Last Chance, My Love

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eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 512 Forest Lake Drive Warner Robins, Georgia 31093 Last Chance, My Love Copyright © 2007 by Lynne Connolly Cover by Vanessa Hawthorne ISBN: 1-59998-532-2 www.samhainpublishing.com All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2007

Last Chance, My Love Lynne Connolly

Dedication To Angela, my new editor. Here’s to a great and mutually fulfilling relationship!

Last Chance, My Love

Chapter One “Stop!” Lady Rosington flung out a dramatic hand, shocking her companion so much he sat bolt upright and stared about in alarm, dropping his elegant gold-topped cane, which clattered to the floor of the carriage. “Whatever is it, Miranda?” Orlando stuck his head out the open window and stared up the fashionable street to see what was wrong. Pulling his head back in, he snatched up his cane and rapped on the roof of the chaise to attract the driver’s attention. “Take us home, Troughton. Her ladyship isn’t feeling very well.” His fury apparent in his sparkling eyes, he glared at her before pulling himself together. She appreciated his anger, but wondered a little at it. Orlando rarely showed anything but a fashionably bored mien in public, but what he saw as they drove past had driven him to instant anger. The carriage picked up speed, sending the horses into a trot. Orlando took Miranda’s trembling hand. “Miranda, surely you knew Daniel was looking for a mistress!” Biting her lip she shook her head vehemently, dislodging several hairpins that flew with a series of metallic tinkles to the floor. “I had no idea. How long has it been going on?” The carriage swung round the corner into Brook Street and Orlando lost no time hastening Miranda indoors and ordering a pot of tea brought to the drawing room. “Her ladyship is not feeling well,” he informed the footman. “She is to receive no visitors.” “Very well, my lord.” Orlando saw Miranda clutch at the banister rail and badly wanted to carry her upstairs before the servants realised it was distress, not ill health that had caused their mistress’s precipitate return from her shopping expedition.

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She entered the drawing room and Orlando helped her to remove her hat, cloak and gloves, acting with unusual clinical precision. She sat straight as a ramrod in her chair, her face expressionless, until the maid brought tea and was dismissed. Miranda sank forward, her forehead resting on one slender hand. “How long has it been going on?” Orlando didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “It hasn’t started yet.” He sat in a chair opposite hers, legs crossed at the ankles, the picture of elegant repose. “He’s considering asking her to enter his keeping and giving her carte blanche. I swear it’s the truth, Miranda. Daniel has been faithful to you since your wedding day. Only recently has he even considered taking a mistress.” She lifted her head and let him see her distress. She knew, for all his reputation and his outrageous social behaviour, Orlando cared for those he let into his private life. If she couldn’t trust him to keep her secret, she couldn’t trust anyone. The world thought she didn’t care, but deep inside, where she kept it locked away, their situation was tearing her apart. “Why? Why now?” Orlando frowned and picked up his tea dish. He sipped, put the dish back in its deep saucer and looked up at her. “Daniel doesn’t confide in anyone, least of all me, but I grew up with him. There aren’t many people who know him better than I do. Mama perhaps. He’s lonely, Miranda.” Silence fell, only broken by the sound of a light carriage travelling up the street outside. Miranda swallowed, and turned to the small table by her side to pick up her own tea. She didn’t want it, but it gave her something to do. “I don’t know why he doesn’t come to me any more. After Christopher’s birth, I was ill, but he’s never asked me, never come near me.” Orlando made a hissing sound. “He thinks you’re too ill. Dr. Sewell gives that impression.” He bit his lip, obviously holding something back. She stared at him. “I had a terrible time birthing John. A long labour. Daniel stopped coming to me every night, but he still came sometimes. Christopher’s birth was easier,

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but I got the fever afterwards, and Dr. Sewell advised us not to—not to sleep together for a while. It became a habit, I suppose.” Orlando lifted one long forefinger and pressed it to his forehead, his habit when mulling over a problem. “Did Daniel say he loves you?” She smiled and shook her head. “I’ve never looked for that. We have an arranged marriage, after all. It’s been very successful as far as society is concerned.” She smoothed her skirt, the fine silk creasing under her trembling hand. “I thought he would take a mistress eventually, but I didn’t realise it would affect me in quite this way. It would happen, I’d hear of it, and that would be that. I’m only glad I was with you when I saw them together and not anyone else.” Her hands shook, but she kept her poise, as she had done for years. It was almost second nature to her now. Orlando lifted his hand away. “He needs to look—really look at you. Daniel loves you, somewhere inside that pillar of stone he always puts in front of his true feelings. I know you love him. Have you ever told him?” She bit her lip to stop the tears coming. “Once. I don’t think he remembers it. Orlando, it’s just a foolish feeling I have. It will go away in time, I’m sure of it.” “Die of neglect more like,” Orlando picked up the delicate tea dish between finger and thumb and took a sip. “I’d rather it didn’t. When you married I thought it might be the making of him, stop him becoming a dead bore. I was a bad-mannered, ill-behaved child, and much of it was because Daniel was the opposite; a model of propriety, good and obedient. You’d hardly know there’s barely five years between us. Daniel acts as if he’s my father more than my brother most of the time.” Miranda thought of the brothers’ mother, the volatile, beautiful Triple Countess, and wondered how she could produce three such different sons as Daniel, Orlando and Corin. The family resemblance was there in the deep blue eyes and the sensual mouths, but hair colour, style, build and personality varied enormously. She had been married to the eldest of the brothers, Daniel, Earl of Rosington for five years now, and produced the requisite “heir and spare”. No more babies followed the birth of Christopher, three years before, but then there hadn’t been any reason for one.


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After Miranda recovered from childbed fever, Daniel lost interest in intimacy, at least with her. She tried, but he rebuffed her every time and her pride wouldn’t take it any more. Perhaps he had tired of her and was looking for a change. She said it, trying to sound offhand, for her own sake as much as for Orlando’s. “He never loved me, and now he’s done his duty, there’s no need for him to pretend. He’s always treated me with respect.” “What, by taking La Perla Perfetta shopping when he knew I was accompanying you today?” Orlando spat out. “It’s as though he wanted you to see him!” With an impulsive motion he got to his feet, the full skirts of his coat swirling around him. Miranda couldn’t see his face, for he turned partially away from her, but she saw the furrow between his dark brows before he turned. She let silence fall, as she could with Orlando, her best of friends. Orlando Garland, who seduced as many married women as were willing, never laid a lascivious finger on her. Not that Daniel had shown any sign of caring if he did or not. He spun back to her on one high heel. “You need time. I have the makings of an idea. Leave it with me, Miranda. I’ll come up with something.” He bowed and, after ensuring that she was recovered from her shock, left her. Miranda was not convinced.

Lord and Lady Rosington dined alone, unusual when in Town, but the Season was coming to an end. They planned to leave for the country in a week or two and join the rest of their kind, society’s favoured elite. If not for John’s putrid sore throat they would probably have left before, but Miranda insisted that they stay in London until they were sure it wasn’t going to turn into anything worse. On the surface the dinner was all smooth going, until after they had eaten. They ate in near silence, but Daniel didn’t seem perturbed. He probably hadn’t seen her earlier in the day when he was leaning over the petite, pretty woman, smiling in the intimate way Miranda hadn’t seen for some time.

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Miranda stood to go. She could bear it no longer. When she reached the door she turned, determined to break the dreadful tension in her heart. “Have you any plans for this evening, my lord?” She kept her words innocuous, but gripped her hands together. He might be planning to go to his courtesan tonight, if she had accepted his offer. He glanced up at her. “Not really. I thought I might look in at the club, and perhaps the theatre. Are you engaged this evening?” “I planned to stay with John now he is better. He needs occupying. I’m glad we’re going away soon. He needs the fresh air of the country.” “Yes, he’s looking very pale.” Whatever Daniel’s failings as a husband, he made an excellent father. She spoke abruptly, letting the words come as they would. “Have I done something wrong?” He gazed directly at her, puzzlement creasing his brow and in his eyes. “No, of course not.” “Why don’t you come to me any more? Why are we no longer intimate?” His forehead cleared, but his demeanour didn’t lighten. “You’ve not been well,” he said patiently. “You’ve never been well since you had Christopher. I’d be a brute to come to you.” Bitterly, Miranda thought back on her own behaviour. At first she’d found it easier to lie back and allow her attendants to wait on her. Near death, she hadn’t felt properly well for six months after that terrible time. After that, it became something of a habit to succumb to every chill and ache, and use it as an excuse to take to her bed. Had that deterred him? She had been so in the habit of it she hardly thought of it. “I’m quite well now,” she said firmly. He smiled gently and shook his head. “I fear not.” Irritation itched at her. She was not a child to be humoured. “If I say I am, then I am. Is that why I saw you with La Perla Perfetta today? Are you considering taking your business elsewhere?”


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He’d reached out to the fruit bowl but he paused at that, and looked up at her, peach in hand. “Did you? What has that to do with anything?” “Don’t be disingenuous!” she snapped, and immediately wished the words back. She wanted to win him, not antagonise him. Oh well, now it was done she had better explain herself. “You and I both know what her fame is! She’s newly arrived in society, ready to help her mother with her infamous business. It’s well known she’s looking for a keeper! Will it be you?” He put the peach down with infinite care. “How do you know what she looks like?” “You mean her constant appearances at Drury Lane and the opera aren’t enough?” Scorn seared her voice. “Of course I know her by sight; who doesn’t? That white mask, those white clothes, they’re all meant to draw the eye.” Her husband frowned. Miranda didn’t let it deter her. “Well? Will it be you? I would rather know for sure than see society laugh at my ignorance.” He leaned back in his chair, seemingly at ease, and cleaned his juice-stained fingers with his napkin. He must have clutched the ripe fruit too hard, for it lay on his plate, the marks of his fingers easily apparent on its furry surface. “You shouldn’t speak of such things.” “Not in public,” she replied, “but there’s no one here to hear us and I want to know. Be assured, when you offer her carte blanche it will be all over London, and the scandal sheets. I want to be forewarned. You owe me that, at least.” He regarded her steadily. “In that case, madam, you will know when the rest of London knows.” She went back to the table and reached for her chair, fumbling for a hold. Losing her patience she flung the chair back with a movement that sent it clattering to the floor. “Do you have such little regard for me? How will you feel when I take my first lover?” Slowly she came round the table, closer to him. His face remained carefully expressionless. “Will it hurt you?” She shrugged. “Probably not. You’ll be too busy in your love nest, won’t you? I’m told the hurt goes away in time, and marriage becomes a business arrangement.” She bent so she could stare into his deep, fathomless eyes. She

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saw nothing there and straightened up before he could see the bitter hurt in hers. “Perhaps it will be easier then.” Swiftly Miranda gathered her skirts and made for the door. She heard a choking sound, and then she thought she heard her name but she didn’t stay. She had made her point, and it was obvious he would not answer her with anything like a straight answer. She flung open the door of the elegant dining room, quite discommoding the footman crouched behind it, and strode upstairs. She was careful not to slam her bedroom door.


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Chapter Two “My lady, how are you today?” Dr. Sewell with his unctuous manner and perfect clothes entered the bedroom, the only man to do so these days apart from the occasional servant. “Perfectly well, thank you, doctor.” He gave her a roguish smile. “You will allow me to be the judge of that, my lady.” Dr. Sewell had cared for her since her first pregnancy, paying her much more attention than Miranda thought she deserved. Despite her personal dislike of his examinations and cosseting, she knew it was for the best, and submitted to it. He visited her weekly in town, monthly when they were in the country. Very few country doctors left town for the country, and Miranda was suitably appreciative of his care for her. In fact, she had been suffering a headache since her confrontation with Daniel the previous day. She told him, omitting the cause of her pain. He frowned at her. “It isn’t a good sign, my lady. Please disrobe. I will perform the examination, and then prescribe something for your nerves. You must not allow yourself to be overset.” Miranda sighed and allowed her maid to help her out of her voluminous dressing robe. Underneath she wore only her shift, but she felt little embarrassment. The doctor had seen her before, and he never showed any signs of anything but professional detachment. In a way she wished he would. It would at least show her that she was desirable to someone. Anyone. She would never accept any advances from him, of course. She just wanted to know. Dr. Sewell conducted his examination, as he always did, with tact and discretion, although he was as thorough as always. Miranda hated the examination worst of all. It made her feel like a helpless invalid, which she was far from being these days. However,

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she reminded herself it was all for her own good. Her experience of near death made her doubly careful for her health. His hands passed over her body, testing and probing. Miranda glanced up and saw her maid seemingly busy about her tasks, but with an eye carefully on the bed. Even though Dr. Sewell was a doctor, and probably spent all day examining women, it made Miranda feel safer when her maid stayed with her. Miranda appreciated the gentle massage the doctor gave her when he had done. On her back, up her neck and finishing at her temples. She let her head sink back against the pillows, and sighed when he finally lifted his hands away from her. “That always makes me feel much better, doctor.” Dr. Sewell stood regarding her, a thoughtful frown between his thick grey brows. “I think you should take something for the headache and rest for the remainder of the day, my lady.” “Thank you. Is everything all right?” “There is little change since last time,” the doctor said. Miranda found that too enigmatic for her comfort, but perhaps he was trying to save her distress. After Christopher’s birth she had been so weak it was a relief to trust someone with her physical health, and now she couldn’t imagine it any other way. The doctor poured a careful measure of dark brown liquid into a glass. Laudanum, with some of his own ingredients added. Miranda sighed. She wouldn’t be getting up that day. Once she woke up she would find her mind disordered and dizzy. “Take this for now, my lady. I shall leave some of your usual mixture with your maid. You should not take laudanum again this week. You don’t wish to become dependent on it, do you?” He smiled in a paternal way. Miranda knew what he meant. Just after her illness, the doctor discovered her daily consumption of the drug. Severely displeased he removed it from her, substituting something of his own. She’d found the transition hard, but when she recovered from her near addiction, Miranda realised Dr. Sewell had been right. Much more and she would


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have become an automaton, able to function at only the most superficial level. She was grateful to him for that, once she recovered. Daniel had not noticed anything.

Daniel looked up as Dr. Sewell entered his study on the ground floor. He had asked that the doctor look in before he left. He asked occasionally, but since the news had all been depressing, the visits had dropped off. Dr. Sewell was one of the most fashionable—and expensive—doctors in London, specialising in women’s needs. Daniel gladly paid his extortionate fees, happy to see Miranda cared for. It wasn’t the good doctor’s fault his marriage had worked out so badly. Dr. Sewell entered and took the comfortable leather chair Daniel waved him to as well as the sherry Daniel poured for him. Despite that his face was grave. Daniel felt he didn’t want to hear, but he owed it to Miranda. “Can you tell me how my wife is faring?” He kept his gaze steady, his face impassive. Dr. Sewell sighed and took a restorative sip. “She is doing well, my lord. That is, her condition has not worsened since I saw her last and I am hoping she will maintain her present state of health. She complained of a headache and I prescribed her some drops. She should sleep comfortably for a while now.” “Good. Will she recover any of her strength? She seems so tired all the time, so listless. She went out shopping with my brother the other day and returned out of spirits.” That was the nearest he would come to discussing the controversy that had ruined his dinner and his plans. “She may get a little stronger in time, my lord, but I should tell you that her ladyship will always be delicate.” The doctor put down his empty glass. Daniel reached for the decanter and replenished it. Dr. Sewell gave a heavy sigh. “It would, of course, threaten her life if she were to bear another child. It would almost certainly kill her.” “Is there no way—no way this can be avoided? I have no desire to cause my wife pain, but marital relations are non-existent.” Dr. Sewell frowned and took a deep sip. “May I speak frankly, my lord?”

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Daniel gripped his pen tightly. “Of course.” “I do not scruple to tell you that sexual intercourse with your wife would more than likely cause her pain. She would not welcome your advances. In addition, any relations would put her life at risk. There is no sure way of preventing conception. There are some methods practised, but they only lessen the risk. They do not eliminate it.” He paused to finish his second glass of sherry. “I am deeply sorry, my lord, but marital relations with your wife are no longer possible.” “Forever?” “For the foreseeable future.” With a sigh heavier than all the others, the doctor stood up and put down his glass. “I will bid you good day, my lord. How you cope with this news is up to you, naturally. I merely put you in possession of the facts.” He left the room quietly. Daniel studied his untouched glass balefully, as though it held all his troubles in its amber depths. He could not take a mistress and hurt Miranda that way. He could not share a bed with his wife. He still wanted her. That was his burden. He could not add to hers by sharing it.


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Chapter Three “Rosington!” Daniel stopped on the threshold of Whites’ Club and looked around. His heart sinking, he recognised his two brothers seated together at the end of the room. He strolled towards them, taking his time. “A family reunion?” he drawled. Orlando studied him, taking in more than Daniel wished him to see, his sharp-eyed stare too perceptive for Daniel’s liking. “You’re not happy, dear boy. Could it be the delectable Miranda has taken you to task?” “You know she has.” Daniel pulled up a chair and lowered himself into it. “You were with her yesterday, weren’t you?” “I was.” Orlando gathered up the cards lying higgledy-piggledy on the table before him and straightened them deftly. “How did she seem?” Orlando turned his head to take in his brother’s expression. “I don’t think I will tell you. If I say she was distressed by what she saw it’s likely you’ll be suffused with your own importance, which isn’t at all the right thing to think. If I say she shrugged her shoulders and laughed you’ll take that as justification to take La Perla Perfetta into your keeping.” He leaned back, idly shuffling the pack. “Have a drink,” he suggested. The decanter glittering at Daniel from the tabletop contained good French brandy. A waiter brought him a glass and Daniel took advantage of the invitation. He needed a drink. Or two. “Do you know how expensive that particular trollop is?” Orlando asked. “I’m beginning to get an idea,” Daniel admitted. At a sound of displeasure he turned to face his younger brother. “Well? You might as well say what you have to and get it over with!”

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Corin Wyndham, Viscount Elston, heir to the earldom of Taversall stretched his long legs out before him, studying the glittering buckles at his knees with a concentrated frown. He lifted his eyes to his brother’s. “Why, what would I have to say about anything? You must do as you please, Rosington. If it makes you happy to turn your back on a glorious creature like Miranda, I’m sure many other men would be only too happy to step in.” Elston watched with interest as Daniel’s hand curled into a fist. “They don’t like brawls in here.” “You’ll meet me for that!” growled Daniel. “No, I won’t,” Corin countered. “Meet my own brother? You must have bats in your attic, Rosington! Besides, I’m only saying what you’ll read in the scandal sheets in a few weeks.” Lazily, he picked up a card from the floor and handed it to Orlando. “I might join the queue.” “What makes you think Miranda would do such a thing?” Daniel surprised himself by his revulsion when he thought of his wife in bed with anyone else. After all, it happened all the time to other couples. For the first time he realised that if he went ahead and offered a carte blanche, he would open the floodgates. He might also close something that had never fully opened. He shrugged, attempting a casual approach. “You know my marriage was arranged. We’ve done our duty.” “I’ve seen you look at her.” Orlando’s low voice sounded surprisingly emotional, although to any casual onlooker he concentrated on the cards he held. He began to deal three hands. “Loo?” He tossed three guineas into the middle of the table. “Unlimited,” he added. Corin picked up his own cards. “It shouldn’t be too expensive between the three of us. If anyone loses his shirt, at least we’ll keep said shirt in the family.” Daniel felt in his pockets for a stake. “Haven’t got much on me tonight.” In fact, he’d left the house in rather a hurry. Orlando waved that aside. “We know your vouchers are good.” He glanced at Corin, who nodded.


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Play was swift. They had played together for years, in the nursery and after. If Daniel had gone away to school, he wouldn’t have known Corin so well, for nearly ten years lay between them, but after a bad attack of the measles Daniel was kept at home. He was the last of his line, of his father’s line at any rate, the child of his father’s old age, balking the Crown of a considerable estate by his birth. Several men came in but the brothers didn’t invite anyone to join them. Orlando had his own reasons, Daniel wasn’t feeling particularly sociable and Corin said he was tired after a sleepless night. He didn’t venture an explanation for his sleeplessness, but the other two knew him well enough to guess. Apart from the family likeness, which in any case came from one parent only, they were different enough. Orlando, all whiplash elegance, was dwarfed by his taller brothers, especially Daniel with his bulky physique, but his presence made up for any lack of inches. Put beside most men he could easily hold his own, but both his elder brother and his younger possessed unusual height. It had never concerned him. He watched his brothers from under his lashes as he played, winning that hand and passing on the dealer’s rights to Corin. Orlando won that hand as well and the deal passed to Daniel. The stakes rose imperceptibly as the evening wore on and the level of brandy went down, eventually replaced with another bottle by a silent, discreet footman. With the others’ permission, Daniel stripped off his heavy coat and slung it carelessly over the back of his chair. Now they had enticed him into a game, his brothers seemed to relax into the game, and nothing more was said about La Perla Perfetta or his wife. He was glad of that. The more he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he became, but, he reminded himself, a man had his needs. He found it difficult to concentrate on the cards, even in a simple game like loo. He couldn’t imagine why. So he was thinking of setting up a mistress. It wasn’t that unusual. To his mind he ought to be congratulated for his patience in the last three years. He played a hand at random and immediately regretted it. He scribbled his initials on another scrap of paper and threw it into the pot.

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He’d done everything he knew to wait for Miranda, but it seemed to him she was happy to allow their marriage to drift, especially in the last few years. Her illness was real enough, God knew—he could still remember the days of waiting, not knowing if he would be a widower by morning, but recently the illnesses became more trivial, and occupied less of his concern. They had become, if truth be told, irritating. Time to move on. Their marriage was an arranged one, but by concerned parents who would not have forced their children into anything unwelcome to them. Miranda and Daniel had been happy enough. The marriage began well, but lost its way after the birth of their second son. Not surprising, but after three years Daniel wanted something more. He’d hoped to get that from marriage, but if it was not to be he would look elsewhere. He threw an unplayable hand back and let himself bring a picture of La Perla into his mind. Older than he, and with a constant lover in the background, she’d invited him to one of the gatherings at her house which were a genteel way that gentlemen could meet what was on offer and decide or decline. He’d seen La Perla’s daughter. They were already calling her La Perla Perfetta. The perfect pearl. She was breathtaking, what he could see of her under the constant masks she wore to tempt and tantalise future clients, and seemingly willing. She would be expensive, no doubt about that. New to the market and the acknowledged daughter of the Pearl herself, if Daniel succeeded in being her first lover it would be a considerable coup. That concerned him less than the professionalism of mother and daughter. They knew their place and would never ask for anything more than their due. No messy scandal to intrude into his carefully ordered life, or to upset Miranda. His brother broke into his thoughts. Daniel picked up his cards and sorted them, tossing another voucher into the centre of the table. Someone had tidied them up into a neat pile and weighted them down with an empty wineglass. “Penny for them, Daniel,” he heard. “Or rather, another fifty guineas.” He hardly heard the last part. “Just thinking,” he muttered, trying to concentrate on the play.


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Orlando nudged his younger brother. “Thinking about conquests,” he informed Elston. “Saw him with La Perla Perfetta yesterday.” Daniel sighed. He supposed word had to get round. “Beginning negotiations,” he told them. “Getting a bit long in the tooth, La Perla. Time for her daughter to take centre stage.” Orlando glared at Daniel over his hand of cards and Daniel saw his brother’s knuckles whiten with the intensity of his grip on the pasteboard. “I don’t see what business it is of yours,” snapped Daniel, a little too quickly. Before Orlando could snap a reply, Corin stretched his long legs, his fingers playing idly with the cards in his hand. “How is Perdita’s new assistant, Orlando?” “Companion.” Orlando seemed intent on his hand, but Daniel thought he saw a gleam in his brother’s eye that he’d seen several times before. “You have plans of your own for a carte blanche?” he enquired, seemingly innocently. Orlando cast him a scornful glance. “You wouldn’t say that if you met her. Miss Charlotte Lambert is a most respectable female, and the way she dresses attracts no man.” “So you’d have to be desperate to consider her.” Corin laid a card down and smiled briefly at his brother. “Indeed.” Orlando played his own card. “So it’s back to La Perla and her daughter,” Corin drawled. “The mother is virtually retired. Only takes lovers for fun, and to drive the marquis mad.” “He’s more constant to her than to any wife,” Orlando agreed, slurring his words, seemingly back in control of his temper, but not of his sobriety. Daniel was aware of his close regard, under long, veiling lashes. “If you want the mother you’ll have to charm her, Daniel.” “I don’t,” Daniel said, and then wished he hadn’t said anything, for Orlando’s eyes opened wide as he discovered the truth.

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“Good Lord,” he purred. “I believe it’s the new girl he wants after all! You’ll pay a fortune for that one, dear brother. Our mama will hear of it, and she won’t be pleased. When La Perfetta takes her first lover, all London will know!” Daniel shrugged. “If I decide to go ahead, Mama will have to take the consequences.” He played his hand. He lost. Orlando leaned back, and took up his glass. “I must go soon. I have business of my own. Count up the vouchers, will you, dear boy?” Corin raised an eyebrow but did as he was bid. Orlando finished his wine, his attention on his older brother who watched, fascinated, as Elston counted the notes. “Fifty thousand,” he said finally, tonelessly. Face was all. “I’ll send you a draft in the morning.” Daniel made to stand. “One more hand,” Orlando said. “I have an idea.”


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Chapter Four Daniel sat down again. “One more wager,” said Orlando. He put down his glass, seemingly half drunk. The wine winked at him in the bright candlelight. “I would be a complete cad to ruin my own brother.” “Fifty thousand won’t ruin me.” “It might, if I insisted on cash.” The air hissed through Daniel’s clenched teeth. Orlando, a notable landowner himself, knew how much liquid cash Daniel was likely to have. Credit, investments, property, even jewellery, amounted for far more of his wealth than money in the bank. Fifty thousand cash would mean selling out in something. That would erode confidence. It only took the removal of one brick to destroy an edifice, if the brick was carefully chosen. “You wouldn’t.” “I would.” Daniel glanced at Elston, who tried for calm indifference, but the eagerness gleamed in his eyes. He sighed. “You might as well tell me.” “All right. This is a game, Daniel. I know your plans for the summer don’t involve anything vital. Nothing you can’t afford to miss. The thought came to me today and I think it would be amusing.” Orlando reached for the bottle and topped up his glass and those of his brothers, as though he had all the time in the world. Daniel seethed, but he knew better than to display his fury. They had trapped him, by God, and he had trapped himself by his own preoccupation. Orlando was a tricky man, had been a tricky boy. He had no doubt his resourceful brother would exert a due price for all that money. Brother or not, he was bound to pay.

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Orlando leaned back. “I have an inn, in Melton Mowbray.” He toyed with his glass, turning the delicate stem in his long fingers, not spilling a drop. “It was a profitable concern until a few years ago, when the incumbent’s wife died. He went mad, and refused to manage the place properly. As you can imagine, it doesn’t mean a great deal to me, but my secretary brought it to my notice by recommending its sale.” He took a sip. Daniel waited, his own glass untouched. “I haven’t signed the papers yet. I have dismissed the present manager and I need another.” He looked up at Daniel. “I want you to take charge.” “Turn it around?” Daniel gave a short laugh. “Throw enough money at it and that should suffice.” “True, but I have a better idea. I want you to run it personally.” Orlando’s eyes gleamed as he smiled. “Prove that you don’t need the trappings you were born with. Do it on your own. I’ll give you one hundred pounds and that will be all you have for one month. You’ll have to clean the inn, stock it, and try to make it work.” “In one month?” Daniel laughed. “And what do I tell Miranda, pray?” “You take her with you.” “You think she would agree to that? In her state of health?” Orlando smiled again. “The country air will do her good. Since we’re en famille, allow me to say that I think there is little wrong with Miranda these days.” Daniel thought of another obstacle. “The children? Miranda likes to see them every day, and I won’t subject them to the rigours of a country inn.” “I thought of that,” Orlando said. He shook a wavering finger before Daniel’s face. “Elston has a house nearby, a hunting lodge. You can borrow that, it he has no objection.” Elston shook his head, and Daniel knew his brothers were in league against him. Corin showed no surprise at the request, just as if they had arranged it beforehand. “You’re welcome to use it,” he said. “You can lodge your children there in comfort, and visit them whenever you can. It’s near enough for daily visits.”


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“You’ll be too busy for that,” said Orlando. “If you do it properly. Come, Daniel. Aren’t you bored with all this?” He made a grand gesture, taking in the sleepy, luxurious club and by implication, all fashionable London. “Your estates will run themselves for a month or two, and I’ll keep an eye on them for you and let you know if there are any emergencies.” Daniel considered. He was bound to play this hand. He had no doubt his brother would make good on his promise to demand cash. “Deal,” he said. “A fair hand.” He glared meaningfully at Orlando. He laughed. “Oh, very well. A completely fair hand.” Orlando dealt the cards. When Daniel picked up his hand, he knew, barring miracles, he had won. Daniel took his time. The stakes were already on the table. Since this was between the two older brothers, Elston didn’t play a hand, but watched carefully. “Did you cheat?” Daniel asked. “No,” Orlando said. “Corin might have done.” “You’ll hold me to the vouchers?” Orlando and Daniel stared at each other for a long moment. Blue eyes met blue, neither giving anything away. Eventually Orlando threw his cards on the table, face up. “You know I can’t.” Daniel placed his cards carefully before him, also face up. “I thought you might play your game out.” He leaned back. “What’s this all about, Orlando? What is it you’re after?” A shadow passed over his brother’s face, but he couldn’t decide what it meant. It cleared as fast as it came so if he hadn’t known his brother so well he would have doubted it was there at all. Orlando smiled. “Why, I would have thought you could guess that. It’s the Divine Perfetta. I want a clear shot at her. That means, dear boy, you must be out of the way. Give me a sporting chance, brother mine. What chance do I have with you making so much headway? Do go away, Daniel.”

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“You underestimate your charms,” Daniel said calmly. “However, society will revel in the sight of us as rivals for the same lady.” “I’ll be the first one in the book,” Elston put in. “Hell, I’ll start the thing!” Both brothers turned to glare at their sibling. The pause gave Daniel a time to think. The new beauty in the demi-monde had taken his fancy, it was true, but his heart was unencumbered. It would be no hardship to give something up that he had only begun to think about, and he was concerned about something else. This girl was a virgin, if her mother was to be believed. A willing one, but all the same, he was looking for an uncomplicated relationship, not a love affair. Orlando would have more time to devote to a demanding mistress, more than he was prepared to give. “Very well,” he said. “You can have her.” “And the bet? Will you accept my challenge?” Daniel started. Orlando used the language of their childhood, when they played at knights errant in the grounds of one or another of their houses. They promised each other certain things; to come at need, to answer a challenge fairly and honestly. They were adults now, but some things still held true. They would still help each other in need, without question. “Is it that important?” Orlando shrugged, the gleaming satin following the ripple of well-trained muscle. For all his air of fashion, Orlando was no weakling. He’d even beaten his taller, strongerbuilt brother in fencing matches more times than Daniel cared to remember. “I don’t know. It might be. That’s the truth.” Daniel didn’t begin to understand why it should be so important to Orlando that he take his wife to this run-down inn in Leicestershire. Perhaps it concerned La Perla’s daughter. He sincerely hoped not. Orlando had a duty to his family—he was the last of his line—and a loving association with a woman he couldn’t marry wouldn’t help that. Perhaps Orlando was merely smitten by the undoubted beauty of the girl and wanted good run at her. Daniel couldn’t blame him, he thought as he recalled a singularly sweet smile from the lady in question.


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Then he remembered the far from sweet behaviour of his wife at dinner. His ire had left him, but his astonishment had not. He had no idea that Miranda still cared what he did or where he went. Thinking of her, the way her eyes sparkled with anger, he remembered the girl he had married, and smiled. It seemed so long ago since those halcyon days. A respite. A rest from his duties, a chance to think and take stock. Running a country inn wouldn’t be difficult, particularly one as well situated as this one promised to be. He could do it with one hand tied behind his back. Why not? He spoke one word, also brought back from the mists of childhood. “Accepted.”

The viscount sat with his mother in the glittering ballroom, candlelight flickering and turning the rich jewellery around her neck to fire. Nearly sixty now, the Triple Countess was a legend in London society. She didn’t care. She had ploughed her own furrow and prospered by it. Now people held her example up to other young women, the cowed innocents who entered the maw of London society every year. The young woman of modest family who had taken society by storm and married three earls in succession. If she could do it, they said, their Jane or Mary could do it too, a statement that totally ignored the countess’s beauty, intelligence and charm. “I was like that, once,” she remarked to her son. Elston looked up to see a young woman standing by the wall, flicking her fan disconsolately. “You, Mama? Never!” “Oh yes,” the countess said serenely. “For all my first season everyone ignored me. I was poor, and not particularly lovely.” Elston turned away from the unknown miss to watch his mother, poised, powerful, beautiful still. “You must always have been lovely.” She tilted her head, casting him a sidelong glance. “Not at all. I made it myself. You only knew me as an established success, but you know what went before.” “Some of it”

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She arched a carefully plucked eyebrow. “I have never believed in either hiding my past or reciting it in tedious detail. You know most of it, more than most people. My marriage to Rosington after my first season turned out better than anyone expected. Once I presented my lord with an heir, he treated me like a princess.” “Before you had Daniel?” She shrugged. “Before, I had to prove my worth. He only married me for one reason. An heir. I faced the jealousy of his daughters. I was younger than two of them.” She paused, opening and closing her fan, seemingly concentrating on the floral pattern. “Blyth I married because I loved him madly. He married me on impulse and for the fortune he could never get control over. Rosington left me a modest portion, but left the majority of his estate locked down with trustees and guardians for his heir. When he discovered that, it turned Blyth sour. Looking at my younger self now, I wonder how Blyth ever fooled me, but when I see Orlando, I remember. He’s very like his father.” “I hope not,” Elston remarked dryly. The previous Earl of Blyth, Orlando’s father, had been a roaring boy—drink, mistresses and wagers spilling into him from the moment he opened his eyes on a fresh, promising day to the moment he closed them on another disappointing mess. Corin knew his mother suffered for her passion, but she had never allowed him to see her emotions. Now, in a crowded ballroom, it seemed she felt safer telling him than in private. “I loved him,” she said. “Or I thought I did, even when he broke my heart, over and over. I gave him Orlando and his sister. He gave me some of his time and like a beggar, I took what he offered and thanked him for it. At least for the first three years.” She looked up, glowing. “Then I met your father.” Corin didn’t need to be told that part. The story was legendary in society. The love affair, started platonically, grew so much that they considered running away together, but the young countess had been forced into maturity, and could not bring disgrace to her children. She sent Taversall away until Lord Blyth, racked by the excesses of drink, expired in a duel, a shadow of the beautiful man he’d been so short a time before, leaving his son to inherit mortgages and huge debts. Orlando proved how different he was to his


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father, and had subsequently paid the debts and rebuilt the Blyth name and fortune, sometimes by unorthodox means. Only his family knew the core of steel inside the effete, exquisite nobleman Orlando had become. Elston saw his eldest brother leading his wife on to the ballroom floor and he remembered what he had to tell his mama. “We did as you asked, Mama, sent them into the country, forced on each others’ company for a month. Now it’s up to them. Daniel and Miranda, not the Earl and Countess of Rosington.” The countess followed his gaze. Miranda, perfect in frilled pink silk, appeared the epitome of fashionable elegance. The diamonds clasped high around her throat were worth a king’s ransom. Her husband, garbed plainly but beautifully, paid her just the right amount of attention. All empty, all show. “How did you accomplish it?” Elston glanced at her. “Do you care so much about them?” “Of course.” “Them, or what they represent?” Lady Taversall flicked her fan before her face. “The weather is becoming too sultry for London. I shall suggest to your father that we leave for the country next week.” Her son let her talk, knowing she needed time to compose her thoughts. “Them,” she said briefly. “I’ve watched them. I know they care for each other. But they are both innocents, they married young. For us to tell them what to do isn’t enough. They have to find their own way and they deserve a last chance to do so. I’m glad Orlando managed to concoct the scheme, and glad you were able to bring it about, between you. I always regretted abandoning Rosington to the plethora of guardians and trustees his father set about him in his will, but I was desperately in love with Blyth, and I behaved stupidly.” “No more involvement, Mama,” her son said, watching the pirouetting figures, like expensive automatons on a dining table. “Now they must make of it what they can.”

“She won’t do it,” Daniel told his brother. “She refuses. I can do it on my own?” Orlando, resplendent in fragrant lilac brocade shook his head. “Both or neither. Did you tell her about the money?”

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Daniel nodded. “Yes, but not that you won’t collect. She said ‘If you were foolish enough to let him gull you, you must pay.’ “ The Earl of Blyth chuckled, a rich, full sound deep in his chest. “Steadfast Miranda! Doesn’t she care that it might bankrupt your estate?” Daniel shrugged. “She doesn’t seem to. She told me she would have nothing to do with it.” “Allow me a run at her. I’ll see what I can do.” Accordingly, the next day the Countess of Rosington was awarded a visit by her elegant brother-in-law, the man she counted her friend, for she was one of the few people Orlando allowed inside his elegant façade. She greeted him with tea and smiles, but the smiles soon faded when Orlando explained his errand. “No. No, Orlando, I won’t go with him.” “Why not?” Miranda frowned. “It’s ridiculous. Take charge of an ailing inn for you? If he was so idiotic to lose all that money to you, and pledge my word for something I didn’t even know about, let him pay!” Orlando crossed one elegantly stockinged leg over the other. “I did it for you, Miranda.” Miranda put her tea dish down carefully, for fear she might break it. “Explain yourself, Orlando. What is this all about?” She supposed Daniel had taken leave of his senses when he explained what he had done. Now it seemed that Orlando had joined his brother in Bedlam. Orlando smiled his enigmatic society smile. “My dear Miranda, don’t you think I care for you?” His smile turned warm and intimate, unusual even when he was with her. He leaned forward, forgetting his practised pose and made to take her hand. Alarm shrieked a warning through her. She’d always known how charmingly seductive Orlando could be. She’d seen it often enough turned on to society misses when they took his fleeting attention, and the married women and widows he occasionally played with. Never before had he turned that particular smile on to her.


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Miranda started to her feet and made to go for the door, but before she could, Orlando reached out and caught her hand. She stared down at him, her expression turned to frost. “I won’t take my brother-in-law as a lover. Playing too close to home, Orlando!” He gazed up at her, blue eyes meltingly pleading. “Is that the only reason, Miranda?” She swallowed and stopped trying to get away from him. “You know it isn’t. I told Daniel if he looked elsewhere I would consider it permission for me to do the same, but I don’t know if I can.” “You still want him, don’t you?” She looked away through eyes blurred with tears. “Yes, you know I do, damn you! I’ve reasoned with myself but nothing answers. I thought of taking a lover and pretending it was he, but that’s so bizarre! Imagining your lover to be your husband!” She glared down at him. “But I’ll do it. I can’t go on like this and I can’t see him going elsewhere without doing something about it myself. But not with you, Orlando.” She looked away but he heard her mutter. “Or with anyone. I just can’t.” Orlando’s hand remained firm on her arm, urging her to sit again. She did so, but kept her distance on the sofa they now shared. “I hate this. It’s as well no one else knows, because I could so easily make a complete idiot of myself.” “I needed to be sure, Miranda,” he said quietly. “Sure that you would remain steadfast. Be assured, no one else knows how desperate you are—except your family.” She frowned. “Does your mother know?” He nodded. “She knows her sons, and she loves you. She knows, but she won’t tell any more than we will.” Miranda threw up her hands in despair. “It’s hard, Orlando, but I’m only thinking of doing what many other women have done before me, and for much the same reason. I’ll learn to live with it. You are not to tell him, mind. I won’t have him coming to me from pity.” This prompted a spurt of laughter from Lord Blyth. “Pity is the last thing he’s feeling! Miranda, don’t you know part of his problem is boredom? I hope you know me well enough to realise I would never dun my own brother for money. Unfortunately,

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Rosington knows that too. My little game was to blackmail him into taking the challenge, but I think it boredom that drove him to accept. And I think he feels desperate, too.” Miranda shook her head. She couldn’t see how taking charge of a little inn would help anyone, least of all her relationship with her husband. Orlando enlightened her. “My dear, you will be in the middle of the countryside with no friends, no distractions. You may have your children near enough to visit every day, but no one else. No one will know where you are. We’ll put out the word that you’re indisposed.” Miranda gave a bitter laugh. “No one will think that unusual!” Orlando continued, his attention never wavering from Miranda’s face. “You will have him to yourself for one month. More than that I will not do. The rest is up to you. I’ve told Daniel I want La Perla’s daughter for myself, and he’s accepted this. His interest was only lukewarm, it appears.” Miranda was intrigued. “Do you want her?” He shrugged, but his air of casual interest didn’t fool her for a minute. Yes, he wanted her. “She’s amazingly beautiful. I may make enquiries.” He changed the subject, a little too hastily. “You may find you have nothing left to your marriage, after all. But at least you will know.” Miranda’s eyes opened wide; she stared at Lord Blyth as though seeing him for the first time, but in reality she was looking through him, to the gift he’d just presented her with. “Dear Lord,” she breathed. “It could work.” “Don’t put all your hopes on it,” Orlando warned her. “You may find it’s a chimera. I hope it isn’t, for your sake.” “Yes.” Her expressive eyes became brilliant with delight. “Thank you Orlando! However this works out, I will know for sure, won’t I? In London we’re too busy, in the country we’re too busy, this will be perfect!” If she and Daniel spent a month together, without the distractions of society and business, they might come to some kind of understanding. Either she would be able to let him go, or she would draw him closer. It had to be better than their current state of limbo.


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She reached for the teapot and poured them both another dish. When she handed Blyth his, she met his gaze and smiled. “Thank you, my friend. However this turns out, I owe you a favour.” Consequently when her lord returned from his club, he found a complaisant, willing wife waiting for him. Surprised by the turn of events, he nevertheless decided to make use of her new mood and began to make arrangements immediately.

