The Fairy Tale Bride (6 page)

He turned his head, surprised to see that she
had climbed up after him. There were not many women of his
acquaintance he'd credit with the ability or inclination to climb a
rope. "I can see you've forgotten London life, Miss Fenster. Can't
turn your back on the little beggars."

To his surprise, though nothing he had
previously done had eradicated one glimmer of the hero-worship in
her eyes, his comment seemed to have brought him down a notch.

"Little beggars!" With a scornful look at
him, she marched up to the pile of hay, which was trembling now,
and knelt beside it. ''I'm sorry if we frightened you." When there
was no further movement from within the pile of hay, she coaxed,
"You must be hungry. Would you like food? I have apples and cheese
and fresh bread. Why don't you come out?"

Her voice was soft and persuasive, but the
child remained hidden in the hay.

Simon's gaze, trained as it was on Miranda's
slender back, still bared by her gaping dress, was caught by the
series of shivers that shook her. With an impatient oath, he
dropped the pitchfork and reached out for the child's exposed foot.
One swift pull, accompanied by a soft squeal, revealed a young
girl, no more than three or four, with long blonde braids and big
brown eyes.

Even Simon could not be wary of the girl once
he saw how tiny and frightened she was. As he held the child in his
arms and jumped from the loft to the floor below, he felt a flash
of gratitude that she had made her presence known when she did. He
could think of no more effective means to prevent him from seducing
Miss Fenster tonight. Certainly his own willpower had failed.

He left Miranda to tend to the frightened
child while he gathered wood. When he returned, chilled, but with
what he hoped was enough wood to last through the night, he was not
surprised to find Miranda draped in a makeshift toga, with the
child beside her, cleaned up and bundled into a blanket of her own.
The child held a half-eaten slice of bread in one hand and was well
into the story of how she had come to be at the cottage.

"He said I was pretty as my Mam, and he gave
me a sweet before he went in to her." Her eyes rested on Miranda
with complete trust, as a child might look at her mother. Simon's
gut clenched with shock at the unwelcome realization that he and
Miranda might have had a child this age by now. He dropped the wood
into the basket with a thunk.

"Why'd that handsome gennulmun tell me he
dropped a gold piece at the crossroads?"

"I don't know Betsy, but I can't believe he
knew you'd go looking for it and get lost." Miranda met Simon's
gaze.

He wondered, seeing her doubtful expression,
how much of what was an obvious attempt to distract a child while
the "gennulmun" tumbled the mother, was apparent to Miranda. The
girl's clothes, though carefully patched; were little more than
rags. She probably came from one of the poorer of the village folk,
grateful for money any way they could earn it.

"Do you come from Watson or Nevilshire,
girl?" he asked.

She smiled proudly, "Nevilshire, Your Grace."
With a gleeful glance she checked with Miranda, as if to ensure
that her salutation had been correct. She was rewarded with a
smiling nod from Miranda.

Simon sighed inwardly. Doubtless Miranda had
not thought of a child's wagging tongue before she'd informed the
girl of his title. "I'll take you back to your Mam tomorrow.
Tonight you'll bed down with us."

Her eyes sparkled as if he'd promised her a
pony.

"Yes, sir. Thankee sir." And then her eyes
darkened. "My mam will be sore mad at me. She told me not to never
go too far away."

Miranda said gravely, although Simon
suspected that a smile lurked under her sober demeanor, "I'm sure
if you convince her that you've learned your lesson, she'll forgive
you."

Betsy looked doubtful.

Miranda smiled at her. "Why, I remember when
I was your age, my nanny told me about another young lady who also
wasn't the best at heeding her mother's warnings. She did learn her
lesson one day, or so my nanny said."

Betsy's eyes were sparkling once more. "What
was she called?"

Miranda's brow knitted. "I don't think Nanny
Hilda ever told me the girl's name, now that you ask. But she did
tell me about the wonderful warm cape that her mother made her, of
a most beautiful red, the color of a cardinal. So why don't we call
her Little Redcape, as my nanny did?"

Betsy nodded her approval, and despite a
mouthful of bread, asked, "Did she get lost too, like me?"

