that he had never been struck with moon madness and married her. He
had brought her nothing but heartache, and he would never be able
to bring her anything else.

Katherine's patient recovered quickly from
his poisoning, and the next morning Miranda found him in the
library with Hero. Her sister was reading in a clear and steady
voice. Arthur sat with his eyes closed, an expression of bliss on
his narrow features.

Miranda waited for Hero to come to the end of
a line. "Good morning. How are you feeling?" She shot a troubled
look at her sister. Did she not realize that Arthur was included in
the category of men she should be careful not to allow herself to
be alone with? Or had she so quickly come to think of him as
family, though he was not?

Hero flushed guiltily as she hastily marked
her place in the book and sat it on the table next to her chair.
Arthur himself sat ramrod stiff upon the sofa, his color higher
than that on Hero's cheeks.

"Good morning, Miranda. I was just keeping
Arthur company. He did not feel like taking breakfast this
morning." Her eyes did not meet Miranda's — a clear indication that
she knew of her own forwardness. At least, thankfully, she had not
sat beside him on the sofa.

"That was thoughtful of you, Hero." With her
eyes, Miranda conveyed that no matter how thoughtful the gesture,
it made it no less unwise for a young unmarried girl. "Why don't
you go in to breakfast now. I wish to speak with Arthur alone."

Panic flared in Hero's eyes, a quiet
mortification that expressed itself only in a slight gasp of
protest.

Miranda, realizing that her sister was afraid
that Arthur would be chided for her own transgression, put her
fears to rest quickly. "I just want to see to his health. Katherine
said he could easily have died last night. I must find out what
happened so that I can prevent it happening again."

Hero paled and swallowed convulsively. Tears
made her eyes bright as stars. Without further comment, she hurried
out of the room. Miranda doubted she would be indulging in much
breakfast, however. It was difficult to eat with a bruised
heart.

Arthur hurried to say, "Your sister and I
share a love of literature, that is all. Please be assured that I
would not think to hurt her reputation in any way."

Miranda wondered if she had been too hasty in
her judgment. She sighed. It was a sin she had committed before.
She would do her best to try not to commit it now. "Exactly how
many accidents have you had since coming here, Arthur?"

Miranda tried to keep her question casual.
She knew that Simon would know the answer. Of course, he would
refuse to tell her and be forewarned that she was asking questions.
She did not want Arthur to let slip that she had winnowed the
details from him. But she need not have worried. Arthur apparently
had not a suspicious bone in his body.

"Let me see — " He closed his eyes to
concentrate.

"When I was but a few miles from arriving
here, my carriage broke a wheel and I was thrown a distance.
Fortunately I landed in a boggy spot and wasn't hurt. Not that
Laddensby was any too pleased about the state of my clothing, I can
tell you."

He was silent for a moment, whether in
sympathy for his valet's annoyance or in thought, Miranda could not
be certain. But she watched him closely, and saw the exact moment
that suspicion leapt into his face.

"I say." His voice was pitched higher than
normal, as if his mind might be racing. "It's quite extraordinary,
really. Counting that incident, which actually happened before I
arrived, I have fallen down the stairs; my room has been afire
once; the girth of my saddle broke twice."

He sat forward, his voice sharp with
excitement. "Oh, and I was set upon by a mad swarm of bees the
doctors have told me that if I am so set upon again, several stings
at once might kill me." He settled back against the sofa, obviously
drained of energy.

Quietly, he added, "And, of course, that
unfortunate substitution of poisonous mushrooms. Indeed, I have
been quite unlucky of late."

Miranda smiled and nodded. Indeed. Or could
it be that Arthur had actually been quite fortunate?

Fortunate enough to make someone quite
desperate. But who?

Miranda could not help the frisson of guilt
that assailed her at her intrusion into the dowager's privacy. She
was in the garden gazebo, resting, a piece of sewing on her
lap.

The older woman had worked tirelessly these
past weeks to ensure a successful party and deserved whatever
moments of rest she might steal in between seeing to the needs of
the guests and the duties of the servants.

However, of all those involved, the dowager
had motive. She had been vocal about the fact that she counted
Arthur a worthless heir apparent. Though the thought was absurd on
the surface, Miranda could not dismiss it. Arthur had nearly been
killed. Who knew if his luck would hold him safe if there were to
be another attempt? The question must be asked.

And so she asked it boldly, without pretense.
"Why do you object to Arthur as Simon's heir?"

A sniff of disdain met this bluntness. "The
sniveling ninny has lucked into being a duke's heir, and he hasn't
got the sense to appreciate his fortune. Not to mention his lack of
ability in running the affairs of his own wardrobe, never mind an
estate the size he will inherit."

Again, Miranda chose to meet the dowager's
acidity with a blunt question. "Do you find his accidents
suspicious?"

The dowager paused in her stitching. "Odd,
yes, but not suspicious. He is simply clumsy — carriage accidents,
riding accidents, bees ... " Her voice trailed off and she met
Miranda's eyes sharply.

"I find them suspicious." Miranda did not
elaborate.

As the needle flew, the older woman dismissed
the possibility. "Who could possibly benefit from his untimely
death — especially now that Simon is married? You, perhaps?"

The dowager shook her head, answering her own
question. "But not unless you had a male child to be Simon's heir.
Otherwise, you have naught but a few coins and baubles to pawn in
your later years."

The needle slowed. "Is that a possibility?"
Her voice, uncharacteristically tentative, whispered across the
distance between them.

Inside, Miranda quivered, but she did not
allow that to show in her curt answer. "I am not expecting a
child."

"I didn't think so." Her smile was bitter. "I
do know my son after all these years." There was an infinite
weariness borne of sadness in her words.

Miranda abandoned any suspicion that the
dowager might have poisoned Arthur. She couldn't believe it of her.
For as much as Simon and his mother hurt each other, there was love
beneath it. The dowager had never tried to physically force Simon
to her will. She had fought her battles with words.

Nerves raw, Miranda could not stop her own
sharp words. "And yet, you don't know him well enough to know what
he wants most from you."

"Perhaps I do know. And, perhaps, in hard-won
wisdom derived from all my years, I know that it would only make
him hate me more."

"What is it that divides you?" Miranda leaned
forward, wondering if she might find the key to unlock Simon's
heart in the dowager's answer. If she answered.

"The truth."

"How can truth divide you? I have always
found it to be a healing thing." Except when she tried to tell
Simon she loved him. Then it seemed to be razor sharp.