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Chapter Five Lord and Lady Rosington arrived at the comfortable hunting lodge in Leicestershire with a small staff of carefully selected servants and their two sons. Having seen the boys bestowed in the nursery, Miranda went to her room and, attended by her maid, changed into an innkeeper’s wife. Judicious purchases at the less favoured clothing establishments in the city had provided Miranda with a wardrobe suitable for her new social status. Anticipation warred with terror in her stomach as she stripped, and began to assume her new identity. First a linen shift. Fine lawn, but once Miranda had tried the rougher shift she should wear she decided that enough was enough. This innkeeper’s wife would have the indulgence of fine lawn next to her skin, and while her stockings couldn’t be of silk, they could be good quality and soft enough not to scratch. The garters were plain, like the serviceable cotton stays she was laced into. Not as tightly as usual. The hooped petticoat was old-fashioned and Miranda substituted it for a pair of side hoops. Enough for respectability, but she felt her new character would be able to afford a decent pair of hoops. After that came a petticoat, a light woollen one and a plain stomacher. The gown was blue, dark blue, only lightly decorated with crude embroidery. Miranda hoped it wouldn’t prove to be the innkeeper’s wife’s best gown but with a sinking heart she remembered a depressing plain brown one, now being stowed away in the hired chaise standing in the courtyard outside. Smith dressed her hair in a simple bun at the back of her head. No provocative curls to droop forward over a bare shoulder, no powder, no carefully curled ringlets. Looking at her reflection in the mirror Miranda wondered if she had made a dreadful mistake. No one would want her now. She was plain, face scrubbed clean of powder and paint, hair innocent of artifice and powder. For the first time in her adult life she carried no fan. She would give it a week. www.samhainpublishing.com

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Miranda felt shy going down to the parlour where she was to meet her husband. He had never seen her as simply dressed as this. He might not like it, or he might even be repulsed. As it was, she forgot her embarrassment when he turned to face her. A simple wig with a tied-back queue over his short, dark hair. A dark green cloth coat, and a plain waistcoat. No satin, no lace, just plain linen ruffles. He looked good enough to eat. She knew he was tall and broad, but she had never noticed before now. Nor had she remembered his sweet smile quite so well. Daniel didn’t seem aware of her surprise, but came forward, hands outstretched. “My dear, it suits you,” he said warmly. “You think the Duchess of Devonshire would approve?” she asked, an edge to her voice. What kind of fool did he think she was? “I don’t care. I like it.” Miranda turned away, sure he teased her, but not sure how to handle it. “Perhaps you should have married an innkeeper’s daughter, then.” He frowned at her. “My choice was better than that.” She found that enigmatic, too. She wasn’t used to this man. It occurred to Miranda that she hardly knew Daniel, not really. She shared a bed with him a few times, acted as his hostess, discussed matters of business with him. With a wry, inward smile she realised that she probably knew Orlando better. She watched him surreptitiously, during the short journey in the job-coach to Melton. The unfamiliar air of shabby-genteel enabled Miranda to look at her husband of five years anew. Her husband was a big man, something she hadn’t considered recently, she had been so used to him. His shoulders spread broadly. Even his innkeeper’s clothes were made specially for him, although then Orlando had sent them to be laundered half a dozen times so the pocket flaps and pleats hung loosely, stretched by poor ironing. If she saw him across a crowded ballroom she would be physically attracted to him, she was honest enough to admit that. It had been one of the reasons she agreed to marry him. Now he hardly ever touched her, only in the usual course of the day, never in passion.

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Never in passion. Miranda looked away hastily. It was the jack-in-the-box neither of them dared open for fear of what might spring out. Miranda had never known passion except for one unforgettable night when both of them had been a little the worse for wine. He never touched her in that way again. For a while she yearned for his touch, then she learned she was pregnant, and the chance passed them by. Duty done, they drifted apart once more. On the advice of her doctor, they had refrained from intimate relations during both her pregnancies, although sometimes Miranda woke in the night, wanting to feel the warmth of him next to her, protecting her. It didn’t stop her dreaming of that one night, although she knew it unlikely ever to happen again. Particularly now he was looking for a mistress. She shuddered, and watched as they approached the houses on the outskirts of the village. The centre of Melton Mowbray consisted of a broad street, lined with handsome houses and shops. The new fashion for hunting the fox was bringing prosperity to the region. It showed in the newness of the most handsome buildings, interspersed with houses that looked as though they had been there forever, grown out of the earth in house shape, timbers twisted and greyed from long exposure, plaster infill painted a dirty white. They stopped outside one of the older establishments. Larger than most, but in worse condition. Miranda refused to examine it properly until Daniel handed her out of the coach. She studied it closely, her spirits plummeting. Orlando told her he’d had the roof and walls repaired, not wanting it to tumble down before he got around to sorting the property out properly. That would account for the white patches between the dirty grey, where the plaster was whitewashed against the elements, and the new tiles on the roof. They should be thankful for that, at least. For the rest, Miranda wasn’t so sure. Upstairs a casement window hung drunkenly from one hinge, ready at any moment to fall into the street below and injure the unfortunate passer-by. The other windows fitted badly, no doubt letting gales in when the wind blew in the wrong quarter. Behind them, Miranda caught a glimpse of dankly


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hanging drapes. She doubted the shutters would work properly. Studying a diamondpaned window on the first floor, Miranda saw a movement; their arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed. As she thought this, the large door at the front was flung open with a crash that threatened to take it off its hinges, and a man, closely followed by his female counterpart, strode into the street to face them, arms akimbo. “Mr. Fitzhenry?” the woman enquired, head on one side. “The same.” Daniel stepped forward, Miranda by his side. They studied each other and then the lady let her breath out in a sigh. “I’m Mrs. Wilson. I clean and serve behind the bar, but I don’t live in. This is Wilson, my ’usband. ’E’ll do the ’eavy liftin’, an’ ’e serves at nights.” The man by her side didn’t look capable of heavy lifting. He stooped, and peered up at Miranda from a heavily lined and none-too-clean face. She nodded, but said nothing. “His lordship told you we were coming today?” Daniel moved aside to allow the coachmen to lift their trunk on to the street. Without another word the job-coach moved away to an establishment further up the street, heavy wheels growling on the cobbles. Wilson scowled when he followed their path. “The White Lion,” he explained. “They take well nigh all the coachin’ custom.” Daniel eyed the building suspiciously. It had an arch, clearly large enough to allow a large stagecoach through by the side of the main building. “Why doesn’t this place get any?” “You’d better come inside, sir.” They followed Wilson inside. Gloom descended. Miranda blinked, to try to make the adjustment from the sunny day outside to the darkness within. Daniel, coming in behind her, didn’t stop quite as sharply. Miranda felt a heavy thump against her back before she fell forward. Daniel’s arm went immediately around her waist, dragging her back before she could tumble to the hard floor. He held her against him, and she felt his solid body closer than she’d felt it for years.

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Her campaign might as well start now. Instead of pulling away she leaned back. She felt the sudden rigidity and then he stepped back. She let him, steady on her feet now. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. The Wilsons stared at them with undisguised interest. Mrs. Wilson even bore a sickly smile. “You’re new wed, then?” Daniel reached out and took Miranda’s hand. “Yes, just a few weeks,” he said. Part of their cover story, concocted hastily by Daniel and Orlando just before their departure. Mrs. Wilson tutted. “It seems such a shame, that once you’re married you have to leave your old employment! Still, you ’ave a new start. Not every domestic can expect that.” “No indeed,” Miranda murmured. “Lord Blyth is a good employer. His sister too.” “It takes years to train as a good lady’s maid,” Mrs. Wilson ventured. “You must be in love to give that up!” Miranda glanced at her, startled, but Mrs. Wilson smiled beatifically, showing that what few teeth she had left were well cared for. “Yes,” she agreed. She could say little else. They’d had to think of a way to explain their manner of speech, too good for a landlord and his lady. Eventually they settled on the story of an ex-footman in Lord Blyth’s household, who married a lady’s maid. The Wilsons seemed to accept the story. In any case, Miranda doubted her ability to disguise her natural way of speaking for one month. This way she didn’t have to. Mrs. Wilson led the way, adjuring, “Mind the boards just there—there’s a ’ole in the floor.” Startled, Miranda drew back, only to back into her husband once more. His hands were ready to steady her, and she shot him a grateful smile. The interior of the inn was depressing, to say the least. The spacious interior consisted of several large rooms and ample stabling across the large courtyard, but everything lay in a state of disrepair. No horses stood before the dilapidated mangers, only a solitary, broken-down gig stood in the stable which had room for two stagecoaches. “It must have taken real dedication to run down a property like this,” Daniel commented as Mrs. Wilson led the way back indoors. “On the main street of Melton,


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space to accommodate horses and coaches, and it’s as though it’s in the middle of the countryside! I wonder Or—Lord Blyth doesn’t sell up!” Mrs. Wilson gave him a sidelong glance. “Did ’e tell you what this place was like before you took it on?” Daniel nodded. “He gave us some money to renovate it, but maybe not enough. We’ll have to spend it wisely. Lead on, Mrs. Wilson!” She led the way upstairs, to a succession of unused bedchambers, stinking of damp and stale air. The odour of stale beer seemed to permeate the whole place. Miranda wondered if she would ever get the smell out of her nostrils. At the end of a corridor Mrs. Wilson threw open a door. “We’ve put you in ’ere, but if you mislike it, you can easily choose somewhere else.” Her monotone annoyed Miranda. The woman seemed dispirited and broken, like the inn. The bedroom was depressing. A much smaller bed than she was used to, the drapes around the bed hung limply at the two diamond-paned windows and everything stank of damp and disuse. The hangings were so grubby she couldn’t discern the original colours. She dreaded to think what state the mattress was in. She couldn’t sleep here. She looked round in time to catch Daniel’s horrified stare. “We’ll send for some linens,” she murmured. “We can’t,” he said back, just as quietly. “They’re monogrammed.” Damnation! Miranda was so used to seeing them she hadn’t noticed that for years. “I’ll buy some. I brought some pin money.” Mrs. Wilson left, and the latch clicked behind her. Miranda raised her voice to a normal level. “I brought some money. I shall buy some sheets, and perhaps a new mattress, too.” He gave her a one-sided grin she found deeply appealing. “Isn’t that cheating?” “I don’t think so. It won’t add to the prosperity of the inn, it’s just for our personal use. Call it my dowry.” His crack of laughter reverberated around the room. “I quite agree. Not cheating at all. At least we should get to sleep at night.”

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Both their heads turned at the same time to view the bed. One bed. Miranda swallowed. She had never slept with her husband, never spent a full night with him, not even their one night of passion. He’d left before morning. She was used to that. Her trunk lay next to his on the bare floor, unopened, although she hadn’t locked it. She sighed and moved over to it. “Do I do this on my own?” “God forbid.” His voice carried amusement. He moved to his own trunk, and flung back the lid. The tray at the top was full of smaller items, brushes, neckcloths, stockings and the like. Daniel lifted this out, and revealed the bottom layer. On top of the shirts, the breeches and coats lay—sheets. Miranda glanced at him and then took a longer look. “You—you beast!” she gasped. “All the time—oh, Rosington, how could you?” “Daniel,” he reminded her. “I just wanted to be sure. We carry our own sheets when we travel, so I thought we might have need of these now.” Miranda rocked back on her heels, her own unpacking forgotten. “You haven’t got a mattress in there, have you?” She gave him a broad grin. “I ordered one. Nothing too grand, but like you, I thought a dowry a lady’s maid might bring to her marriage wouldn’t come amiss. It should be here very soon.” Her laughter came unconfined, and more than she’d released for years. There had been precious little to laugh at recently. Daniel watched her, grinning broadly. After she recovered, Miranda got to her feet and crossed the room to the bed. Two sharp tugs and the dispiriting drapes fell down, rotten with damp and disuse. Unfortunately, she also released the dust the drapes held at bay. It cascaded around her in a cloud and made her choke. Daniel rescued her. He drew her back and they waited until the dust cloud settled, then he strode to the window and unlatched it, holding the handle until it became clear the window wouldn’t simply fall out. But things weren’t that bad. The window swung out, and he latched it open. “Tomorrow, we’ll have to find cleaners. No one will want to come to a place like this.”


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Miranda joined him at the window, looking out on the street below. “I dread to think what the clientele is like. If there is any. What is this place called?” He glanced at her. “The Blyth Arms.” “Good grief! No wonder Orlando wants to renovate it!” He grinned. “Not worthy to hold the title, you mean?” She laughed, knowing how foolish it sounded. “Something like that.” She felt strangely light-hearted, but didn’t want to work out why, afraid the mood might leave her if she examined it too closely. She hadn’t felt like this for a long time. Miranda turned and saw her husband watching her, an intent expression on his face. “What is it? Do I have a smut on my nose?” He smiled. “No. I just realised I hadn’t looked at you properly for a while.” “What do you mean?” He reached up and touched the end of her nose lightly. “Never mind. We have enough to think about for now.” He turned away and examined the room, frowning. “Not least is this room.” He went over to the bed and yanked back the sheets. One of them tore under his violent treatment, and he made a noise of exasperation. “Tcha!” He put his hand on the mattress. “Good Lord, it’s quite dry. How did that happen?” He dragged the sheets clear of the bed. “It’s new.” He reached forward and plucked something from the bare ticking. He read it, then burst into laughter. Puzzled, Miranda came forward and twitched the note out of his unresisting hand. It read:

With compliments. Blyth.

“The blackguard!” she cried before dissolving into laughter herself. “How could he know?” Daniel wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “My scapegrace brother! I still wonder how he got me into this in the first place. Now I’m here I’m beginning to understand what depths he will sink to.”

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“To separate you from your mistress?” All humour dropped away from her when she remembered the perfect oval face of her rival. He turned away. “She’s not my mistress. Yet.” Miranda saw his shoulders go back, then he turned to face her, his face once more a mask of control. “I don’t propose to speak of that.” Her heart sinking, Miranda watched Daniel leave the room. He had cut himself off from her again. Swallowing back her tears, she went to the bed and finished stripping the worn sheets away. She needed something to do. By the time she had made the bed, all her melancholy had gone. She had no energy left for anything but spreading sheets and tucking them in. She stepped back and examined her handiwork critically. Most of the sheets were tucked in, and although they lay a bit crooked, the mattress was covered. She gained a new respect for housemaids. The physical effort required was much more than she imagined. In fact, she was panting with the effort. She never consciously thought of housemaids as people, had never been encouraged to, although she had also been taught to show consideration to all God’s creatures, which included housemaids. For the first time in her life she wondered what it would be like to be born into that class, to look forward to a life of drudgery in someone else’s house. Miranda leaned against the bedpost, deep in thought. She had acted in amateur theatricals in the past. This month would be a little like that. Posing as a lady’s maid, a superior servant, who had fallen in love with a footman and been fortunate to be given the tenancy of this inn. People would look at her knowing that, and anything she did to gainsay it would evoke suspicion. Miranda turned and regarded the bed critically. Not something she would have allowed in her house, but it was the best she could do. Pausing only to twitch the coverlet into place, she left the room and went to find her husband. She found him staring at the stables, hands on hips, another man by his side. He didn’t turn at her approach. “Not somewhere you could put blood horses.”


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He must have been deep in thought, for he started a little at the sound of her voice. “My—my dear. Not somewhere any horse would be content.” He glanced at her as she came to stand by his side. The roof had fallen in a couple of places, and several doors hung drunkenly open. The whole place exuded the stench of rotting straw. “If we want to attract customers we’ll have to repair this right away,” he observed glumly. “I don’t think most of the people who come ’ere are too concerned about stables,” the youth by his side remarked. Daniel turned to stare down from his barely superior height. The youth was one of those who seemed to do their growing all at once, a tall, lanky specimen, all raw bones and large joints. The lad blinked at Miranda and swallowed, his large Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin throat. “Sorry, missus, but surely somebody told you what this place is known for?” A terrible foreboding clutched at Miranda’s heart. “Don’t mind me. I’ve been a lady’s maid. I know about all that.” All that including women taking lovers. “Just as well,” the youth remarked laconically. “I thought—we all thought—you knew what this place is now.” Daniel’s hands clenched by his side. “Tell us, just to make sure.” “Best brothel in Melton.” The youth proclaimed it as though it meant nothing. “I’ll kill him.” Miranda knew Daniel meant Blyth. “I wonder Lord Blyth allows it.” Knowing Orlando’s personal morals, she suspected he sought to protect his position rather than his reputation by renovating the inn. She didn’t feel angry, only mildly surprised that he sent them here. “After he found out, he ordered the place closed. Some men still come of a night, though.” “Do the girls serve in the bar or the taproom as well as—the other?” Miranda demanded. Daniel was still beyond speech. Miranda wondered if he might explode and thought it very likely.

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“Yes, ma’am.” “We’ll put a stop to all that,” Miranda declared firmly. Daniel swung round to stare at her in surprise. “Don’t you want to leave?” “Why should I? It’s not a brothel now, and it won’t be again, if I have anything to do with it. You get on with getting that roof repaired and the stables put into order. I’ll organise the work inside.” “I didn’t know you had a crusading spirit!” Miranda grinned at him. “Neither did I. I suspect my reasons are rather different than that.” Leaving the men to discuss the outhouses, Miranda strode purposefully inside the inn. “I want girls and I want them now,” she told the startled Mrs. Wilson. The lady’s mouth dropped open gratifyingly. “I thought ’is lordship wanted that business stopped.” “He does. I don’t want that kind of girl, not unless they can clean, anyway. I want respectable girls brought in to scrub this place from top to bottom. And I want new mattresses in every room except ours,” she added as an afterthought. She would need an inventory of the linen, too. She had visited enough good inns to know what was expected in that line. They needed sheets, tablecloths, washing and drying cloths, all in abundance. She hoped there were enough in the inn, as suddenly, that hundred pounds seemed woefully small. There might not be any beer in the cellars, and they couldn’t set up a brewery in a month. She remembered the stink of stale beer, and felt a little more relieved, because that meant beer must be available. Strange she couldn’t smell it any more. Perhaps her nose had accustomed itself to the smell.


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Chapter Six Miranda found it a relief to accompany Mrs. Wilson to the Registry Office in Nottingham Street to find some willing maids. At first, the official was doubtful about sending respectable girls to such a notorious address. Miranda had to work hard to convince her, but eventually she received the promise of half a dozen girls who weren’t shy of hard work, who would arrive in the morning. Approaching the inn on foot, Miranda became keenly aware of its neglect in the midst of relative prosperity, and felt ashamed of it. It should never have fallen into such decay. She wondered if, somewhere in his holdings, Daniel owned a similar property. She sincerely hoped not. A carriage was drawn up outside the inn, and Miranda studied it casually as she approached. She had no suspicion that the inhabitants of such a well set-up vehicle would be inside the ramshackle inn, but the crest emblazoned on the doors made her narrow her eyes. It would be dreadful to be discovered so early in their masquerade, before she could break through the wall erected between her husband and herself. She might never get another chance. She didn’t recognise the crest, but the vehicle was rather larger than usual, often a sign of provincial or minor nobility, over-anxious to proclaim their status to the world. Relieved of one care, she followed Mrs. Wilson through the front door into the main taproom. The smell assailed her nostrils all over again, the smell she hoped to scrub away in the next few days. As she stood in the gloom, accustoming her eyes from the glare outside, she heard Daniel. “Ah, my dear, we have visitors!” She went forward when her vision cleared to stand by her husband’s side. He had donned his coat, and looked, to her eyes, very fine. She liked the softer material. It outlined his strong body nicely. She gave him a warm smile. His returning greeting was 44



smaller, but there. A great improvement to the cold, polite greetings he offered her recently. “May I introduce our guests?” Miranda remembered to curtsey low before Lord Cavendish and his wife while Daniel introduced them. When she rose and lifted her head she saw the gentleman watching her with sharpened attention. His murmured, “Charming!” did nothing to assuage her burgeoning suspicions. She avoided his regard and turned to the other two people she had just been introduced to. The lady bore a shapeless figure. Her very face drooped and she looked as though she had forgotten how to smile. The girl, however, presented a delightful appearance. Miranda guessed her age to be about twenty, or perhaps a little younger. Golden curls clustered around a face of piquant sweetness, the little chin coming to a determined point, the firmness of the sweetly curved mouth hinting at strength of character. She regarded Miranda frankly, and allowed herself a smile. “I am a neighbour of Lord Blyth’s and I came to see how his investment went on,” Lord Cavendish announced. Miranda wondered at that. She was fairly sure Orlando must be only slightly connected to this man, and had certainly never heard his name pass her brother-in-law’s lips. With an apologetic look at her husband Lady Charlotte said, in a voice that could have been carried away by a bird, “The inn has gained rather an unsavoury reputation in recent years. My husband has been most perturbed.” A small noise of exasperation from the young lady made Miranda turn a querying look to her, but despite pursing up her rosebud mouth, she said nothing. Lord Cavendish glanced at the women. Miranda felt sure he would refer to them all as that from the deprecating frown he bestowed upon his daughter. “Just so,” he murmured, then turned back to Miranda, openly eyeing her, making her glad she’d covered her bosom with a respectably large fichu. “You were a lady’s maid I believe?”


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Miranda noted the lack of courtesy in the question, not even addressing her as “ma’am”. “Yes indeed, sir.” She did her best to remove any hauteur from her voice. “I worked for the highest in society. I hope to put my skills to use here.” To her consternation the man licked his thick lips in unmistakable intent. He wanted to taste hers. She didn’t need him to say so. “I hope so too, my dear.” Miranda repressed a shudder and turned to the ladies. “Perhaps you would like a dish of tea, my lady, Miss Cavendish?” They accepted with gratitude and only then Miranda remembered this place wasn’t as well run as her usual establishments. She need not have worried. A table near the window was already laid with a fresh tablecloth and as she turned to the woefully understocked kitchen she saw Mrs. Wilson come through with a tray, on which reposed a large brown teapot, steam seeping through the hole in its lid. Miranda led the ladies away. Lord Cavendish turned his attention to Daniel. “I don’t agree with maudlin’ my insides with that brew. Have you tapped a barrel maybe?” Daniel glanced at Wilson, who nodded, hovering by a fresh barrel reposing on the shelf reserved for that purpose. Daniel could tell it was a fresh keg because there was no dust on it. He wasn’t too sure about the mugs, but he led Lord Cavendish over to a table a little away from the ladies and offered him a pint. Lord Cavendish took a deep draught and smacked his lips. “You intend to restore the inn?” “Indeed, sir. Lord Blyth has given us the tenancy temporarily until the new, permanent incumbents arrive. He wants them to find a flourishing concern.” Now he’d assessed the extent of the work needed, he had his doubts, but he wasn’t about to confide them to this obnoxious man. His blood still boiled from that assessing look Lord Cavendish gave Miranda, as if she was for sale. He didn’t intend the acquaintanceship to go any further than it had to. Did Orlando really know him, or had he, as Daniel suspected, met him once or twice at local affairs and claimed a deeper acquaintance? Lord Cavendish took a long swig of the beer. “Ah! Good brew this. The ‘Arms’ always made a good pint.” He put the mug down and lifted his large head to regard Daniel closely. “What will you do when your time is up?”

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Daniel had prepared for this. “Lord Blyth wishes us to become caretakers of one of his smaller houses. He’s been very good to us.” He only just stopped his lip curling. He would have a few things to say to Orlando when he next met his brother. “He is,” Lord Cavendish agreed without emphasis and leaned forward over the table. Smelling his breath, Daniel wished he wouldn’t, but did his best to look interested. “Are you continuing with the main business of the house?” That was the outside of enough, but he quelled his rising fury. “Would you like me to?” Lord Cavendish raised a sly eyebrow. “I could promise you some custom if you do.” He glanced at the table where the women sat with their tea. “You can see what I’m saddled with! Well, a man needs some—relief—from time to time and the previous landlord kept a good, clean house. I might even offer a little financial help.” So that was it! This place had been Lord Cavendish’s regular port of call, and he was concerned that it wouldn’t be there for his use any more. Daniel wondered why he hadn’t guessed as soon as the prosperous-looking gentleman and his family stepped over the threshold. He leaned back and signalled to Wilson to top up the mugs. Wilson came and took them away, giving a fruity sniff as he walked away. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lord Cavendish, but I’m under strict instructions from Lord Blyth to ensure that particular activity isn’t reintroduced.” Lord Cavendish scowled. “More discreetly maybe?” “Not at all,” Daniel said, and added, for interest, “It’s more than my job’s worth, sir, to go against Lord Blyth’s instructions.” “Faugh!” The expletive that followed expressed Lord Cavendish’s disgust. He didn’t bother to lower his voice, something that told the perceptive Daniel volumes about his domestic situation. “The man’s hardly a saint. How dare he dictate the morals of others?” Daniel didn’t like his brother referred to in this way. At least Orlando conducted his affairs with finesse. It would be as foreign to him to visit a house such as this one as it would for him to continue to ignore his duties as a landlord. “I have specific instructions, Lord Cavendish. If such activities are discovered, I will lose my position.” He glanced


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towards Miranda and despite her current simple attire he thought she looked too good for a country inn. Good enough to eat, in fact. Hastily, he pushed the thought away. “I am newly married and I cannot afford to lose the interest of my patron.” “I see.” Lord Cavendish openly sneered at him. “You’re very well spoken for a servant.” “Lord Blyth desires it of his servants.” That was true enough. “Well, you’ll need the goodwill of the people here. Perhaps your successor will be more accommodating.” Not now he wouldn’t, Daniel thought. “I will write to his lordship and inform him I am most displeased with your response. I never thought to see it in a servant.” He almost spat the last word. After he made sure he’d emptied his tankard, Lord Cavendish stood, thrusting the table for support so it jammed against Daniel’s legs. Daniel showed no sign of discomfort but pushed the trestle away and got to his feet. “I can only repeat that his lordship was most insistent on this point, Lord Cavendish. I don’t know who will come here eventually. Lord Blyth might still be looking for someone.” Lord Cavendish cocked an eyebrow at him. “You don’t say? I might have some names I can recommend to him.” Daniel could have told the older man not to waste his time but he didn’t bother. He couldn’t wait to see the man out. The ladies stood immediately and left in the wake of their lord and master. Daniel levered himself into the seat Lady Charlotte had vacated. He pushed a halffull tea-dish aside. “They didn’t finish their tea. What did you think of them?” Miranda grimaced. “You must know. What an appalling family! What did he want?” “For me to start the brothel again. I told him Orlando sent us to make sure that didn’t happen.” She looked at him, her gaze intent. “Do you think he did?” “I think he knew only too well what this place was used for. I intend to have it out with him as soon as we see him again. Did he tell you?” He tilted one black eyebrow at her.

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She shook her head. “No. I had no more idea than you. I’m not even sure he knew himself.” “We’ll find out. What a dreadful man!” He didn’t mean Orlando. “A tyrant. I’ve seen it at a distance but I’ve never known it so blatant before. That poor woman was completely cowed. I don’t see how she could have allowed herself to get into such a situation.” He stared at the sugar dish on the table, as though he could find answers there. “What would you have done if I turned out to be a domestic tyrant?” “Aren’t you?” Startled, he lifted his eyes to see her gentle smile. He breathed a sigh of relief. He tried very hard not to be. She answered his question. “I would have gone back to my parents.” “I always thought your father something of a tyrant.” Her smile broadened. “A very kind one. After he told me of your proposal he informed me it was entirely my decision. He said he thought I could—well, never mind.” “What?” He reached across the small table and took her hand, compelling her to look up again. “What did he tell you?” Suddenly it seemed very important for him to know. She flushed lightly, the pink suffusing her cheeks and making him want to get closer to her. He felt the unwelcome stirring of desire. Her voice lowered to a murmur. “He said he thought I would come to care for you a great deal in time.” “Did you?” She lifted her head and met his gaze frankly. “I did. Especially in the early days.” He released her hand and leaned back, taking care, in case the chair should give way under his weight. Nothing in this damned place was certain. “Things don’t always happen the way we would like.” “No.” They gazed at each other, silently willing the other to take the next step. Neither did. Miranda was the first to break the contact. “I think Lord Cavendish beats his wife.”


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“You do?” He allowed the relaxation away from uncomfortable intimacy and gazed around the gloomy room. “What makes you think that?” “She all but cringed when she spoke of him. It seems she has given him one daughter and one son, who is presently away at school. The girl is on the marriage mart, and Lord Cavendish plans to sell her for what he can get. She told me that herself.” “That little blonde piece?” He returned his attention to her. “She seems under no illusions of her father’s character. Her mother has suffered frequent miscarriages but he seems determined to continue.” Desire left Daniel then. Only duty remained He couldn’t force his attentions on her, knowing how dangerous it was for her, except that danger came from another direction. After a difficult first birth and the consequent weakening of her health, when she gave birth to her second son, the birth made her easy prey to childbed fever. Daniel had never explained his feelings to her. He couldn’t seem to find the words and they had drifted like that ever since. Now he didn’t think he would ever tell her. “I wondered,” she continued quietly, “what kind of man would insist on it, and now I know. I’m glad I didn’t marry someone like that.” He stood. “Thank you for that, at least. We should try not to antagonise Lord Cavendish completely. We’re only here for a month, and our successor will have to cope with him for far longer. If necessary, we can ask Orlando to draw his teeth. I’m sure he could find a way.” “I’m sure he could,” she agreed tonelessly. “The light’s going. Shall we set some lights about? Are we opening tonight?” “I suppose we should. Start as we mean to go on. Lord Cavendish was right about one thing. The beer is remarkably good. At least we have something working for us.” “I’ll stay to help.” Daniel glanced at her, but didn’t argue. After all, who would know her here?

The clientele that evening was select and distinct. A very few men entered, and after glancing at Miranda, headed for the rack of beer. Although only one keg was in use, it

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proved adequate. Some ordered wine or spirits. Miranda took a glass of wine herself and her fears were compounded when she sipped it. “This is good French wine,” she said in a quiet aside to her husband. He took the glass from her and tasted it. “I thought as much. Presumably they get a visit from the Gentlemen every so often.” “So far inland!” “They reach to every corner of the Kingdom. I think we get a delivery at the Towers.” She shot a startled glance at him and he gave her a wry smile. “I don’t encourage it, but there’s little I can do. I lobby in Parliament for more to be done, but I don’t know what the solution is.” She smiled and moved on, taking the glass with her. Although they wouldn’t need any help with this level of clientele, someone came in. A blowsy girl strode through the front door and stood, blinking. Immediately Daniel saw her and went forward. Miranda didn’t know what he said, but the expression on her face changed considerably, from an affected simper to a scowl. Miranda had seen that simper before, in many a London ballroom. The scowl, too. The girl spun on her heel and stormed out. Daniel glanced at Miranda and grimaced and she felt an instant of close communication with him. She hadn’t felt that for years, since before the birth of her first son. They used to share a lot like that. She remembered it now, and missed it, the sharp pang surprising her with its intensity. Daniel didn’t come over to his wife, but was waylaid by a customer. He answered whatever the man’s questions were patiently. Only half a dozen customers occupied the taproom so Miranda judged she could take her leave and go to find something for them to eat. Tomorrow she would visit the market. A large Farmer’s Market took place in Melton Mowbray every Tuesday, and she looked forward to it, when she could spare the time. A small passage connected the taproom with the large kitchen at the back of the inn. Miranda entered it and had just gone out of sight of the taproom when someone seized her.


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A large hairy hand at the end of an arm clad in rough cloth seemed to come from nowhere. Miranda lost her balance, and fell against a heavy male chest. The owner of the chest grunted, then tightened his hold. Miranda gasped, and instinctively held up her head to search for air before pushing against the chest to regain her balance. Instead, the stranger’s hold on her tightened. “Cosy armful, aren’t you?” she heard, and a gust of halitosis reached her, making her stomach clench in response. A hungry mouth came down on hers. It all happened so fast that Miranda hadn’t a chance to defend herself, but now she did her best, pulling back to try to free herself, and twisting her head to escape the suffocating mouth and the dreadful odour of bad breath, stale sweat and beer. “Get off me!” she managed, but he took no notice. “I got money.” He tried to capture her mouth once more. Someone dragged Miranda backwards. She hit the opposite wall of the corridor with a dull thud, but she didn’t mind that, just pressed harder against it, feeling safety in the hard stone. Daniel stood with his hand braced against her attacker’s chest, his face a grim mask. “My wife is not to be touched,” he growled, in low but menacing tones. “This is a respectable house now, and you’ll treat everyone in it that way. Understand?” The man stared at Daniel for a full minute before he let his eyelids droop over bloodshot eyes. He shrugged. “No sense getting in a fight over a doxy. Understood.” Without warning, Daniel drew back his free hand and struck. “That,” he said, as the man dropped to the floor, “is for calling my wife a doxy. You’re not wanted here. Go, and don’t let me see your face again!” What started as a quiet altercation was fast getting louder. People crowded at the entrance of the passage to watch. Miranda wanted to die of embarrassment, but there was little she could do to alter anything so she stood up straight and put her chin up. Fascinated, she watched Daniel grip the man by the collar and manoeuvre him out by the back door. She had never seen Daniel do anything in violence, he was always so controlled around her.

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She smiled warmly after he slammed the heavy door and came back to her. He frowned down at her. “Are you all right?” “Perfectly,” she said, back in control of herself once more. He lifted his hand and softly brushed her cheek before turning away to the spectators. “What are you looking at? If any of you try to treat my wife with anything but respect, you’ll get the same treatment. Understood?” The small crowd moved away, murmuring, and Daniel turned back to Miranda. “I’ve not felt so angry for years,” he confessed with a deprecating smile. She smiled back. “He was drunk, and it was most unpleasant, but it was almost worth it to see how you responded. I had no idea I married a knight in shining armour!” His smile turned wry. “Hadn’t you? I must admit I wasn’t sure myself. I think you can go up now. We won’t have many more customers tonight, and you look tired.” “I am.” The recent altercation had made Miranda realise how weary she was. With one final smile she turned away in the direction of the backstairs.


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Chapter Seven His reaction to the assailant took Daniel aback. He would have rescued any struggling woman from such a boor, but when he realised it was Miranda fighting to get free, his anger increased tenfold. He could have willingly killed the man, and knew for sure he’d left the mark of his hand imprinted on his shoulder. It was only Miranda’s frightened whimper before she’d regained control of herself that brought him back to his senses. He followed her upstairs and into the bedroom. When she turned to stare he said, “I thought you might need some help.” Comfort was what he wanted to give her, not help. He wanted to hold her, to assure himself she was all right. Miranda smiled and turned her back to him. “You could unlace me.” She undid her gown at the front and let it slip from her shoulders, revealing the serviceable pair of stays she had adopted for this masquerade. His stomach churned and he stepped forward, feeling more unsure of himself than he had for years. Daniel took his time undoing the knot and loosening the stays. It gave him time to think, and to steady himself. He suspected this twist of fate that had landed him here in this inn exposed him somehow. No longer surrounded by the trappings and habits of his usual life, he was stripped bare, forced to confront more than he would really like to. Not being a coward, he faced the new emotions and put his mind to how to deal with them. He had no idea. After he pulled the lace through the last eyelet, he stepped back, and watched his wife pull the stays away from her body. She wore in her chemise and stockings and she looked delectable, her generous breasts set free to fill the thin garment the way nature intended, the shadowing under the fabric tempting him with the bounty he hadn’t tasted for years. Only one flickering candle lit the room, sending crazy shadows over the walls and ceilings, intensifying his feeling of strangeness, of somehow stepping out of time. 54



Abruptly, Daniel moved towards the bed and flicked the bedclothes back. “Get in and get some sleep. After you’ve washed, draw the bolts on the door. They look serviceable enough.” Miranda picked up her washcloth but she turned at his words. “Aren’t you sleeping here too?” With a deep sense of shock, Daniel realised the bed was intended for both of them. He’d been so used to separate rooms, had never spent the night with any woman, not even Miranda. Not even when they first married. His mother had told him it wasn’t usual, and he knew she and his father had never shared a bed. His mother’s second marriage, to Orlando’s father, had been far too turbulent to wonder about sleeping arrangements and he had no idea about her third marriage. By then he spent two-thirds of the year at school. “I—I suppose I’ll have to,” he managed. “Don’t you mind?” Miranda half turned to him, her face damply fresh from the towel she still held in her hands. The candle fitfully illuminated her lush curves and Daniel remembered how she’d once felt under his hands. He wondered what mark her illnesses had left on her, if she had lost weight, and he longed to explore her. He could not. He must not. His intimate explorations had nearly led to her death. This was no lurid imagining, it was the stark truth. He still remembered the midwife’s warning. “If she has any more children, it would most likely kill her, my lord.” That wouldn’t happen. He would not kill her with his passion. So, remembering that, he could face her again. It killed any desire, that reminder. “I’ll see if the lock works tomorrow.” “I doubt it.” She turned to the bed and the edge of her thin chemise caught the light, revealing just for a moment the shape of her waist, still sweetly curved after two children and a succession of illnesses. He caught his breath and stood still until she turned. “Will you be long?” “I don’t think so. Will you be all right now?” She nodded and he turned and left the room.


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Miranda lay back and pulled the covers up. She would have liked some comfort. The incident in the kitchen hadn’t been too much of a shock, it happened too quickly for that, but she wasn’t used to being mauled by strange men and she would have appreciated a familiar touch. She turned over. More than that. She wanted his touch. After all this time she still wanted him, wanted to feel his hands on her. She knew why he desisted, or thought she did, but they had never talked about it. It had just been assumed between them. Much easier when they had separate bedrooms. She hadn’t even realised just how much she missed his touch until she had seen him with La Perla Perfetta that day, and known she was about to lose him forever. Sighing, she let sleep drift over her.

She awoke to bright morning sunlight. Miranda had never felt so warm and peaceful. She could count the times on the fingers of one hand. In fact, she thought, drowsily opening her eyes, she couldn’t remember feeling so good and well-rested for years. She opened her eyes to a broad expanse of male chest covered by a thin layer of white lawn. As she became aware she realised a strong male arm curved around her back. Miranda lay still, savouring the feeling, reluctant to move in case he woke and moved away. She felt warm and protected. The sensation was wonderful, if fleeting. She hadn’t been sure he would join her, sure they would sleep apart. Miranda became more certain that this was right. It felt right. Yesterday, especially last night, she doubted the crazy scheme, but in the fresh light of day she began to see how the thing might be done. She wanted her husband back. If she was willing to take the risk, why shouldn’t he? She dared to move closer and snuggle in. Before he woke up, his arm tightened around her, then with a small grunt, he came to. For the first time ever, Miranda watched her husband open his eyes to greet the day. They turned first to her, and consciousness dawned in the dark depths. She waited.

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He bent his head and kissed her. A small kiss of greeting, not a kiss of passion, but a start. She enjoyed it, but she didn’t follow when he drew back, smiling. “I don’t think we can avoid this. I’m not sure I want to.” Miranda felt the warmth inside, a glow of well being. “I like it too. Could you imagine what your valet would think if he found us like this?” “Oh yes, I can imagine.” His voice grew a little harder. “We’d better enjoy it while we can.” Miranda snuggled closer and felt his hand move over her in a leisurely caress. However, it proved to be a farewell gesture, for he threw back the covers on his side and slipped away. “Come on, sleepyhead. We must be late up.” He opened the door and checked outside before closing it with a sigh. “Cold water. I’ll do my best, and then I’ll go downstairs and find you some hot.” He crossed the room to the pine washstand and poured some cold water from the ewer into the chipped bowl. Miranda watched him shave. Although his valet usually performed this task for him, Daniel was well able to shave himself, as he proved in the next five minutes. He only had cold water, but he’d brought a good shaving kit with him, with a well-honed blade, and he managed the job without mishap. Miranda held her breath, but was disappointed when he donned his underwear before he took his nightshirt off. Was he reticent, then? He must be. She had never seen him naked, no more than he had seen her, but she had felt his body close to hers and she knew the feel of the firm, strong muscle under the lawn. By the end of this month she wanted to feel him, skin to skin. She shivered at the thought. A delicious shiver. Without looking at her he drew off his nightshirt and revealed his body to her, large and powerful. Miranda watched him dress, torturing herself with thoughts of touching him, kissing him in forbidden places. She wanted him to show her what he liked, so she could please him. She wanted him to please her. Suddenly, Miranda couldn’t stand watching any more. She might force the issue, try to persuade him to hold her for longer, kiss her harder, and that could ruin everything.


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She got out of bed and he glanced at her for the first time since he got up. They shared a smile before he left the room, tremulous on her side. Daniel didn’t come back, but sent the kitchen maid with a can of hot water, so Miranda could wash in comfort. She didn’t waste time, but stripped, washed and dressed. She was quite capable of lacing and unlacing her stays herself, but she kept the maid with her to tighten her laces. She didn’t want Daniel to realise that. Not yet, at any rate. She had no idea if this scheme would work, but she felt strongly this was her last chance to forge a relationship stronger than cordiality with her husband. It was what she wanted most in the world.

The inn filled with the sound of chattering, gossiping female voices from the extra help, mingled with the occasional giggle or shocked exclamation when something came to light that respectable females shouldn’t know about, but all too often did. Once Miranda discovered housework required little more than hard work, she set to with a will. Daniel kept busy outside, about the stables with a team of hired men, busy repairing the roof and cleaning out the outhouses. At about mid-day, he came to her. Miranda forgot his disreputably grubby appearance when she saw the suppressed excitement in his eyes, and took his hand when he impulsively held it out to her. She couldn’t remember a time when he ever did that before. She treasured it, deliberately made an effort to remember. With a smile, he drew her outside and to the small outbuilding in the corner of the yard, the only one that had been, until that morning, in one piece. She knew what was inside from the smell of yeast and hops, the sickly, rich smell that was indicative of only one thing. Miranda let Daniel draw her through the door into the warmth of the inn’s small brewery. Inside it was like another world. Everything was clean and orderly. Shelves were ranked with instruments, glistening glass, burnished steel, tasting spoons, measuring jugs.

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In one corner sat a sack of grain, and another from which hops peeped shyly, the dried leaves golden. Before the barrels taking up most of the space stood Wilson, leaning on the handle of a flat, wooden shovel, as though on guard before a treasure. Daniel turned to her with a smile. “I told you the beer was good. This is why.” Miranda was full of wonder. “How did you keep it like this?” Wilson cleared his throat, hawked, and then remembered where he was and swallowed, instead of spitting on the floor. “Everything else went, but this was mine. ’e promised. And it kept customers coming back, so ’e let me carry on and run it.” “On your own?” Wilson looked towards Daniel. “Yes, on me own. I weren’t going to let any of the lasses in ’ere, they was stupid and dirty.” “Could you use an assistant?” A beatific, toothless smile crossed Wilson’s dour face. “Aye, I could. If I were allowed to choose ’im.” Daniel gestured with his hand, taking in the order in the outhouse, absent anywhere else in the inn. “I think you’ve earned it. Go ahead and hire somebody.” Wilson nodded, the deep lines in his face lightening. Daniel turned back to Miranda. “With the basis of good beer, a fine inn can easily come. Don’t you think?” She nodded. “Especially if there’s good food to go with it. We need a first-rate plain cook.” Excitement welled within her, such as she had not known before. Hope mingled with a thrilling feeling that whatever was done here, they would do it together. No title, no wealth. If they left this place in good heart she would count it as one of her major successes in life. If they left it together, really together, she would be content. More than content.