Miranda shook her head, more patient with the
child's curiosity than he would have been. He settled in to tend
the fire, and to listen to the tale, sure that there would be some
happy twist that could only come from the inimitable
fairytale-loving Miss Fenster. "No, not exactly. You see, her
grandmother was ill, and Little Redcape's mother asked her to take
a basket of herbs and some soup and fresh bread to her."

"And she didn't?"

Miranda laughed and leaned forward to whisper
as unselfconsciously as if she'd been in the nursery of her own
home telling a tale to her sisters. "She did indeed – and met a
wolf on the way."

"A wolf!" Betsy's round face was a study in
delight.

"Truly." Miranda nodded as she took the
remains of the bread from the child's fingers and smoothed back the
blonde hair. Simon was tormented by a vision of how it would feel
if those fingers were smoothing back his own hair. As she spoke,
she quietly tucked Betsy in, smoothly unbraiding and rebraiding her
hair. Without a peep of protest from the unwary child, Miranda had
readied her for sleep. He watched her expression change by turns
from happy to ferocious to frightened to cunning as she told her
fairytale. He wondered if Miranda understood the allusions to
straying from the path – and the danger of the wolf.

He found no answer; her attention was all for
her story, and for the child listening raptly, right up until
Redcape used the ax she had hidden in her cape to free herself and
her grandmother from the wolf's stomach. And then, to Simon's utter
amazement, the child let out a contented sigh, turned over, and
began to snore very quietly.

Miranda eased herself away from the sleeping
child, rose, and came over to him by the fire. "I expect she will
sleep now. She was so frightened. I thought a story would calm
her."

"Indeed. But I imagine the lesson would have
gone more deeply if Little Redcape had realized she was not capable
of saving herself from the wolf after she'd been eaten."

"Nonsense." She shook her head, strands of
cinnamon-colored hair falling from the loosening knot at her nape.
"Redcape had a happy ending. She learned her lesson. You'll never
find her talking to strange wolves again."

"Happy endings are rare in life, Miss
Fenster. Look at what happened to you when you ran into a London
wolf."

"I?" Her gaze reflected her puzzlement. "What
wolf have I ... ? Oh." There was a fierce light in her eye. "So
such men are called wolves? It suits their predatory nature even
more than the term rake, I think."

He noticed that she stood close to him
without fear. Obviously, she did not consider him a rake. "Indeed.
But my point remains, Miss Fenster. And the wolf did no more than
taste you." He couldn't help adding, "And I'm none too convinced
that you've learned your lesson."

Impulsively, he reached out and pulled the
few anchoring pins from her hair, allowing it to fall about her
shoulders. "What if he had managed to eat you, my dear?"

Her color heightened, she snatched the pins
from his hand and said sharply, "I refuse to believe there are no
happy endings, Your Grace — for Little Redcape or for Valentine and
Emily." She looked at him, a challenge in her eyes as she said
softly, "I even believe you, a man of two-and-thirty might still
have a happy ending for yourself."

No. That was not possible. Simon closed his
eyes to block the sight of her, hair tumbling down over one bare
shoulder, as enticing as a nymph. Was she trying to drive him mad?
Or was she playing a game? He knew that a woman could seem innocent
and honest and be rotted inside with guilt and lies. His own mother
had taught him that truth. Somehow, he didn't believe it of
Miranda.

Without opening his eyes, he said, "The rules
are different for men and women. You are a woman. I am a man." He
wondered if there was any possibility that she was as aware as he
was of that simple fact.

There was a bare hesitation before she
answered. "The rules make no sense. They put restrictions on women,
who are not ruled by physical attraction, and allow men free rein
to indulge themselves with the naïve and unwary, as Grimthorpe did
with me."

He gave in to his urge to touch her and
grasped her lightly by the shoulders, caressing the soft, exposed
skin. "What might have happened if you had been aroused by
Grimthorpe's attentions?"

"He was a toad!"

"Agreed." Simon asked a question for which he
was not sure he wanted the answer. "What of your country suitors?
Did none of them make you wish for a stolen kiss?"

"I am well able to control my actions, wishes
or no."

"Then the answer is yes?"