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Lord and Lady Rosington had never worked so hard in all their lives before. The rest of the week passed in a blur of dust, filth and cleaning. Miranda found the pantry, just off the kitchen, by smell, and recognised the faint disgusting odour that had plagued her for days. When she demanded it completely emptied and cleaned, Mrs. Wilson regarded her as though she were a madwoman. “No one goes in here but the staff,” she pointed out. “What do the customers care?” Miranda wiped her hands, damp from scrubbing, on her sturdy apron. “I would care. We have decided to provide the best food and drink we can, and no good food ever came out of this place.” She indicated the pantry with a dismissive wave of her hand. It was almost a building in itself, a large outhouse backing on to the yard, the better to keep the contents cool. However the once clean wooden shelves were dirty and stinking with unmopped spills and the floor was crunchy with mouse droppings. Probably rats as well, Miranda thought with a grimace. A half-stifled exclamation behind her made her look around. A plump woman stared over Miranda’s shoulder, her mouth wide with horror. Miranda smiled mirthlessly. “Dreadful is it not, Mrs. Merchant?” “Yes.” The reply was almost whispered, then the formidable Mrs. Merchant cleared her throat and found her voice. “May I take care of this?” Miranda nodded. Mrs. Merchant had taken the old polish off the floorboards with her efforts. She could think of no one better. “I’d be delighted if you did. It needs emptying, cleaning and traps laid for the vermin.” With a lurch of her stomach, Miranda realised they had been eating out of this place for the last few days. She wished they’d sent out for their food. She went to find her husband, determined to share the news. When she told Daniel, he visibly blenched. “I was sick this morning. I didn’t like to say anything, but I’ve not been feeling well since we arrived.” He was busy in the taproom, supervising the stacking of new barrels on the shelf, but at the moment he was alone. Now, with the windows cleaned, the main room of the inn shone cheerfully with daylight, far from the murky space they entered on their first day.

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He glanced over his shoulder at her and then gently put the heavy mallet down beside the new barrel. “What’s wrong?” “You should have told me you were ill. You haven’t seen it. It’s awful, Daniel. You weren’t seriously sick, were you?” He came over to her and put his hands gently on her shoulders. “Not really, but I’d appreciate some decent food.” “How are you now?” “Better. I washed, rinsed and scrubbed my teeth to within an inch of their lives.” He laughed and ran his tongue over his white teeth. Miranda stared at him, mesmerised. With a small mental shake she recalled herself to the present. “Why don’t you go and see the children?” She lowered her voice when she said it. “You can go, bathe, eat properly at the mansion and come back in the morning.” Hope lit his eyes. “I could, couldn’t I? But you should go first. We can’t go together, we’ve agreed on that, so you should be the first to go.” “I’m fine.” She reached up and touched his face, drawing her hand away again immediately. “You look tired. Go and rest and come back refreshed. One of us should go. They’re not used to not seeing us.” She loved Daniel’s personal devotion to their children. The boys meant far more to him than the “heir and the spare”. He liked to keep them with him, and see them at least once a day. Not the formal presentation in the drawing room either that peers insisted on, inspecting their offspring as they might inspect their other possessions. He usually went and joined them in the nursery, romping with them on the floor. When Miranda came upon them like that, he got to his feet at once, leaving her with a yearning to join them that he never indulged. She pulled her hand away and he caught it, and brought it to his lips, to bestow a gentle kiss in the palm. Miranda warmed to the kiss. He kept hold of her hand but lowered it. “Will you be all right on your own?” “I’m not on my own. I have the Wilsons.”


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He frowned. “We’ll ask Jevins to stay over.” Jevins was a large, useful man they employed recently. He would prove an effective guard. “I don’t intend to take any chances with you. I’d always planned to take more people on the staff.” His slow smile warmed his eyes. “I have to confess I’ll miss you.” “I’ll miss you too.” She said it without thinking; the simple truth escaping her before her mind could keep up with it. His hand crept around her waist and with a thrill in her heart she felt him pull her closer. Miranda couldn’t remember when Daniel last kissed her like this, if he ever had. She opened to him as soon as his tongue touched her closed lips, and leaned her head back, the better to allow him access, hearing the moan, low in his throat, when she did so. Her head came to rest against his shoulder, imprisoning her. Sweet imprisonment! What was freedom when compared to this? He took his time, exploring her, coaxing her to respond, and when she did, shyly touching his lips with her tongue, he pressed her closer with more fervour, giving Miranda a wonderful sense of his possession. If he laid her on the floor and pushed her skirts up she wouldn’t have done anything to stop him. His hands moved over her, touching her with a need she felt through her clothes, burning through her boned stays to the soft skin beneath. She felt free, free of the position she always held that dictated every minute of every day, free of being anything but Daniel’s wife. She let her hands wander across his back, slipping her arms under the coarse fabric of his coat. His heat burned her. Daniel kissed his wife senseless, as he had longed to do for years. Years. Ever since he’d sworn off her, for her own good. It killed him every day to see her across the length of the dining table, to know only two doors lay between her chamber and his, both unlocked. Now they shared a bed, and his restraint nearly destroyed him. To feel her warm body next to his and be unable to touch her. Not to tell her how he felt, lest she become as unhappy as he was. And she was right, he was tired. Daniel lay awake long after Miranda fell asleep at night, watching over her. This time would never come again and he couldn’t bear to

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waste any of it. Even holding her was better than staring at her, so lovely, knowing he could never take his desire any further. With his kisses, Daniel tried to communicate his desperation and his need, all the things he could never say to her, all the things he shut away. When she responded, he was lost. What were they here, newlyweds, people of no importance? Who would care if he swept her up to their small room and stayed there all afternoon, loving her as he’d longed to do for so long? At the thought, something inside turned cold. Slowly, Daniel removed his mouth from Miranda’s, softening the withdrawal with a gentle, closed mouth kiss, and straightened. He stared at her, seeing the half-closed eyes, the rich, pink depths of her mouth. With a groan he swept her tightly against him. “Ahem!” Someone cleared his throat with a deliberately noisy cough. Daniel released his wife. “I see this place ain’t goin’ to change under new ownership.” Daniel lifted a quizzical eyebrow. Miranda straightened, and he slipped his hand into hers without looking. He waited, knowing the power of silence. The man stared back in frank assessment. He was dressed respectably in good quality, dark cloth with no sign of patching on his clothes. His wig was fashionable, but not too showy, and his air of command proclaimed the superior servant. He came forward, and thrust out his right hand. “Stokeley. I’m the innkeeper of the Eagle and Child up the road.” “The coaching inn. Yes.” Daniel took the proffered hand, feeling the hard skin built up over years of physical labour. He hadn’t realised before coming here exactly how much physical work running an inn entailed, but he welcomed it. The work helped to take his mind off the agonising nights. “Er—I’m Fitzhenry. This is my wife. We’ve not been married long.” The stranger’s face cracked a smile, but the grey eyes stayed cold. “Pleased to meet you. Have you bought this place?”


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“No. His lordship has put us here to knock it into shape. We’re to move on soon, to look after a house in the North. Lord Blyth has engaged a new innkeeper, but he can’t come before the end of the month.” “I see.” The man’s gaze moved over Daniel and Miranda assessingly. “You speak well for a servant.” He spoke well too, but his speech contained the flat vowels of this part of the country, proclaiming the native. “I was his lordship’s footman, and my wife was his sister’s lady’s maid. When we wanted to marry, Lord Blyth made it possible for us to remain in his service.” “Very nice. So what are his plans? I saw you doing up the stables. You know I’ve got all the coaching trade hereabouts?” Daniel decided to equivocate. He didn’t like this man. “His lordship hasn’t told us his plans. We have to get the inn into good heart.” Stokeley nodded. “You’ll tell him I’ve got all the coaching?” “Yes. What about the carriage trade?” Daniel meant the gentry and the aristocracy, travelling in their own private coaches, as opposed to the stagecoaches and regularly timetabled transport. Stokeley’s response was frankly derogatory. He paused to gaze around the interior of the inn. “I’ve got that too. You can hardly put a countess up in this place, can you?” Daniel glanced at Miranda and was instantly sorry he had. He caught her grin and returned it. “Not yet, but if you want to know his lordship’s plans, you’ll have to ask him yourself.” His wife’s hand, still tucked in his, trembled and he saw why. Stokeley’s assessment ended on her. He regarded her from the crown of her head to her feet, visible under hiked-up skirts. Although they lifted barely to her ankles, Daniel felt a strong urge to tug them down and then wrap her in a blanket, safe from such insulting stares. Miranda lifted her chin and stared back at the man. He wasn’t deterred, letting his gaze come to rest on her decently covered bosom. It might as well have been bare. Daniel stepped in front of her, unable to stand by and watch any more. “The one thing his lordship is clear on is that this house won’t continue the way it was.”

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Stokeley shrugged. “You’ll have to go a long way to catch up with me in legitimate business.” Clearly he had come to investigate. It must have created quite a stir to see the inn full of respectable women doing a good day’s work instead of disreputable ones doing a good night’s work. “Not my business,” Daniel remarked. “We’re to get it back on track.” “Hmm.” Stokeley stared around, biting his lip. “If you need anything, let me know. But I’ll not shoot myself in the foot.” He turned back, eyeing Daniel suspiciously. “Some of the customers at the Eagle came down here for a bit of female company. They might not like it, them not being available.” It was Daniel’s turn to shrug. “Not my business, but his lordship would have my hide if I let it happen here again.” “Oh well.” Stokeley turned to leave and then changed his mind and turned back. “The whores’ll probably settle somewhere else. You can’t keep them down for long. Good day to you.” Touching his forehead in a mock salute, he left the inn. Miranda let out a sigh of relief. “What an obnoxious man! I don’t like him one bit!” Daniel’s face creased with concern. “I’m not sure I want to go away, with him so close. I don’t want him near you. Did you see the way he stared at you?” “I could hardly miss it.” She lifted her hand to touch his cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure all the doors are locked at night.” Daniel covered her hand with his own, then gently pulled it away, and left her. Before he went out he looked back and saw her watching him, an expression of softness he’d rarely seen there before. It would tear him apart not to see that look again, but for her own sake, he must turn his back on it.


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Chapter Eight Miranda woke up and stretched her arms above her head, but no dark head lay on the pillow next to her. She felt a sinking in the region of her stomach and afforded herself a wry grin. She had slept by herself in a much larger bed for most of her life. It was impossible she should miss the presence of her husband after such a short time. But she did. She wanted a hug before she got up, to be enveloped in the sleepwarmed body of her husband, perhaps a brief kiss. Perhaps a deeper kiss. Her body heated with the remembrance of the kiss they shared before he left yesterday. Deeper and yearning, as she had never known a kiss before. She sighed, threw back the covers and got up, crossing the room to fetch the can of hot water she had persuaded Mrs. Wilson to bring up every morning, primarily so Daniel wouldn’t have to shave in cold water, but he always left enough for her to wash. The can sat outside her door, so she carried it inside and poured it into the bowl. Stripping off her night-dress, she stood on yesterday’s towel to wash. Mrs. Wilson deplored their profligate use of towels, one a day, but the boiler was always stoked and running in the kitchen, so she had little to complain about. Miranda wished Daniel were there to wash her back. He usually shaved and dressed first and went downstairs, but without her maid Miranda found it difficult to reach the more inaccessible parts. With a small smile, she stored up the knowledge. Another tactic to persuade him to love her. Or at least to make love to her. She would settle for that. Theirs had been a conventionally arranged marriage. It wouldn’t be his fault if he didn’t love her. It wasn’t his fault she had fallen in love with him.

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Daniel arrived a couple of hours after Miranda started her day. The first she knew of his return was a pair of strong arms slipped around her waist while she reached to dust the top of a door. She would have jumped if he hadn’t held her so firmly. He kissed her neck and released her. She turned around to face him, smiling cheerfully. “How are the boys?” He smiled. “I knew that would be the first thing you asked. They’re both well, and missing you. You can go at the weekend, so you can see them for yourself.” “Oh, I would love that!” Her impulsive exclamation made his smile broaden. “I’ve brought you some scented soap. I know you’ve missed it.” She was forced to confess that she had. “I forgot to pack soap, and that coarse stuff dries my skin to paper. Thank you, Daniel, I don’t think you could have brought me anything better.” She bit her lip. “Apart from the boys themselves, that is.” He laughed. “What would they think of their mother, looking like this?” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Since she was dusting, Miranda had donned a large, plain mob cap, but some curls still straggled out from underneath. “They wouldn’t recognise me.” His voice softened. “Yes they would. They know you in their sleep.” She revelled in the fond look, wondering if it was for her as a wife or as a mother. “I miss them. I’ve never held much patience with those people who lock their children away in the country and then complain about their lack of society manners. How can they learn it except in company?” He regarded her thoughtfully, his dark eyes darker in the gloom of the long corridor. “Indeed. I thought you kept them close because you loved them.” She flushed and looked down. “That as well.” His fingers pressed under her chin, pushing it up so she had to look at him. He stared down at her, moving intimately close. “Don’t ever be ashamed of that. It makes me proud you’re their mother.” Bending down, he brushed a kiss over her lips, but drew back


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immediately. He stepped back and a new awareness filled his eyes. “You look remarkably well.” His voice filled with what sounded like surprise. His comment took Miranda by surprise too. “I am well. I feel better than I have for years.” She really did feel good. She turned a blinding smile on her husband. “Perhaps the hard work suits me.” With a shock, she realised she was right. She felt wonderful. She rose from her bed at seven that morning, totally refreshed, with none of the lethargy that marked her mornings in town, and she hadn’t stopped working since. She hadn’t broken her day for an afternoon rest since she arrived at the inn, hadn’t even thought of it. Daniel watched her with decided interest. “Perhaps it does, but just to be sure, will you promise to tell me if you don’t feel well? A relapse would be unthinkable.” “Unlikely. I’m hardly likely to become pregnant again.” She might as well have dropped a thick curtain between them. He stepped back, and his eyes took on the familiar glaze of detachment. Miranda felt as if they stood yards apart, instead of a foot. “Indeed,” he said dryly, and with a small bow, went downstairs. Miranda could have bitten her tongue out. She returned to her dusting with renewed vigour, plying the polishing cloth energetically to the brass door furniture. What a foolish thing to say! He wouldn’t come near her, not as long as there was any danger of her getting with child again. He’d just demonstrated he appreciated her mothering skills. It was unthinkable to remove that from his heirs. She used the cloth, reflecting that at least he hadn’t wanted her dead so he could marry a more useful specimen of womanhood. At least he hadn’t made her feel useless and unwanted. Well, not much, anyway. Just unloved, that was all.

A commotion from the main taproom brought Miranda downstairs half an hour later. The raised voices sounded angry, and amongst them was a female voice Miranda didn’t recognise. If she heard only masculine voices, she would have kept away, but she couldn’t leave another female on her own. Even if it was a doxy looking for work. Quite a few of those had called since their arrival.

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Dropping her polishing cloth and duster in the kitchen she went through to the bar and stood quietly by the door, watching. Daniel stood in his shirtsleeves before a young man, who by the crimson colour in his cheeks, was the main source of the male anger. By his side stood a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. It took Miranda a moment to recognise her, but when she did she came forward at once. “Miss Cavendish! What is all this?” Daniel looked round at her, gratitude shining from his eyes, the discomfort upstairs forgotten. “Ah, my dear! I can’t make sense of this!” “Can I help?” The young man’s face was by now beetroot red. “I was merely enquiring the cost of a room for the night, ma’am. Your husband informs me you are closed.” “We are due to open tomorrow,” Miranda kept her voice deliberately low. “However, our business will not continue as it was before.” She didn’t glance at Miss Cavendish, but an outraged squeal told her the young lady hadn’t missed the allusion. The girl pulled her shoulders back. “Come, Godfrey. We must continue on our journey.” The young man swung round on her, completely incensed. “In my father’s gig? He’ll have my hide! What can you be thinking of, Alethea!” Miss Cavendish flushed. “I’ll go home.” “That you won’t!” Miranda looked from one to the other, then at the single bandbox nestled at the girl’s feet. A smile curved the corner of her mouth, although she quickly suppressed it. “Can it be you are eloping?” The youth’s mouth dropped open. Miranda was unable to decide if his astonishment was amazement at her perspicacity or just plain shock that gave him the look of a furious sheep. His hair, presumably once upon a time arranged decorously and drawn back into a neat queue, stood in wisps around his face, his eyes dark and round. He might be quite presentable if he didn’t appear so harried. His dress was good, well made, neat and sober and his boots were beautifully polished.


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As he continued to stare at her Miranda realised his surprise was more than a result of her lucky guess. When he whispered, in a hiss that carried right through the large room, “Lady Rosington?” it was her turn to gape. Daniel was the first one to recover his senses. “Come with me!” he commanded with a ferocious snarl, enough to frighten anyone. Taking Miranda’s hand in an extremely firm grip, he strode out of the room and into the small passage outside, taking one of the parlours at random. The inn contained several small parlours, recently used as trysting places, but before that intended for patrons who wished for more privacy. They were furnished with a couple of comfortable chairs, some hard-backed ones, and a drop-leaf table. Daniel took his wife into one of these, not bothering to look behind to see if he was being followed. He held a chair and stared at Miranda until she sat down in it. “Now.” He whirled around to the two young people who had followed them into the room. “Close that door, please.” Dumbly the young man did as he was bid. He faced them, clearly ill at ease, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Miss Cavendish shuffled her feet uncomfortably. Miranda sat upright, totally still, as she had been taught since childhood. “You are correct. I am Lord Rosington and this is my wife.” He glanced towards Miranda who inclined her head graciously. Immediately, the young man swept into a creditable low bow. Miss Cavendish, eyes wide, bobbed a curtsey. “You know Miss Cavendish, I understand. I’m Godfrey Hesselwood. I beg your pardon for interrupting—” Daniel swept his hand to one side. “Never mind that. We are here on a wager which is becoming extremely foolish, and is in any case none of your concern.” He sighed and studied the young couple, a frown between his brows. “No one here knows who we are. It’s a condition of the bet. So you will address us, if you please, as Mr. and Mrs. Fitzhenry. I only confirmed your recognition because you look as though you need someone to trust.”

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He gestured elegantly as if his sleeves were edged with fine lace instead of plain linen. “Please do sit.” Silently Godfrey pulled out a hard chair and saw Miss Cavendish seated before taking his own seat. Miranda noticed he pulled his chair close to the young lady’s in a protective gesture. “Now do us the courtesy of telling us the truth before we decide what is to be done,” Daniel didn’t sit but remained standing in front of the cold fireplace. Hesselwood glanced at Miss Cavendish and then cleared his throat in a selfconscious gesture that, to Miranda, demonstrated his youth and nervousness. “You’re right. We’re eloping.” Miranda’s heart sank, but she remained silent. It was obvious there was more. “Alethea and I are not lovers, we’re friends. We live on adjoining estates, we’ve known each other forever. At one time we were matched for marriage but then the situation changed. We would have made a good match of it, we were content, but when the arrangement was broken, I became—interested elsewhere.” He looked crestfallen, but bravely smoothed over his temporary distress. “Indeed, I told him there was no need for this,” Miss Alethea Cavendish protested. “His heart isn’t in it.” It was the first time Miranda could remember the young lady speaking. Her voice was clear and well bred. She sounded more determined than she looked. Mr. Hesselwood laid his hand over hers and squeezed it. “Never mind, Allie. We’ll take care of things. I’m very content.” He didn’t sound it. Miranda exchanged a quick glance with Daniel and saw the same concern in his dark eyes. Hesselwood wasn’t content and his companion shifted in her seat like someone with a guilty secret. The girl pulled her hand away from under Hesselwood’s and sat straight up in her chair. She peeled off her gloves and put them on the table, then lifted her hands to the large bow fastening her bonnet under her chin. She pulled at the ends and released it. She lifted her hands to the crown of the bonnet and pulled it away, giving her head a little shake. All the time she never took her gaze off Miranda’s face.


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Miranda gasped. Under the girl’s chin, where her bow had been, was a large, greenish-yellow bruise.

“How did you get that?” Even to himself Daniel’s voice sounded harsh. He’d seen marks like that before, in the same place. Boxers often sported them. Miss Cavendish didn’t even try to lie. She sighed. “My father. I have others, where it doesn’t show.” “Why?” Miranda’s interjection was sharp, most unlike her usual soft tones. Daniel felt a twinge of concern for her through his overwhelming concern at the moment lay with the girl. “He’s a bully, I’ve always known it,” Hesselwood said. “You can see what he did to her; I couldn’t leave her to suffer that!” Daniel spared him a glance. The youth was beside himself with fury, holding himself together only for Alethea’s sake. “Did he do it often?” Miss Cavendish shrugged. “Sometimes. Never like this, though. He was uncontrollable this time.” With sudden shockingness her face crumpled and she buried it in her hands. Immediately Hesselwood put his arm around her shoulders. Miranda got up and left the room. She returned five minutes later with a tray of fresh tea. Daniel, uncomfortable witnessing such emotion from someone he hardly knew, felt a surge of relief when he saw her. Hesselwood still concentrated on calming the sobbing girl, so Daniel stepped forward to take the heavy tray from his wife and place it on the table, next to the discarded bonnet. Miranda lifted the table flap while he bent and slid the supports out from underneath. The business of pouring tea gave Miss Cavendish a chance to regain control. Red-eyed but no longer in tears, she reached for her tea-dish and cradled the cup between her trembling hands. There was nothing Daniel could do. He rarely felt so helpless. He wasn’t used to seeing damsels in distress.

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Daniel took his tea and retreated to the fire, feeling large, hulking and clumsy. Miranda stayed at the table, staring down at Miss Cavendish. “Brutal fathers abound. I was beaten once, as a child. As it happened I deserved it, but it was only the once. Some of my friends were beaten much more regularly.” Daniel was shocked. He’d never known. Miranda didn’t spare him a glance. “Did you do something bad?” The girl shook her head. “I refused to marry Mr. Smythe.” Hesselwood’s mouth tightened. “Smythe is a brute. Ally wouldn’t be any better off with him than with her father. Probably worse. He’s sixty-five if he’s a day, he stinks because he never washes, all his teeth are gone and he’s rich. Ally’s been sold.” Daniel’s heart sank. This girl couldn’t be much above sixteen. If her father wanted her married, he could probably see to it without too much trouble. Nowadays both parties had to be willing for the marriage to be legal, but there was more than one way to make a girl willing. One was to make her want to leave the family home at all costs. Hesselwood spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I found her crying in our old meeting place under a big tree on the border between our estates. I saw what her father had done. What else could I do? Hopefully, once she’s married to me her father won’t complain. He could get her back, but I’m as good as old Smythe any day!” Daniel frowned. “How old are you, Miss Cavendish?” “Nineteen.” Only just older than he thought. “There’s very little we can do.” “Daniel!” Miranda glared at him. “Of course we must help!” Daniel repeated Hesselwood’s gesture of a moment before, open handed. “She’s under age.” “She’s also being forced into a marriage she doesn’t want. That’s illegal now!” Daniel stroked his chin. “True. We can bear witness to her unwillingness.” “He’ll make me.” For the first time, Daniel noticed the firm little chin on the chit. Discoloured on one side, but not trembling any more. “I wanted Godfrey to take me to my grandmama. She could look after me.”


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“Where does she live?” “Scotland. Near Edinburgh.” “I was going to take her there, after Gretna,” Hesselwood put in. “We could probably hide out there, but old Lady Ingram might not be able to hold out against the Cavendishes on her own. With my family to help her it might work.” “Or mine.” Everyone stared at Daniel with differing emotions. Miranda seemed unsurprised, unless she had put on her society face, the smooth and serene one. A light in Miss Cavendish’s eyes told of the dawning of hope. Hesselwood just stared, mouth slightly agape. Daniel smiled. Now his mind was working, it all seemed quite simple. “If we were an innkeeper and his wife we could have little hope of succeeding, but perhaps, as ourselves, we can help.” He fixed Miss Cavendish with a steady look. “Are you sure you can’t marry this man?” She shook her head vehemently. “He’s as bad as my father. It would be worse, because he would expect—things my father doesn’t.” Daniel understood at once and his stomach churned. He took a deep draught of tea to steady himself, wishing it were neat brandy. He’d known marriages like that before, a painfully young bride matched to a very old man, but never been forced to consider what it would really mean. Especially since his parents’ marriage had been one of those, but by all accounts his father wasn’t as grossly offensive as this Smythe. It made him feel sick. “We must do our best to see that it doesn’t happen. We can send you somewhere safe while I visit your father.” “I can go and visit Ally’s grandmother,” Hesselwood offered. “I’m sure she’ll take her in.” The men stared at each other. There was hope then. “No. It won’t work.” Both men turned to stare at Miranda. She put her cup down and faced them. “He’ll insist on having his daughter back, and there will be little we can do.”

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“Yes.” Miss Cavendish sounded just as firm. “He has a temper. If we let him calm down we might be able to talk to him, but not yet.” “And if,” Miranda put in, “we give him a fait accompli he’ll have to accept it.” Daniel folded his arms. “You think I can’t talk him around?” “I think he has the right of it. You have no right to keep his daughter from him, earl or innkeeper.” Daniel was forced to acknowledge this. He jerked his head in a brief nod. “If we can offer him a better prospect, something better than he could achieve on his own, then he will be far more willing to go along with it.” She turned and studied Miss Cavendish “What if we sponsor you for a season?” Miss Cavendish gasped. “Why should you?” Miranda smiled. “Amusement. You know how bored we aristocrats become. You interest us.” “We can’t do that for months,” Daniel pointed out. “London is a little thin of company in the summer.” “True, but she can stay with her grandmother and prepare for it.” “So I should go and tell him that?” “No.” Miranda leaned forward a little. “We make our plans, put them into effect, and then we tell him. Let him worry.” She looked at the girl. “Would that worry you? What about your mother?” Her face fell. “If I tell her she’ll be bound to tell him. She’s completely under his thumb.” She bit her lip. “She’ll worry, but I don’t see any way around it.” “Will they think of Lady Ingram?” Daniel’s voice was brisk. Hesselwood looked up. “Bound to.” Daniel watched in fascination as a wicked smile crept over the youth’s face. “They’ll send a message to her as soon as they think of it. But if I’m on my own I can travel pretty fast. Much faster than if Ally was with me.” Daniel’s smile was broader. “You can lead them a merry dance and get to Lady Ingram first.” “So I can.” Now they were all smiling, even Miss Cavendish. “I could stay here.”


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Miranda looked at Daniel. “I’d thought—” He interrupted before she could mention the house. “No. I think not.” He might help, but he wasn’t prepared to put his children in the firing line. “She would be better here with us. At least we can use our rank if we need to.” “And how do we do that?” Miranda sounded sceptical. Daniel’s smile faded. Before their eyes, he became the Earl of Rosington. There was no denying the power he radiated, the arrogance in the drooped eyelids, the superior stance. When he’d first adopted the stance, he’d practised before a mirror, a scared boy trying to develop a face few people would question so he knew exactly how he looked. “You doubt my word?” he drawled, every word an insult. Miranda was the only person in the room still smiling. She had seen it before, after all. She didn’t attempt to mirror his actions, although she was capable of it. “It’s worth a try.” Daniel relaxed. “They may be able to take her from the servants, but not from us.” “Think of the scandal!” Miranda said. He twinkled at her. “How many scandals can one family bear? My father’s people might be without reproach, but my mother has created a few on dits in her time.” “I’d like to see anyone take anything away from her!” Miranda commented acidly. The present Lady Taversall, Daniel’s mother, had brushed scandal away like a fly. She held on to what she considered was hers. Daniel stared at his wife, eyes clouded in thought. “That could be another answer. Send her to Mama.” Miranda clapped her hand over her mouth, looking as though she was trying very hard to stifle mirth. “Oh Lord! She’d eat the Cavendishes for breakfast!” She turned to the young couple, smiling now. Daniel loved her smile, the way it broke her normally solemn face into pure joy. “You do know who we’re talking about? Daniel’s mother is Lady Taversall.” “The Triple Countess!” Alethea’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Goodness, I’ve been reading about her exploits most of my life!”

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“Greatly exaggerated,” Daniel assured her. “However, she has her moments. If you stayed with her you’d not get away until she had matched you to her satisfaction.” He grinned. “My brother Corin is chafing at the bit. My other brother, Orlando, merely ignores her.” “Of course!” Realisation dawned on the young man’s face. “This is the Blyth Arms! Your brother owns this place, doesn’t he, sir?” “He does,” Daniel admitted. “My wager is a private one, with him. I trust you won’t spread the news?” “Naturally not.” The response was automatic, but Daniel watched young Hesselwood’s mind click into action. If he wasn’t mistaken, this youth was competent, merely overset by his fury at the appalling treatment of his childhood friend. The young man gently took his companion’s hand in his. “I think his lordship is right. You’ll be better off here, hiding in plain sight, so to speak. Your mother doesn’t come to Melton very often, and she doesn’t shop here. Your father only comes here to—well…” he stumbled. So he knew about that, did he? “If they do discover you, by some ill chance, then you’ll have them here to protect you. It’s either that or hide away.” “I’d rather not hide, if I can help it.” The girl lifted her finger to the bruise on her chin and touched it gently. “I’ll do whatever I can. Whatever you think best.” “Good girl!” Daniel rose and walked into the middle of the room, commanding everyone’s attention. “I’ll give—lend—” he amended, when he saw the mutinous look on the youth’s face, “—you enough to get to Scotland and lay a false trail. If they catch you, you have nothing to fear because Alethea won’t be with you. If they don’t catch you, go to Miss Cavendish’s grandmother and lay the story before her.” “They won’t get me,” Hesselwood muttered. “Good. Meantime, we’ll keep Miss Cavendish here. She can pretend to be a live-in servant, if she wishes.” “She can be my niece,” Miranda put in. “We can keep her with us better if she’s a relative.”


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Daniel turned a look of warm approval on his wife. “An excellent notion! Very well then, she is your niece. In a week, perhaps two, we’ll know more. If her parents discover her whereabouts and try to reclaim her, I’ll take her to a place of safety. We’ll spend time laying false trails. In order to marry her to this man, her parents must find her and keep her. If they think we’re holding her, they must lay charges against us, and I think I can set a dust cloud up before that happens.” They would do what they could to protect this girl from a fate she seemed to dread worse than any other. After that, events seemed to speed up. Daniel fetched a purse for young Hesselwood and saw him on his way to the Eagle, where he would hire a good horse to take him to the next stage. He took his small portmanteau with him and left unobserved. Daniel sent a maid with Hesselwood, ostensibly to show him the way, in fact to begin to lay the false trail. After half an hour skulking in the parlour, and a judicious cheapening of her gown by removing the lace and adding a large, serviceable apron, Miranda took Alethea into the kitchen and introduced her as Alison Garth, her niece come to stay with her for a while. “She’s a useful girl,” she added for good measure, putting her arm casually around Ally’s shoulders. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, now supplemented by two live-in maids, looked up from their work and grunted a greeting. The arrival went calmly, and Miranda bore Alethea off to find a bedroom that would suit. They chose a small servant’s room next to the backstairs. Useful in case she needed to get away in a hurry. Since the weather was fine, she wouldn’t be perturbed by the lack of a fireplace and, as she said, looking around, “This will be heaven. It will be the first time I’ll know I don’t have to listen to my father every day.”

“It’s terrible,” Miranda said later to her husband. She watched him undress from the bed, sitting up against a bank of pillows that she’d filched from some of the empty rooms. “The girl has been bullied all her life.”

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“Hm?” Daniel examined his teeth in the mirror after having given them a good polish. He turned to face his wife, naked from the waist up, just a towel slung around his neck. Miranda savoured the view. “She’s kept under her father’s thumb. He is bitterly disappointed he didn’t father a son, and made mother and daughter suffer for it. He regularly beats his wife, and is a very strict parent to the point of brutality. Her father regards Ally as his chattel. It says a lot for her spirit that she can still rebel.” “It does.” Discarding the towel, Daniel walked over to the bed to pick up his nightshirt. Dressed only in breeches, even cheap, coarse breeches, he looked magnificent. He met her heated gaze; his seemed equally heated. She was winning. Winning a war neither of them acknowledged the existence of. A war to love. Miranda dared to reach up and touch him, smoothing her hands over his flat stomach. The muscles contracted. He put his hand over hers, his dark gaze never leaving her face. “Don’t.” “It can’t be wrong to touch. I like to touch you.” “Yes.” The words remained unsaid, but they hung in the air between them. I like to touch you, too. He didn’t move her hand away and she let it rest there. They stared at each other until Daniel leaned down to kiss her. She slid both arms around his waist. His heat warmed her, and she held him tight, feeling the sag of the mattress when he let his weight fall on to it. His mouth claimed hers, and she surrendered with a sigh of satisfaction, feeling the urgency in his mouth, the need in his hands. He pulled the counterpane away and slid over her. A much better counterpane, heavy, solid and all male. All male. His erect length pressing into Miranda’s lower belly. Holding him tight, she kissed him repeatedly. There were no words, nothing was needed. Miranda was afraid that if she spoke, reminded him who she was in any way, he would stop, and that was the last thing she wanted. His tongue flickered against her lips and she opened for him. Eagerly he thrust inside her mouth. She let her head go back when he took possession of her, relishing the feel of


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him surrounding her. He drove his fingers into her hair, so she couldn’t move. Not that she wanted to. He began to undo the buttons of her nightgown. It opened to her waist. If she could, Miranda would have helped, but she was too busy touching and stroking his back. She wanted to touch every part of him all at once, and she wanted him to touch all of her. His hands on her body felt large, possessive, wonderful. Daniel didn’t stop kissing her. When his lips left her mouth, he trailed kisses down her throat, lingering at the hollow at the base. Miranda sighed and murmured Daniel’s name, unable to remain silent any longer. It didn’t deter him. Instead, he murmured “Miranda” against her throat. His hand moved up from her waist to her breast, while he took the other into his mouth. Miranda squirmed under him, arched her back to get closer. His tongue circled her nipple; it felt marvellous, as though he reached deep inside her. She smoothed his back, moving lower until she could slip her hands inside his waistband. He groaned in response, and she dared to move her hands around and curve them around his hips, sliding them down over his backside. She wanted to clutch him, pull him up and into her. She couldn’t remember wanting anything so badly before, wanting him to look at only her, want only her. He slid her nightdress over her shoulders, curving his hands over them, caressing the garment down her arms. He leaned back on his elbows and gazed at her. They stared at each other, while he caressed her arms. After a long moment, he said the last thing she expected. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this.” A chill crept over her despite the warmth of his body. “Yes you should.” “No. It makes matters harder.” He dropped his chin on to his chest and sighed. “I’m finding it difficult here, with you.” “Why?” “To touch you, to spend every night in this bed, with you. I’m finding it worse than I thought it would be.”

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Warmth flowed through her at the confession. He wasn’t indifferent, he wasn’t! “It doesn’t matter. We have time. This will take time, won’t it?” To her relief he didn’t leave. He stared at her. “What will?” “Us. This.” The chill came back when she saw understanding dawn in his eyes. Distance grew between them; the familiar wall of ice returned. He rolled off her and got to his feet. His breeches were loose at the top where the buttons had come undone; he had to hold them up with one hand while he picked up his nightshirt from the bed. He dropped it over his head and let his breeches fall. Miranda watched, but he didn’t look in her direction once. When he got into bed he left a fold of sheet between them, but rolled over with his back to her. “Goodnight.” “Goodnight.” It took her a long time to get to sleep. What was wrong with them? He wanted her, she had felt it. It was unmistakable but then he had been reminded of something, something she couldn’t understand. Miranda thought it was her, that he didn’t want her any more. Everything he said and did over the last three years convinced her of that. She had accepted Orlando’s challenge so she could find out for sure. Now she was further from the truth than ever, and completely confused. If he wanted her why didn’t he take her? Had she given him any message that she didn’t want him? No, she was sure she had not. She wanted him, and had let him see it. Something stopped him. She wished she knew what it was.


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Chapter Nine Alethea proved an asset. She was up bright and early the next day, helping Mrs. Wilson set up the kitchen, for today was the day of the grand re-opening of the inn. The essential repairs and cleaning were done, and they were ready to begin. Miranda was down late, having slept exceedingly badly and fallen asleep as dawn crept over the horizon. Her distress at her failure to seduce her own husband hit her worse than she imagined it would. As she fastened her stays, she wished he were there to help, but he had risen early, immediately dressed and left to supervise the activities. She missed him. She hadn’t told him she was awake, watching beneath half-closed lids as he washed and shaved. His refusal to continue making love to her, and his subsequent silence, had marked something inside her. Miranda went over to the peg on the wall where her gowns hung and touched his spare coat, and then buried her nose in it, absorbing the scent. This was the coat he would change into later, the one he saved for best. She smelled his soap, and his essential maleness in it, only drawing back when she felt the sting of tears. Lifting the gown off the peg, she thrust her arms into the sleeves. It was a sprigged gown, blue flowers on a white ground in fine wool. She wore it over a blue petticoat and plain blue stomacher. Once she had knotted her hair and tied a plain cap on, she was dressed, apart from the inevitable large white apron. Miranda had to step back quite a way to view herself in the small mirror over the washstand, and even then she couldn’t see right down to her feet. She sighed heavily. No wonder Daniel wasn’t tempted. She saw an ordinary woman, just above medium height, with nothing in particular to commend her. The dark gold hair was scraped back under her cap, her generous breasts hidden under the austere gown and fichu. She could understand why Daniel wasn’t drawn to her, or rather, could resist her. Without her jewels, fine gowns and careful coiffure, she 82



was quite, quite ordinary. Only a wife. Passion belonged elsewhere in her world, and it seemed, in this one too. Once out of her room and downstairs, Miranda had very little time to consider. The place was a-bustle, maids everywhere. One corner of the large table was set aside with tea, a loaf and fresh cheese. Miranda thankfully went towards it. Immediately, she was joined by her new charge. “Aunt Miranda! Good morning!” Miranda was aunt to no one; it made her feel old to be addressed in such a way. However, she had taken on the role. It probably suited her. “Good morning, dear. Would you like some tea?” She wrapped the potholder around the handle of the big brown pot and poured a cupful into a waiting plain, cream cup. She poised the spout over the next cup. “Yes please, Aunt.” Miranda watched herself pour, careful not to spill and then restored the pot to the waiting iron trivet. A jug of fresh milk stood by. Struck by a sudden thought, Miranda turned in her chair. “Mrs. Wilson!” “Yes, ma’am?” Mrs. Wilson turned away from the sink, drying her hands on a nearby towel. “Where does the milk come from? Do we buy it?” “There’s a smallholding out the back, ma’am. Two cows in milk, two pigs and some chickens.” “Do you care for them?” “Mostly. Wilson does the heavy work and we get the butcher in to do the slaughtering.” Miranda turned back, her concerns assuaged. She never used shop-bought milk if she could help it, and it had never occurred to her to ask before. Foolish of her. Shop-bought milk was often full of contaminants, some of them dangerous. She poured the milk into her teacup in a thin stream and then helped Alethea to some. Miranda didn’t take sugar in her tea, but she was amused to see Alethea take a generous amount. “The sweet tooth of youth!” she murmured. “My father takes more than I.” Alethea coloured up, crimson staining her cheeks.


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“So he does,” replied Miranda, covering her mistake. She was supposed to be the girl’s aunt, so she would know her parents well. Mrs. Wilson came up to the table and stared at Alethea. “I’d like a word with you, ma’am, when it’s convenient.” “Now is convenient.” Miranda stood and led the way out of the room. She heard the heavy clump as Mrs. Wilson followed in clogged feet. They stopped in the parlour where they had taken the young couple the day before. Miranda turned, folding her arms over her stomach. “Close the door.” Mrs. Wilson did as she was bid and then stood, arms akimbo. “I know that girl. She’s no niece of yourn.” Miranda sighed. “My husband was supposed to tell you about it.” “’Appen he didn’t find me. I was out back wi’ the stock.” “Ah.” Miranda hoped Daniel had found Mr. Wilson. She dreaded to think what might have happened in the kitchen just now if Mrs. Wilson had been less circumspect. “You know who she is.” “The young lady ’oo came with her father the other day. Miss Cavendish.” Miranda nodded. “Yes. She’s terrified. Did you see the mark under her chin?” “I did.” The older lady frowned. “She didn’t get that by fallin’ in the yard.” “Is that what she said?” Mrs. Wilson nodded. “Her father struck her.” “I guessed.” Miranda swallowed. “We’ve said we’ll take care of her until her young friend can contact her grandmother.” Mrs. Wilson nodded again. “They arrived yesterday. We couldn’t send her back, and unless we took her in, she was going to elope with him. Do you think we can hide her from her parents? She’s nineteen, and if they find her they will force her back. She’s being forced into a marriage she doesn’t want. She seems to think her grandmother can handle her father.” “’Oo’s she supposed to marry?” “Mr. Smythe. Do you know him?”

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Mrs. Wilson made a moue of distaste. “I should say so. ’E used to come ’ere even more than ’er father did. Riddled with the pox.” Miranda looked away, shivering. “How can any father sell his daughter to such a creature?” Mrs. Wilson shrugged. She leaned against one of the hard chairs, looking suddenly weary, and Miranda wondered how long she had been up. She felt guilty, sleeping in so long. She would try to rise earlier than this. “What do you know of them?” Mrs. Wilson stared at her. “’Ow frank do you want me to be?” “Completely, if you please. I won’t faint; I daresay I’ve seen more than you think.” Mrs. Wilson laughed. It was the first time Miranda had heard her laugh, a surprisingly easy sound for one with such a crab-apple expression. “I daresay you ’ave and all, you bein’ a lady’s maid. Well then.” She heaved a sigh and drew back the chair. Miranda bit her lip. The woman had been on her feet for half the morning and she hadn’t asked her to sit. She nodded, and the older lady sat, stretching her feet before her. She sighed again, but this was altogether different, a sigh of ease, of relaxation. Tilting back her head, she gazed at Miranda. “Mrs. Cavendish I never saw until the other day, and she was what I expected. Downtrodden, completely under ’is thumb. I felt sorry for ’is daughter; that’s why I kept quiet this morning. Especially when I saw that bruise.” She paused. “They came ’ere when it was just an ’orehouse. Cavendish and Smythe. This was about the only place that would accept ’em, and then only certain girls knew how to handle ’em. They liked to ’urt the girls, got their jollies that way. Rutted like animals, both of ’em. To think of that poor innocent ’itched to the likes of Smythe! She’d be the same as ’er mother in a year.” “She says she won’t marry him. That’s enough to make the marriage invalid in law. We thought if we sent her back her father would likely beat her into it, but if we can find her grandmother she might stand a chance. But she’s under age. If he finds out where she is, he can make her go back.” “’e’s got the law on ’is side,” Mrs. Wilson observed glumly. “Some law.”


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“Yes.” Miranda straightened up. “So you’ll keep the secret? Does anyone else know her?” “Only Wilson. ’Er family never came to Melton in the usual way of things. None of the maids know ’er.” “We’ll keep her out of sight of the public rooms, just to be sure.” “I can find plenty for ’er to do in the kitchen.” The woman grinned. “She’s a likely girl.” “Good.”

Back in the kitchen, Alethea was helping to prepare vegetables. Not knowing how much they would need, Miranda had erred on the generous side, ordering more than they probably needed. She eyed the pile of pared potatoes and scraped carrots. “They look rather small.” “Small and old. They’ve not been stored well.” Alethea wrinkled her small nose. “Half of them had to be thrown out. Completely rotten.” Miranda felt like swearing. This was the new batch. “They came from a farm, didn’t they?” “Aye, ma’am,” Mrs. Wilson said from behind them. “Likely they’re testin’ you.” “It’s a shame you threw the rotten ones out. We should have sent them back.” Miranda moved away. “We’ll cancel the order. I don’t negotiate with cheats.” “Where will you get your supplies from?” Miranda considered. “How many days have we got, if we’re careful?” Alethea answered immediately. “Four at the most.” “Well then, we have enough.” Miranda stepped back to allow a maid to pass. “It’s Saturday. We’ll go to the Farmer’s Market one Tuesday and find another supplier.” Another thought occurred to her. “Where is this farm?” “About three miles to the south.” A surge of joy went through Miranda’s heart, but she schooled her features to careful neutrality. That was close to the house where her children were. She missed her boys

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terribly. Here was just the excuse she needed, to pay them a discreet visit. “I’ll ride out there later. I can visit my aunt at the same time.” “You’ll miss church.” “I’ll go there.” She felt no guilt. Normally Miranda was a regular churchgoer; they could do without her for once. She had every intention of savouring a deep feather bed and a long bath on Sunday morning. Her only regret was that her husband wouldn’t be with her. Perhaps back in her own clothes, scented and adorned, she might have better luck seducing him. She wouldn’t, she reflected glumly. She never had before.

Daniel heard his wife’s decision with relief. He didn’t think he could stand much more torture, and although he would have to escort her, he need not stay the night. He stayed outside for most of the day, even though the work was mainly done. They had repaired the roof and the stables were refurbished with clean straw, ready for any customers who might happen their way. Outside everything was orderly but inside he was in turmoil. When he caught sight of himself in the cracked mirror outside the kitchen, he was taken aback at how very ordinary he looked. Respectable, not remarkable in any way. As the Earl of Rosington he was used to people staring, even though he never adopted any of the excesses of fashion. He went into the kitchen and the sight of Miranda, impossibly lovely despite her plain clothes, made his turmoil worse. He could no longer deny he ached for her. He wanted her more like this than in her London clothes. Dressed for society, Miranda was exquisite, but untouchable. Everything was arranged to perfection, silks so fine one touch would crush them, face lightly rouged and powdered, hair a confection of curls. Here, with her hair pulled back, Daniel could see the fine bones of her face. He longed to trace his finger along the cheekbone, kiss the strong jawline and work his way down to the small pulse at the base of her throat.


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He crossed to the table and poured himself some tea. He didn’t have to look to know Miranda was coming up behind him. He poured her some, too. “When do you want to leave?” she asked him. “Later this afternoon, at about three. I can come straight back. Will you ride?” “I haven’t my riding habit with me.” She laughed. “Of course not. I can ride, I don’t need the correct clothes, do I?” “Good. I’ll hire a couple of horses from the Eagle. It’ll be quicker that way.” “Daniel—” “Yes?” Gathering his courage, he turned to face her. She grinned. “It sounds strange calling you that.” She usually called him “Rosington,” or “my lord”. “I like it.” He did, but it played havoc with his desire to keep his distance. No, not his desire. It was necessary to keep that space between them. He had to remember that. It was difficult when she was so close he could smell her floral soap, the clean skin he wanted to wash with his tongue. How much more of this could he take? He suspected his brothers knew this would happen and damned them from afar. He couldn’t imagine why Orlando had taken such an interest in his affairs, although he had some suspicions regarding Orlando’s interest in the charming La Perla Perfetta. By the time he returned to London he suspected Orlando would have the lady firmly in his keeping. He wished them both joy. It hadn’t taken Daniel as long to realise that the one thing he wanted to do above all things was to make love to his own wife. Something he could never do. Not if he wanted her to live.

It was a fine afternoon and the horse Daniel had hired for Miranda a good one. Much better than she expected. They walked their horses side by side for the most part, only going in single file when they met other riders or a vehicle, which wasn’t often.

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“How did you persuade that dreadful man to part with such good horses?” she queried. He shot a glance at her from under his lashes. “They’re not his. I got Orlando to send a couple up. We’ll stable them at the Arms now they’re in good fettle.” He grinned. “The landlord of the Eagle offered me a fine price for them, but I said no. It wasn’t enough.” She grinned back, in perfect accord with him. It felt a little strange to perch on the back of a good horse wearing an ordinary gown and straw hat, but she managed. There was enough fullness in the skirts to drape over the pommel of the side saddle, and she had discarded her hoops. Daniel wore a plain coat and breeches. He looked very fine seated on the back of the big chestnut gelding. She might have known Orlando would arrange something like this. For all his manipulative, seemingly careless ways, she had cause to know that her brother-in-law had a heart. Her horse was also a chestnut, but a mare, with a beautifully soft mouth. “Here.” She led the way down a lane, as Mrs. Wilson had told them. This led to the farm that had sold them the defective vegetables. Daniel followed her down the narrow, tree-shaded lane until they saw farm buildings ahead. They looked well kept, the whole farm neat and respectable. Daniel dismounted in the U-shaped yard, and helped his wife to dismount. He stood close for just a moment, then touched his mouth to hers. “I enjoyed that ride with you. Why don’t we do it more often?” “Because you’ve avoided my company for the last three years.” Her eyes opened wide, but before she could apologise for something that was all too true he moved away to rap at the door to the long, low farmhouse. He waited. Miranda walked to his side just as the door opened a crack. “Mrs. Jordan?” “Who are you?” “We’re the new occupants of the Blyth Arms in Melton.” Daniel tapped his foot on the worn step before the front door. “We’d like a word about the latest order.” “Oh yes?”


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Daniel had enough. Talking to someone through a small crack in a front door was more than he was prepared to stand. “The last order was not satisfactory. You need not concern yourself with sending us anything else.” He turned to Miranda, who looked as irritated as he felt. “Come, my dear.” They began to move away when the door opened with a violent crack. The owner of the voice seemed to fling herself into the yard. “Nobody uses that door,” she said with a vicious scowl. “Flaming thing ’asn’t been open this last ten year.” She stared at Daniel and Miranda. “What was wrong with the delivery?” Daniel paused and turned. “Half of it was rotten and the other half was old.” He paused, knowing the value of silence, looking her up and down as though she was a parvenu in a ballroom instead of a farmer’s wife. At least he made the woman flush. He watched the ugly colour reach her neckline with some satisfaction. “We’ll get our supplies elsewhere.” “Wait.” She walked forward, drying her hands on her coarse sacking apron. “We’ll send you replacements.” Daniel waved his whip. “There’s no need. We’ve decided to contract elsewhere.” He turned to help Miranda mount. From behind him came a string of curses, some of which Daniel hadn’t heard outside the rookeries of London, not places he usually frequented. However despite the woman’s imprecations he took his time, made sure Miranda was properly seated before he swung up into the saddle. He allowed his wife to go first, so he was in a good position to see how much the string of insults had upset her. Her head bowed as they left the courtyard and made their way up the narrow lane back to the main road. On an impulse Daniel caught up with her and reached across to lay a hand on her bridle. “Just a moment.” He dismounted, and throwing the reins over the overhanging branch of a nearby tree went to help her dismount. This time he didn’t let her go. He held her close, folding his arms protectively around her. She shuddered. He felt it right through his body. Reaching a hand up, he stroked her hair, dislodging her hat, which fell unnoticed to the ground.

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After a moment Miranda lifted her head. Her eyes were misted with tears but none fell. She blinked. “I know it’s foolish of me, but I’ve never liked invective like that.” “You shouldn’t have been forced to listen to it. I wouldn’t have allowed it if I’d realised what the woman was capable of.” Without thinking, he curled his hand around the back of her head and held her steady while he kissed her. Her lips trembled under his, but when he caressed them with his tongue she opened slightly and let him in. At first determined to comfort her, no more, his first taste of her was his undoing. With a small sound of excitement he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, felt her responsive caress and was lost. The warmth of the sun, the feel of her soft body, even the ridges of her cotton stays, everything added up to one thing; this was the woman he wanted, the one in his arms, his and willing. Her arms went around him, under his coat. His response was to pull her closer and deepen the kiss. She showed no desire to pull away, even when he drew back a little, and kissed her face, down to her throat. She arched her throat to give him better access. When she sighed it incited him to do more. He settled his mouth back on hers and kissed her thoroughly, so much that they were both shaking when he finally drew back. “This will never do,” he murmured, trying to regain his sanity, lost at the first touch of her lips. “We’ll have to get you there before dark.” She moved closer to him, snuggling inside the shelter of his coat. “I trust you. You’ll look after me.” Drawing back, she looked up at him. “I like it here.” He smiled. “I like it too.” Gently he put her away, determined not to spoil this moment. He needed something to remember. They had to resolve this, but not yet. A few more afternoons like this would give him something, however small, to remember in the lonely nights ahead. He waited until he saw her smile. He loved her smile;it was like the sun coming out. “We have to go. If we stay here any longer we’ll have to petition Mrs. Foulmouth back there for a bed for the night!”


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It might be worth it, at that. He was glad to see Miranda completely recovered from her upset. Her smile showed no shadows. He helped her to mount and they went on their way. He felt shadows, but they weren’t of her making. He couldn’t blame her for what she couldn’t help.

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Chapter Ten Without Miranda in his bed, Daniel slept badly and, after tossing and turning for some time, finally fell into a light doze. He was woken precipitately. “Sir! Mr. Fitzhenry, sir!” He sat bolt upright before he remembered where he was; he’d been dreaming of another time, another place and the mists of it still swirled in his head. It wasn’t the unfamiliar name but the sound that woke him. He flung back the covers and got out of bed, casting around to find the robe he dropped somewhere the night before. Since he was alone, he’d discarded the hated nightshirt and slept nude, something he preferred to do at home. Fumbling to fasten the sash, Daniel crossed the room and flung open the door. What he saw there made him look around for his shoes. Wilson, haphazardly dressed and soaking wet, reeked of beer. “What on earth is it, man?” It was only when he looked closely that he saw the tears streaking down the other man’s face. Daniel found his shoes and slipped them on his bare feet. Without another word he followed Wilson, who was almost beyond words. They went out of the open back door across the yard to the brewery. The door to the well-kept outhouse hung open on one hinge, and Daniel’s stirrings of concern strengthened. He lengthened his stride, leaving the miserable Wilson to follow on behind. The interior of the outhouse was lit by a hurricane lamp, turned up to show the devastation inside. He stood in a puddle of beer, hands on hips, and stared. He heard Wilson panting heavily behind him. Two of the four great casks were staved in. The breach was towards the bottom in each case, with no sharp cut. The staves of the barrels were wrenched aside. Wilson got his voice back. “I interrupted ’em or they would’ve got ’em all.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Did you see who it was?” “No. I chased ’em, but they got away. I’m not as spry as I used to be.” That explained why Wilson was so out of breath. “Have we got enough beer left?” “Depends on the custom, but I’d say no. We’ll ’ave to buy in for the month.” Daniel cursed fluently and long. “Who would do this? I have my ideas, but you tell me.” He glared at the mess. Once cleared up they would have two barrels, but apart from that, it wasn’t too bad. “The bastards at the Eagle,” Wilson said tersely. Daniel nodded. “My thoughts too. But it could have been vandals, out on a spree. There are some choice bloods hereabouts.” Wilson came into the light, his face a creased mask of grief. “It could be, sir.” Daniel turned, his feet sloshing in the spoiled brew. “We can’t do anything tonight. You stay up to guard them, and sleep tomorrow. We’ll manage. I’ll go and see the landlord at the Eagle.” “Yes, sir.” “I don’t think they’ll come back, but have you got a weapon, just in case?” Wilson grinned and went towards a corner of the outhouse, still in shadow. He came back with the oldest firearm Daniel had ever seen outside a castle wall. “Does it work?” he asked, eyeing the thing doubtfully. Wilson hefted the musket. “Came down in the family, this one did. Aye, it works, sir.” “If anyone comes shoot it in the air,” Daniel advised. “We don’t want to get into trouble for killing an innocent.” “No, sir.” Daniel wasn’t entirely convinced the man would obey him, but he was also sure that whoever had done this wouldn’t come back tonight. He went back to bed.

“What’re you talking about?”

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Stokeley stood in the middle of the broad yard of the Eagle and Child, which bustled with activity. He looked the epitome of the prosperous landlord, and the inn a perfect setting for him. Tall buildings bordered three sides of the yard, with the range of stables on the other side. An arch was cut through the buildings fronting the street, and as they confronted each other Daniel heard the distant tantivvy of the approaching stagecoach. He stepped back, forced to postpone his confrontation with Stokeley. The great coach swept through the arch, hardly checking its pace until Daniel was sure it must collide with the stables at the end of the yard. But the four horses came to a halt, champing at their bits and sweating with effort. The coachman swung down to the yard, only taking a step between his high perch and the ground. “Morning, Stokeley!” The landlord grunted. The yard was crammed with activity, people rushing about in all directions. Some passengers alighted, one from the roof, and the trunks and valises thumped down on the cobbled yard beside them. The passengers got out, and not giving themselves any time to stretch or take the air, hurried inside. They wouldn’t have much time to eat, and the coach would leave as soon as the ostlers changed the horses and then turned the coach around. Anyone left behind would have to fend for themselves. It didn’t happen very often. Ostlers came out with the horses, waiting for the change. Despite his mood of simmering anger, Daniel watched in grudging admiration. It was all very efficient, and done with the minimum of fuss. The spent horses were led away to the stables, to be rubbed down, fed and rested before being sent back or set to the next stagecoach from the same company. It was impossible to speak while the bustle and business was carried on around them so Daniel waited, his arms folded over his chest, and brooded. The coachman and guard came back out and climbed up to their places, shortly followed by the grumbling passengers, some carrying food to be consumed on board, wedges of bread with cheese and ham. Daniel’s stomach grumbled, but he suppressed it. Plenty of time to eat when he returned. He watched the passengers get back into the


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vehicle and adjust themselves comfortably, while the roof passengers swung up to the top, there to cling on to the rails placed for that purpose. With a cry, and without looking behind to ensure all the passengers were aboard, the coachman gave the horses the office, and the coach left. Behind them, they left a mass of horse droppings, carefully scooped up by the ostlers, a red woollen scarf lying forlornly on the cobbles, and a tray of discarded mugs. One of the girls scurried out of the inn, glanced at the men standing there, and picked up the tray. She paused to cast Daniel a speculative look from under her lashes. Daniel knew that look. “Get away with you!” Stokeley exclaimed and she flushed and ran back to the relative safety of the taproom. The landlord turned to face Daniel, hands on hips. “Now then. I’m sorry for your accident, but we had nothing to do with it. Why should we? What can you offer next to this?” His broad gesture indicated the buildings, the busy servants, the prosperity of the place. Daniel thought of the deserted yard, the recently repaired buildings in his own establishment. “A great deal, soon.” Stokeley’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “You can’t touch us.” Daniel stared back, not at all cowed by the man’s superior attitude. For the first time he forgot who he really was, and took on the identity of the landlord of the Blyth Arms, loyal to his master, angry with this man’s attitude. He no longer cared if Stokeley was responsible for the sabotage, although he still suspected the stocky man before him had ordered it to be done. He was filled with a new ambition; to see this man apologise, to prove to him the Blyth Arms was as good as anything the Eagle and Child had to offer. “We’ll see about that.” He turned to leave but was then confronted by a small woman, respectably dressed. She stood directly in front of him, so he either had to go around her or wait until she stood aside. She held a small dog, the sort of lapdog fashionable women of his acquaintance sometimes adopted. Her air of authority, and the

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way she lifted her chin to stare at him told him she was an important person here. Mrs. Stokeley, without a doubt. “Madam.” He stepped back and swept her a low bow. When he rose her cheeks glowed. “Introduce us, Stokeley.” Her voice was cultured, her manner subtly superior. She was shorter than Miranda, her dress simpler, but Daniel could see them in the same drawing room, equally at home. The woman appeared younger than her husband by at least ten years, her dark hair unmarked by grey, her round face unwrinkled. Perhaps twenty-five, Daniel thought. Perhaps a little older. Stokeley’s voice came from behind Daniel. “Jane, may I introduce Mr. Fitzhenry, temporary landlord of the Blyth Arms. Mr. Fitzhenry, this is my sister, Miss Jane Stokeley.” Not a wife, then. “Pleased to meet you.” She dropped a small, graceful curtsey. “Ma’am.” She stared at him curiously. “Where did you learn to speak so well?” “My wife and I were in service with Lord Blyth before we married.” He thought it expedient to mention Miranda before the girl got ideas. He hadn’t missed the speculative glance, sweeping him from head to foot, and the low bat of her eyelashes. He didn’t miss her wry smile. “Yes, I see. I was a governess, but my services are no longer required at the Hall, so I decided to help my brother while I searched for a new place.” She grinned, the flirtatious look gone. “I don’t suppose you have any brothers?” He grinned back, taken aback momentarily by her direct approach. “Two, actually.” “Both in service?” “You could say that.” He hadn’t meant to mention his brothers. The more anonymous he was here the easier it would be to disappear at the end of the month. “I may pay a call.” She ignored her brother’s indignant gasp. “Perhaps your wife knows of a place I can apply for. I’d intended to stay here a month or two before I looked around, but if the right situation comes up, I could leave early.”


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Daniel lifted an eyebrow. “My wife was a lady’s maid before we married, not a governess, but she worked in some great households, so she might know of someone.” An air of business settled on the diminutive figure before him. “I would appreciate it. My references are excellent, even though I say so myself. I left my previous household when the young lady was ready for her come-out.” She leaned slightly closer. “It might be wrong to say so, but the young men were more interested in me. You might be surprised at that but I should tell you the young lady in question was very fond of her sweetmeats, and suffered the consequences. But for that I might have been offered the position of governess companion. You know what these people are like!” None better, Daniel thought. Still, he was glad she had been given a good character. It would be difficult for her to secure a good position without it. He warmed to the lady, even if he liked her brother no better than before. “We’ll be glad to entertain you, if you care to visit.” “Thank you.” He bent to take her hand, intending a gesture of gallantry he knew would please her. It meant that her clasp on the little dog loosened, and before anyone could stop it, it darted out to the arch leading to the busy street outside. “Patch!” Miss Stokeley squealed and turned around, kicking up her feet when she picked up speed. Daniel followed, and would have overtaken her had there been room. Miss Stokeley darted into the street, heedless of the approaching vehicles, carriages and single horses, none of which would be able to pull up in time to avoid her. Shuddering at the thought of what one hoof could do to her, Daniel raced after her, intent on snatching her back, dog or no dog. He heard Stokeley’s voice behind him, cursing and shouting at the traffic, calling out “Halt! Stop, for God’s sake stop!” but he didn’t wait to see how successful the landlord was in his endeavours. The woman scurried between two vehicles, narrowly missing meeting her fate beneath the wheels of a smart tilbury, which bowled down the broad street at a considerable pace. His breath caught. A horse, one he knew, bore down on Miss Stokeley, its rider hauling on the reins.

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She did it. The horse came to a halt a bare foot from Miss Stokeley who, unaware of her fate, bent to pick up her little dog. She crooned over it, stroking it to calm it while Daniel crossed the road to help his wife down from her mount. She slid into his arms, and he held her and pressed his lips to her forehead, uncaring of the spectators, of which there were more than a few. Miss Stokeley had managed to bring the whole of Nottingham Street to a screeching halt. Horse owners dismounted, shouts became angry. Daniel heard none of it. All he wanted nestled in his arms, safe. He managed to find his voice. “Good riding.” She looked up with a slightly startled expression. “Thank you. I think I acted on instinct.” When she tried to pull away he resisted, drawing her back against the safety of his body. “You could have been thrown.” She chuckled. He felt the vibration deep in his chest, soothing his alarm. “I wasn’t. The mare is beautiful. I only hope I haven’t ruined her mouth now.” “Oh I think it will take more than that.” He glanced down at her, seized with a longing to take her somewhere private, to make absolutely sure she wasn’t hurt. “Orlando knows his horseflesh.” He pressed his lips to her forehead once more and released her. Miranda stepped back immediately, but then searched for his hand. He held it, and felt the warmth through her thin leather gloves. She eyed Miss Stokeley, cradling the dog to her chest and glaring at Miranda as though she were a murderess. With an effort, Miss Stokeley dropped her gaze and stepped forward. “Mrs. Fitzhenry, I take it.” “Yes indeed.” Miranda looked to Daniel for assistance. Tersely, he introduced them and watched his wife put Miss Stokeley at her ease. “You were very brave, running out like that.” Not if the drivers and riders, now being calmed and apologised to by Stokeley, had any word in it. Foolish and criminal were the best of the words he heard bandied about. Miranda ignored them all. “Have you had the little dog long?”


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Miss Stokeley regarded the creature fondly. “No, and yes. He used to belong to my charge, but when her mother informed her she couldn’t take the animal to London, she bestowed it on me as a parting gift. I’m very fond of him.” That was self evident, Daniel thought grimly. The lady turned a melting look on him, and he thought it was no wonder she hadn’t been allowed to accompany her charge to the City. A charmer. “I’m so sorry for the trouble I caused. I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking properly.” Daniel bit back his sharp retort as Miranda said, “No, I should think not! Why, if someone or something I cared for were in danger, I daresay I wouldn’t have stopped!” Knowing he wasn’t needed here, Daniel released his wife’s hand so he could catch up the mare’s reins. She stood, perfectly content, a well-trained thoroughbred waiting for her mistress’s command. Too good for an innkeeper’s wife, he realised, though he would think that one through later. At the moment, all he could think of was that no harm had come of the incident. He glanced across the road to Stokeley, who, having finished with the traffic, prepared to cross the street to join them. He was still sure Stokeley was responsible for last night’s piece of mischief. There wasn’t a chance he would let his rival landlord get away with it. He’d have his revenge. Daniel pinned a slight smile to his face. “No harm done. My wife is an excellent horsewoman.” “She is, isn’t she?” Stokeley bowed to Miranda and then turned to study the horse. “Prime piece of goods, this one.” “A parting gift to my wife from her last mistress,” Daniel explained, smitten by an inspiration. “Better than a yapping lapdog any day. This creature must be worth a good few hundred guineas.” Daniel continued to improvise. “Lord Blyth bought her for racing, but she wasn’t any good. He was very disappointed in her, so he declared he didn’t want to see her again. My wife was the lucky recipient.”

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Stokeley made a snorting sound. “Nobs! Don’t know they’re born, half of ’em! You should sell this beauty, make a bit of cash.” “I don’t think his lordship would appreciate that.” Miranda faced the landlord. “We are continuing in his service after our stay here. He’ll expect to see her when he comes to his house in the North.” Stokeley lifted a thick eyebrow in Daniel’s direction. He explained, “We’re to become caretakers after this month. One of his lordship’s smaller establishments.” Stokeley’s small eyes narrowed further. “You mean you’re not permanent here?” “No. His lordship has engaged a new landlord, but he can’t come before the end of the month, so he asked us to look after things. He’s determined the inn won’t have its old reputation, so we’re to set things up to put it on the way to prosperity.” “I see.” Stokeley shrugged. “Best of luck.” From his careless demeanour he didn’t mean it. Daniel bowed to Miss Stokeley and turned to take his wife’s hand in his once more. The mare’s reins in the other hand, he led them the short way to their inn, further up the street. He liked the feeling, Miranda’s hand in his, a short stroll. Perhaps he would take her riding again, somewhere quiet. They could stroll like this for a little longer. Miranda turned to nod to the landlord and his sister and then accompanied Daniel back to the inn. She glanced over her shoulder and Daniel followed her gaze to see the little governess staring after them, one plump bottom lip caught between her teeth, a frown between her brows. He shrugged and turned to more important matters. “Did you have a good rest? You look well.” Indeed, despite the plain clothes she looked very well, glowing with health. “I had a long sleep and a hot bath, and I spent the rest of the time with the children.” Her soft voice was content and easy. “I didn’t realise how much I’d missed them until I saw them again. Shall we go home after this?” Daniel knew she meant Rosington Court, his main country seat. “Yes.” The thought warmed him. Just because one thing was denied to them, perhaps they could share other things to compensate. This last week he’d enjoyed Miranda’s company more than he ever


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imagined he would. His wife wasn’t just lovely and desirable, she was warm, friendly and kind. For a moment a thought flashed through Daniel’s head. Had she been lonely too? He knew he had.

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Chapter Eleven To Miranda’s eyes the Blyth Arms was a different place to the dilapidated building of only a week or two before. The floors gleamed with polishing, the dark wood responding to the application of wax as though it had been merely sleeping until they came. The windows shone, and light streamed in through the leaded windows, each small panel glittering as the sun caught it. Miranda knew that sometimes the window makers deliberately set the small panes at a slight angle to the last one, so they would catch the sun at different times of day and glitter. No one had tried to flatten the effect, and they seemed alive with light. The long table in the centre of the room was so clean Miranda would have no qualms eating her dinner off it, and the small ones set in private alcoves, formed by high pew-like benches, looked inviting and cosy. Daniel saw her pleasure. “We’ve done well. I think we’ve won the bet already. Shall we contact Blyth and let him come?” “No!” Realising her reaction was too sharp Miranda set her fingers on his arm. The real reason for coming hadn’t been addressed yet. There had been a softening, but if they returned to their world too soon, the new cordiality between them would dissipate like morning mist. She needed more time in his bed before she knew for sure which way their marriage would turn. To live forever separately or to form the union she truly wanted, to be allowed to show her love for him. Miranda would always love Daniel, whatever happened. Either way she would cope, but on one side lay a life of duty and on the other the life she really wanted, filled with sharing, love and fulfilment. It all depended on the next few weeks. All of it. “Welcome back, mum,” Mrs. Wilson said, shuffling into the taproom. She looked tired but her clothes were no longer grimy and her grey hair was tidily tucked under a large mob cap. “Your auntie any better?”


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Miranda exchanged a glance with Daniel. “No better, no worse.” She reached up and unpinned her plain straw hat, drawing it off her tightly bound hair. “It’s good to be back.” “It’s good to have you back.” Startled, Miranda looked up into her husband’s face. He’d never volunteered personal information before. She smiled, inviting a look of warmth in return. “What needs to be done?” Daniel shrugged. “Not a great deal. I’ve set Wilson to clearing up the mess outside and set the men to help him. I’ve taken on a couple of likely lads. We’ll need them now the inn is open again.” “It doesn’t look open.” Miranda looked around. The inn was pristine—and empty. “They’ll come.” Miranda wished she was as confident as Daniel sounded. “We need better food. It’s market day on Tuesday. I’m hoping for more custom then.” He glanced at Miranda. “Come.” Taking her hand, he led her out of the taproom and into the other public room. He stopped her in the middle of the floor. There was no large table here, but apart from that it looked a lot like the other room, just a little smaller. “I thought we might put this room aside for the use of ladies only on market days.” “Goodness!” Miranda stared. Daniel reddened. “It wasn’t my idea. Ally thought of it.” “Ally, is it?” Miranda smiled, to show him she wasn’t offended. “She’s supposed to be our niece. And we’ve rechristened her Alison for her visit her. Not as unusual as Alethea.” Miranda nodded. “You say she thought of this?” It didn’t sound like the scared, tearful girl she’d comforted a few days before. Hearing a step behind her, she turned to see Ally. The girl was dressed neatly, and wore one of the large white aprons that seemed mandatory for the inn over her green gown. Her hair was confined under a cap, only a few soft brown strands curling out at the edges. The cruel bruise on her jaw had faded, and would go completely in a few days.

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Best of all, she was smiling. A tremulous smile, but it was there. Seeing it, Miranda smiled back. “Tell me about your idea.” Ally stepped forward, her hobnailed shoe-heels clicking on the floor. She glanced around the room before turning her gaze back to Miranda. “Melton market is a big one, perhaps the biggest in the county. It’s a farmer’s market, but there are lots of other stalls, and of course women selling hens and dairy produce.” “Go on.” “Well the farmers have somewhere to go for their dinner, but the ladies don’t. The farmers’ wives and the local gentry. They come in for the market, but they have to muck in with the men, or go visiting their friends. There’s nowhere for them to go. In other places, inns set aside a room for ladies only on market days. I thought we could do that.” “So we could!” Miranda said, bestowing a warm smile on the girl. Ally was a definite asset.

The following Tuesday, Miranda stood in the same room waiting for Ally, wearing a light cloak over her usual plain attire, with a basket slung over one arm. She wanted to see the market for herself, perhaps tell a few of the women there that this room was available at the inn for their exclusive use. They hadn’t prepared a great deal, just set the room aside and made sure they had enough tea and coffee in stock, together with fresh bread for bread-and-butter, but there was no sense investing a great deal until they knew if the venture would meet with success. Miranda felt nervous, although she wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. She had never in her life before been marketing and she had no idea what to expect. She wondered how much experience Ally had. When the girl joined her, she seemed completely at ease, comfortable in the plain gown and cloak, her hair tucked up under her cap, and a simple straw hat tied over the top. She’d pulled the cap down a little, and scraped her hair right back, making her almost unrecognisable as the over-frilled and curled girl of her first visit to the inn.


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Outside, the normally busy street was busier than ever, with the bulk of the traffic headed one way. Miranda and Ally joined the surge. Miranda felt alarmed to be out without a footman to protect her from the push of the crowd. Although they were good-natured enough, the surge was insistent, and it was clear people had more on their minds than being careful not to jostle each other. Gossip was rife. Miranda and Ally, walking in companionable silence, overheard a few comments about local residents, not all of them complimentary. Miranda leaned closer to Ally. “I’m getting concerned. There are so many people here. Surely someone knows you.” Ally glanced around and pulled the brim of her straw hat forward to hide her face better. The gesture was telling, even though her words were brave. “I don’t think so, and you need me. You can’t do this on your own.” “We don’t have to do anything.” Miranda was quite prepared to turn around and go back to the inn, but Daniel had everything in hand. The new beer had been delivered, the inn’s own beer tapped and ready, and staff mustered to serve any customers. The market spread all over the centre of town. At its furthest reach stood the livestock market, where loud shouts heralded the auction that would continue all day. Miranda, a reasonable judge of horseflesh, wondered if there were any bargains to be had. She gave herself a mental shake. She wasn’t here for horses. Any interest in expensive horseflesh would be strange in the humble wife of a country innkeeper. Instead, Miranda looked around with interest. This must be the main produce section. Clustered at the bottom of Nottingham Street stood a motley collection of makeshift stalls, erected for the day and removed by their owners afterwards. Miranda wondered how much work that took, and came to the conclusion it was a considerable amount. She didn’t envy the stallholders, to have to dismantle the stalls after a long day’s trading and stack it on a cart. Cleaning the inn had been child’s play compared to this. Despite her misgivings, the stall-holders had a cheerful aspect and seemed prosperous enough. This was explained at the first stall she came to, which offered a selection of lush, fresh cheeses and rich, yellow butter pats, as well as baskets of fresh eggs of all hues from white to deep brown.

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The stall-holder was a middle-aged lady dressed neatly but practically, a spotless white apron tied over her simple but clean day-clothes. It was a large apron, necessary to cover the equally large frame under it. Miranda smiled her good day and indicated a creamy white cheese. “Is that a local variety?” “Indeed, ma’am.” The stall-holder regarded Miranda through narrowed eyes. “Are you new to Melton?” No excuse given for such a personal question. Miranda found she liked the directness. “Yes, my husband and I are caretakers for an inn further up the road. The Blyth Arms. Do you know it?” The other woman’s look became positively hostile. “Everyone knows the Blyth Arms.” She stepped back, and waited. “I won’t sell to a place with that kind of reputation.” Miranda smiled. “Good. His lordship sent us there to reform the place. He heard of its reputation and wants us to turn it into a respectable inn once more.” The stall-holder’s eyes widened a little and she dropped her hands away from her ample hips. “This true? My husband don’t have no more reason to linger at nights?” Miranda kept her gaze steady. “Not at the Blyth Arms at any rate.” The older lady let out a long breath. “Well, I can’t deny that’s good news! My husband’s been selling stock here forever. I only decided to set up the stall here to keep an eye on him. One less thing to worry about!” A broad smile stretched her lips, previously pursed disapprovingly. “I don’t doubt they’ll find somewhere else, but it’ll slow them down!” Miranda smiled in return. “What can I do for you ma’am?” Miranda indicated the creamy cheese and accepted a morsel to taste. The woman informed her she had a “blue” version, so Miranda accepted a taste of that too. She closed her eyes on the taste. For a lover of blue-veined cheese, this was divine. The mild, creamy cheese blended and warred with the tang of the blue, giving a richness of flavour Miranda had rarely tasted before. “How much?” she demanded when her mouth cleared.


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The woman named a price. Miranda thought it reasonable, but from the gasp behind her she knew Ally didn’t think so. She turned to bring the girl into the group. “It’s remarkable cheese,” she ventured, offering Ally a piece. The girl grimaced. “I’ve never liked it, but I’ll take your word for it. Ma’am, you have an inn to run. While you might take the cheese for yourself, you won’t make a profit on that price.” She glanced at the woman. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m sure it’s very good, but not for the inn.” Miranda turned stubborn. She would at least buy some for Daniel to try. He loved a good piece of cheese. The woman was looking thoughtful. “I can give you a cheaper price if you buy more and I know you deserve something for closing that sinful place down. But this is business, ma’am. While my hubby makes the big money I get my pin money from this stall. I don’t stand here for the good of my health.” Miranda stepped back and enjoyed the ensuing scene. Ally was obviously far more used to haggling than she, and she never minded bowing to superior expertise. It was as good as anything Drury Lane put on in the Season. Productive, too. At the end of ten minutes Ally had halved the price of the best cheese Miranda had tasted for years, and also arranged for a different cheese with an almost orange hue together with butter and eggs delivered to the inn before the end of the day. Miranda wasn’t reticent with her praise. “What an asset you are turning out to be, Ally!” She smiled warmly at her young charge. Ally blushed. For the purposes of her disguise, all her hair was painfully scraped back into a high bun, concealed by a large cap and a floppy straw hat. Her pale face was devoid of paint or artifice, where a young lady might have employed the rouge pot and blacking stick. It was not flattering, but Ally’s fair prettiness was hard to hide, despite the attempts to render her plain. “I only did what I’d been taught. My mama insisted I go to market with our housekeeper a few times, and then I did it as a matter of course.” She glanced away. “It kept me out of the house and I would do a great deal for that.”

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“Oh, my dear!” Miranda’s compassion was genuine and heartfelt. If she had been fortunate enough to have a daughter she would like someone like this unspoiled miss. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. For all her troubles in childbirth, she was willing to try again. If she could persuade Daniel. Miranda shook off that concern, but could never forget it. Daniel seemed determined to keep himself apart, but sometimes she caught him looking at her with a soft expression in his dark eyes. It gave her hope, but whenever she tried to deepen their newfound friendship he made an excuse to turn away. He never did it hurtfully, but his rejection had a finality that hurt her to the core. Miranda kept her expression determinedly cheerful and surveyed the rest of the market. “We need a new supplier of vegetables,” she commented, recalling the day they visited the farmer—and what had come after. Daniel hadn’t touched her in that way since. It only served to convince Miranda that there was only one man for her, and if he rejected her she would forswear herself to lifelong celibacy. It was a depressing thought. Rather than allow her mind to dwell on such dark matters, Miranda turned her attention to the task in hand, but this time she tried something different. She allowed Ally to take the lead, remaining as an interested observer in the background. The first trader had good new potatoes but his carrots weren’t up to Ally’s high standards. The girl toured the stalls, pinching and prodding, frowning in concentration until she finally found a supplier who had a range of vegetables and fruit, all of reasonable quality. Ally knew the kind of quantities required by a busy inn, better than Miranda herself did, so Miranda allowed Ally to take her time with the negotiating, only murmuring to her young companion that she would rather like some strawberries. They were piled loosely in a huge heap, smelling so delicious Miranda moved closer in order to breathe the fragrance in more completely. The wonderful scent of the strawberries and the protracted negotiations served to distract Miranda from the man standing to one side of her until he spoke. The market was a busy place, and it wouldn’t be surprising to have to stand closer than she was accustomed to her fellow customer.


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“A word.” The man was standing so close his breath heated her ear. Miranda looked around in alarm, but what she saw didn’t reassure her. The man was large, intimidating, and not dressed particularly well. Despite the warmth of the day he wore a thick, dark coat that stank of sweat and dirt. Miranda moved away. The man seized her arm. Alarmed now Miranda tried to pull away from his grasp but she might as well have made no effort at all. When she tried to cry out, he clamped a large, none too clean hand over her mouth and dragged her away. He must be used to this sort of treatment, because the movement was so swift and so noiseless it attracted no attention at all, least of all from the young lady currently engaged in a spirited discussion with the vegetable stall holder. Her heart thumping, Miranda decided she would try to run. The alley he dragged her down was totally deserted, an unusual event on such a busy day, but explained when Miranda saw a man at the other end of the narrow passage, and then, as she looked back where she had come, she saw another. The man released her and shoved his head close to hers, although he was at least half a foot taller than Miranda. Close enough to see the yellow-headed pimples on his unclean skin, and the black stubble sprouting from his badly shaven chin. “Scream if you want to. Nobody’s gonna hear ya.” Miranda took a deep breath despite the noxious odour emanating from her captor. He smelled of stale sweat, halitosis and other, more disturbing things. She needed all her senses as sharp as possible to get out of this coil. She wondered what he wanted, and feared it was all too obvious. “Naa, not that,” he said, sneering at her. “At least not yet. I got a message for ya. Tell your ’igh an’ mighty ’usband to put the inn back the way it was. I want the girls back there. Tell ’im, if ’e doesn’t, then we’ll ’ave you good and proper. An’ we won’t let you go until ’e does wot we tell ’im to.” Miranda tried not to moisten her lips, but they had gone dry. “Who are you?” She had no resistance to this kind of brutality. She had never come across such a ruffian

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before, not like this. For the first time she fully realised the necessity of having a burly footman to accompany her. If only she had one now! “Don’t matter. Just do what we say and you won’t ’ear from us again. Are you clear? Tell me what I want.” Miranda closed her eyes. “To make the inn a brothel again.” “Oh yes. That’s it. Just so’s you don’t forget—” He leaned closer and Miranda thought she would faint when he pressed his foul smelling body to hers. She refused to open her mouth under his kiss, and just endured the slimy probing of his tongue. She felt more defiled than she had ever done in her life. Then a sharp pain and she knew no more.

The first Daniel knew of trouble was when a man pushed his way through the door of the inn, carrying a woman. Daniel strode forward, praying it wasn’t Miranda, but when he closed on them, his heart sank. Automatically his mind registered the lack of blood, and then, when the man gazed around, blinking to accustom his sight to the relative dimness inside, jerked his head. “In here.” The burly stranger didn’t pause, but carried Miranda through to an unoccupied side room. The customers in the inn stared after, and when the men passed through, watched the girl scurry across the polished floor after them, a market basket swinging from one arm. The room seemed crowded with the four of them inside. The man laid Miranda on one of the long, bare benches in the room. Daniel bent over her. His wife was unconscious, but breathing normally. The cause was clear to see; her hair disarrayed where someone had struck her on the back of the head. “Brandy and water,” Daniel said, not bothering to disguise his authoritarian tones. He heard someone leave the room, but didn’t concern himself with who obeyed his orders. Daniel felt the site of the wound with gentle fingers. His whole concentration was on his wife. His love.


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He couldn’t deny it any longer. The depth of warmth and concern flooding from him meant only one thing. The murderous anger surging through him meant the same. He would kill whoever had done this to her, and not look back. After Daniel felt her forehead, examined the wound and listened to her breathing to ensure Miranda wasn’t badly hurt, he turned to the man who’d brought her. “Tell me what happened.” “The young lady was at my stall, sir, and when she’d done she realised her mistress had gone. We didn’t have to look far. We found her down an alley. There’s no way it was an accident, sir.” Daniel stared at the man, hands on hips. “How could you tell?” It was a rhetorical question. He had seen the marks on her and already decided someone would pay for them. “The knock on her head’s from the back, and the alley was clean—not a weapon in sight, not even a fallen brick.” The man’s eyes drifted to Miranda, compassion etched on his weathered face. “When the young lady told us where you lived, I brought your missus here at once.” He glanced back to Daniel. “I think I’ll get back to the stall and see what I can find. They might be about still.” Daniel agreed, but privately doubted it. They would be long gone. “Thank you for bringing her back. She means a lot to me.” “Aye, I can see that. I might see more of you both. If what we’ve delivered today is satisfactory, your wife said it might turn in to a regular order.” He had certainly done a great deal today to ensure the order went to him, whatever it was. “I can’t see why not, as long as the goods and terms are satisfactory. We’re not here for much longer, but we can recommend you to our successors.” The man slipped off his battered hat and scratched his head. “I didn’t do it for that.” Daniel was used to soothing the hurt feelings of domestics. He did it now with barely a thought. “I know you didn’t. The contract will be cancelled if something goes wrong. Never fear on that!” He grinned and stuck out his hand. Miranda’s rescuer took it and wrung it with a hearty physical reminder of the toil that marked most of his life.

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After the stall-holder took his leave, Daniel concentrated on his wife’s well being. The stairs were too narrow to carry her up, as he would have preferred to do. Instead, he was forced to wake her. After a gentle touch on her shoulder did nothing, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He became aware of the scent that had driven him mad recently. The gentle, flowery perfume she habitually wore mixed with the spice of womanhood. One woman in particular. Miranda. It was more than flesh and blood could stand. Daniel bent again and kissed her properly. His lips touched hers, soft and full, as inviting as no others, at least for him. For a moment he allowed himself to taste her as he hadn’t done for years. She responded. Feebly at first, but her lips moved under his, and then her mouth opened and she lifted her chin to accept him. Daniel accepted her invitation. Daniel thrust his tongue into her mouth, and tenderly caressed her. Her injuries were foremost in his mind so when he reached forward to cup her head, he knew exactly which spot to avoid. His mouth didn’t leave hers. Daniel was afraid this was his last chance at heaven, and he would make the most of it. Every time she touched him he treasured the moment and tried to commit the event to memory so he would have them to comfort him in the cold days ahead. He scooped her up, one arm behind her shoulders and the other under her knees, cradling her close, his mouth still fastened to hers. Now he knew she was awake, because she curved one arm around him and smoothed her hand over his back. Daniel prayed this would never stop, but of course it had to. Reluctantly he drew back and gazed down at her. “What a lovely way to wake up,” she murmured, her voice a soft purr. “I hope you do that every time I’m threatened.” He gazed down at her, unable to keep the warmth from his eyes. “There won’t be another time. I’ll make sure of that.” “Shame!” She pouted in mock disappointment. “I wouldn’t mind a few more knocks on the head for that.”