She hesitated, but his trust in her innate
honesty was rewarded by a sharp, "No."

"And my kiss left you unmoved?" She tried
unsuccessfully to pull away from him, but he continued
relentlessly. "If we had not discovered Betsy, would you have
allowed me to make love to you, Miss Fenster?"

He opened his eyes. Instead of the expected
dawning of wariness in her eyes, her gaze seemed fixed on his face,
as if she sought to puzzle out a mystery. It was clear that she had
no idea of her current danger. Or perhaps she did not recognize
this feeling between them as dangerous. He felt pushed to the wall.
With an angry growl low in his throat he loosed her shoulders,
swept her off her feet, and carried her the few steps to where the
blankets had been laid out in a cozy nest.

"As you pointed out not that long ago, Miss
Fenster," he said as he brought the both of them to the floor and
pinned her beneath him, "I am a man of two-and-thirty. Has it ever
once crossed your mind that I might not connect seducing an
innocent but foolish young woman with any sullying of my
honor?"

She lay stiffly beneath him, and he was
satisfied to feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest as
she stared up at him, finally wary.

After a moment's silence, she said quietly,
"You would regret it in the morning, Your Grace. We both know
that."

He brought his head down, as if to kiss her,
pleased to note the sudden catch in her breath. His face was so
close to hers that he could not see her expression as he whispered
softly, "I would not regret it half so much as you, Miss Fenster."
Abruptly he pulled away and flicked the last of the blankets over
her, satisfied to see relief in Miranda's expression, worried lest
she see the same feeling reflected in his own. He had doubted his
own sanity for a moment.

He turned his back on her. "I pray that you
have learned your lesson, but if you have not, I am content to let
some other man give you the proper ending to your fairytale."

Ignoring the little quiver in his gut that
indicated he was lying, Simon lay his head on his arm and forced
himself to remain still atop the cold hard floor.

An hour later, still unable to sleep, he
heard the slow rhythmic creaking of cart wheels. He rose, crept to
the door, and cautiously cracked it open. The rain had ceased.
Lantern lights dotted the field and glimmered at the edges of the
wood.

After a moment, the night's breeze carried
the sound of a woman crying, and then a deeper voice, calling,
"Betsy? Betsy, my pet? It's time to come home."

He could almost hear laughter in the creaking
of the wheels of fate as they drew closer. Someone had come looking
for Little Redcape.

Miranda woke to the warmth of Simon's breath
in her ear. "Wake up, Miss Fenster." She thought he would kiss her
again, at last. She did not think she would have the strength to
resist him and strangely, she had no regrets. Instead of his lips,
his hand crushed her mouth in a warning for silence as his lips
brushed her ear. A shiver ran down her spine. "Little Redcape's Mam
is searching for her, and she apparently has half the village with
her."

Miranda stilled, and he rose abruptly. By the
light of the single candle he had lit, she could see that he was
dressed as neatly as his wrinkled clothing allowed. Despite the
state of his breeches and shirt, the villagers would know they
dealt with no ordinary man.

"You must leave, Your Grace, or we will be
compromised."

He turned toward her, his expression calm,
and there was a hint of a smile on his lips that made her uneasy.
"They are nearly upon us. Hide in the loft while I get rid of
them."

The urgency in his voice, and the sound of
approaching villagers quieted her urge to argue. Snatching up her
clothing, Miranda quickly climbed into the loft. She lay still in
the shadows, positioned by the large gap between the boards that
gave clear view to the room below.

Hidden now, she spared a glance for the
sleeping Betsy. Earlier, she had wondered what kind of woman would
entertain strange men in her cottage, leaving a child like Betsy to
wander away in her little patched dress that offered no shelter
from the night chill. But any mother who would come searching in
the dark and rain must care for her daughter greatly. The patches —
and even the visitor — must be for want of funds, not want of
love.

It was much too easy for Miranda to imagine
her youngest sister Kate like this. She was barely older than
Betsy, after all. Though they still had silver to sell, and there
were investments that held hope for the future, putting bread on
the table was difficult at the moment. Simon's intervention in
Valentine's elopement was more unfortunate that she was prepared to
let him know.