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“You remember what happened?” She nodded, and then winced when the sore spot caught his upper arm. He moved so there was no danger of it happening again and relished her smile at him when she recognised the tender gesture. “I remember it all. I could recognise the man who hit me if you needed me to. I think he was a professional.” Daniel frowned. “Why?” “Because he carried one of those handy little clubs, and he knew what he wanted to say to me.” Daniel smiled. “Also, although your head must be hurting like Beelzebub, he didn’t hit you too hard. Just hard enough to let him get away.” His mouth hardened. “That doesn’t mean I won’t hit him a great deal harder if I get the opportunity. You can tell me what happened upstairs. I need to put you down, or we won’t get up the stairs, but I promise I won’t let go.” He bent to gently place her feet on the floor. As he’d expected her knees buckled but he was there to steady her. He held her close until her breathing regained its normal even rhythm. “Are you ready?” “Yes.” The sound came out as a thready whisper. Slowly he guided her to the door and stepped outside. The sound of the busy inn broke into the relative peace of the parlour. The clank of tankards mixed with the chatter of customers rose around them, a sound that was fast becoming normality for both of them. When Miranda flinched he realised it must be the smell of the kitchens, so close. Now the place was scoured, the only smells coming out of the large kitchen were, to Daniel, pleasant ones, but he knew that if he’d been hit on the head he would be feeling exactly the same way Miranda looked. Sick. He didn’t hurry her. They took it one step at a time, his supporting arm firmly around her waist. At the bottom of the stairs she tried to break away but he wouldn’t let her. She got up by dint of gripping the rail tightly with one hand and clutching Daniel with the other.

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At last they reached the bedroom door. It had been a long haul. Daniel glanced at Miranda and saw the fine lines on her face. He swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Miranda didn’t miss his sigh when he sat her down on the edge. She chuckled. “I’m no lightweight any more. Not since Christopher was born.” “I like it.” He reached for the front of her gown and began loosening the hooks. “You’re more…rounded.” “Plump.” “Not at all.” He reached the last hook and drew the gown back, helping her to her feet so she could let it fall to the floor. When it did, he swept it away and went over to the pegs on the wall, hanging the garment next to his coat so it wouldn’t crease. When he turned back he saw her undoing her garters, her small side hoops lying on the bed, discarded. She wasn’t looking at him. The sight of his wife in a fresh white corset, her petticoat bunched up to her knees while she tackled her garters and stockings sent a tremor of need through him. He swallowed and reminded himself that today he was a nurse. Daniel set himself determinedly to do what she needed, not what he wanted, and went back across the small room to pick up the side hoops. When he did, she looked up and smiled. A totally friendly smile, no shading to it at all. He had to smile back. It would have been churlish not to. She frowned. “What is it?” “More than the fact that my wife was assaulted in the street, you mean?” “Yes.” He might have known she would spot something. Daniel had become adept at hiding his desire for his luscious wife, but apparently, not adept enough. Her smile was cautious. “I wish you could join me in bed. I’d like to be held.” He cleared his throat. She wasn’t making this easy for him. “I can’t, I have to get back. But I won’t leave until you’re comfortable.” The garters and stockings dealt with, Miranda leaned back, but he was there before her, turning down the crisp white sheets and waiting for her to climb in. She did, lying


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down and sliding across to her accustomed side, but she didn’t pull the covers over herself. Daniel obediently removed his shoes and coat, and then lay down beside her. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back when I can. Do you need anything?” Her voice was sleepy. “Only you.” He swallowed again, but slipped his arm under her head and waited for her to settle herself. Her hair flowed loose over her shoulders, softer than the finest silk, shining softly in the sunlight. There were bright gold highlights in the honeyed depths. He’d noticed them before, and treasured the sight. Her breathing slowed and deepened. Miranda was asleep. Instead of leaving her, he waited, savouring her weight in his arms. Often in these nights of sharing a bed he did that, feeling safe because she wasn’t awake to see him, and to question him. It was safer if she thought he didn’t find her sexually appealing, safer for them both, but he did, more than he had ever imagined possible when he’d first met her, not long before their wedding. He lifted his free hand and touched her hair, smoothing a lock back from her face. Her soft exhale caressed the back of his hand, raising the small hairs. He held his breath. Leaning up on one elbow, he bent and touched his mouth to hers. “I love you, Miranda,” he whispered. She didn’t stir. Cautiously he eased his arm out from under her and slid out of bed, then picked up his coat and shoes. He covered her loosely, but didn’t pull the covers up to her chin, for the day was still warm. He left the room as quietly as he could, holding the latch and then dropping it on the stall with a care he never devoted to anything as mundane as doors. As the sound of his footsteps retreated down the stairs Miranda opened her eyes and gazed thoughtfully at the closed door.

Miranda’s headache was enough for her to cope with for the remainder of the day and the night. However, much to her relief it abated by the morning and she could ponder the conundrum Daniel unwittingly left her with. Perhaps his soft whisper was in the

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nature of an affectionate caress, meaning nothing, but he’d never told her he loved her before now. He’d been complimentary, flattering even, but he never told her that. She would have remembered. Despite his protests, Miranda insisted on getting up the next day, and going about her duties. He was fastening her corset for her when she glanced over her shoulder at him. “It’s not as if I’m a lady of leisure, is it?” His smiled and they exchanged a chuckle. “I’m not sure I know what one of those is,” she continued. “I’ve never had much leisure.” “Perhaps we should change that.” He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder, and a pleasant tiny shiver went through her. “Perhaps we should go home instead of to all those damned house parties.” “I’d like that, but we have one of our own at the end of the month in case you’d forgotten.” “We’ll get rid of them, or run away together. We have more than one house, don’t forget.” It sounded so tempting, but Miranda suspected he only half meant what he said. Daniel would find it difficult avoiding her if they were en famille. In the past he seemed to avoid it with a single-minded devotion she was only just beginning to understand. If he loved her, if he meant it in more than a comradely way, then why didn’t he make love to her? Miranda thought about the problem. She allowed the day to take the course they set for it, without pursuing Daniel too surely. In the early afternoon he sent her upstairs to rest for an hour; she went without demur, forced to admit she was weary. Although Miranda was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a lady of leisure, she wasn’t used to such a punishing schedule as the inn demanded. Coming out of the bedroom refreshed she met her new young friend. “Good afternoon, Ally, I feel much better now.” “Yes, I’m glad.” Ally didn’t look glad. She looked positively distraught. Hair straggled out from under her large cap, as though she had been worrying at it, and her eyes were wide with fear.


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Miranda took Ally’s hand. “What is it?” The look the girl gave her reminded Miranda of nothing so much as a scared rabbit. “My parents are downstairs.” Miranda dropped her hand immediately. “Go!” Ally didn’t need telling twice. She ran in the direction of the backstairs, and Miranda saw she held her heavy shoes in her hand, so her passage was as noiseless as possible. She didn’t have to go much further towards the stairs before she heard the voice, positively roaring with anger. A few steps further and she could distinguish the words. “Don’t lock horns with me, sir! Tell me where my daughter is!” Miranda tried not to look like a marchioness. She hated such behaviour, and it always brought out the haughty aristocrat inbred into her, a shield against boorish behaviour. But such behaviour wasn’t appropriate here, and it might raise suspicions. Mentally repeating to herself, “I’m an innkeeper’s wife, I’m an innkeeper’s wife,” Miranda took the first step downstairs. The roaring increased in volume. Miranda heard the pewter mugs jangling together on the shelf. She stepped through the door and into the main taproom and stared at the man. Red-faced, jaw jutting forward he faced Daniel. Daniel seemed deeply unimpressed. Since his shoulders were as broad, his waist a good deal smaller and his height superior to his antagonist, it did not appear an over ambitious attitude. Cavendish must have caught the movement of Miranda’s arrival in the corner of his eye, for he deliberately turned to face her, with a sneer firmly fixed in place. She walked forward, taking her time. “What is the meaning of this disturbance? You’ll scare away the customers, Lord Cavendish!” He glared at her. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her husband’s frown. He hadn’t wanted her here. She gave her full attention to Lord Cavendish, smiling sweetly. “Surely it can’t be as bad as that?” “A good deal, worse, ma’am!” Winning an honorific from Lord Cavendish counted as a small victory to Miranda. “My daughter has run off! Ungrateful child! I have a

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strong inkling I know her whereabouts, but I was told you had a young woman staying here. Rather a coincidence, don’t you think?” Miranda shrugged, allowing her eyebrows to rise in surprise. “A relative. My husband’s aunt is ill, so we took her daughter for a week or two. She isn’t on the premises, I’m afraid, or I would call her.” Lord Cavendish was not in the least appeased. “A likely story! I demand to see this girl before I set out!” “You’re leaving, sir?” “Only to go on a wild goose chase to the border! I suspect the worst!” “You are rather tardy in missing your daughter, are you not?” She loved the scowl she raised in him. “She asked permission to visit a school friend. Since the friend lives very close to Smythe, I saw it as a good opportunity for them to develop their acquaintance.” Miranda felt Daniel stiffen beside her. They both knew what that might mean. “Her friend said she was indisposed until I arrived yesterday and demanded to see her. Damned interfering neighbours ought to mind their own business! Miranda infuriated him further by smiling sweetly. “Oh, so she has left on an elopement! How romantic!” She allowed herself to glance at Daniel, standing temporarily mute, but with a gleam in his eye that indicated he was reluctantly enjoying her performance. “Romantic!” Spit sprayed. “Romantic, madam? Damnfool ideas!” He glared around the inn. One or two customers sat transfixed by the performance. Lady Cavendish stood near the door, her tear-stained, white features demonstrating her distress more eloquently than any words. Wilson was, as usual, in the brewery, but his wife stood, hands on hips, a broad, undisguised grin showing her appreciation. “If my daughter wants to keep one inch of her precious hide, she’ll be back in my house before nightfall! I decide who she will marry; it has nothing to do with her!” “Something, at least, Lord Cavendish?” Daniel put in, his voice a slow drawl. Miranda closed her eyes. He sounded too much the aristocrat, but Lord Cavendish’s fury covered everything else. “And what if she is already married?”


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“She’ll be a widow by nightfall!” the man growled. Daniel began his response. “Lord Cavendish, this is now a respectable inn, and I resent your insinuations—” He was warming up nicely when another man entered the inn. A small man, of late middle age, he reminded Miranda of nothing more than a rat. His sharp features added to the impression, and he held his head forward, jutting forward from his neck, giving his coat some creases that shouldn’t really have been there. His shoulders were rounded, his whole stance slumped. That was not the only reason he reminded Miranda of a rat. He was about as clean as one, that is, not at all. His green coat was marked with yellowish stains that looked like snuff, and they weren’t the only stains on his coat, which must once, a long time ago, have been quite stylish. She was glad he wore a wig instead of his own hair. That would have enhanced the ratlike appearance. His sharp gaze traversed the room, and he came forward to join Lord Cavendish as soon as he spotted him. The larger man glanced at him. “Wondered where you’d got to, Smythe.” Miranda heard the name with a shock. Alethea was supposed to marry this weasel? No wonder she fled. Briefly her thoughts went to Godfrey. She hoped he was successful in his errand, but if he was not, she would ensure this man had no chance of marriage with the pretty girl, even if it meant sending her abroad for a time. Smythe wet his lips when he looked at Miranda. Even that small gesture made Daniel frown, although he was controlling himself, but his hands fisted at his sides. She smiled at him, trying to reassure him. Strange how she should feel protective towards him. Lord Cavendish made no attempt at introduction. Why should he, when an innkeeper was so obviously below his notice? However, Miranda would have made the attempt, had the situations been reversed. “They say she’s not been here,” Lord Cavendish growled to his friend. Smythe stared at Miranda. “I see. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

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“I told you, Blyth changed the house.” Lord Cavendish didn’t sound happy. “I’m hoping the next people are a mite more neighbourly.” “Lord Blyth will dismiss anyone who tries to return the inn to its previous state,” Daniel announced. His voice held no particular emphasis, but it sounded final for all that. As, indeed, it was. Lord Cavendish cast him a disparaging glance. “We’ll see.” He turned to the door. “If I don’t find her, I’ll be back. Be warned.” Daniel’s look of contempt at the man’s back expressed his feelings more than any words could. When he turned his attention to Miranda, it was as hard, if not contemptuous. “You should be resting.” She shook her head. “I’m not an invalid.” “You’ve been one for years.” Immediately, Daniel looked away, consternation flushing his face an ugly red. His tone had been sharp, accusative. The room held its breath. No one moved. It was up to Miranda. With hardly a pause she went forward to face him. She took his hands and tugged, forcing him to look at her. His face was marred by a deep frown. “I’m not an invalid any more,” She forced him to meet her gaze. “I’m perfectly well. My headache is gone, and I didn’t want you to face that appalling man on your own. I needn’t have bothered. You didn’t need me, did you?” He stared at her without saying anything but she watched the frown smooth over, and his troubled expression return to normal. “I always need you. It went better, once you came down.” They smiled, in harmony for once. His smile warmed Miranda more than the sultry day, more than his admission that her presence made things easier for him. The quiet sigh from behind her broke the spell. If, when she first met Mrs. Wilson, someone had told Miranda she was capable of a sentimental moment, Miranda would have laughed in derision, but there was no mistaking it now. Embarrassed to be the centre of anyone’s sentimental moment, Miranda drew back and broke eye contact. Daniel cleared his throat and picked up a nearby cloth, although


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all the tables were perfectly clean. “They’ll be back,” he commented. “We haven’t seen the last of them.” “A bad business,” came a voice from one of the tables. The attention of every inhabitant of the sparsely populated taproom went to one small man, sat by a window. He removed the long churchwarden pipe from his mouth and released a stream of tobacco smoke. He addressed Daniel. “I’ve been Lord Cavendish’s neighbour for nigh on thirty years now. Never had a civil word with him. Never. And that daughter of his; she’s been made to suffer.” Daniel walked slowly forward. “How?” The man glanced at his pipe. Daniel took the hint and carried it over to the big pot resting on a shelf near the barrels. An ordinary pipe refill cost a penny, but Daniel filled it and returned it to the man by the window without asking for payment. The man touched his forehead with one gnarled finger. “Thank ’ee. That poor girl’s suffered from her father’s disappointment. He wanted a house full of sons, and he got the one girl. Her mother was ill when she was born, and she’s never borne another. ’Tis my opinion he’s tried to dispose of his wife more than once, but she’s still here. He beat them both, and once, the girl came to my farm with stripes all over her that anybody could see, so heaven knows what she was hiding underneath.” The room fell silent. The sound of the ever-present traffic outside seemed louder as everyone imagined what it must mean to be the daughter of such a cruel man, completely under his control. How brave Ally must be, to take that punishment for all those years and then run away, knowing what was in store for her should her father catch her. Well, Miranda decided, her young friend wouldn’t be caught. Between them she and Daniel controlled or knew so many houses and owners they could keep Ally moving between them until she achieved her majority, if they had to. “What of the mother? Why didn’t she leave?” The farmer looked at Miranda contemptuously. His thin lip lifted in a sneer. “And where would she go? If she ran, it would have been the end for her. Nowhere to go, no one to run to. She’d be dead in a fortnight.” He turned back to his pipe. “Chances are

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she’ll be dead before long in any case. Without the young ’un to whip, she’ll take it for two.” Daniel met Miranda’s startled gaze, and she saw resignation in his eyes. That last statement committed them without recall. He grinned and she bit her lip, trying not to respond to his reluctant amusement. She didn’t succeed and he won a smile out of her before she turned to go to the kitchen. Miranda was still determined to rescue poor Lady Cavendish from her living hell if she possibly could, as well as her daughter.


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Chapter Twelve “My wife the rescuer of the downtrodden,” Daniel murmured. He pulled the sheets back and got in to bed. “Not at all, but I can’t ignore someone who steps in my way, can I?” “Why not?” “Could you?” His face turned grave. “I do sometimes. It’s not something I tell you, not a subject for the dinner table, but sometimes it happens. I detest brutality, especially towards those weaker than the aggressor. I don’t allow it on my estates if I discover it’s going on. Sometimes there is nothing I can do.” Miranda frowned, on the attack. “Why not? You own their land, why can’t you do something?” He reached out and took her hand, nestling it in his. His thumb caressed her palm in what was almost an unconscious gesture. “Sometimes the woman doesn’t want to leave. She might love him, despite the treatment, or be unable to face the alternative. We can’t help everyone.” She looked troubled, and Daniel longed to take her worries away from her, but that would not be fair. She was a grown woman, able to make her own decisions. He had no intention of removing them all from her. “It disturbs me that there are people doing this, but I know it happens. Still, you won’t distract me from helping Ally and her mother.” “One at a time.” He didn’t seem able to release her hand. It felt right where it was, resting in his. She didn’t try to remove it, either, and didn’t look away. To break the deadlock he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, my dear.” When he slid down the bed to lie down, she went with him, staying close. He tried to move away, to give her some space, but she wouldn’t let him, moving with him. He gave up. Why should he, when holding her gave him so much pleasure? He slipped his arm 124



under her head. With a bittersweet pang he felt her pillow her head on his shoulder. He knew he couldn’t act on his desires and draw her closer, cover her face with kisses, draw off that virginal nightgown and rediscover her body. Had it changed since she had given birth to Christopher? The parts of her he was allowed to touch, her lower arms and sometimes her face, were as soft as ever, as sweetly smooth as he remembered. If only he didn’t remember so well! She caught his sigh, although he tried to suppress it. “Is something wrong? I thought you liked this.” “Too much.” “How so?” She moved her hand up his flank, to his ribs, and then on to his chest. A small piece of heaven. A very small piece. He took her hand and moved it away. “No.” “Why?” In a sudden passion sat up once more. She leaned over him, resting her hand on the bed. “Why mustn’t we touch? What’s wrong?” Tears glimmered in her eyes, unshed, but he saw them. They brightened the blue of her eyes, made her seem ethereal. Her hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders in gentle waves. Why had she not confined them in her usual thick plaits? “Please tell me, Daniel, please. I can’t stand much more of this. Living closely like this, I thought you might—you might want me again.” She bit her lip, and Daniel knew it was to stop it trembling. He hated to bring her such unhappiness, hated what he had done, or not done. She wouldn’t let him speak. “Now I know you don’t, and all I want to know now is why? Why don’t you want me? What is wrong with me?” He stared at her. The silence between them lengthened. “No more lies, Daniel. Tell me, so we can both go on with our own lives. If you cannot like me, tell me. I promise I won’t shame you with tears and pleading. I just need to know why.” He shook his head, feeling the hard knot where his hair was fastened behind his neck. “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you, Miranda. You’re perfect.” “Then why?”


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He couldn’t bear it any more. He’d tried his best, but even he could see the time had passed for subterfuge and excuses. There was no going back now. He caught her attention, kept his gaze on hers. “We can’t. You know we can’t. Your health—” She interrupted him in a passion of denial. “I’m better now, I’m truly better! I was ill for a full year after Christopher’s birth. It’s true, I wasn’t well, I don’t think it would have been advisable then, but I’ve been much better for the last year.” She lifted her hand and touched his chest, very softly, then returned it to his side. He swallowed. Her expression had changed. She still looked anxious, with a crease in her forehead he longed to kiss away, but he had become accustomed to longing in the last few years, and learned not to act on impulse. “It isn’t just the illnesses, though Lord knows they were bad enough. I thought you were going to die, Miranda. I swore I would never make you suffer so badly again.” “So to keep a promise to yourself you deprived us both for three years?” Now she sounded angry. Daniel was almost relieved to hear it. Miranda’s anger had got him out of potentially tender situations before, but this time was different. He couldn’t use such tricks on her. There must be honesty between them now. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps, once they came to terms with this, they could move on, become friends, even. He dared not hope for more than that. “Not just a promise. I thought you knew.” “Knew what?” “You were there when he told us both.” “Who?” “Dr. Sewell. When he told us you must bear no more children.” Now the change in her face was absolute. Puzzlement, and fear. The crease remained, but her eyes widened, her mouth tightened. He reached up a hand and cupped her cheek, unable to bear her pain. “You don’t remember?” She snuggled her cheek into his hand. “I was ill. I remember a long lecture about not engaging in relations for a while, but that was the last thing I wanted to do at the time.” She paused. “What did he say?”

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“You remember nothing?” “I was still very weak. I drifted in and out for many days.” He sighed. He couldn’t take his hand away from the sweetest touch he could remember. If it was all he could have of this woman, then so be it, but keeping away from her became harder every day. His sorrow had been harder than he ever imagined it could be. It would get no easier. Now he was about to condemn her to that same sorrow in the name of truth. “I thought you knew. It made it easier to bear, that you knew why. Now I find you do not. Have you spent the last three years wondering?” “I’m still wondering,” she reminded him. “I’m well now. What could stop us?” “You must not have any more children. Must not. If you do, it will kill you.” “Dr. Sewell said that?” He wouldn’t look away. He would bear as much of her pain as he could. After all, he’d had three years to accustom himself to the idea. “He did. He said it was without doubt. He also said we would be better for it, but he was wrong.” He moved his fingers, caressing her cheek softly, gathering his strength to tell her the complete truth. “I want you so much, Miranda. That’s why I couldn’t touch you, why I couldn’t bear you too close. Why I still can’t.” “Is that why you tried to take a mistress?” He closed his eyes, and then opened them again to see her, calm now, watching him. “I have needs. I thought I could do it, but I could never have gone through with it. I couldn’t hurt you any more than I had already. I thought you would understand. I didn’t know you hadn’t realised just how serious your illness was. There is no doubt, Miranda. I spoke to another doctor, and he said the same. With your history, another child would be your death.” “What did you tell him?” “That you had two boys, and the second birth was worse than the first. About the bleeding, and the fever.”


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They stared at each other, remembering the horror of that time. Then she said the bravest thing he’d ever heard. “I’d do it again, go through the birth and the illness. If it meant you would love me again, I’d go through it all without a qualm.” Now it was his turn to weep. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he blinked them away. “I couldn’t let you.” His voice came out hoarse and thin. “I don’t want to lose you.” Miranda studied him, her head tilted slightly to one side. “You should want to lose me. You could marry again, and continue your family.” When he would have responded, she laid a gentle finger across his lips. “No, there’s no need. I know you would not, but there are many that would. Is that why you won’t touch me? The whole reason? Please, Daniel, the truth. If you can’t want me, I’d like to know. You did seek out a mistress, after all, and she did look most unlike me.” Lifting a hand, he moved her finger from his lips and tugged on her hand, forcing her to lie down once more. He pulled her close, so she lay with her head pillowed on his shoulder, looking up at him. “No. If I took a mistress it would be someone like her, someone who didn’t remind me of you in the least. She is dark where you are fair, dainty and small where you are tall and elegant. I want only one Miranda.” He kissed her temple. “And in any case, I didn’t choose her. She came looking for me.” “She did?” “She had her own reasons. She isn’t a hardened courtesan, although her mother is. She wants Blyth, and thought she could make him jealous.” “Did she succeed?” “She must have. After all, it’s Blyth’s doing that we’re here, isn’t it?” He wondered at her frown, but thought no more of it until she sighed and said; “I confess, it was partly me.” He stared down at her, unsure of her meaning. “I saw you with the girl, and I was jealous. Jealous, Daniel. I thought I was over such things, I was convinced you didn’t want me any more, not in bed at any rate, and so it didn’t come as a surprise to hear the rumours and then see you with her. Blyth was with me that day, and he saw my distress. He promised to do something about it.”

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A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Properly gulled I’ve been. You and Blyth made hay with me, didn’t you?” “I’m sorry.” His free hand slid over her waist. “Don’t be. I think it’s done us good. At least we both know now.” She moved closer, snuggling in. The movement made him gasp. “Miranda, be careful. You know I won’t make love to you, don’t tempt me anymore. It’s not fair.” She lifted her hand to his chest, covered with fine lawn, but he felt her fingers gently tracing patterns on it. “I know you’ve taken the entire responsibility on yourself. I know you want to preserve me. What if I don’t want to?” He caught her hand with his own, and curled it inside the warmth of his. “Miranda, if you get with child again, you will die. I can’t do that to you. If I think of it, it fills me with terror. How could I face the boys?” He paused. “How could I live without you?” She stared at him, her mouth slightly open, moist and inviting, even though he didn’t think she meant it that way. With a groan of submission, he bent his head and kissed her, dragging her close with both arms, holding her as though he would never let her go. Since that day he escorted her to the house, after their visit to the farmer, Daniel had longed to kiss her again, but known he couldn’t trust himself not to go further. Now he couldn’t help himself. Her body, so warm, nestled against his, her lips opening softly for him, inviting him to slide his tongue inside. It was more than a man could stand. Daniel caressed her mouth, warm and sweet, and felt her response with joy, a slow burn starting somewhere deep inside. He leaned over her, revelling in the feel of her body under his. An impulse he had learned how to control. While enjoying the kiss Daniel drew part of himself back, tucked it away again. The wild part, the part that urged him to take her now and never mind the consequences. That part must stay hidden inside. Finally he drew back. He reached up to smooth her hair, soft caresses replacing the abandon he longed to release. She smiled. “That felt good. It won’t come all at once, Daniel.”


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“What won’t?” “Restraint. What you don’t want us to do. I still want to, I don’t care, but the risk isn’t all mine, is it?” He shook his head. “I have to think of the children, and of what it would do to you. But I’m not giving up. There must be a way, Daniel, there must. There are times every month—” “I’ve thought of that. It won’t do, Miranda. There are ways to make conception less likely, but none to stop it completely. If there was a way, believe me, I wouldn’t let you leave this bed for a fortnight.” “You want me?” This was no time for half truths. “I never stopped wanting you. When I withdrew from your bedroom, I persuaded myself it was for your own good. Perhaps, if you thought desire had left me, you might find it easier to bear. I know your nature, you see. You hate to see anyone suffer.” She lifted a hand and caressed his cheek in the age-old caress of lovers. “But you did, and so did I. I mean it, Daniel. We’ll find a way, I’m determined on it.” “I’ve thought about it for years. Years, sweetheart.” “Have you ever asked anyone else about the problem other than the doctors?” His eyes widened. “No, of course not. It’s no one else’s business.” “Just for advice? Blyth is very experienced—” He couldn’t suppress a slight shudder. “How could I ask my brother something like that? And Blyth is so volatile still, there’s no saying what he might do.” Her hand still rested on his cheek, as though it belonged there. Which, in a way, it did. “He’s not as volatile as you think. Oh, I’m sure he was as a boy, but he’s turned the fortunes of his estate around. You don’t do that without clear thinking and planning.” He touched his lips to her palm, lapping it gently with his tongue before turning back to her. “You might be right. But I don’t think I want to ask him.” “I shall find something out,” she said firmly, then smiled. “But not tonight. Enough, I think, to know we both want the same thing. You’ve brought me joy with the sadness

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tonight, Daniel. It was agony thinking you didn’t want me anymore. How could you think anything else?” He closed his eyes against the loving understanding in hers Understanding he didn’t deserve. He’d thought he was acting for the best, and it seemed to be the other way about. “I don’t know. I thought you wouldn’t want to any more, when the result cost you so much pain. I didn’t want you to see I suffered, so I didn’t let you see.” “It doesn’t matter. I have you back, and that’s enough for now.” She leaned up and touched her mouth to his. He responded to the tender caress in the gentle spell she wove around him. He could trust her not to push him over the edge. The only danger now was if they both succumbed at the same time. He relaxed his hold on her and leaned back. “I’m very tired suddenly.” She snuggled close and lifted her leg over him, but only as far as the knee. “Revelations can make you tired. We should sleep. We have another busy day in the morning, running the inn.” He smiled. “So we do.”


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Chapter Thirteen In the morning it was still there, that new understanding, so as soon as he woke he could touch his lips to hers in a good morning caress. “We may not have everything,” he murmured to her, smoothing his hand over her hair, still loose and unruly, “but this is a great deal more than I hoped for.” “What do you have now?” Her voice was soft, still sleepy. “Your friendship and understanding, I hope. I can’t believe I nearly threw that away for a few moments of physical pleasure.” He saw the sadness in her eyes, and was immediately sorry for it. Obviously they would still have to be careful with each other. “It’s more than that, Daniel, isn’t it? I’ve heard men need to—do it more than women. Sometimes I’m not sure.” “Why not?” The question startled her. She opened her eyes properly, but didn’t look away. “Sometimes I want you very much. It happened when I saw you with La Perla Perfetta. I couldn’t bear the thought of you doing with her what you didn’t want to do with me.” “You know that’s not true.” “I do now.” He smiled and reached for her, relishing the feel of her in his arms. “It’s not worth it. Even this is better than a passionate encounter with someone else. You’re everything to me, Miranda. I would never have done anything had I realised how much it would hurt you, but your behaviour to me was cool. I thought you wouldn’t mind.” Her hand rested on his chest, almost possessively. “I minded.” There was a pause before she added, “Isn’t there—isn’t there anything we can do?” He turned his head too sharply, and felt the crick in his neck, but ignored the sudden, sharp pain in favour of something more important. “What do you mean?” “Bring each other…satisfaction? Is there only one way?” 132



They stared at each other. His hand wandered up from her waist, but he stilled it. “Touching, you mean? There are ways.” “I’m willing to try.” “Sweetheart!” Dragging her close, he buried his head in her shoulder, feeling her hair flow around him like silk. She gasped, but responded by holding him closer. He realised she must feel his arousal through the thin lawn nightwear they both wore, but she didn’t pull away. Forcing himself away, he propped himself up on one elbow and lifted his free hand, shaking only a little, to touch her cheek. “We could try. If you’re sure.” She nodded, her eyes soft. He smiled and bent to kiss her, but drew away before it could turn into something else. “Tonight then. If we’re both of the same mind, we’ll see what we can do. If we start now I have a feeling we might never get up, and, my lady, we have an inn to run.” She smiled back. “So we do. It’s not as though we’re a lord and lady of leisure, is it? We have a living to earn.” Before his resolve could weaken, he threw back the covers and turned away, getting out of bed. “Come on, lazybones. We have a whole day to think about it, but we still have a wager to win.” “I think we’ve won it.” He laughed, a carefree note he hadn’t used for some time. “Was that it? Was that what all this was about?” “Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything!” In her turn Miranda swung her feet over the edge of the bed. “Blyth and Elston dreamed the scheme up between them.” At the sound of his younger brother’s name, Daniel grimaced. “I might have guessed. Elston had the devil’s luck with cards, and I know for a fact he knows how to cheat, although he never does it when it counts, when there’s money involved.” He paused. “He must have made an exception.” He thought again of the evening at White’s, how well his brothers had drawn him in and played him. He must have been well over the edge not to notice that ploy.


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He reached for his clothes on the peg by the door and then faced her. She sat on the side of the bed, hair tousled, bracing her arms to push herself up. He couldn’t remember when he had last felt so at peace, despite the physical need he could no longer deny. “I’m very glad he did,” he said, smiling. The moment of connection was intimate, and just for them.

The small disasters of the day would have passed them by, except they formed an ominous pattern. A maid discovered a small fire was in one of the parlours, badly laid so it would have endangered the inn when it collapsed and spilt its embers on to the unprotected floor. The most puzzling thing was that, at this time of year, no fires were set. The weather was too hot, and most of the fires in the public rooms were covered by firescreens or flower arrangements, another innovation Ally quietly introduced. The firescreen in the small parlour had been moved aside to lay the fire, and careful questioning elicited no answers. Eventually, Miranda found herself in the kitchen sitting at the large table before a steaming dish of tea. “Someone is determined to see us off.” Mrs. Wilson drew up a chair. She had long since recovered from any diffidence she felt towards Miranda. “Sure enough. There’s only two parties I know would want that.” She didn’t say any more because two of the maids were constantly coming and going about their business, but she didn’t need to say any more. Miranda hoped it was the innkeeper Stokeley, because she was sure he didn’t base his antagonism on personalities but business, but she feared it was Ally’s father. That would be far more dangerous. “There’s someone ’ere ’oo’s ’elping them.” Mrs. Wilson grimaced, showing the gaps in her mouth from long lost teeth. She had kept most of them, and the ones she had left were now clean, unlike the first day when her breath reeked. “I know that, ma’am, and I’m keeping my eye out all the time. I know ’oo it isn’t…” She paused and nodded towards one girl who entered the kitchen with an empty tray. “That one was in the kitchen all mornin’ with me. Wilson can tell us ’oo ’e ’ad with him this morning.”

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“I’m sure Daniel will ask him.” Miranda turned her tea in her hands. “Funny how we always drink tea, even in the hottest weather.” “Wilson says it’s because your body tries to cool the tea an’ so cools itself.” Miranda looked up, smiling. “What an interesting idea!” Mrs. Wilson grinned. “I think it’s an excuse. We just like it.” “Our grandfathers thought tea a particular treat. A shame we have to get so much from the Gentlemen.” “Aye, but needs must. We can’t afford not to, ma’am, and that’s a fact.” Miranda took a long draught of the illicit brew. “True.” She had never considered where the tea she usually drank came from, but here she did more than sign the account books every week. She went out and bought the produce, and tea was one of those things that mysteriously appeared in the middle of the night, the purse left in the special place equally mysteriously gone. She wouldn’t know any of the Gentlemen by sight, and they were probably only agents anyway. “People say the Gentlemen bring spies and Jacobites over from France.” To her horror she thought Mrs. Wilson was going to spit on the floor but the lady remembered, and picked up her tea dish instead. “No, ma’am, I won’t do that to you. Yes, I’ve ’eard that too about the Jacobites.” Distracted from foreign spies, Miranda wondered aloud, “After we first came here I thought you were one of the doxies, you were so badly dressed. You’ve reformed a great deal. Dare I think it was my example?” The grin turned to a positive cackle. “No, ma’am, not entirely. It were to avoid being one of the doxies that I did it, dressed so badly. I was brought up proper, and so was Wilson, but ’e was kept on because of ’is gift with the beer, and I was kept on for ’is sake. They wanted me to turn doxy. There’s those ’oo like ’em a bit older, you know, and though I’m no spring chicken, I still got a bit about me.” Indeed, now she had cleaned up it was easy for Miranda to see the trim figure, and the gentle swell of her breasts under the clean kerchief neatly wrapped over her bosom. “So I figured that a bit o’ dirt was


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better ’n what they wanted. Pox ridden, this place was, ma’am. I wouldn’t give tuppence for the lives of most of the girls ’oo worked ’ere.” “Why did you stay? With your husband’s gifts you could have gone anywhere. I’ll wager Stokeley would be glad to have you!” “They paid well,” Mrs. Wilson said with disarming honesty. “Pure and simple, ma’am. And they didn’t look too closely at the books, neither.” She reached forward and patted Miranda’s hand in a motherly way. Miranda felt the prick of tears behind her eyes when she remembered her mother used to do just that. Now, with the coldness Miranda laid over her personality, her mother had not offered her any fond gestures for years. The softening that had started last night was like a thaw, spreading slowly but insistently through her body, warming her. “We put away a tidy sum, Wilson and me,” the older lady continued. Her eyes seemed to go hard, and she withdrew her hand. “Will you tell ’is lordship?” Miranda smiled and shook her head. “No, it was entirely Lord Blyth’s fault for not paying attention to the inn before. I shan’t tell.” She stood up to leave and return to her duties, but then turned back. “However, if I find you’ve been rooking us, I’ll not only tell his lordship, I’ll turn you out without a rag to your back!” The sound of Mrs. Wilson’s chortle followed her out of the room. “As if I could, the tight ’old you keep on them books!”

As the day went on, the inn filled with tension. Miranda and Daniel gravitated to each other, despite Miranda’s determination to spend a normal day, apart for the most part, attending to their duties. In his presence she became aware, as she never had before, of his masculinity. It beat at her mind, eliminating all other concerns. The smouldering glances he cast her way when he thought she wasn’t looking didn’t help. She tried not to return them, but she feared her quick, embarrassed glances away from him were as effective as his own.

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Each casual contact was vested with more than their usual meaning. She tried to avoid it, but to her anticipatory mind it seemed he chased her. Of course he didn’t, she knew that. She tried not to be so sensitive. He might well change his mind, after all. Halfway through the afternoon, preparations were well under way for the dinner hour. Dinner was served at the inn from three until six, with latecomers offered supper. As yet, the clientele was sparse, but already they had their regular customers, local shopkeepers who didn’t wish to cook their own meal for the most part, and the maids set the parlours up in readiness. Miranda preferred to stay in the relative safety of the kitchen when the inn became busy. There was plenty for her to do there. She was laying out a tray for one of the parlours, with clean cutlery and glasses, when Daniel entered and came straight to her. Her smile was warmer than in recent years. So was his. “We have guests,” he told her quietly. “Can you join me in the small parlour at the end? It’s the only one not bespoken.” She nodded and he waited politely for her to leave the kitchen, following close behind. Miranda breathed in the smells of food and ale that had become so familiar to her recently she hardly noticed them any more. Realising Daniel did not want to alert the kitchen to the identity of the visitors, she trusted him enough not to ask him who they were. It was not who she expected. She had prepared herself for another fraught meeting with the Cavendishes, but these people were strangers to her. Well dressed, if not showy, their mien was much more reasonable, which didn’t take much. She remembered to curtsey, and was amused to receive small bows in return. Daniel introduced them. “My dear, this is Mr. and Mrs. Hesselwood. They are the parents of Godfrey Hesselwood.” He should have introduced Miranda to Mrs. Hesselwood, not the other way about, but the lady didn’t seem to mind. “How may we help you?” she enquired. She waited until the Hesselwoods sat behind the unlaid table before she allowed Daniel to seat her, keeping the phrase “innkeeper’s wife” firmly at the forefront of her mind.


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The couple looked grave, although the creases around their eyes showed laughter and contentment were their more usual expressions. Daniel drew back a chair and sat next to Miranda. She felt his presence, but did not turn to look at him. She didn’t need to. “We heard from our son that he was involved in a most regrettable business,” the gentleman said. He stared at Miranda, giving her his whole attention. Trained to respond, Miranda did not look away. It would have been an insult, since he initiated the contact, and in this situation at least he was her social superior. His eyes were a soft brown, surrounded by a thin red line. This man didn’t sleep well. “Please be assured we offered what help we could,” Miranda ventured. Immediately, she felt Daniel’s thigh touch hers under the table, as though warning her about something. He removed the contact abruptly. Definitely a warning. Anything less like a caress would be hard to imagine. “Godfrey wrote a hasty note to us, informing us he had left for London and would not return for some time. I must confess that this relieved our minds, since we had just received a most agitated visit from Lord Cavendish.” He dropped the direct gaze. Miranda stilled and waited. He glanced at her again, but didn’t look directly into her eyes. Mrs. Hesselwood cleared her throat. Miranda saw the small tremor that brought Mr. Hesselwood back to reality. “Lord Cavendish seemed to think our son has eloped with his daughter. He was distinctly disturbed, so much so I was forced to send my wife from the room. However, he calmed down in a while and told me the whole story. I informed him I knew nothing of the matter and Godfrey was away visiting relatives.” He glanced away and then back again. “Then we received a letter from Godfrey. The very next day.” Miranda turned her attention to Mrs. Hesselwood. She noted the firm, straight mouth, tense with what she surmised was anger or worry. “Godfrey informed us he had visited here with Alethea Cavendish, but went on to see her grandmother alone, in case her welcome was not assured.”

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Mrs. Hesselwood spoke for the first time. “It was some measure of relief that Godfrey has not compromised himself beyond saving. While the marriage would be a good one, we would not approve if Godfrey was forced to it.” “Would the girl do such a thing, ma’am?” Miranda kept her voice reasonable and quiet. “She’s always been wild. We’re hoping for a lady for Godfrey. I do not scruple to tell you that Alethea Cavendish has not been brought up at all satisfactorily.” No one brutalised from childhood could make that claim. However she was fully aware this was not at all what Mrs. Hesselwood meant. Alethea was obviously not suitable for Godfrey, in the eyes of his mother. “Things might be sorted out quietly and without fuss,” Mr. Hesselwood continued, “if we knew where the girl was and could restore her to her parents without further delay. Before Godfrey returns, so it is clear his absence and hers are separate events.” Now Miranda realised what Daniel’s subtle warning meant. No one seemed to be interested in Alethea’s welfare. The thought raised a small flame inside her, and a renewed determination to look after the girl, since no one else wanted to. “Do you know why Miss Cavendish ran away, sir?” She watched carefully. Mr. Hesselwood bit his lower lip, and released it to slide back. “She misliked her bridegroom.” “That is what she told us, also,” Miranda said. She heard Daniel’s soft sigh. “Yes, she came here, but only to acquire transport. A few days afterwards, we met her proposed husband and understood at once. The man would kill her in a fortnight.” “Really, ma’am, I think that is carrying the matter too far!” Mr. Hesselwood eyes sparked anger. “Sir Frederick Smythe is a well respected gentleman!” “Respected by whom?” Daniel demanded, breaking in. “He seemed neither honourable nor a gentleman to me.” Miranda reached out and covered his hand with hers, reminding him as he had reminded her of their reduced situation in social ranking. “Sir Frederick was in a fine temper when we met him. He was not polite.”


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Mr. Hesselwood narrowed his eyes and looked from Miranda to Daniel. His attention remained on Daniel. “I may be an innkeeper,” Daniel said slowly, “but I’m newly wed, and I dislike anyone insulting my wife.” Miranda watched Mr. Hesselwood’s long, slow exhalation. “He has quite a temper,” he agreed, leaning back. “But he’s not a bad man. He’ll look after her well enough.” His tone was dismissive; it was clear he didn’t care for Althea at all. “He’s possessed of a tidy fortune.” He leaned forward again and stared at Daniel. “If you know where the girl is, you will do her a favour. It will get her away from her father, whose reputation you must be aware of, and under the protection of another man.” “Is not Sir Frederick the drinking companion of Lord Cavendish?” Despite Daniel’s mild tones steel tinged his voice. “His fortune is intact.” Mr. Hesselwood shrugged. “She will be better off with him. She is hardly likely to contract anyone else, with her father’s reputation. What else is left to her?” Alethea would have more than that, if Miranda could help it. However, she needed to know one thing. “What kind of reputation does the girl have?” Mrs. Hesselwood examined Miranda. A far cry from Lord Cavendish’s wife, she seemed fully in control of herself. Miranda suffered her scrutiny but having had enough, turned her head very slowly and stared straight back at the lady. One slow blink. Mrs. Hesselwood stiffened and looked away. “The girl ran wild, she was brought up like a lady. I cannot think her suitable for her son.” “And if her dowry was sufficient?” Mrs. Hesselwood sniffed. “She would still need a great deal of training.” Miranda didn’t think so. She would be delighted to present the girl in London, but if her dowry was insufficient that could prove a considerable barrier to a good match. She would have to think about it. Alethea was not a stunning beauty, and she had no fortune. Something must be done. She could not bear the thought of her young friend delivered into the clutches of the odious Sir Frederick.

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“Be assured, Mrs. Hesselwood, if we discover her whereabouts, we will do the right thing.” Forgetting herself, Miranda stood up, expecting her guests to take the hint and leave. They stayed put. Miranda had no doubt she could compel their departure should she wish it, but she felt too happy today to allow anything to cloud her mood for long. “You will excuse me? Would you like some refreshment brought into you?” “No thank you.” Pursing her lips, Mrs. Hesselwood got to her feet, glaring at her husband. “I see we will get no help here. Come, Hesselwood, we have important matters to attend to.” Mrs. Hesselwood’s attitude amused Miranda, but she knew better than to repeat her own gaffe. She had no desire for the eyes of the world to be fixed on them next season once their masquerade here was discovered, and if she continued to act the countess that would surely happen. Daniel stood up and held the door open while Mr. Hesselwood and his wife swept out, casting them black glances. Mr. Hesselwood paused and stared up at Daniel. “We will discover the girl, and if we find you were involved we’ll be back to ruin you. Lord Blyth will not be pleased.” Daniel bowed, but said nothing until the heavy steps retreated in the direction of the taproom. “If we sent her back, Lord Rosington would not be pleased.” “I don’t think I would be pleased with Lord Rosington.” Miranda moved to his side. “Should we send Alethea to the house with the boys? It might not be safe for her here.” He shook his head. “She’s safer here. If they discover her at the house, there is no one to say them nay. At least here we can try to prevent her removal.” “We should keep her out of sight until Godfrey returns.” He reached out and drew her closer, his arm around her waist. “You’re right. She can mingle with the other maids, but not leave the inn.” He touched his lips to her temple. “We’ll do our best, but it might not be good enough. They have the legal right to take her back.” “But not to force her marriage.” “Good things sometimes come out of arranged marriages.”


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She smiled up at him, understanding the warmth in his eyes. “We were given the choice. I knew you before I married you, and I liked you.” “Only like?” He turned down the corners of his mouth in mock disappointment. “Yes, only like.” She kept her gaze on his, unflinching. “It changed to something different, didn’t it?” He bent his head to take her lips. “It did indeed, my love.”

Catching Alethea to tell her their news proved more difficult than it sounded. The girl seemed determined to keep busy, and would not stop from the preparations for dinner. Eventually, Miranda cornered her in a passageway and gripped her gown. “Come. You know who visited us earlier, don’t you?” Alethea flushed. “Yes. I kept away.” “Come for a walk. You need the air.” “I can’t. Daniel told me to stay indoors.” Miranda clucked her tongue. “We’ll go outside into the yard.” Leading the way, she went into the kitchen and crossed the room to the fire. Despite the windows and doors standing wide open, the heat of the necessary fire for cooking and heating water warmed the room to stifling heat. Miranda headed for the brown teapot standing on its blackened trivet on its own little table by the fire. She cocked a questioning eyebrow at Mrs. Wilson, who said, “It’s a fresh pot,” without looking up from the mound of pastry she was kneading. Miranda found two heavy pottery cups and filled them with the steaming, fragrant tea. She had always liked kitchen tea, as well as the more refined version produced in the drawing room. The jug of milk stood in a bucket of cold water by the back door, covered by a cloth fringed with beads, to deter the flies. Miranda lifted it out, feeling the splash of drops of cool water on her lower arms. She resisted the temptation to plunge her hands into the bucket. It was a hot day, but the shallow bucket was to keep the milk cool, not for her hands.

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Alethea had been spooning sugar into the dishes. Miranda noticed she had poured another for Mrs. Wilson, and cursed herself for missing the obvious. A woman up to her elbows in dough would not stop just to pour herself a dish of tea, although one might be welcome to her. It was typical of Ally to realise and quietly act on it. Miranda added the milk and returned the jug to its cool haven, beckoning Ally to follow her outside. The tea dishes were coarse pottery, matched with broad saucers so they could carry them without burning their fingers. Miranda and Alethea carried their tea outside, to the shady part of the yard by the brewery. A few more horses stood beside those owned by Miranda and Daniel now, belonging to the customers inside. The stables were well repaired, the yard clean, a measure of the improvements wrought in such a short time. Miranda glowed with pride when she looked around, although her sphere of interest mainly concerned the inside of the inn. The bedrooms upstairs were empty, but ready for occupation by respectable travellers. Miranda hoped it would not be long before they were, but she doubted she could give up the room she shared with Daniel. It had come to mean a lot to her, their own private sanctuary. She alone saw to changing the linen, and dusting and sweeping the room, the first room she ever looked after in that way. It was cosily domestic in a way she had never known before. Miranda let her gaze drift up to the windows of her bedroom, but her attention was drawn back to the girl at her side when she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Ally, I was wool-gathering. I wanted to talk to you where we wouldn’t be overheard.” “Oh?” Alethea looked tense, her pretty mouth tightening. “Don’t worry; nothing has changed. We had a visit from Godfrey Hesselwood’s parents this morning. They seemed to be decent people, but we told them nothing. I wanted to speak to you first. You know them, and we do not.” Alethea studied Miranda’s face, and Miranda waited. “They are decent people,” she said at last, “but my father has some call on them.” Miranda raised an eyebrow, and lifted her dish to sip her tea. Unconsciously at first, then she became aware of Alethea’s fascinated gaze. “What is it?”


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“The way you drink tea. I don’t know how you’ve managed to persuade anyone you’re anything but what you are.” Even here, with no possibility of anyone overhearing them, Alethea was circumspect. Miranda smiled. “A lady’s maid can sometimes be more affected by her station than her mistress.” She took another sip of tea, not hiding her elegant manners. “Tell me about the Hesselwoods.” “Mr. Hesselwood is buying a tract of land from my father, and my father is proving intractable about it. He considers the Hesselwoods lower than he, because he’s a baronet and he has more land, but they have more money and more influence hereabouts. However, they will want to keep him sweet for a while.” She paused to drink her tea. Miranda noted the shadow of her own elegance, but did not smile. Alethea carefully placed her empty dish and saucer on the ground and then stood up again. “They are good people. I know they won’t think it right that I ran away. I was distressed I had to upset them by dragging Godfrey into this. Do they think we eloped? Has Godfrey contacted them?” Miranda finished her tea. “Yes, he has. They know he is visiting your grandmother on your behalf, and they will not tell your parents. They also know you’re not with him. I think they are relieved at that.” Alethea made a face. “They disapprove of me. They think I’m a hoyden.” “I see little evidence of that.” Miranda turned to look her straight in the eyes. “Are you?” Alethea chuckled. “I used to be. I ran wild when I was little, but when I got a little older I realised that behaviour would never do. My mother gave me lessons when my father wasn’t about.” “I worry about your mother. Will she be all right?” Alethea bit her lower lip, looking suddenly young and vulnerable. “I don’t know. She can’t leave him. She’s married to him.” “She could obtain a legal separation.” Alethea looked away, down at the freshly washed cobblestones. “She loves him.”

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Miranda swallowed. She found it hard to imagine how anyone could love such a boor, but she did love, and that knowledge made it just possible to understand. Love was not a logical thing, it landed without warning on whom it willed, with no reason, no cause. Perhaps this had happened to Lady Cavendish. If so, Miranda pitied her with all her heart. “She would not leave him if she could?” Alethea shook her head. “No. Her father was worse than my father. At least my father shows her some rough affection from time to time, and he never beats her to within an inch of her life.” Miranda remembered something. She had read, once, in a very insalubrious paper, that people existed who enjoyed such things. Could Lady Cavendish be such a one? From the sound of it the only attention she ever received in her life was brutality. Perhaps that was the only attention she could respond to now. Her heart ached, but there was nothing she could do about it. Looking across the yard, half in sunshine, half in shadow, things appeared so normal, so everyday that it was hard for her to understand how different life was for other people. Poverty, distress, she could understand, but not someone whose world was so upside down that something everyone considered painful and wrong could be craved by someone else. She gave up. At least she could save one person from the nightmare. It only made her more determined to give Alethea a decent chance. She would keep her away from her despicable father at all costs. “We’ll find a way.” She met Alethea’s worried gaze with a steady one of her own. “We have some influential friends, you know.” They retrieved the crockery and went back indoors. It was another hour closer to bed time.


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Chapter Fourteen Never had a day seemed so long. Miranda was perfectly sure Daniel would change his mind before the day was out. She was also perfectly sure that if he did, she would likely burst with fury or frustration. It had been so long since he held her close, so long since he kissed her as he had since they came to the inn. Miranda felt like a new bride, almost. Almost. She went up to bed early, at about ten, but took her time getting ready. Daniel was serving in the taproom, and the inn was getting busier at night, mostly with local residents who knew they could have a quiet drink without the constant interruptions from arriving coaches. Miranda smiled to herself at the picture in her mind’s eye, of the haughty Earl of Rosington serving drinks in a country inn. She had always suspected much of Daniel’s haughtiness had to do with a natural reserve of character, not a feeling of superiority. She crossed to the basin and poured some warm water into the bowl in what had become a familiar ritual. It was a matter of moments to strip off her outer gown and stomacher, leaving her in her stays, shift and petticoat. She plied the sponge, slowly undressing to wash herself all over, her mind elsewhere. This was so much a part of her now, this solitary washing, she wondered why she had ever thought she needed a maid. She remembered why she preferred a maid when she was forced to perform a series of contortions to reach her back. Perhaps a maid was useful, after all. When she hung her clothes up tidily on the pegs she had claimed as her own Miranda was reminded of her maid again, smiling when she wondered if she would continue such tidy habits when back in her own milieu. She doubted it, and she doubted if her maid would allow it. Normally the woman whisked away any discarded garments when she left. She might resent it, thinking Miranda was trying to do her out of her job.

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Miranda walked over to the bed and picked up the practical linen nightgown she had left there. She put it down again, and went to the drawers. She had brought one beautiful nightgown with her, and if any night merited it, this was it. If it was discovered, she could always explain it as a gift from her last mistress. The nightgown was of fine lawn, edged with soft lace and buttoned at the front, with a deeper neckline slash than was usual. So fine, compared to the linen garments she had been wearing, that Miranda felt deliciously indecent just putting it on. Knowing Daniel would not be up immediately, Miranda found a book to read and climbed into bed. After reading the first page three times and taking none of it in, she gave up and put it aside. It was still light outside. Since this room was not overlooked from across the street, Miranda had left the shutters open rather than close them and strike a light, but this meant the noises she had become accustomed to were more intrusive. She didn’t mind. It was quite relaxing to lie back and listen to the traffic outside, the hum of conversation from inside the inn, and the movements of the animals in the stables. This room must have been redolent with that particular scent before the stables were cleaned up, but now the stablehands cleaned them every day the smell was far less noticeable. Still, it made Miranda glad that in the usual course of her life her room was far from the stable block. Leaning back, thinking what brought her here gave Miranda a deep sense of peace, unlike any she had known before. She closed her eyes, but didn’t sleep, instead drifting into a half-conscious state of reverie. The latch at the door rattled and Miranda was startled into wakefulness. Daniel, entering the room, stopped at the threshold, frowning. “What’s wrong?” Miranda realised she must have cried out. “Nothing. You just startled me. What time is it?” His frown disappeared to be replaced by a rueful smile. “Barely eleven, but there are only two customers left. I think the Wilsons can handle them.” He came in and closed the door.


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Miranda watched him remove his coat and hang it by the door. “I was wondering how our body servants would take to our new domestication.” He got her meaning at once. “You mean the way I throw coats that cost a king’s ransom to the floor when I’m at home?” He laughed. “Now I take the greatest care over a garment I would have considered only fit for a lower servant.” He began to undo his waistcoat buttons. “I think I shall keep this coat. It will remind me…” In the heavy pause that followed Miranda couldn’t stop herself asking, “Of what? What will it remind you of?” He hung up his waistcoat and came over to the bed, his feet hitting the floor in time with her pulse. “Of a time when I got to know my wife better.” He sat down on the bed, not taking his gaze away from hers. “Even if we go no further, Miranda, I’m glad to have discovered what I have. I think we can travel further together now.” “Yes.” She reached out for him, and grasped his hand. He returned the pressure. They gazed at each other before he slowly leaned forward and kissed her. She accepted, opening to him. His arm went around her neck, holding her close while they lost themselves in the pleasure of the kiss. No restraint, no fear. At least on Miranda’s part. This was what she wanted, what she had wanted for years. He sat back and smiled at her. “I won’t make love to you completely,” he murmured. “You know that, don’t you?” She nodded. “I know. But you can do what you like, Daniel. I don’t mind.” His sigh looked bone deep. “You know it would kill you. I can’t be the cause of your death. I can’t.” She reached out for his hand again. “It isn’t you. It isn’t me, either, but I’m a beginner in all this. Can’t we just let it happen?” He withdrew his hand sharply. “No. I want us both aware of this. I want to love you, Miranda, I long to do it, but I’ve kept my hands off you for nearly four years now, and I’ll continue to do it if there is any doubt.” Faced with that, there was nothing Miranda could do but agree. “I promise I won’t ask for more than you are prepared to give. Is that fair?”

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He reached out and touched her face, cupping her cheek. “Completely. Thank you. There is something else.” He sat completely still, his face open. Miranda couldn’t think what he meant, but he tensed in a way that had not been there a moment before. She tried to smile. “You’d better tell me. We’ve had too many secrets from each other for too long.” “Yes, we have, have we not? Very well.” He took a deep breath, as though gathering his courage. “I may be as much of a novice in this as you.” It took her a moment to get his meaning. When she realised what he meant a number of things fell into place. She always supposed that he was as experienced as his brothers, but when she thought back, she had never heard of any mistress, or even a casual affair associated with his name. “You were a virgin when we married?” She had difficulty believing it. “Not quite, but not far off.” He kept her gaze. How difficult such a confession must be for him! “I didn’t like the alternatives. I tried them, but I didn’t like them. After I married you I found everything I needed in you. We were happy at the beginning, weren’t we?” “Yes.” She remembered back, to a time she had buried when it became painful. Until her first son was born, her relationship with her husband had been deepening into something she was tentatively beginning to call love. Then everything fell apart, and only got worse after Christopher’s birth. “We will be again.” He sounded more confident than she felt. “It’s taken a great deal from us both to get this far.” “It has.” She felt something was needed, some move to cement their decision. Disengaging her hands she sat up and began to undo the long line of buttons down the front of her night-gown. She didn’t watch her hands. She watched Daniel. His attention went to her fingers, but when she reached the fourth button his glance flicked back up to her face. He reached out to her. “Let me.” She let her hands fall away and watched him.


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Gently, without rushing, he finished slipping the long row of buttons through the loops. She watched his strong fingers at their delicate work. He only grazed her skin once. She shivered. He glanced up, smiling, a smile that reached deep inside her. When he finished, she held out her wrists, and he slipped open the buttons there, taking his time. He grasped her wrists and used them to pull her towards him. She went without resistance and let herself fall into his arms. Their lips met. Miranda put her arms around him, partly to regain her balance, but mostly to feel him. The shirt he still wore seemed like an impenetrable barrier, and she wanted to touch him, feel bare skin. Her hands roved around his back, searching for a way in, until she grasped a handful of the coarse linen and pulled the garment up, out of his breeches. She felt Daniel flinch when her hands finally touched bare skin, but his mouth never left hers and he pulled her closer. She felt the ridges of his spine, his mouth on hers, no longer softly caressing but opening wide, inviting her response. She responded. Her mouth opened and he drove his tongue inside, caressing her tongue and the roof of her mouth, increasing her want. As yet, Miranda wasn’t sure precisely what she wanted, except she wanted him closer. If he pressed the ultimate intimacy on her, she would not resist. She would welcome it. The acknowledgement to herself opened the gates of passion, so carefully closed for the last four years. Daniel was the only man she had ever wanted in this way, although she never fully realised it before. Now she knew. Without his love she had nothing except her children. Nothing else mattered. His arms relaxed around her and she drew back. At last, their mouths separated and they leaned back, gazing at each other. Daniel was the first to move. He reached down and pulled off his shirt, throwing it behind him in the way he always used to do. “Your turn,” he suggested. His voice was softer than usual, and held a rough edge. Desire. Miranda smiled, doing her best to make the smile as seductive as she knew, and sat up, wriggling out of the suddenly confining nightgown. Lifting the garment over her head, her vision obscured by the folds of soft lawn, she realised how vulnerable she was, how open to him. Waves of shyness attacked her and when she emerged, tossing the

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nightgown aside in the same way he had done with his shirt a moment earlier, she could not look at him. Strong fingers curved under her chin, gently urging her to look up. She looked up to a smile as deep as any she could remember. “I’ve never seen you naked, have I?” Miranda shook her head, feeling as shy as a new bride. He kept his attention on her face. “I always wanted to, but I never asked. I didn’t know if you would welcome it. Thank you, Miranda.” Deliberately, he looked down. Miranda watched his face, watched the warmth change to an absorbed fascination. She let her arms fall, so he could see all the top half of her. The sheet covered the lower part. He reached out and touched the lower curve of her breast, tracing it with one finger. “If you knew how long I’ve wanted to see this, how much I’ve imagined.” He glanced up at her and then returned to his gentle stroking. “It’s better.” Miranda swallowed away her embarrassment. This was the man she had borne two children to; it was ridiculous she should feel so discomposed now. But she couldn’t reason it away. The heightened emotion she felt was partly natural modesty. They had never made love naked, not in all their married life together. It had always been nightshirts and Daniel what was sometimes described as “considerate”. Now she thought about it, Miranda could see how inexperienced Daniel had been, and she felt like kicking herself. Not now. Not while he touched her in such a reverent, featherlight way. It was driving her mad. She would have him do it forever, and yet she wanted more. She lifted her gaze and met his. The connection was instant. She saw the heat in his eyes and reflected it back. She needed no mirror to tell her. With a small sound of yearning at the back of his throat, he leaned closer and took possession of her. His mouth met hers again in a feverish, openmouthed kiss of total carnality. She pressed closer, scrabbled with one hand at the bedclothes and managed to rip them away. She had an overwhelming need to feel him close, every part of him. She had


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never felt this needy, but it seemed it was matched in him. He pulled her close. And then stopped. With a chuckle he disengaged from her. “I have you at a disadvantage, my lady.” As soon as she felt the rough fabric of his breeches, she realised what he meant. Daniel sat up and began to unbutton his breeches, but he did it one handed, and looked at her all the while. Past her modesty now, Miranda looked back, enjoyed his evident appreciation of her body. She shifted, letting her body curve and move for him. The response was obvious, once he shucked off his breeches. As open as she, he sat still and let her look. “I’ve never—never seen—” She stretched out her hand and immediately drew it back as though she had burned it. He reached out, took her hand in his. “It’s still me, Miranda. Still Daniel.” He drew her hand towards him, and she sat up to move closer. He put her hand on him, and pressed his own over it. “It’s yours, love. Just as much as it’s mine.” Miranda smiled, and tentatively moved her fingers. “It’s warm, and smooth. So smooth.” When his hand relaxed she moved hers to the tip, curling her fingers around the head. He made a small movement, and his head went up. His sharp breath was the only sound in the room while she explored, and wondered. She had never felt or seen anything remotely like it, this base of masculine power. He moved closer. He lay beside her slowly and carefully, stretching his arm above her. She lifted her head and let him slip his arm under her neck, supporting her while she lay down and continued to caress him. “Is this good? Is this what you want?” “It feels wonderful.” His voice was low, almost purring. “Try this.” He put his hand over hers again, and pressed it up and down over him. After he released her, she carried on. He leaned back against the pillows, and reached out a hand to touch her breast. “You’re a fast learner,” he managed. She smiled at him. “I do try. It’s like—it’s like when you’re inside, isn’t it?” “Yes.” She could see how well she was doing by the tension she saw on his face. He made a small sound and relaxed.

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He was giving her everything he could. Complete control. She felt power like she had never felt before, and it was the trust he gave her. He let her see what she was doing for him, how it affected him. He held nothing back. She heightened his pleasure and he moaned for her, and occasionally murmured encouragement, words she would treasure forever. Leaning up on one elbow, Miranda lost herself in his pleasure, and her concentration on her task. It was like playing an instrument, the way her caresses had an instant response. At one point Daniel flung his arm over his eyes, but then pulled it away and opened his eyes to watch his wife. Miranda smiled at him, but didn’t stop. Slowly escalating her movements, she watched his muscles tense, his mouth open and then, with a few instinctive movements and a low cry, it was over. Miranda contemplated what she had done. Daniel’s chest heaved in a series of staccato gasps, but other than that he lay quite still. He turned and looked at her again. They gazed at each other, Miranda totally happy to have brought him such pleasure, closer than she ever dreamed of being. Daniel reached by the side of his bed for his discarded shirt, and with an apologetic glance, cleaned himself. He dropped the shirt over the side of the bed. “What will you wear tomorrow?” Miranda said softly. “Nothing,” he answered, his voice as softly caressing as hers. “Let’s just stay here.” He reached for her and she went to him, snuggling against him. She wanted nothing else. She had contented him, for the first time she could remember. It made her feel smug. She felt him kiss the top of her head, and when he spoke his words had more purpose. “Your turn.” She lifted her head. “No, Daniel, that was enough.” “Not nearly enough.” He lifted himself on one elbow and leaned over her. His lips met hers in a gentle kiss. “I want to give you something of what you just gave me. I’m as untutored as you, but if you can achieve such miracles, then so can I.”


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He kissed her again, and then moved on to her neck, stroking her waist in a smooth series of caresses. Miranda felt soothed, but when he moved lower, kissing the upper slope of her breast, she felt a tension in the region of her stomach. “You have beautiful breasts.” He cupped one in his hand, bringing his thumb over her nipple. A shock went right through her. He exhaled at her response. “Let me see it, sweet. Let me see what you feel when I touch you.” It was the least she could do. He had shown her everything. Now it was truly her turn to let down the barriers she had surrounded herself with for the past three years and trust him fully. His hand smoothed her body, exciting her and raising her to expect more. She knew he would fulfil everything, all his promises, all the expectations. She relaxed into his embrace, feeling the touch of his mouth and then his tongue on her nipple. The sensation was exquisite, even more when his hand slowly approached her most sensitive part, the part where her senses centred. All the sensations concentrated there, the quivers shaking her stomach, the sparking tremors spreading from her breasts, which were now more sensitive than she could ever remember. When his hand touched her there, she groaned, and heard his words of gentle encouragement. “You’re more beautiful than I remember, softer, sweeter.” She opened to him. He could do whatever he wanted to her, with her. She wouldn’t object to anything if he could bring her this pleasure. An excitement began to build, something she had never experienced before, even in the early days of her marriage. His caresses increased, became more insistent. She twisted towards him, but he pressed her back down again, and kissed his way down to her belly, circling her navel with his tongue. It was almost too much. Fever spread through every part of her, and without warning it escalated into sharp fire. Her head went back and her mouth opened, letting out an unplanned cry. Everything convulsed, every part of her, centred on the hot pressure where his fingers circled and teased. She found his shoulders and gripped them hard,

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feeling masculine muscle under her fingers. It helped, to have something to hold on to while her world rocked and slowly regained its axis once more. She opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Daniel’s eyes, smiling at her. He again leaned over her, waiting for her, softly stroking her body. “How did you know what to do?” she managed. It sounded foolish once she said it, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I explored, and when you responded, I carried on. Was it good?” “Oh, Daniel!” Throwing her arms around him, she hugged him close. She was not sure she didn’t shed a tear or two. They had found their own way into paradise, not the one most people experienced, but good enough. For now. Daniel embraced her in return, but was the first to ease away, leaning up on one elbow. With a sweep of his hand he pulled down the sheet and lay, examining her. He touched her gently, so softly it was a whisper against her skin. His hand drifted in a leisurely way over her body while he spoke to her, his voice gentle. “You are lovely.” “I was better before I gave birth.” He smiled. “No you weren’t. Not to me. This body held my children within it, children I love dearly.” His hand moved to her stomach, circling. “The added roundness is alluring. It defines you, makes your hips luscious.” He moved his hand up to her breast. “And surely these are bigger than they used to be?” “How can you tell?” “This might be the first time I have seen them properly, but I’ve felt them before.” He cupped a breast, testing it, and let his thumb move over her nipple, a shadow of a touch. They both felt her responsive shiver. “Very sensitive. Look at that.” They both saw how her nipple responded to his touch, curling up into a tight protrusion. He moved his thumb over the tip. In a sudden movement, he bent and took the other nipple into his mouth. The wet warmth increased when he opened wider to take more of her in. The caress of his tongue on one nipple with the continued constant stroking of the other was delicious, a sensation she lost herself in. Underneath the sensuous pleasure lay a rising need, easily conquered at this stage should she wish it. She did not. Unlike any other time


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she could remember, Miranda allowed herself to relax and enjoy the sensations, knowing she could find fulfilment this way, content to let it build. If it faded away, the pleasure was enough in itself. His murmurs of appreciation and enjoyment increased her pleasure. She could not have taken it alone, but he was evidently enjoying himself while pleasuring her. They were together in this, as together as if they joined completely. He traced the line under her breast with his tongue, leaving a delicious chill behind him, and aching warmth where his body touched hers. His kisses moved lower and he touched her navel again, but did not stop. When she realised where he was heading, modesty assaulted her again, and she reached down, finding his hair with her hand. “What are you doing?” He lifted his head and gazed up at her. “Re-acquainting myself with your body. Don’t you like it?” She bit her lip. “Too much. I’m not sure—” He smoothed his hand over her stomach. “Shall I stop?” “I don’t know.” “Sweetheart, this is me. Daniel, your husband, the man who loves you. I want to bring you as much happiness as I can, as much fulfilment. I don’t want you uncomfortable, but we both have to be brave.” Ignoring everything else, she said, “You love me?” He lifted himself up on his elbows, letting his hands rest on her hip and stomach. “How can you doubt that?” “You’ve never told me.” She didn’t tell him she’d heard his private confession when he thought she was sleeping. Their linked gaze lasted a long time. Miranda broke it. “How long?” He smiled, and rested his chin on his hands, linked on her stomach. “I don’t know. It didn’t come as a revelation, it just grew. There are moments. When I saw you for the first time at dawn, asleep. When I saw you holding my son for the first time.” He paused. “Our son. Now, when I see you open to me, so trusting.” “Oh, Daniel, I never knew!”

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“It wasn’t safe for you to know, my sweet, not in the last few years. Now I think you need to know.” She reached her hand down to touch his. “Yes. You know I love you, don’t you?” “How could I?” The gleam in his eyes told her something different. Of course he knew. “Well I do.” His smile needed no embellishment. He looked away and unlinked his hands. “Well, now that little matter has been sorted out…” His gaze drifted down, and then back up to her face. “Will you allow me to finish what I began?” Her whispered “yes” was an outbreath, nothing more. It was what he was waiting for. Daniel kissed down his wife’s delectable body. He felt raw and open after his confession, but much lighter in spirit. He hadn’t realised Miranda had so much doubt about his feelings for her; perhaps he had taken too much for granted. Assuredly he had. The realisation made him deeply ashamed, and determined to make it up to her however he could. This was one way. It was something he had wanted to do for as long as he’d known her. Her scent, particularly aroused as she was now, fascinated him, and he longed to match scent to taste, to see if she was as delectable as he imagined. He let his fingers do the preliminary work, combing and smoothing through her curls, parting it to reach the soft folds underneath. She was slick, ready for him had he been able to take advantage of it. It didn’t matter. He took possession of her with his mouth. He heard her gasp and felt a deep satisfaction. She was his. Another sweep of his tongue and he knew how she tasted. As good as he’d hoped. He reached round to grasp her hips, hold her steady while he pleasured her. He made it last, exploring every inch of her, curling his tongue into every fold, every crevice. She was beautiful to him, in her trust and in the increasing cries coming from her. She was his. The power he felt, the way he could control her reaction by swirling his


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tongue in one direction, then the other, intoxicated him. He touched a spot, a harder ridge of flesh and he knew he had reached a centre of passion when she jerked and cried out. If he had not held her so firmly she would have moved away from him, but he was in control now. Carefully he sucked her into his mouth, felt the texture, and then felt it swell for him. Her whole body stiffened in reaction. He felt her muscles tense under his hands, and rejoiced. This was as new to him as to her, but he knew what to do, and he did it as perfectly as he could. Tickling, swirling, massaging and sucking brought Miranda to a state of surrender. If he stopped at that point, it would have ranked as excessive torture. He was serving her and had power over her, all at the same time. He controlled her reactions, and she opened to him. Before, when he made love to her, she always held something back, restrained her instincts, but now her moans and cries told him of her state of arousal, guiding him to do just what she wanted. Not to mention how excited they made him feel. He might climax just pleasuring her. She arched her back, violently pushing against his hands and he knew her moment was upon her. He continued sucking and licking, hearing her mewling cries, and heard, at the height of her rapture, his name. “Daniel! Oh Daniel!” Triumphant, he caressed her until sure her climax had subsided, and she relaxed, boneless, on the bed before he rose up and kissed his way back up. She gazed at him, pupils large with passion, and then she reached for him. He held her close, feeling her heart’s frantic pounding subside to normal, loving the softness of her skin, her total acceptance of him. He kissed her forehead. “That was special.” “Aren’t I supposed to say that?” Her smile was softly loving. “It was.” “It was wonderful to do that for you, wonderful that you let me.” She reached across and touched his erection. Despite the pang of pleasure that shot through him, he reached down and gently removed her hand. “No, love. I’m happy enough without that.” “But that’s—”

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He stopped her protest with a kiss. “I’m content, sweetheart. Happier than I’ve been for a long time. We know we have something now, something we can spend a long time building on. Come here, and sleep in my arms.” He felt complete.


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Chapter Fifteen They tried to keep things impersonal when they went down the next day, but it was impossible. Every time Miranda looked at Daniel she remembered his loving tenderness and his passion, and her gaze softened. He called her “love” and “sweetheart,” accompanying the endearments with a fond look, although he was unaware he was doing it, but everybody around him noticed. To take her mind off the growing intimacy, at least until the night, Miranda sat down with Alethea to plan developments for the inn. She’d had an idea, and she wanted to see its conception before she left. After half an hour they had mapped out the plans, and they went together to find Daniel. They found him in the yard, helping Wilson to move some heavy kegs from the brewery to the inn. They were manhandling one onto the low trolley that could then be wheeled across the cobbles to the main door of the inn, where the keg would have to lie for an hour or two to settle down. Miranda watched her husband, his shirtsleeves rolled up, the muscles on his arms corded with effort. So much for effete aristocracy, she thought to herself with a private smile. He straightened up and he saw her. The smile he gave her would have melted butter. He pushed the trolley slowly across the yard while Wilson followed behind, ready to help heave the keg onto the shelf in the taproom. Miranda gloried in the sheer masculinity of her husband. Shorn of his fashionable clothes, in only a coarse shirt and brown breeches, plain woollen stockings and heavy, serviceable shoes, he still sang out his nobility to her. Nobility of the heart, not of birth. He had the bravery to open himself to her. The least she could do was reciprocate. She moved aside so he could manoeuvre the trolley into the passage, and then up to the taproom. Alethea following her, they went into the large taproom and watched the 160



two men set up the keg, gentle movements minimising the disturbance to the fine beer inside. Manhandling combined with superb control. Miranda blushed when she remembered, the hot colour flooding her face. She was ashamed of herself for blushing. He was her husband, and her love. What could be more natural than the physical expression of it? Still, she felt that everyone knew when they looked at her. She had never felt that way before. After Daniel turned and dusted his hands together Miranda had regained her composure. Her smile was guileless and open, and he reflected it back at her. He came to her at once. “Did you want more than to give me the pleasure of looking at you?” She was undone. She blushed anew, and heard his chuckle. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, not much can disturb me today. Is it news?” Out of the corner of her eye Miranda saw Alethea’s startled glance first at her, then at Daniel. She knew if Daniel continued to show her this affection in public, she must become accustomed to such looks. One part of her joyed in the feeling. She would build on that. “No, not news. Just that Alethea and I have been working on the scheme for the clubs and the ladies’ room. It’s market day tomorrow, so we thought we had better get on with setting it up.” She waved the paper she carried. He took it and stood for a moment frowning over it. “You seem to have thought of everything. Even the teapots.” He glanced up. “I was wondering about those, but I forgot the smaller things like spoons.” Alethea had been shopping, and had struck a very good deal on what was needed with a local tradesman. “What will we do with all the paraphernalia if the venture is a failure?” “It won’t be,” Miranda assured him. “We’re closest to the marketplace, and we will set up a sign in the morning. Wait and see!” She turned away, and then turned back to him on a second thought. “All enterprises carry an element of risk,” she reminded him, and swept away to the sound of his laughter.


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Miranda was not as sure of success as she had pretended. When bedtime came they went up together, followed by not a few indulgent smiles, as Miranda saw when she turned round without warning to look at the residents of the taproom. She found she didn’t care, but went to the bedroom with a light heart. Daniel kicked the door closed behind them, his arms being full of Miranda. He didn’t bother to watch the door slam. They knew it had closed when the latch fell into place with a metallic rattle. His mouth descended on hers in a kiss that had no gentleness about it. He ravaged her mouth, and she loved it. She held on to him tightly and returned his kiss, probing his mouth, wanting to taste every fraction of him. He lifted his head, staring down at her with hungry eyes. “I’ve wanted to do this all day. I’m going to call the bet off. I want you all day, every day, completely to myself.” She laughed. “I’ve dreamed of you saying that, but I never thought I’d hear it.” He joined her laughter and urged her to the bed. Losing her balance Miranda tumbled backwards, sinking into the good feather mattress. Her hoops sprang up before her, and she giggled, not at all put out that most of her lower body was now exposed. She rolled over. “The tapes are at the back.” She felt his hands fumbling at her waist, and then her skirt fell away. Miranda wore a short caraco jacket and plain petticoat today, much like the ones maidservants often sported, not the elaborate sacque or mantua she might normally have worn. It was much easier to get into in the mornings, and, she found, much easier to be freed from at night. He tugged, and her skirt and side hoops came off in one. She was left in the jacket and shift. Her heavy shoes had fallen off in her backward tumble. She let them lie where they fell. She had little choice. Miranda rolled over, and as Daniel cast her discarded garments aside, grabbed his shirt and tugged. He overbalanced and fell on her. “Oof!” Giggling, she pushed until he rose above her on his elbows. “Have you gained weight?” “Probably,” he cheerfully agreed. “I shall miss Mrs. Wilson’s excellent meat pies.” “We could take her with us.”

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“Wicked woman! And jeopardise the success of the inn? Where Mrs. Wilson goes, Mr. Wilson is never far behind.” He bent and touched his lips to hers. “Meat pies are the least of it at the moment, fair one.” He found a curl that had come loose and wound it around his finger. Miranda felt the tug, and turned her head to kiss his hand. Immediately, his hand went behind her head, digging through the bun at the back, loosening pins, freeing the long tresses. When she turned her head to him he took her in another devouring kiss. He rolled, so they were side by side on the bed. His movements turned gentle, caressing her head, kissing her in a series of gentle sweetheart kisses, closed mouth, cherishing. Miranda felt for his shirt and undid the ties, unfastened the cuffs. He lay and let her rise up and draw the garment off him. They looked at each other. Miranda passed her hand over his chest. “This is where the weight is, I’m sure of it.” He shook his head, loosening his own hair, fastened by a leather thong at his nape. “I always tried to keep active, in good shape. You just never saw it before.” His chest was covered in curly hair, sparsely spread. Miranda smoothed it, playing with it, feeling its texture. “You’re a big man.” “Always. When I was younger it wasn’t always welcome. But if it pleases you, my sweet, it was all worth it.” Her answering smile broadened. “I love your body. I love you.” After a moment of absolute stillness he drew her close and kissed her. Gently and sweetly until she pressed closer, demanding more. She hardly noticed when he drew the jacket off her, only freeing her arms so he could pull it clear of her body. He broke the kiss and pressed his lips to her breasts, half-exposed by the lacing of her stays, bulging above the sturdy cream garment. His hands went to her back to find the laces. Her body was forced closer to his, so she spread her hands on either side of his head and kissed him. She felt the tug of her laces and then sweet release when they fell loose. He pulled one side and swept them away. Miranda felt liberated of more than her stays. Dressed only in her shift, she lifted herself on her elbows and looked down at her magnificent husband. He smiled back,


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relaxed, his expression more open than she had ever seen it. “We will have to get closer than most couples.” His hands settled around her waist. “How so?” “We have to be more imaginative, and discover what pleases each other. We can’t just do the same old thing, can we?” “We can’t do that at all.” He lifted one hand to the drawstring at the neck of her chemise and toyed with it. “I see what you mean, though. I’ve had some ideas in the course of the day.” He tugged the drawstring and the bow holding it taut fell loose. The garment sagged open and Daniel looked down. “What a splendid view.” Miranda felt her skin heat where he looked, as though the heat was in his gaze, and not inside her at all. “You can’t lie back and suffer me, love, can you? I need to know what you like, and what you don’t.” Miranda resisted the urge to lie flat, and instead let him look. “And I you.” She rolled to one side and sat up, folding her knees so she sat on her haunches. Keeping his gaze, she shimmied out of her shift, drawing it slowly over her head, trying to take her time so she was revealed slowly. She emerged from the folds, sat still and watched. Daniel stared back. Miranda gave him no clue, except that she knew her body was speaking to him, and she was content to have it so. Her nipples were tight with anticipation, and she could feel the moisture welling up lower down. Her skin was flushed with desire, the desire she had successfully banked down for over three years, and now was content to release. More than content. The glow in her husband’s eyes was more than sufficient to damp down the nervous modesty that made her want to cross her hands over her breasts, hide her body from him. Pure instinct, and to be resisted. The resistance added to her nervousness, and that other feeling akin to it. Anticipation. Daniel wet his lips. She suspected that he was unaware of the action, and concentrated on sitting still. His next words made the excitement rise in her throat, his voice soft and deep. “Open your legs. Let me see all of you.”

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Miranda had no idea it was possible to feel so excited without him laying a finger on her. Slowly, keeping her gaze on his, she opened her knees, and put her hands on them. With her bottom perched on her heels, there was very little he couldn’t see. She watched his gaze drop, and settle on that place between her thighs that seemed to be getting hotter. She knew she was getting wetter, just from his stare. She wanted to look away, close her legs, hide from him but she was lost in that possessive stare, lost in him. And lost in the deep appreciation in his eyes, underneath the burn of desire. “I’m completely open to you now,” she said, unable to raise her voice above a murmur because of the tremor in it. “Hiding nothing.” “You have no need to hide,” he replied, his voice equally low. “Every inch of you is precious to me.” “One part more than another at present, I’d guess.” His smile was warm, igniting desire. “Quite right.” He moved slowly, but with purpose, with animal grace, closer to her. She stayed completely still and watched. He took his time. When he was nearly touching her his hands went to the front fall on his breeches. His gaze never left hers while he undid it. He loosened the buckles at the knee, lifted up and slid them off, dragging off his underwear and stockings at the same time. He threw them to the side and they fell to the floor with a dull clunk. Neither of them paid much attention. Miranda’s gaze went down. Until recently she had occasionally felt but not seen it. Now he was sitting at his ease, the evidence of his arousal blatantly displayed. She looked, as he had looked at her. Her gaze travelled back up to his face. She felt decidedly dazed. “And we’ve—you’ve—” He leaned forward and took her hand. “We certainly have. Perhaps, one day, we might be able to indulge ourselves again.” She frowned, confused. “I thought you said we couldn’t.” “You won’t be fertile forever.” Miranda had to think about that. She wasn’t sure she wanted to look forward to the menopause as the next time she could have full relations with Daniel. She could see from


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the concern in his eyes that he knew he had upset her. “I’m sorry, I meant it as something to look forward to.” Miranda forced a smile. Things were getting better, she reminded herself. This would have been unthinkable a month ago. “No matter. We have this.” His thumb moved gently over the palm of her hand, sending tremors up her arm and into her body. Miranda, her gaze on his, smiled and tugged. He took the hint. With a knowing smile curving his lips, he moved closer and finally took her into his arms. Miranda uncurled her legs, opening them around him, and when he moved closer she felt his erection against her clitoris. Bliss. Daniel moved a little, deliberately rubbing against her. His erection pressed between them, the tip against her stomach, but the base was doing wonderful things below. When he felt her first delicate shudder he purred. That was what it sounded like. A definite low growl in his throat like the purr of some large cat. She felt the rumble in her breasts, where the tips touched his chest. She leaned forward to touch more of him. Nothing loath, he drew her closer, his arms strong around her back, supporting her, holding her safe while he pleasured her. “Is that good? Am I hitting the spot?” “Oh yes!” Her voice was scarcely more than a breath, but since he held her close to him, it was enough. “I feel warm, and it’s growing.” She joined in his chuckle when she realised what she had said. He moved slowly, carefully, and pressed ever harder. “Is it enough?” “It’s enough to be this close to you. I’ve wanted this for a long time, Daniel, and if you only held me it would be enough. This is—ahh!” A long shudder racked her, and she gave way to it, knowing she was safe. Daniel pressed closer, moved with more purpose. Miranda clutched him tight, felt his strength encompass her, and his spirit surge deep within her. At that moment she knew without doubt that he would be with her always, that he would love her and care for her to the exclusion of everyone else. There was another thought, an insidious idea at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t think about it, wouldn’t allow it.

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It wasn’t fair. Daniel would be condemning himself never to feel true human intimacy again. Could she allow him to do that? Pushing the unwelcome thought aside, Miranda allowed the warmth and closeness to enter her completely. It was a feeling she wanted to remember for a long time. For the rest of her life. He held her still and close, not saying anything until the long shudders of her release passed and she felt warm and cherished. After a few minutes to savour it, she tried an experimental wiggle and found he was still hard. “Not enough for you,” she murmured. “Lie back.” She lifted her head and looked up at him. He was watching her, not smiling, but with a deep warmth in his eyes that was a visual caress. After a long gaze, he released her and did as she asked, stretching his body on the bed. Miranda gazed her fill, sitting astride his lower thighs, just above his knees, taking most of her weight on her knees. He looked back. She ran her hand up his body from his hips and across his chest. “You feel hard everywhere.” “And you are deliciously soft.” She leaned forward and slid down a little, while he watched. He lay relaxed, all but one part of him. When she lowered herself and deliberately dragged it up her stomach his muscles tensed and his head jerked. He was sensitive. His shaft slid between her breasts. Miranda had intended to repeat her performance of the previous night, but when he slid so cleverly there, she paused. Lifting her arms, resting her elbows on the bed she pressed her breasts together around him. “Miranda!” From the sound of it he enjoyed the sensation. She experimented, moving a little, and heard his soft groan. He definitely enjoyed it. She rocked. He groaned. Smiling broadly, Miranda continued her actions, silently thanking the powers that be for endowing her with bountiful breasts. Anchoring herself by elbows and knees, firmly straddling him, she continued.


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This was a reward for her, to be able to bring such pleasure to him. It had its own reward. Not the joy of mutual satisfaction but power, the surrender of another human being at his most vulnerable. He loved her, and now, he trusted her. It took barely five minutes for Miranda’s experiments to obtain their desired result. Daniel jerked and cried out, and then Miranda felt the warm splash hit the underside of her chin. Her back aching, she collapsed onto him. They lay still in the heat of the evening for untold moments until Daniel eventually sat up and lifted Miranda into his arms. He drew back, grimacing. “Messy. We’ll have to do something about that.” He laid her on her back on the sheets and went to the wash basin. There was some hot water, now barely warm, left in the can and Daniel made good use of it. “I think,” he said, “despite the bother, we’d both better bathe in the morning.” He came over to her, a clean washcloth in his hand. Miranda lay back and enjoyed his ministrations. She knew how strong he was but his care had the tenderness of love in his touch. “Will you bathe me one day?” He paused, standing up, the cloth in his hand. “Do you like it?” “It feels good.” He went over to the basin and rinsed out the cloth, returning with it to the bed. He sat down and ran the cloth lightly over her torso. “It feels good to do it. Decidedly, I’d like to wash you, Miranda.” He returned the cloth to the washstand and came back to bed, stretching out beside her. “We have to tell each other what feels good and what doesn’t. This is new to us both.” Miranda took his hand. “We have to do that. It is hard to give me such honesty?” He coloured slightly and looked away, but returned to her immediately. “It is. I had a sheltered childhood.” “What about Orlando, and Corin, and the girls?” He smiled, and traced a pattern on her stomach with one forefinger. “They came later. I was alone for the first five years. And I always stood apart. I was the only hope of the house. My mother was married to my father specifically to provide an heir. It was

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thought impossible, since my father had been married twice before and produced nothing, but she managed it. Just me. I was small and sickly.” Miranda laughed, and looked him up and down. “You? Sickly?” “For the first ten years. It seemed that I’d caught everything there was to catch, and I was still alive. They cosseted me for a while after that, but by that time Mama had met Taversall. He was the love of her life, and he still is. I was given over to the stewards of the estate, the trustees and my tutors. It was a great relief.” Miranda could imagine it only too well; the son of the last of a great house, pampered, treated as a precious object. The Countess of Taversall was many things, but maternal was not one of them. The children were her successes, and she was fond of them all, but they were not the centre of her life. “Did Orlando help?” He grinned. “Oh yes. He was the only child, but not the only hope. He has uncles and cousins, and he was as robust a child as you could hope to meet. He dragged me into trouble. I think I was a little too precious before Orlando began to tug on his apron strings. At first he dragged me on, but once I’d got the way of it, I did as much dragging as he did. We became adept at dodging our many attendants and getting into trouble. When Orlando’s father was alive the household was insanely disarranged anyway, but he didn’t live long.” Miranda knew the story of Orlando’s father. After her first, staid marriage Daniel’s mother fell insanely in love with Blyth, a wastrel and gambler, and she threw everything away on him. If Daniel’s inheritance was not so carefully protected, that might have gone too. Within three years of the marriage Lord Blyth was dead, leaving an heir in Orlando. “Living with your mother must have been an adventure.” Miranda allowed Daniel to pull her into his arms and they lay against the pillows together. His rumbling laugh reverberated through his chest. “Quite. After the disaster of her marriage to Blyth, she stayed in the country for a time. She met Taversall, and thank the good Lord, he is a good man, and cares for her deeply. His influence saved us all, I think. He’s been a good father.”


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But those first, isolated years had their effect, Miranda realised. They taught Daniel how to keep himself apart from others and how to keep his own counsel. Perhaps too much. “That’s why you could shut yourself off from me so well. You’d had practice.” He put a finger under her chin and pushed gently. She complied, meeting his soft, openly loving gaze. “Never again. If I try, you must remind me. This is too good to give up. I don’t want to return to that kind of loneliness.” “I’ll remind you.” She stretched up and kissed him. He met her with a kiss so tender, so sweet, it brought tears to her eyes. “That’s probably why I was so unhappy. I’m used to a stable home, lots of brothers and sisters. After you cut yourself off from me I had no one to talk to. I didn’t trust your family well enough to confide in them until recently.” “I owe Orlando a great deal.” He kissed her again. “I want to leave this inn in good heart as a thank you in language he will understand. He won’t appreciate sentiment from me.” “Or from anyone, I think.” What she saw in Daniel, the early disruption and uncertainty, was reflected in his brother in a different way. “He uses his humour and his energy to isolate himself. I didn’t realise until last year, when he allowed me to see more of the man beneath. I hope he finds someone to confide in, as we have.” “Yes.” Daniel sounded drowsy, but Miranda knew he heard. His arms tightened around her. They said no more, only held each other close and drifted off to sleep.

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Chapter Sixteen In the morning Daniel was all for staying in bed all day until Miranda reminded him sternly that they had things to do. “It’s market day. We’ll be busy today, and you did say you wanted to leave the inn in good heart.” Daniel released her with a sigh. “So I did. And my pudding club is tonight.” Miranda surprised him by bursting into shocked laughter. “What on earth is that? It sounds like something the inn would have done in times past!” “Pudding club” was country slang for a pregnant woman. Daniel viewed his wife’s unseemly mirth with asperity. He sat up, the covers falling down around his waist. “That, my love, is what I want to replace the disreputable societies with, the ones that were excuses for orgies. Ostensibly it’s a place where gentlemen might come to sample the joys of Mrs. Wilson’s cookery, but it’s also a place for discussion and meeting. Like your room for ladies. So many of these bedrooms are unused that we might as well make use of one.” “Up here?” Miranda frowned. She was used to having this floor to herself. “The opposite end of the corridor to our room. Wilson will fit this door with a serviceable lock today, and give us both a key, so no one can intrude on us. There’s a large chamber there, and once the bed is moved out it will be even larger. I’m sure I mentioned my idea.” “I’m sure you didn’t,” Miranda said. “However, I suppose it’s a good one. It won’t take much setting up, and won’t require more than we have. The money Orlando gave us is running a little short you know, and takings don’t match it.” Daniel grinned. “Not yet, though I’m sure they will in time.” He looked back at her, and his eyes darkened. The sheet had fallen off her, down to her waist, but after their recent explorations she felt no need to conceal herself. “I feel strange,” she confessed. www.samhainpublishing.com

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He gazed at her. “How strange?” “As though I’m someone else. As though you’re someone else. Will we settle back into our old ways once we’re away from here?” He stretched out his hand to caress her breast. “Not if I can help it. I love you, Miranda. I love this. I just never had the courage to admit it before.” “Courage?” “Aye, love. Courage. I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same as I do, afraid you would reject me, perhaps laugh at me.” Miranda bit her lip, sensation streaking down her body from his touch. “I felt the same. Afraid.” “No more.” “No more.” He bent his head and let his mouth replace his hand. His tongue circled her nipple, teasing it into a peak. “That feels so good.” With her new understanding, she realised he liked to hear what she liked, what he was doing right. He had little more experience than her and she needed telling and encouraging, so he must, too. He caressed and teased. If he hadn’t done this until recently he was surely a fast learner. “Daniel, we have to get up.” He released her nipple and gave it a final kiss before he raised his chin to look at her. She could stay here forever, if he always watched her with that mixture of tenderness and desire. “Unfortunately, you’re right. We should get on.” He sat up, then leaned up to bestow a soft kiss on her mouth. “But don’t think you’re getting away with it, my lady. As soon as this month is up I plan to keep you very busy for a while. We have a lot to learn about each other, you and I.” Miranda felt breathless as the air between them heated. Abruptly, Daniel sat up and swung back the single sheet that covered them. “It would be nice to have more than one wash stand. Perhaps we should have one moved in here.” Miranda stretched her arm behind her head. “I like to watch you shave and wash. It seems so…domestic.”

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“My valet can do it for me in half the time.” He picked up his razor and examined the edge, frowning. “He’s also a damned sight better at stropping the edge.” He put the razor down and padded to the door, opened it and brought the fresh can of hot water inside. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Wilson today and get some water heated for a bath tonight. You might as well have yours now. I’ll go downstairs and see to it.” Miranda laughed. “No, I’ll have one later. We’re not the leisured class, my dear, and we have things to do. It would take at least an hour to get a bath sorted out, and it wouldn’t be welcome on market day. I’ll make do with an all-over wash this morning.” Daniel had poured the water from the basin into the slop bucket, but turned, basin in hand, at her words. “May I help?” “If you do it would take considerably more than an hour!” His attention delighted her, and she had a sudden urge to accept. But that would never do. “I think I’d like that another day, but not today.” “I’ll remember you promised.”

Miranda felt cocooned in warmth. The day was another hot one, but it wasn’t that. It could have been raining and she would have felt the same. He loved her. After five years they had an understanding, had something to look forward to. She need not hide her feelings for him ever again. Something still nagged at her but she refused to listen. Even if this new understanding didn’t last, it would give her something to remember. Given the same choices again she would still do it. Just earlier. She had little time to repine. The market traders would be out and about since dawn, and would be looking for refreshment. That would fill the taproom nicely, but this was not Miranda’s main area of concern today. After a hasty breakfast in the kitchen she tied on a large apron, bundled her hair up under a plain, serviceable cap and made her way to the spacious, usually empty lounge at the side of the inn.


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This was where the orgies took place, or so Mrs. Wilson salaciously informed her shortly after their arrival at the inn. Miranda stood in the centre of the clean, empty room, arms akimbo, and stared about her, trying to imagine what it must have been like. Tables stacked up against one wall, and a mess of chairs and benches lay next to them. What had happened on those tables? Miranda, only just beginning to explore what was possible in love, could scarcely imagine it, but for a moment or two, she tried very hard. So hard she didn’t notice Daniel until he laid his hands on her shoulders. She leapt away with a squeal, her heart beating hard. “Not the reception I’d hoped for.” She turned around to face him, her hand to her heart. His smile was more than warm. “I beg your pardon, my love, I merely came to see what your plans were.” She breathed in deeply. “It was my fault. I was miles away.” She moved back to him, so he could link his arms around her waist. “I like these smaller hoops. I can hold you properly. In your London finery I can hardly get near you.” “I like them too.” “What were you thinking?” He wouldn’t let her look away, but held her gaze. She watched an unholy smile creep over his lips. “Don’t tell me. You were wondering what they got up to here.” To her chagrin she felt the warmth spread over her face. “I have no idea.” “Neither do I.” He bent so his lips were next to her ear. “Perhaps we should try to find out. We’ll have our own private orgy, and see what we can do.” She laughed in sheer delight. “We’ll have to make it up as we go along.” “We seem to be doing well so far.” He bent to drop a kiss on her lips and then drew back. “I came to ask you if you need any help here this morning?” Miranda looked around. She didn’t need to, but it helped her regain her customary air of calm. “Mrs. Wilson, the girls and I can set the furniture out. We’ll be ready. The kitchen is nicely set up, the teapots cleaned. We should be all right.” “Don’t do too much. You’re not used to it, and I won’t have you overset.”

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Miranda smiled. “I’m as fit as I was when I married you, Daniel. I think I was cosseted far too much. I feel so much better since we came here, truly I do.” “Still.” He regarded her assessingly, his head on one side, a slight frown between his brows. “Are you sure? You’re not used to this level of activity.” The double entendre made Miranda giggle in a most unmatronly way. “Daniel, really!” She recovered herself. “I’m sorry, it was exceedingly childish of me.” “So it was,” he agreed, smiling with her. “But I won’t be deterred, Miranda. If you feel tired you must promise me you will go and lie down. I almost lost you three years ago. I don’t intend to endanger your health now.” She felt cared for, truly cared for. Before, she assumed guilt played a large part in Daniel’s concern for her. Now she knew that wasn’t so. He meant what he said. He didn’t want to lose her. “I feel fine, Daniel, truly I do.” She moved towards the furniture. “I will promise, though. If I feel tired, I’ll do something about it.” Probably stop for tea, she extemporised, although she didn’t mention that aloud. Daniel winked at her and went out of the room. The women came in almost immediately afterwards and they set to. They set the tables and chairs out in no time. They were not as bulky as the ones in the taproom, but it took longer than Miranda would like. As she set the last chair in place, the outer door opened and the first customer came in. A lady, unmistakably a country lady, another woman in tow, from the look of her a maid. The second woman carried a large basket that she set down at her mistress’s feet with a flex of her shoulders suggesting fatigue. She straightened up and her gaze met Miranda’s. A look of companionable understanding passed between them. Miranda went forward. What was the world coming to when a marchioness had more in common with a maid than with the maid’s mistress? The thought made her smile. “Good morning, ma’am. May I do something to serve you?” The woman flicked a glance at Miranda. “I will be joined presently by my friend. Pray supply us with some tea and refreshments. This room is for the exclusive use of ladies, is it not?”


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“Yes, ma’am. Gentlemen are invited to use the taproom or the private parlours. You will not be disturbed by their presence.” Miranda now wanted to laugh. She enjoyed the presence of gentlemen. One in particular. However, she understood the requirements of ladies to have a room of their own. Briefly, she wondered why the Eagle had not set up such a facility. She was hardly on speaking terms with any of them, so it would be hard to find out. Two of the maids had sprung into action when two more parties of ladies had entered and the room, before so empty, had suddenly gained an air of bustling busyness. Miranda nodded and left. In the kitchen the large table was almost wholly taken up with teapots and dishes and little plates containing a variety of refreshments. Mrs. Wilson’s magnificent meat pies had been cut up into dainty morsels, competing on the plates with thin wedges of cheese, and the plates of bread and butter, white bread cut thinly with the crusts cut off, would not be out of place in Miranda’s London drawing room. Little cakes completed the repast. Miranda took a tray containing one of each, and went back to the room. Another lady sat with her customer. She looked up from under the brim of her large straw hat and glanced away. A moment later she looked back. Stared. She leaned forward to exchange a word with the other lady who also looked up. Miranda went forward, knowing a falter would be fatal. “Don’t I know you?” “I don’t believe I have the pleasure, ma’am,” Miranda replied, trying for a colourless tone. She forgot her accent, so natural to her while she remembered the deferential pose, head bowed. “I spent a season in London last year with my dearest sister Lady Furlough,” said the newcomer. Miranda went cold. She knew that name. “I worked in London, ma’am, as a lady’s maid.” “Oh? Why aren’t you doing that now?”

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Miranda played her hand. “I recently married, ma’am, and it was not considered appropriate. However my husband’s employer consented to find us a place as caretakers for one of his houses. This is a temporary post. He required someone he trusted to take charge here.” The ladies stared at her in silence while Miranda’s heart quickened its beat, threatening to overwhelm her with its pounding. It was the first time in years this had happened to her, and she finally knew what it was. Anxiety. Another step towards independence from all medical interference. Miranda was beginning to realise something else. It hit her with all the intensity of a lightning bolt, but she couldn’t imagine why it would strike her at this time. It would have to wait. Determinedly she pushed the revelation to the back of her mind. “I see. Well, that would explain your careful accent. Come to think of it, it is a little too careful to be natural.” She turned to her friend with a smile. “Don’t you think?” “Indeed.” Both women now regarded Miranda with smiles. “I must have been mistaken,” the first woman said. “I should say the women of Melton are delighted this place has ceased to function as it did. May I expect this to be a permanent change?” “It is Lord Blyth’s intention, ma’am. He does not wish any establishment bearing his name to be tainted by such activity.” “Lord Blyth.” The speculative look returned to the lady’s eyes. “I saw him in London. A very fine gentleman, but his reputation is none too savoury.” Because you don’t know him, Miranda thought. “He is not vicious. He is a good master.” “I see.” The lady regarded Miranda, eyeing her up and down in a way she would have described as insolent. “You were a servant in his household?” “No, ma’am, my husband was.” An eyebrow lifted superciliously. “I see.”


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It was clear what they thought. A discarded conquest given a husband and a reward. Miranda seethed, and not only on her own account. Orlando had never seduced a member of his household, family or staff. He was a rake, it was true, but not dishonourable. “My husband was a footman in Lord Blyth’s household. I worked as a lady’s maid. After we married, it was no longer suitable for my husband to work in his previous capacity, so Lord Blyth appointed us caretakers for one of his smaller houses. We will travel there when the new landlord arrives here.” Without another word she inclined her head graciously and walked away. Apart from anything else, if they stared at her for long enough they would eventually remember where they had seen her. She could not reappear in the room while those ladies were there. Their eyes burned her back all the way out of the room. Miranda went to find Daniel, eventually locating him in the stables. His smile of welcome faded when he saw the strain in her eyes, and he allowed her to lead him outside, where they could be private. “Two ladies almost recognised me,” she said without preamble. “We can’t stay long together because as sure as anything if they see us together they’ll know.” “Is that all?” He touched her arm with a gentling hand, as though calming a fretful horse. “If we are found out, we have our story ready. A foolish wager, an aristocratic fancy. Don’t worry.” She looked down, biting her lip. “I suppose you’re right. I felt ashamed. Ashamed for serving them at table when they behaved so badly.” “Why? Weren’t you doing it well?” At the sound of the laughter in his voice she looked up to see him smiling. “I did it very well,” she informed him, dignity giving her the aristocracy she had tried so hard to shed these past weeks. “We spend our lives serving,” he said. “The further up the social ladder we are the more we should serve. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always happen that way, but it doesn’t hurt to remind ourselves from time to time.” Now she felt ashamed of feeling ashamed, although she still wouldn’t have entertained those particular ladies at her table at home. She’d have the Wilsons to tea and

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be proud of it, but the superior attitude, intended to make her feel inadequate merely because she was serving them, made her blood boil. His finger pushed up her chin and she looked up at him. He dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. “I think I should do that often, just to remind you what we’ve found here. It’s worth a great deal of servitude to me.” She felt herself flush when she saw the promise in his eyes. “Thank you. I shall go back.” She returned. The ladies were gone, and two more sat in their places. No longer ashamed of offering good service, countess or innkeeper’s wife, Miranda went forward without hesitation. “Ladies, are you being looked after?”

Miranda could never remember feeling so tired. After the births of her sons had come a blessed peace, but her feet never ached with this intensity, and she was never so aware of every single muscle in her body. They all hurt. Reminding herself she was the wife of an earl and the daughter of a viscount, a foolish appeal to the false pride she had lost sometime this month, Miranda forced her posture upright. Daniel, coming into the kitchen, witnessed it. He came over to her side. “You look like hell.” “Thank you! I might be tired but the day has been extremely lucrative!” “Can you ride?” She stared at him in surprise. “Why?” “It’s not too late for me to take you to the other house. Would you like that? You could play with John and Christopher, take a long bath and have an early night in a big feather bed.” “Without you.” “Alas, yes!” She twinkled up at him. “Your pudding club.” “Precisely.”


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The kitchen was steeped in the rich scent of cooking fruit, as Mrs. Wilson and her assistants prepared a selection of traditional puddings, the ostensible reason for the club. Early plums baked into a tart, glistening with sugar, sat next to a heavily spiced apple pie, the top festooned with apple leaves cut in pastry. Miranda smiled. “Tarts as replacements for tarts.” His crack of laughter echoed off the low, beamed ceiling. “Quite so, my love!” He lowered his voice. “I can take you and return in time. It would be the best solution. You can return tomorrow with one of the grooms.” Miranda thought wistfully of her sons, so dearly missed, and the hot bath. She wasn’t a saint. “I can ride. Give me an hour.”

Later that evening Miranda lay in the big bed, feeling strangely alone. She had not shared her bed with anyone until recently, and now she was so accustomed to it she doubted her ability to sleep without strong arms holding her tight. Pampered, perfumed and content after spending a good two hours with her boys, as well as a day’s work at the inn, she was supposed to be tired. When she turned over the satisfying rustle reminded her she lay between best quality, newly pressed linen sheets. Alone. As she fell asleep, a reminiscent smile lingered on her lips.

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Chapter Seventeen The pudding club was a roaring success. Daniel was glad Miranda wasn’t there to be kept awake by the rowdy jokes and the ribald good humour of the exclusively male participants. One of the reasons he’d hustled her off to the other house was he feared some trouble might arise from guests demanding female company as well as male. He didn’t want her distressed by his reactions, which would probably include a little male violence and a lot of cursing. Indeed, some of the guests had arrived hoping for a tumble with a whore or two, but the puddings Mrs. Wilson spent all afternoon preparing saw to it that most of them wouldn’t have the energy to do so even if whores were available. Only two left when Daniel made it clear there were no women available. It emphasised the change of direction the inn was taking better than anything else. Daniel enjoyed himself. It had been a long time since he enjoyed such unsophisticated, jovial company. He’d forgotten what it was like. The English squire was a very special breed, careful of his neighbours and local affairs, participating sometimes beyond the call of duty in his expected roles. Most of his guests tonight knew each other, and more than one expressed his relief that the loathsome Cavendish had decided not to attend. Alcohol loosened tongues, and since Daniel was well spoken and at ease in their company, in this room at least, the accepted him on almost equal terms. “My four acre wood borders on his,” one middle-aged gentleman, wig askew on his nearly bald pate, said. “He’s had a lawsuit about the boundary pending for years. He knows it’s mine, it’s just spite. I don’t envy his poor wife.” “If I treated my wife like that she’d break a warming pan over my head,” said another, younger man. He took a long pull at his tankard. “One thing’s for sure. She wouldn’t stay.” “Mine would have been at her mother’s before the first week was out,” the first man replied. He reached for his glass, and stared in owlish disappointment at its empty state. www.samhainpublishing.com

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Daniel, standing unobtrusively behind his chair, refilled it for him. With a smile of thanks the man returned to his conversation. “Don’t know why she stands it.” Another man joined in. “She loves him.” He raised his thick, grey eyebrows in wry acceptance. “Can’t think why she would. He never stops abusing her. Says it’s because all she could give him was a paltry girl, but it’s more than that. He enjoys it.” “No accounting for women.” The first man turned his head slightly to include Daniel. “You’ll learn soon enough. New married, aren’t you?” “Yes, sir, I am.” Daniel felt like a newlywed, still glowing in his rediscovered love. The older man gave him a comradely grin, and lifted his tankard again. “I’ve been lucky with mine. A good woman. I never strayed; never wanted to.” The second man grimaced. “Mine’s a shrew. Good around the house, mind.” “Sometimes,” commented the man across the table, “you get what you put in. Try a few kind words at a good moment, Crossley. She can only throw them back in your face. It won’t hurt much.” “Might do that.” Crossley stared down at the table, perhaps abashed at his rash words. “We get on, for the most part, but recently she’s been a bit worried about her mother. She’s ill, you know.” “Cousin to Lady Cavendish, ain’t she?” asked his elder. “I heard Cavendish beat his poor wife to within an inch of her life when his gel ran off. Not her fault.” Crossley looked up. “I thought she’d gone to stay with relatives?” “Her grandmother, or at least that’s what they’re saying. It’s my theory the girl ran off to her grandma. Cavendish sent someone after her. She’ll be dragged back.” “And made to marry Smythe. Shame that. He’s no better than Cavendish.” “Worse.” The older man glanced back at Daniel. “Landlord here might tell you.” “Indeed not, sir,” Daniel said smoothly. “My orders were to make this inn respectable again. Lord Blyth was disturbed when he heard of the goings on here.” All three men laughed, and Daniel was uncomfortably aware why. “He should set a good example then, shouldn’t he?”

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“His lordship has his standards,” Daniel said, trying hard to get the stiff, aristocratic note out of his voice. “He is not married, and he never takes an unwilling woman to bed.” “Good, is he?” “I was his footman, not his catamite, sir. Lord Blyth never showed any inclination in that direction.” Daniel hastily suppressed the memory of a particularly unpleasant interview Orlando had suffered with Lord Elton, his then guardian. He’d been sent down from school for it, but airily declared the experiment not to his taste. Orlando boldly trod where sometimes he should not. “Of course, I meant nothing else.” The older man fell silent for barely a minute. “Not sure all the girls here were willing. Even if my taste ran to whores, I wouldn’t have come here.” Daniel was more than glad he’d put an end to such a miserable establishment. There were whorehouses, and whorehouses. Not that his experience of them was at all extensive. He hadn’t lied to Miranda. The debauchery offered by the average whorehouse, even the tasteful brothels of London had never been to his taste. The older man shot Daniel a shrewd glance, much shrewder than he should have been capable of at this time in the evening. “If anyone finds the girl, I’d be only too glad to help. Trouble is, she’s still legally Cavendish’s property. Damnable thing, but we might be able to do something.” “I’m sure she would be delighted to hear it.” “I don’t like the thought of anyone in Smythe’s clutches. She’d be likely dead of the pox in a year of two.” The man across the table shuddered. “Dreadful thought! Pass that apple pie, would you?” The conversation quickly degenerated afterwards into reminiscence and local gossip. Daniel circulated around the room, replenishing glasses and tankards. Fifteen gentlemen were present, all in various stages of drink, but none of them incapable. The puddings helped, of course, slowing the rate of imbibing down and giving the gentlemen ballast for all that liquid.


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Daniel learned several things he had no use for, and a few he did, notably the general animosity to Cavendish and his crony Smythe. Both gentlemen were well to do, and since their tastes ran to debauchery more than gambling, their fortunes remained more or less intact. Daniel had no doubt Smythe could buy himself a bride, but Daniel determined more than ever that it wouldn’t be Alethea. The girl deserved much better than marriage to a debauched degenerate like Smythe. Daniel’s plan, still half-formed, was to keep her moving around his properties, always carefully guarded. With any luck, by the time her father caught up with her she would be of age. A dowry was a different problem. If her father wasn’t willing to come up with one, Daniel could only hope her grandmother would be willing. However, he had no way of knowing how the old lady would react. A lot depended on Godfrey’s visit to her. At the end of the evening it was generally agreed the pudding club was an excellent idea, and should be convened at least once a month. Daniel watched as a chairman, secretary and treasurer were elected in solemn insobriety. He recorded the details on the first page of a new book, which would be kept there. He allowed himself a private smile when he compared this with some of the clubs he attended in London. There was not much difference, and he could see the members mingling without any difficulty, duke and squire, just as they did in the coffee houses. Of course there were other, more highminded societies, but frequently the same people belonged to each. Each had its purpose, and this one was not dedicated to detailed discussions of Ovid. The wives might be happy, too, knowing their husbands were so innocuously engaged. Perhaps there should be a club for the women, too. Perhaps there already was. Daniel tumbled into bed at three in the morning, consigning the mess in the club room to the next day’s tasks. An hour later he was jerked awake by a sound. Movement from the tap room. He lay quietly and listened. The Wilsons slept upstairs, and the single live-in maid slept in the kitchen. The others came during the day and went home when their work was done. Miranda would be safely tucked up several miles away. There should be no one in the taproom.

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For a big man, Daniel could move quietly when he chose. Seizing his robe, he swung his feet out of bed and belted the garment tightly around his waist before cautiously letting the boards under his feet take his weight. Almost unconsciously he had noted which floorboards made the most noise, and he avoided these on his way to the door. His coat hung on a peg by the door. His knife, the one he used for odd jobs around the inn, lay in the pocket. He stopped to slide it out. He didn’t bother with the sheath. Wishing his pistols and sword were also handy, he carefully lifted the latch. Innkeepers did not wear dress swords as a matter of course, as earls did. Daniel negotiated the corridor to the stairs carefully, but set his feet as far apart as he could in an effort to get downstairs quickly. At the top of the stairs he paused to listen. A hand pressed over his mouth. Before Daniel could respond, a heated breath warmed his ear. “It’s me.” The hand disappeared and Daniel turned to stare at Wilson, resplendent in a knee-length nightshirt of striped linen and a night-cap, despite the heat of the night. Wilson had found a gun, a long-barrelled army musket. The Brown Bess. Wilson went down the stairs first. Daniel followed, careful to step in the same places where Wilson traversed silently, careful to give Wilson some space in case he needed to heft his musket and fire. The vague sounds coalesced into something furtive. Someone was definitely in the taproom, trying not to make a sound. Daniel’s hand gripped his knife when he remembered the safe there, unknown to all but himself and the Wilsons. At least he had thought so. It seemed Wilson had the same thought. The older man glanced back and exchanged a look filled with meaning with Daniel. Daniel nodded, and lifted his knife so the blade gleamed in the moonlight streaming in through the open kitchen door. They crept forward. Their guess was correct. Someone stood next to the long shelf containing the barrels, a dark shadow. A man. The framed print covering the safe leaned on the floor, against the shelf. Daniel cursed silently. Usually he moved the takings from the safe to another


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locked box upstairs at night, but tonight he’d been tired, and left them alone. He wondered how the man got into the safe. He couldn’t have forced it, that would have made too much noise. He must have a key. Wilson moved to the centre of the room and Daniel crept forward, blocking the exit. He waited. The man turned around. He’d pulled his hat low over his forehead so it was impossible to see his face clearly, but he stood upright, pulled by an invisible cord to stand to attention. Wilson’s voice broke the silence with sudden shockingness. “Put it down, lad.” They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. The man held a bag in his hand, presumably with the takings. Nothing else. Behind him the safe yawned into blackness. The intruder stared, and then moved forward. “Get out of my way, old man.” His voice was uncultured. Not one Daniel recognised. Wilson lifted his musket in reply. “One shot, that’s all you got. Goin’ to get both of us with it?” Both of us? Daniel spun around, searching in the darkness. He saw it just too late. Another shadow, too close. He lifted the knife, letting the blade gleam. “I’ll get the other one.” Where there silence had reigned, now chaos took over. A shot rang out, and Daniel dropped, keeping his body balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to spring. A masculine scream tore through the peace of the night, and Daniel knew the sound. Wilson had been hit. No longer concerned with the intruders, Daniel ran forward to where the old man lay on the ground in a seeping dark pool. “Come on!” The two men ran, heading for the back of the house and the kitchen. Their booted feet clattered on the tiles and the kitchen door slammed. At the same time bare feet came down the stairs. Daniel looked up. Alethea, banned for the evening to her room because of the pudding club guests, and Mrs. Wilson, both like white ghosts in their voluminous nightgowns, flew towards them.

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“Oh, Wilson!” Panic and distress filled the older lady’s voice as she rushed to her husband, nearly tripping in the process. Daniel looked up. “Get some light in here and see what’s happened to the girl in the kitchen.” Ally obeyed the last command first. Daniel bent to examine Wilson and found his wife had laid his chest bare by the simple expedient of lifting his nightgown right up. Wilson was hit in the side. Daniel lifted him, to make the most of the meagre light. A flare told him Alethea had returned with a lighted candle. “Move it closer,” he instructed. “Careful not to drop any wax!” Alethea brought the light closer, and Daniel dimly noticed the quavering flame. Alethea was shaking. He held his breath and bent closer then breathed one long sigh of relief. “It’s caught him in the side, but it’s a clean wound. The bullet must’ve grazed him.” In fact, it had cut a shallow groove in the man’s side, one that still bled profusely. “I need a cloth.” One was pushed into his hand. He formed a thick pad and pressed it against the wound. “Hold it there.” Mrs. Wilson’s hand didn’t tremble at all as she took over the duty of caring for her husband. Daniel stood up. “How is the maid?” “She’s been laid out cold,” Ally said briefly. “A nasty bump on the head, but nothing worse.” “Did she let them in?” Ally frowned. “The door wasn’t forced. I locked it again.” She handed him the large back door key. “Damn!” Daniel frowned in thought. “She’s not a heavy girl, is she?” “No, on the skinny side, if anything.” Ally stared up at him. “I’m going to take her to one of the rooms in the attic, and lock the door on her. I need someone to stay with her, to make sure she isn’t more seriously hurt. Will you do it?” Alethea smiled and then nodded. “You want to talk to her.” “Of course.”


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“Yes, but will you tie her hands to the bed? I don’t want to stay awake all night.” Daniel agreed and went to find the girl. She was a skinny, spotty child, hardly more than fourteen. He had not had much communication with her, and only with an effort did he remember her name was Mary. He lifted her easily and carried her upstairs without effort, afterwards securing her hands to the bedpost with some strong rope Alethea discovered. He didn’t think it was necessary. He left the girl in Alethea’s care, together with the key to the room. He went downstairs to find Mrs. Wilson had staunched the bleeding and wrapped her husband’s wound with a strip of clean linen. Daniel stared at him, trying to judge his weight. “You’d better sleep on the first floor tonight,” he said. “I can probably carry him up one flight of stairs, but two would be beyond me.” Wilson was shorter than he, but carried considerable weight on his compact form. It proved quite an effort, and it was only by working hard that Daniel managed to lift the man into one of the guest rooms and deposit him on the bed. He straightened, not at all sure he could ever get rid of the crick in his back. Wilson was still unconscious, but his breathing was regular, and he didn’t have a raised temperature. Daniel went downstairs and locked up, shooting the heavy bolts over both the front and back doors, and making sure all the shutters were secure, going through the motions automatically, his mind elsewhere. When he picked up the candle to take upstairs, he sighed. Back in his own room, he dragged his small travelling trunk out from under the bed. Slipping his fingers under the rim he released a hidden catch. The gleam of gold rewarded him, as well as silver and copper. He might have agreed to subsist on a small amount for the sake of the bet, but Daniel didn’t feel safe without emergency funds. He took out the precise amount of the night’s takings and then replaced the trunk. After finding a bag and dropping it in the shadow of the back door, exhaustion took him. He hardly noticed Miranda’s absence from their bed, but fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

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Newly returned and refreshed, Miranda listened to her husband and her face turned slowly white. At the end of the recital, she hissed, “You could have been killed! What made you do such a foolish thing?” Daniel stared at her, startled. Miranda was a serene beauty. He had rarely heard her so angry. “There wasn’t much danger.” “Wilson nearly got himself killed. It could have been you.” Daniel reached for the teapot and pot holder. The large brown pot was never empty. He poured the dark tea into the waiting dishes and put the pot down on the iron trivet before he picked up the milk jug. When he looked at Miranda again her anger had dissipated, replaced by a gleam of amusement. She took her tea. “Thank you.” “What? What made you smile?” “You did. You didn’t know one end of a teapot from the other before we came here. I’d wager you never poured tea for yourself in your life.” She glanced up at him, a single piercing dart. “I’m still angry with you.” One corner of his mouth turned up in a rueful smile. “It wasn’t dangerous, and we got the money back.” “How did that happen?” He caught her gaze with a warning frown. “They must have dropped the bag in their haste to escape.” He saw understanding cross her face. She acknowledged it with a small nod. “I see. So no harm done, then? Wilson is recovering?” “Very well. He insists on getting up tomorrow. It was all I could do to get him to stay in bed today. I had to do a few small tasks in the brewery, but otherwise all his work will wait.” Miranda lifted her dish of tea and took a sip. “I suppose I can do nothing to convince you not to risk yourself again?”


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“Oh, I don’t know.” He put a deliberately suggestive tone in his words. Miranda’s eyes flew open and she stared at his face. He smiled, a slow, seductive smile of welcome. She smiled back, and let him see her desire. Heat crawled through him. Rather than pick her up and carry her upstairs he changed the subject and looked away. But the message was passed, and the meeting only postponed. Neither would forget, and the warm looks provided a delicious anticipation for them. Abruptly, Daniel brought the subject back to the attempted burglary. “Wilson got a good look at one of them. He swears the man works for Stokeley.” Miranda pursed her lips in a gesture Daniel thought deliberately provocative. Heat stirred. “So we have Stokeley to thank for all this. Do you think he had me attacked in the marketplace last week?” “I don’t know, but it seems likely, does it not?” Daniel’s mouth hardened into a firm line. “If I were in a position to, I’d call him out for that alone.” “It seems a shame we have to let Cavendish out of it all. I dislike him intensely. Stokeley I could tolerate.” She took another sip. “What do we do now?” He grimaced. “I’ll go and see Stokeley. Try to sort this out in a civilised fashion. I’d rather fight it out, but we have to resolve this for the sake of our successors. It’s not really our fight.” A belligerent light sparked in Miranda’s eyes. It made her well nigh irresistible. He would try to provoke it later, in private. “Isn’t it? Well, whoever laid hands on me made it my fight. At the very least I’ll see that man dismissed. I want to go with you when you see Stokeley.” “I don’t think that would be advisable—” Daniel began, ready to do battle, but they were interrupted. The new kitchen maid approached them. “There’s someone to see you, sir. Mr. Stokeley from the Eagle, and his sister, asking for you.”

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Miranda and Daniel exchanged a glance. “Show them into one of the dining parlours,” Daniel said. The maid scurried off. Daniel lifted a brow at Miranda. “It seems you have your wish, my dear.” “So I do.” The martial light still in her eyes, Miranda got to her feet. To Daniel’s prejudiced gaze she had as much grace in her simple country gown and apron as she did in full court rig. He had seen her in brocade and priceless jewels, and now in a brown wool skirt, flowered jacket and mob cap. Either way, she was a lovely woman. How could he ever have thought of letting her go? How had he managed to keep his hands off her for so long? The answers to both questions eluded him, but Daniel was content, nevertheless. He stood and they went together to the parlour where the Stokeleys awaited them. They stood on one side of the cold fireplace. Daniel went in after Miranda, taking his time. Both he and his wife were past masters at social confrontation. Jane Stokeley seemed more subdued than at their last meeting, but it was she who spoke first. “He did it,” she said, indicating her brother. “He’s come to apologise, and return your takings.” Stokeley stared at them, squaring his broad shoulders in a belligerent manner. “I’ll do that if you assure me you won’t prosecute. If you want to do that, I won’t admit to a thing.” “Why?” Daniel demanded. “Surely we’re no threat to you? Your inn is larger and better situated for the carriage trade.” He looked down. “I’m not used to rivals, and if you carry on like you are doing you’ll be one in no time. I just wanted to slow you down a bit until the new man arrived.” He looked like a child caught out in mischief. Anger uncurled in Daniel like a dangerous beast. The Wilsons were under his protection, and the Stokeleys endangered that. Used to command and control, Daniel did not take that kindly. Miranda laid a restraining hand on his arm. “So you sent someone to steal the takings.”


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“Aye. I didn’t know one of them told Jane. She was waitin’ when they got back. She gave us all an earful.” Miranda gave Miss Stokeley a grateful smile. “We must thank you for making your brother confess. How did you do it?” Miss Stokeley opened her mouth but her brother interrupted. “She told me old Wilson was hurt. I never meant for that. I sent them in unarmed. Or so I thought. The one who carried the gun has been dismissed.” “I see.” Daniel felt a little more in control after that confession. At least Stokeley had meant nobody any harm. The kitchen maid had been bribed to let them in, they already knew that from Alethea’s questioning her earlier that morning and even if the Stokeley’s mission had not been successful they could have escaped without harming anyone. “Well, if you return the money we’ll say no more about it. And no more attempts at sabotage.” His mind immediately went to the other time Wilson had been hurt. The fire in the brewery. That was far more serious. “The other things, though, need some thinking about. You set fire to the brewery, and you threatened my wife.” The wooden chair scraped on the floor when Stokeley shoved it back and got to his feet. “No! I never did those things!” “Can you prove it?” “No. But I’m a publican, and I’ve tried to get Wilson to come and work for me for years because of that beer. How could I destroy something so…so…” He spread his hands in exasperation. “It would be like burning the Mona Lisa!” Daniel, mildly startled at the simile, raised his eyebrows. He didn’t have to say anything. “We’ve got an engraving of it in the main parlour,” Stokeley explained. “I look at it sometimes.” A man with an eye for art. Daniel never expected that in a busy innkeeper. He knew at once his prejudices were getting the better of him and gave Stokeley a wry smile. “How can we be sure of what you say?”

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“It ain’t my way to hurt women, and I’ve told you I wouldn’t have done the brewery. In any case, it’s too close to our inn. Those barrels can explode in fire, you know, and fire spreads.” “Hmm.” Daniel gestured to the empty chair in front of him. Staring at him warily, Stokeley sat down again. “Who do you think did that?” “Cavendish.” The word came from Miss Stokeley, not her brother. “I told you, my lord, I’ve been governessing for years, and my last job was with the Smythes. He has a daughter from his first marriage and when she was widowed, she came home, God knows why. I looked after her daughter for a while. Cavendish spends a lot of time with Smythe.” Miranda’s hold on Daniel’s arm became almost painful. “What did you say?” “I said Cavendish—” “You called my husband ‘my lord’.” Jane Stokeley clapped her hand over her mouth and her skin turned a fiery red, the colour doing nothing to enhance her already homely looks. “Oh no!” Daniel leaned back, and put his free hand over Miranda’s, loosening her grip on his sleeve. “You’d better explain yourself, don’t you think?” Miss Stokeley exchanged a long look with her brother. He said nothing, but his look was eloquent. She turned back to Miranda and Daniel, clasping her hands tightly together on the worn surface of the polished oak table between them. “I recognised you that day when you nearly mowed down my dog. I hadn’t recognised you before, but I saw you mounted, my lady, and when his lordship helped you down I knew where I’d seen you before. No one notices a governess at a musical recital or a ball. She’s trained to stay in the background, but she sees a lot. I only told Stokeley last night, after I found out what he’s been up to. I never meant to tell you I knew. It’s not my business what you’re doing here, but once I put two and two together, I remembered Lord Blyth is your half brother, my lord, and that went a long way to explaining why you’re here.” The game was up. Daniel leaned back in his chair. “Very clever. Does anyone else know?”


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“I’ve told no one outside this room,” Miss Stokeley said. “I did think of coming to you to see if you knew of any positions for me, but I didn’t think extortion was the best way to get a new job.” Miranda and Daniel exchanged another glance. “Why can’t you get another job?” Miss Stokeley grimaced. Daniel saw disgust in her expression. “Smythe attacked me, and when I fought him off, he offered Cavendish a free run at me. I heard them discussing it. Smythe laughed at me when I asked for a character, and said he would write to anyone who wanted to employ me and tell lies. So I ran. I wanted to take the child with me, but I could have been hung for it, so I had to leave her. I can’t fight the gentry.” “You can if you have the aristocracy on your side.” Miranda spoke without thinking, but Daniel was proud of her instinctive sense of justice. “We’ve seen enough of Smythe to know what kind of man he is. If you bring me the other characters you have, I’ll do my best to find you something.” “I never looked for that, my lady, but I can’t say I’m not grateful. I could stay and help Stokeley here, but he doesn’t really need me, and I like to make my own way.” Miss Stokeley’s face lightened, her brow cleared. She looked almost happy, or as happy as a governess could look. The deep furrow between Stokeley’s brows had gone, and he regarded Daniel with less antagonism. “It was a wager,” Daniel explained, man to man, and Stokeley’s brow cleared further. “Ah!” he exclaimed, as though that explained everything. To Daniel, it did, but he doubted it was enough for the women in the room. “We haven’t told anyone of your identities.” “Why do you say that?” Daniel stared at him with a sharpened gaze. “Do you think someone else knows?” “No, my lord, I don’t, but there’s no way we can be sure. If anyone knows, it won’t be from us.” Daniel stretched out his long legs in front of him, tilting them at a slight angle to avoid the bulk of the man sitting opposite him. “I don’t think the attacks are anything to

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do with that. You know someone attacked my wife in the market, warned her to stop the attempts to make this place respectable?” “I’d heard,” Stokeley admitted. “Servants talk, and you already know your kitchen maid has connections with me.” “What are her connections?” Miranda asked before Daniel could. Stokeley shrugged. “Her brother works for me. Will you dismiss her now? If you do, send her to me. I’ll look after her.” “I’ll send her,” Daniel promised, pleased Stokeley showed some responsibility. He would remember to check in a few days, but the landlord’s sincerity seemed intact. Daniel could not employ the maid after her betrayal, because it would undermine his authority but he did not want the girl condemned for one slip. Before this her behaviour and her performance had been exemplary. He leaned across the table. “We both know who we think is behind the more dangerous attacks, don’t we?” Stokeley bit his lip. “We do, my lord. Cavendish and Smythe. They were regular customers here, and they’ve made their resentment known. Handy for them, this place was. Now Cavendish’s daughter has gone missing, he’s getting spiteful.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that?” “No, of course not,” Daniel answered, meeting Stokeley’s gaze blandly. Both of them knew the truth, acknowledged in the sharp attention both gave. “How could I?” “I’ll speak frankly, my lord.” Daniel leaned back again and gestured in an instinctively graceful way. “Please do.” “Very well. I’ve never liked Lord Cavendish, but I can’t afford to speak openly against him. He could ruin me.” Daniel nodded. “We will say nothing outside this room. My word on it.” Stokeley acknowledged the promise and leaned back in his chair. He gazed at Daniel, man to man, with a new frankness. “The man is a toad. He came here because he was banned most other places. He abused the girls; made them unusable for others.” He wetted his lips and glanced at Miranda, sitting silently by Daniel’s side. “I won’t go into


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details, I think you know what I mean. He beat his wife and daughter, blamed his wife for not giving him a son. He’s diseased, sick. The worst kind.” Daniel nodded, knowing Miranda was probably fully aware of Stokeley’s meaning. The French pox. He couldn’t say the news surprised him. “He’s the kind to be spiteful about this. He’s banned everywhere else and this was his last refuge.” “I’d guessed as much, though it’s very useful to have it confirmed,” Daniel said. He took his time. “I think we say we are still at odds. I think you storm out of here, and let it be known you’ll do anything to get back at us.” He watched the slow smile spread across Stokeley’s wide face. “I think that would be fine, my lord. I’ll not make any secret of it between ourselves; I’d like to see Cavendish brought down a peg or two because of what he did to my Jane. There’s nothing I can do on my own, but with your help I might do something.” “He’s in debt, is he?” Stokeley’s face indicated regret. “Not too much. It’s the women he craves. That’s his weak spot.” “Who’s his heir?” Stokeley frowned. “I don’t rightly know, my lord.” Jane Stokeley entered the conversation. “His daughter. He has no other relatives. That’s why Smythe wanted her for wife. Though Cavendish can disinherit her if he wants to. There’s no entail, nothing stopping him leaving what he has where he wishes.” Daniel felt the air whirl at his side when his wife stood up. “I don’t care if he does disinherit her. She’s a good girl, and I intend to do my best for her.” She turned, lips thinned into an angry line. “It’s a fine world that lets poor girls come under the power of one corrupt man!” Daniel didn’t need Jane Stokeley’s warm look to see how much she agreed. It wouldn’t take much to bring him to admit that he agreed, too. “We will do our best for her,” he promised. “And you too. If you would send us copies of the characters you have from your previous appointments, I will see what I can do.”

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A muted sound came from Miss Stokeley, who turned bright red. “It wasn’t for that I did it. I enjoyed governessing, when the place was good, and unlike many women I don’t have to do it. My brother can always do with a woman about the place, and he’s never married.” She exchanged a grin with Miranda, a companionable exchange that said nothing about their relative stations in life, but everything about their situations. Stokeley stood, his chair scraping against the bare floorboards, and thrust out his hand. Daniel took it in a firm grip. “I’m glad to hear it, my lord. You can count on us to help you if you need us.” Farewells were exchanged and they left, slamming the door and shouting loudly on their way out. Anyone listening would be sure the exchange that had just taken place had not been a friendly one. Daniel turned to Miranda, a half smile quirking up one corner of his mouth. “I know what you’re thinking.” “What?” Her chin went up. “Jane Stokeley. The boys should have a governess; you’ve mentioned it before. But we know nothing of her accomplishments. We need an intelligent woman, one who can keep up with them. John is a bright boy; he’ll need a tutor before too long.” “They need someone I can trust as well, otherwise I shall constantly haunt the schoolroom and drive them all demented.” He raised her hand to his mouth and bestowed a small kiss on the palm. “I’ll keep you busy.” His smile broadened when she flushed. “I think Jane Stokeley might answer. But we must be sure we’re not giving her some sort of reward. Perhaps a trial period might be in order. We can then give her the character she needs to obtain another position.” “I think that would be a good idea.” Miranda gently pulled her hand away. “Jane Stokeley might do very well. And she’s not an impoverished daughter of the gentry, like the miserable woman the Broughams employ. I don’t think I could bear to see her Friday face every day, despite her considerable accomplishments. Jane Stokeley must have


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worked very hard to get to where she was before her dismissal. I would guess she is more than a match for our boys.” “We’ll see. It sounds like a good idea. We can send for her when we’re home again and we’ve checked her other recommendations. We owe her a favour, but I’m disinclined to put our children at risk for anyone.” “Yes.” They smiled, in perfect accord.

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Chapter Eighteen To Miranda, it seemed as if she had been at the inn for much longer than three weeks. Their routine was established; she knew what day of the week it was by the tasks she had to do each day. Every Sunday they attended the church for Morning Service. Melton church was large and endowed with many treasures. It was easy to sit in the highbacked pews and dream of a life spent in this lovely place, busy and relatively prosperous. Her usual life, the one in fashionable London and large country houses seemed like the dream. Leaving the church with her husband, she placed her hand on his arm and prepared to walk across the empty market square back to the place she had begun to call home. Miranda was filled with an unaccustomed sense of tranquillity, something she hadn’t felt since Christopher’s birth before the fever struck her. At first all she had felt was relief that she had come through this one safely, and triumph at producing another bonny son. She had put him to the breast, and tired and sore, watched Daniel enter the room, such a glow in his eyes that she had felt a strong and deep sense of tranquillity enter her soul. A few hours later, she’d been in the jaws of death, incoherent from infection and fever. Nothing had been right since. Until now. When she glanced at Daniel now, his answering smile showed her warmth, deep in his eyes that had not been there before they came to Melton. “Shall we stay here?” she asked him. “It’s tempting,” he murmured in reply, his head bowed close to hers. “We could make a success of this place, I know we could. However, we have to go back and make a success of our life together with all the misfortunes we’ve been cursed with. Estates, wealth and power. What a bore!”


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She laughed with him, feeling an edge of anxiety under the happiness. That would be present until she returned to her life and made sure this new understanding with Daniel was no mere illusion, but a lasting state. They could see the inn now, just above them on the gentle upward slope of Nottingham Street. With the market square behind them, they were on their way home. Miranda frowned when she saw the vehicles outside. They had not expected visitors today. No rooms were booked. A large, clumsy-looking travelling coach stood outside the inn, its horses stamping and champing at the bit. They did not seem overly disturbed, so they could not have travelled far. There was nothing familiar about the vehicle. She pulled at Daniel’s arm, intending to enter the inn through the kitchen, so they would not have to face the visitors until they knew who they were. It was not inconceivable that they knew the visitors, although Miranda privately thought very few of her acquaintances would be happy with such an old-fashioned vehicle. It must be extremely uncomfortable to ride in, with no glass in the windows and old-fashioned suspension that would pick up every stone and every rut in the road. Daniel followed Miranda’s lead, and they entered the house the back way. Only the kitchen maid sat by the fire watching the joint of meat revolving on the spit. She turned the crank with her foot from a pedal by the fire. She smiled a greeting and they smiled back. All the noise came from the taproom. Without stopping to ask, Daniel strode towards the source, Miranda following after she discarded her hat and fluffed her hair a little in the age-old gesture women always used to improve their appearance. Her gown of green tabby closed down the front with little ribbons over a plain white petticoat, Sunday best for an innkeeper’s wife. Her lace was a single flounce of Nottingham, her fichu a plain affair of lawn, but when she studied herself in the mirror that morning, she felt pleased with herself. Not least because of the expression in Daniel’s eyes when he saw her reflection, the warmth he never hid these days adding softness to his hard features.

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With only a second cursory glance in the little mirror of polished steel that hung on the back of the kitchen door, Miranda opened it and went through the narrow corridor to the entrance to the tap room. The sound of raised voices was deafening. Miranda straightened her shoulders ready for the fray, but before she could enter, she felt a touch on her elbow from Alethea. “What is it?” she whispered, her lowered voice penetrating where a higher tone would merely blend with the sound of male bellowing coming from the tap room. “It’s my parents. They’ve come for me.” Alethea’s complexion was pasty white and her eyes wide with fright. “My father will beat me, and then give me to Mr. Smythe. He’s said as much.” Miranda’s heart sank. There was little she could do if Alethea’s parent demanded her return. It would be called abduction, in the eyes of the law. There was only one thing left, a slim chance but worth taking. “Run to the Eagle. Get Stokeley to hide you. I’ll say I don’t know where you are, and Daniel won’t need to lie. Do it now!” Alethea spun on her heel and fled through the open door of the kitchen. Miranda waited until she heard the back door slam before she went through the door into the taproom.

A scene of chaos and raised voices greeted her. Miranda took her time, studying the lie of the land before she went forward to announce her presence. Only Lady Cavendish noticed her. She exchanged a look with the thin-faced, worried-looking woman. Miranda couldn’t imagine what it must be like, tied to a man like Cavendish. His brutality must engage every waking moment of Lady Cavendish’s life. It must have been a relief when he left the house to come here, to take his debaucheries out of the house on to the doxies. Miranda doubted she would stay with a man like that. If she had found herself in a similar predicament, her family would not hesitate to help her obtain a legal separation from such a brute.


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Her attention went to the main source of the noise. It was Smythe, roaring out his intention to stay in the taproom until he found Alethea. “We are signing the contract. She will be mine in a matter of days, and I know she is here!” Daniel took his time, waiting until a measure of quiet fell on the room. “She cannot be married against her will. The marriage will not stand.” “She will do as she is told!” This from Lord Cavendish. “She is my daughter, my property, and she will marry whoever I tell her to marry!” “You may not have heard this,” Daniel put in, his voice no louder than usual, “but the new marriage act does explicitly state that a marriage conducted under duress is no marriage. She must consent.” He glanced at the other male in the room, a man soberly attired who stood back from the row. The man nodded briefly. “That may be so, Lord Cavendish. However, I am sure you will persuade the girl, once you recover her.” Lord Cavendish’s face, already a mottled red, darkened. “She will consent. If I have to beat the skin off her bones, she’ll consent.” “I will testify on her behalf that the marriage is no true one,” Daniel offered. Lord Cavendish threw him a look of contempt. “You think the court will take the word of an innkeeper against mine? You know the way of the world, man. Now give her up before I’m forced into taking you to the law! I’ve brought my lawyer with me to make sure you don’t try any foolish tricks.” “What makes you so sure she is here?” Smythe leered at Daniel. “She was seen entering the inn. You might have dressed her like a maid, but there are still people loyal to me who tell me what goes on.” Miranda wondered which of the servants had betrayed them. She would find out, and whoever it was would pay for it. Daniel looked nonplussed. He had not meant he would testify as Fitzhenry. Before he could take the next step and reveal his identity, Miranda touched him lightly on the arm. “You are welcome to search the inn, gentlemen. You will not find

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Miss Cavendish here.” She pressed Daniel’s arm in warning when he took a breath to speak. Lord Cavendish’s bloodshot gaze swung round to take in Miranda. She stood firm, one eyebrow slightly lifted in aristocratic disdain. “You will forgive me if I don’t believe you. Did you think I wouldn’t take you up on your offer to search?” He moved towards her, thrusting her aside when he got closer. Daniel caught her and would have followed the man, but Miranda held him back. “No. No trouble, Daniel. Let him search.” Daniel glanced at her and nodded, then followed Cavendish. Smythe and the lawyer left the room in short order. Miranda sat down at the same table as Lady Cavendish. Closer up she could see the remains of a faded bruise, just under the lady’s chin. Lady Cavendish’s appearance was wholly faded. Her gown was good silk, but the blue colour looked washed out, almost grey. Her skin was paper fine, lined and pale. Miranda guessed she must be somewhere around forty, but she looked older, much older. She had to ask. She had to know. “Why don’t you leave him?” she asked so quietly that even Wilson, standing by the tapped barrels on the shelf, wouldn’t hear her. Lady Cavendish’s head went up from studying her hands and she stared at Miranda. Miranda persisted. “I know he beats you, and he’s not faithful or thoughtful. Have you no other protectors? No family?” Lady Cavendish swallowed. “I have family. My mother is too frail these days to bother about much apart from her own health.” While Miranda had no cause to doubt Lady Cavendish’s words, that last statement sounded disturbingly like several healthobsessed matrons she knew in society who were, in fact, perfectly well and only used their state of health to excuse them from anything they might find distasteful. Lady Cavendish looked down again at her tightly clasped hands. “I met him when I was nineteen, and he took to me at once. My papa did not encourage his suit, as he was known to be wild even then, but I took no notice. Eventually they gave in, and we


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married.” She looked up again, a spark lighting her pale blue eyes. “I love him. I always have. He is always sorry when he beats me.” “Can’t you stop him?” It was a foolish question, but the woman’s look made Miranda feel helpless. It was the one thing she could not fight against. Love. “I tried, but after Alethea was born I fell ill, and I’ve had no other children. He wanted a son to inherit. It’s why Alethea’s marriage is so important to him. Her husband will get everything, if George approves.” She was trying to excuse her husband’s boorish behaviour. How many times, Miranda wondered, had she done that? How many excuses were there in the world? “Is that why he beats you? Because you can’t give him a son?” She shrugged. “He says the wickedest things. Like he wants me to die, that he wants to marry a fertile woman.” Miranda was horrified. “And you stay with him?” A small smile curved her thin lips. “Yes. Because he doesn’t mean it. He tells me so.” The more Miranda heard the more disturbed she became. The woman was hopelessly obsessed. There would be no help for Ally there. If the girl returned to her family, she would be married off to a man so debauched it was likely she would die of the pox in a few years. Miranda’s determination was increased tenfold. She would do everything in her power to save her young friend from that fate. All the time she was aware of the heavy clumping of feet coming from above. She heard them enter her room, then shortly afterwards leave and pause at regular intervals as they examined all the rooms in the inn. Miranda remained content and unworried. She hoped the visitors would assume the feud between the Blyth Arms and the Eagle was still in place. She was banking on it. That was why she sent Ally there. It was the safest place she could think of. It wasn’t long before the men returned. Daniel glanced at Miranda, his hooded eyes glowing with a warmth she interpreted as approval. She looked away hastily before she became too confident and betrayed herself. The others looked depressed, frowning and

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scowling. Lord Cavendish lost no time but glared at Miranda and demanded, “Where is she?” “How should I know?” she replied. “Don’t be insolent, woman!” Miranda saw Daniel’s quick movement out of the corner of her eye, and looked away. She could not stop him, but she wouldn’t encourage him. Fortunately, Daniel regained his composure. A brawl would help no one. Miranda was glad they’d avoided the scene, although deep inside she had a creeping feeling that it would give her a great deal of satisfaction to see Daniel knock down the obnoxious Cavendish. Cavendish strode towards the table where his wife and Miranda sat. “You know where she is. She was seen. I will not rest until I have her back. You cannot keep my daughter from me.” He reached out and gripped Miranda’s wrist, dragging her to her feet. “You will let go of my wife.” Daniel’s voice came quietly, but with a determined edge. Cavendish wrenched harder at Miranda’s arm. He twisted it until it burned and Miranda cried out. Daniel gave no warning, only grabbed Cavendish’s shoulder, forcing him to turn. The man released Miranda, who drew back. She disdained to rub her wrist, although it still hurt. There would be bruising. “I said you will let her be. You may treat your women so badly they would risk anything to leave you, but not mine.” Quicker than sight, Daniel’s fist drew back and he struck Cavendish one hard blow to the jaw. When Lady Cavendish leapt to her feet and pushed her aside, Miranda fell, but caught herself on the table. The lady bent to her husband. “Oh my darling!” Smythe snarled, and half-heartedly took a step forward, but then paused. His friend had gone down hard. The lawyer fumbled in his pocket and drew out a pair of spectacles and a notebook, at the same time stepping back to avoid Daniel’s punishing fist. Daniel shook his hand, and stepped forward again. “I don’t want to see you in here again.”


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Cavendish was not finished. Lying on the wooden floor, he dropped his hand away from his jaw. “I’ll see you hang before I’m done. For now, expect a demand from my lawyer.” Daniel opened his mouth to reply. The outer door opened and a voice, cool and collected, came from its direction. “Dear me! I see I have timed my visit inopportunely. Will someone kindly explain to me what is going on here?” “Orlando!” Half in shock, Miranda turned towards the figure outlined by the brightness of the sunshine outside. Dressed in what he would doubtless consider a plain country coat, breeches and topboots, the Earl of Blyth nevertheless outshone everyone in the room for sartorial magnificence. He slowly raised his jewelled quizzing glass to his eye and stared at Cavendish, stretched out on the floor. Cavendish looked from Miranda to Orlando with a gleam of speculation. “My lord,” he murmured, sitting up preparatory to getting to his feet. “How delightful to see you!”

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Chapter Nineteen Orlando ignored Cavendish’s outstretched hand. “I wish I could say the same.” He stood at his ease, one booted foot slightly before the other, surveying the party with interest. His attention fixed on Daniel. “I sent you here to put this place in some kind of order, not to make matters worse. What have you to say for yourself?” Daniel said, “This man just hurt my wife. I was just asking him to leave when you arrived. Sir.” He growled the last word. Now Orlando’s clear gaze swept around the room to Miranda. His attention fixed on her wrist, already reddening. “I suggest you get some cold water on that.” He softened his voice when he spoke to her. “Is that all he did?” “And no more than the woman deserves!” Smythe stepped forward. “Someone needs to apprise you of the situation, sir.” Orlando’s voice raised in mild rebuke. “Call me my lord. In case you did not recognise me, this inn was named for one of my ancestors. Lord Blyth at your service.” He swept off his braided hat and dipped into a low, mocking bow. Smyth stretched out his hand. “Sir Frederick Smythe at your service, my lord.” Orlando stared at the outstretched hand but stayed perfectly still. It took Smythe a full minute to get the message and drop his hand back to his side. “Well?” Orlando sighed heavily. “I’m waiting.” Miranda wanted to hurl herself into his arms and hug him. His entrance swept her back into her world, made her forget whom she was supposed to be and what she was doing there. Recalling her subservient position, she allowed her smile to fade and looked away. “These people,” Sir Frederick said, spitting the words like an insult, “have taken my bride.” Clearly expecting his words to have an effect, Sir Frederick waited, but Orlando waited him out. He continued to stare at the man, his face expressionless. Miranda www.samhainpublishing.com

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wanted to laugh. She had seen Orlando use this trick before, and Daniel too, for that matter. Sir Frederick’s already ruddy face reddened more. “I have been betrothed to the daughter of Lord Cavendish here, and when the girl ran, we believe she ran here.” “What made her run?” Orlando’s eyes never wavered from Sir Frederick’s face. It had its effect. The man appeared more nervous by the minute, not looking directly at Orlando any more. “She took a dislike to the match. At first we thought she fled to the Hesselwoods, but it seems not. The boy she ran with is away from home, and I cannot believe they would do anything as illegal as keeping a girl from her father.” “It is also illegal to push a girl into marriage against her will,” Daniel pointed out. Miranda heard his level tone, and knew he was keeping his voice deliberately quiet. Orlando turned, his gaze just brushing past Miranda to Daniel. “I must say the news has relieved me. The reputation of this place must be improved, if an innocent could run here. What happens to her is of little interest to me. I didn’t come here to hear about some country provincial, but to obtain a report about the inn. And to convey some news.” He turned again, flicking a glance at the now silent Sir Frederick and Cavendish. “Be assured if I hear anything worthy of your attention, I will convey it to you. For now, I will crave your pardon but I need a private word with my tenants. If you wish to stay, I have heard the beer is very good. Good day to you.” He bowed, an almost imperceptible inclination of his head, then, as though they had left, returned his attention to Miranda and Daniel. Stony-faced, Daniel led the way out of the room and to one private parlour, where he said nothing until he closed the door. He turned around and showed them a face he had not even hinted at in the taproom. He was grinning broadly. “Yes, we have the girl safe. At least I hope she is.” “I sent her to the Eagle,” Miranda admitted. “The Cavendishes think we hate each other. They’ll never look for her there.” Orlando spun on his heel, the skirts of his coat flying out behind, and embraced his brother. “I can’t remember when I last saw you like this.”

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Miranda wasn’t sure what he meant, but she made an educated guess. The lines on Daniel’s forehead had smoothed out, and his eyes were somehow softer looking. It had been a long time since he’d been so relaxed, so at peace with himself. The brothers regarded each other, smiling, before they sat down at the large table that dominated the small parlour. Orlando leaned back and stretched his legs before him. “Tell me about the girl.” “She’s been terrorised. Her mother is no help, her father wants to force her into marriage with his crony.” Daniel frowned. “The trouble is, at nineteen, she’s under age, and has two years before she reaches her majority. We’ll do what we can. Those men are despicable, probably poxed. The girl was beaten by her father, and I have no doubt she’d be half killed if she goes back.” “Under age?” Orlando raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Not like you, Daniel.” “What? To want to see justice done?” “No, to break the law.” Daniel shrugged. “I’d do it again. We sent her friend off nearly three weeks ago. He was supposed to find Alethea’s grandmother, who might help. However, we haven’t seen him since, and we’ve just about given him up.” “You have another plan?” “Yes. We’ll invite her to join our house party at the end of the month. With any luck, the Cavendishes will be bowled over by our consequence.” He pulled a face. “If we have to, we’ll invite them too. Not Smythe, though.” “The man’s a pig,” Miranda said. Orlando’s smile returned. “I thought he looked a little porcine. Well, dear brother, we must see what we can do. I’ve put up at the Eagle.” “Traitor!” Miranda cried. “Unfair! I had no idea what you’d done with this place. I had no desire to stay in the sort of place this was before you came, so I sent ahead for a room at the other inn.” Daniel gave his brother an openly quizzical look. “Are you saying you haven’t stayed in a—” He broke off, flushing guiltily.


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“Whorehouse?” Miranda supplied, her voice charmingly innocent. “You didn’t object to sending us here!” “I did ensure you weren’t walking into a den of iniquity. The place was closed down, the girls sent away.” “Daniel was furious that you’d sent us here without warning,” Miranda said. She exchanged a small smile with her husband. He wasn’t furious any more. “What is the point of sending you to an easy challenge?” Orlando sounded complacent. They broke off when Mrs. Wilson entered the room with a tray of steaming cups of coffee. Miranda nodded dismissal and she left without saying anything, but she cast a lingering look at Orlando’s back before she left the room and closed the door. Miranda saw the warmth in her gaze and grinned. Orlando generally had that effect on women. He was good to look at. Daniel’s dark, serious expression did little to attract anyone not known to him, but to Miranda, who knew the man underneath, it was all she ever wanted to see. Miranda poured the coffee and sat back in her chair. “How is your lady mother?” Orlando grinned. “You’ve only been away from her for three weeks. She hasn’t changed materially in that time.” Daniel returned the grin with interest. “It seems much longer. A lot of things have changed. For the better.” Orlando glanced from Daniel to Miranda and back again. “I saw that as soon as I came in. You’re together now.” Daniel’s eyes opened wider. He stared at his brother. “You planned this, didn’t you!” Orlando didn’t look at Miranda. “I thought it might help you resolve a few issues. Without all the distractions of our mother, society and—such, you might have a chance to talk. However, I didn’t contrive the situation here. That was all quite real.” He quirked an eyebrow at his brother. “Am I forgiven?” Daniel glowered at him. “I don’t like to be managed.”

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“I wasn’t managing you, dear brother. I merely provided an opportunity for you to be alone with your wife. What you did with the opportunity was up to you. However, considering the current situation I’m willing to accept you won our wager if you wish to leave.” “Why should we do that?” Miranda asked. Daniel’s expression, she was glad to see, lightened a little at Orlando’s response. It was true, Daniel hated to be managed, but Orlando had made it palatable for him. Orlando shrugged in response to Miranda’s question, the muscles in his strong shoulders easily discernible under the clever cut of the thin fabric of his lightweight summer coat. “You might want to think about taking the girl away quickly. She would probably be safer at your house, surrounded by your servants, and her parents can hardly complain if she is invited to stay with you.” “Maybe.” Daniel glanced at Miranda, who kept her expression carefully neutral. She stood up, and with a scraping of chairs on floorboards, so did the men. “I’ll leave you in peace. I have to go and make sure everything is ready for tonight.” As she left the room she heard Daniel say, “Did you pick up the girl when I left? I thought it was for that reason you contrived to get me here. But it wasn’t, was it?” Orlando’s voice came softer, but Miranda heard it. “No, it wasn’t. Not entirely. And yes, she is under my protection. But she’s no whore, Daniel. Never think it.” Miranda closed the door behind her quietly. She guessed from the moment she saw his face that Orlando had troubles of his own, and she wanted to give the brothers some time together. She could not help there, and as for La Perla Perfetta…she didn’t care any more.


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Chapter Twenty After a convivial dinner, which Daniel had to interrupt to break up a dispute in the taproom between two local shopkeepers who should have known better, Orlando went back to his soft bed at the Eagle and the ministrations of the landlord’s sister. He grinned when Daniel teased him about it. “A month or two ago I might have taken notice, but not now.” He didn’t explain himself further, and Miranda did not ask, but she would demand to know what was going on from Daniel later. In their bed. As it happened, that night was a busy one and after dinner Miranda helped Mrs. Wilson and the girl in the kitchen until Daniel managed to get rid of the last customer by simply showing him the door. He entered the kitchen and slumped into the nearest chair. “They heard Lord Blyth was here. It seems everyone wants to see him.” He looked up at Mrs. Wilson, his eyes narrowing speculatively. “His lordship came to tell me that the couple he engaged to carry on here when we’re gone are no longer available. I suggested you. I’ve already told your husband. He seemed pleased.” So did Mrs. Wilson. Her worn face lifted, and her eyes glowed. “We would, sir. We won’t let his lordship down.” Daniel nodded. “I know you won’t. Miranda?” He looked round to find her standing next to his chair. When he lifted her hand, she put her own into it. Such a simple gesture, with a deep, complex meaning only they could understand. An impulsive gesture of affection like that would have been impossible before they came here. Now it was natural. “I think it’s an excellent suggestion. The Wilsons will keep this inn respectable. May they run it as they please?” “So long as it’s respectable.” Daniel grinned, and Miranda instantly knew what he was thinking of. Orlando was one of the most notorious womanisers in London, at least 212



until recently, when he had taken to keeping one woman at a time. Perhaps that was what La Perla Perfetta was to him now. She locked gazes with Mrs. Wilson for a moment. The woman deserved it. She was a hard worker, and Miranda was sure the Wilsons would bring prosperity to their little part of the world. Alethea entered the kitchen, a little hesitantly. “Does this mean you are leaving soon?” “Yes, we are.” Mrs. Wilson glanced around, checking the kitchen was in order, and left, no doubt to discuss their change of fortune with her husband. Miranda spoke to Alethea. “You can come with us, if you want to. We always have a summer ball at Rosington, and it seems a good opportunity for you to make your bow to the ton.” Miranda watched Alethea’s eyes. Her relief and joy showed immediately, and Miranda’s heart went out to the girl. She was not at all sure her own spirits would not have wilted had she had Alethea’s parents and the brutal treatment they meted out to her. It was a miracle this brave, resourceful girl had survived. “Perhaps you shouldn’t tell Mrs. Wilson where you are going, then she can honestly say she doesn’t know where we are.” “An excellent suggestion,” Daniel said warmly. “The Wilsons can always get in touch with us through Lord Blyth, should they need to. I doubt the Cavendishes will get much out of him.” Loud hammering echoed through the inn from the front door. Daniel got to his feet and drew his breath. “Who on earth is that at this hour?” It must be nearly eleven, laughably early by London standards, but when one rose at seven, late enough to sleep. Daniel strode out of the room, Miranda close behind. Wilson was already at the door. “Who’s that?” “Blyth. Let me in.”


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Wilson glanced at Daniel who nodded his confirmation, and then he drew back the large black bolts that secured the door. It swung open to reveal Orlando and someone else. Alethea, who had kept out of sight in the kitchen, but could see who was entering flung open the kitchen door and surged forward. “Grandmother!” “Good Lord!” Daniel sounded as surprised as Miranda felt. They had given Godfrey Hesselwood up. The young man followed Orlando and the lady into the inn, walking around the newcomer who now held Alethea in her arms. He glanced at Daniel a little sheepishly. “Sorry it took so long. Lady Ingram had gone to France and I had to follow her. I did write to you before I left.” Daniel grimaced. “It never arrived.” Godfrey cast Daniel a look of dismay. “Oh Lord! I hope my parents got the message I sent them. But I couldn’t let Ally down, could I?” Alethea, now standing next to her grandmother, cast such a glowing look on her swain that Miranda wondered if she was mistaken in her feelings for him. “You are such a good friend, Godfrey! What would I do without you?” Miranda forbore to tell her, but smiled easily. “We made plans to take Alethea to Rosington Court. We thought her parents could not object to such a visit.” Lady Ingram eyed Miranda doubtfully, and for the first time in weeks, Miranda remembered how poorly dressed she was compared to her usual finery, but she saw Lady Ingram recognised her only too well. “I don’t pretend to know what you’ve been about, Lady Rosington. I presume it’s a family matter. But if you’re planning to go to the country, it would be the perfect thing for her. I shall deal with my daughter and my son-in-law. I’ve been longing to do it for years.” Miranda caught Daniel’s glance at her face, sharing his amusement. Lady Ingram was a formidable old lady. Only Daniel’s mother had ever stood up to her and lived to tell

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the tale. If she wished to take up the gauntlet thrown down by Alethea’s father, their chances of succeeding increased tenfold. Daniel moved forward easily. “We’re here as the result of a wager, Lady Ingram, between my brother and me. It has nothing to do with our desire to help Alethea. Her father is forcing her into marriage with one Sir Frederick Smythe. Do you know him?” Lady Ingram sniffed. “If he’s a crony of my son-in-law’s, then I can only think the worse of him. That man swept my daughter off her feet. I should never have allowed the match, and I’ve never ceased to regret it.” She looked away and swept her hand across her face. Miranda was sure she knocked away a tear. “It would be a delight to rescue Alethea from his clutches. He may have the law on his side, but very little else. I’ll shame him, and I’ll stand witness Alethea is being forced to marry against her will.” With determination she turned to face her granddaughter. “Go and pack, girl. We can share my room at the Eagle and then go on to London in the morning.” “London?” Alethea stared at her grandmother, eyes large. “You can’t go to the Rosington’s dressed like that. We need to go shopping!” Lady Ingram didn’t seem distressed by the prospect. Rather the contrary. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Perhaps I was thinking of you as a child, still. But you’re a young woman now, aren’t you? It’s time you left that monster.” She sighed. “It’s too late for your mother, I fear. She was such a lovely girl! Still, I have you and I won’t let you go willingly. You shall make your home with me, my dear. There’s no need for you to see your father ever again.” Alethea turned a look of blazing joy on her grandmother. “Oh, thank you! It’s more than I could ever hope for!” Urged by her grandmother’s hand in the small of her back she ran off in the direction of the stairs, to fetch her things. “We’ll help,” Daniel put in. “Anything we can do.” Lady Ingram gave him a small smile. “Thank you. I may be forced to call on you. The next two years will not be easy. He does have the law on his side, although, now I know of it, I won’t allow any marriage to someone she doesn’t wish for. Staying at your house will help to keep them away for the immediate future, then, I think, I might return


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to France for a while. Time Alethea saw something of the world, don’t you think? Give him a run for his money.” Orlando crowed with laughter. “I’m almost tempted to stay to watch the spectacle!” He exchanged a meaningful look with his brother. “It is a shame, but I must excuse myself. I’m expected elsewhere.” Miranda wondered what that look meant, and determined to ask Daniel about it. Turning to the door, she saw the Wilsons and her heart sank. There was no hiding her identity now, after weeks of camaraderie she was afraid it was spoiled. But they deserved an explanation. She gave a tentative, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry we had to deceive you, but it was important the wager between my husband and Lord Blyth remain private. Please accept my apologies.” Studying Mrs. Wilson’s lined face she saw acceptance there, and also a wary, watchful regard she had seen before. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still the same person I was yesterday.” Slowly, Mrs. Wilson nodded. It ameliorated the baleful glare Miranda was receiving from Mr. Wilson. Miranda sighed. There was little she could do to reassure the man. She would have to rely on Mrs. Wilson to bring him around. It was possible that the man would refuse the opportunity he deserved because of the deception, but Miranda would do her best to ensure this did not happen. She discussed the matter later, while her husband untied her corset laces. Lady Ingram had borne her granddaughter off to the Eagle, Godfrey Hesselwood left to make the short journey to his home, and Orlando had taken his leave of them, intending to travel on early the next day. Miranda felt tired, but happy. Things were working out. “We must make sure the Wilsons take the position here,” she said. “Did you see the look on Wilson’s face?” Daniel’s hands were skilled, pulling the laces loose so Miranda could let the garment fall down her body to the floor. His hands went to the tapes holding her petticoat at her waist. “I saw. I’ll talk to him in the morning. He deserves this, so I won’t allow him to walk away.”

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“Good.” Miranda loved the feel of Daniel’s hands on her body, so sure. She felt the tapes loosen and bent to pick up her discarded clothing, deliberately not hiding her body, now only covered by a thin shift down to her knees. She heard Daniel’s low purr of appreciation and turned to face him, mischief in her eyes. “Get those clothes off and come to bed.” She drew the shift over her head, and then sauntered to the pegs on the wall by the door, enticing him with her naked body, allowing her hips to sway as she walked. She took her time hanging her clothes over the pegs, and then turned around. Despite the breeches he wore, the success of her tactic was obvious. She gave a slow smile and lowered her head, looking up at him through her lashes. The route to the bed seemed a long one, and she never made it. As she passed him, Daniel reached out and seized her by the waist, drawing her close to him. “Witch!” he growled, and bent his head. His kiss was fiery, needy, as though he had never kissed her before. Miranda loved this feeling, everything fresh and new. Daniel didn’t let go of her but swept her up and carried her the few steps to the bed, lowering her to the mattress and standing up once more. His gaze raked her body leisurely. Miranda stretched in response, displaying herself for his pleasure. Daniel tore off his remaining clothing and joined Miranda, dragging her close for his kiss. She went willingly, pressing herself close. Daniel withdrew, only to drop tiny kisses to her mouth, cheek and chin, slowly making his way down to the pulse point in her neck. Miranda pushed her thigh against his erection, the restless movement not only meant to entice him, but to remind herself that all this was real, that she had won him back. Daniel moved down, kissing and sucking gently until he reached her nipples. Miranda’s hands tightened in his hair when he took her into his mouth, sucking and licking gently at her, encouraging the already tight peak to tighten even further. It was reflected, echoed, further down her body. Her thigh muscles tightened and then relaxed when he caressed her, encouraging her to open for him. Without hesitation, Daniel took control of her body. Miranda gave herself up to him, knowing whatever he did would be for her pleasure, and his. His long fingers explored,


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pushed and entered her. Miranda gasped. Daniel lifted his head to watch her face. His eyes were half closed, glowing with love and passion. “You are so beautiful.” His clever fingers increased her heat. “How did I manage to keep my hands off you for so long?” She smiled, moving her hands to caress his strong shoulders. “I don’t know. How could I not have known?” “Known what?” She chuckled, a low, intimate sound. “All this. What you can make me feel. What I can do for you.” “This is yours, love.” His mouth descended back to her breast, caressing while his fingers worked their magic. He was getting even better at this. He could control her reaction now, instead of simply bringing her to climax. Miranda’s body responded like a well tuned instrument, the heat growing and retreating, until she realised he was teasing her. “Daniel,” she breathed, the word a soft plea. “Hold on, love. Hold on tight.” Daniel increased his movements, circling and caressing, then entered her with two fingers while caressing her with his thumb. Miranda came apart. She arched off the bed and cried out, no longer caring who heard her, or what they heard. Daniel swung his body fully over hers, and kissed her deeply, sharing her ecstasy. Miranda flung her arms around him and drew him close, as the flames surged higher and then began to retreat. The movement brought his erection close to her entrance. It felt wonderful, as though it was coming home. One small wriggle brought them closer, and then Miranda moved up and made them one. Daniel thrust hard inside her once, and she responded, crying out, “Yes!” Then he was gone. In one convulsive movement he pushed away from her and fell back on to the bed. Miranda swallowed, coming back to earth. She knew what had happened, the one thing they promised each other they would not do. But it felt so good, so right. “I’m sorry.”

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She leaned up and stretched out a hand, tentatively placing it on his chest. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I wanted it as much as you did. I still do.” “We can’t. We mustn’t.” “Daniel, I don’t care.” “I do.” He moved his arm and put his hand over hers, staring at her from haunted eyes. Miranda saw his struggle, and knew this was torture for him. While she was happy to explore, content to accept him in any way, he was always bound by self-control. He could never let go. They looked at each other for an age. “You won’t love me.” “Not in that way.” His fingers moved over hers in a gentle caress. “I won’t lose you.” “You must go elsewhere.” The words came from somewhere deep inside her, somewhere she kept locked even from herself until this moment. The conviction came flooding out now. Miranda knew Daniel could not hold back like this, but he was terrified of losing her in another disastrous pregnancy. He was a man, and men were subject to urges not always in their control. She felt it herself, but she had no options. For him, there were. “You must, Daniel, or we’ll tear each other apart.” She swallowed. “After we go back to London, find yourself a mistress. Someone discreet and willing. You have to, you know you do.” His hand gripped hers with none of the gentleness he’d shown before. “No. It would be a betrayal of the worst kind. I thought we came here to avoid that?” “We came here to get to know each other again. We’ve done that. I have you now, and no woman will take you away from me without a fight.” “Then why do you want me to take a mistress?” There was no hiding the hurt in his voice. Miranda thought he hadn’t even tried. Miranda swallowed down her hurt and continued, trying to make her tone reasonable and measured. “You need to. You need someone you can—complete with. If it’s a paid servant, I think I can bear it. You’ve said that I have your heart.”


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His face turned harsh, lines hardening at the side of his mouth. “You can bear it? You want me to touch another woman like this?” He shook off her hand and reached for her breast, his hand curving knowingly around the soft curves. “Perhaps I should kiss her too?” He leaned up and took possession of her mouth. Miranda responded, opening and softening for him. When he withdrew and leaned above her, staring at her face, she felt a tear trickle down one side of her face. “If I have to,” she whispered. “Has all this been for nothing?” he murmured. “No, my sweet, no. We are in this together. We are married, joined, one being. What happens to you happens to me. How can I betray that?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, showing all the gentleness that had been absent a moment before. She felt his lips curve into a smile against her skin, before he drew back a little. “You worked so hard to get us this far. The least I can do is continue it.” “It won’t work.” “It will, it will.” Daniel lay down next to her and pulled her into his arms. He lay awake for some time after she fell asleep, enjoying the feel of her close to him. Finally he allowed the tears he had not shown her to trickle down his face. Just a couple to honour her bravery and love. That she could even face the possibility of letting another woman into their life moved him beyond bearing. He would not betray her. He meant everything he said. If it meant he never felt the joy of his body inside a woman’s ever again, he would stick to the promise he made himself that night.

Daniel woke first, when a distant tinkle alerted him. His eyes snapped open and he lay awake, still, listening. Another tinkle followed the first, then a distinct crash. Miranda stirred, then moved against him. “What was that?” “I’ll go and find out.” Daniel swung his legs out of the bed and reached for his robe, a thin affair of light linen. Slinging it over his shoulders he went to the door. “Be careful!” Miranda called out.

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Daniel opened the door and the world spun into chaos. A wave of heat hit him, and bright, flickering light. He slammed the door shut. “Dear God!” Miranda was sitting up in bed now and reached for her robe. She raced to the window and drew back the bolts holding the shutters in place. Daniel joined her, all his protective instincts screaming at him to take the risk, to go first. A sheet of flame greeted him, greedily licking at the window. Daniel slammed the shutters back into place. Fire, voracious and hungry, surrounded them. Their only escape was cut off. Daniel drew Miranda to him. “We have no way of finding out how far this has spread, or where it started.” Their bedroom was set at right angles to the rest of the inn, being an extra room built above the kitchen. Their only exits were the window and the door. “We could jump,” Miranda said. “We’re only on the first floor.” “No, love. We don’t know how far the flames extend, or what’s underneath. We could break our necks. It has to be the door.” The sound of burning surrounded them, together with crashes as pots fell from the hooks in the ceiling of the kitchen below them. The ominous crackling of the flames underlay everything. They hadn’t much time. Daniel saw smoke curling up through the floorboards and decided on a plan of action. “I’m going to soak you, love, and then open the door. You have to run. Turn left and run. Keep your head down, and go. Head for the little stairs at the end, or one of the empty bedrooms.” “Wet yourself, too,” she said. “And we’ll run together. I won’t leave you, Daniel.” He could see the tears glimmering in her eyes and knew she wouldn’t be moved. “Very well.” He took up the jug of clean water, all that was left from their washing and emptied it over her head. Without pause he picked up the slop bowl, containing the water they had washed in, and tipped it over himself, shaking his eyes clear of the running water like a dog.


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Taking Miranda’s hand he ran for the door. “I love you, Miranda,” he said, and then put his hand on the latch and threw open the door. No more time to think. Taking her hand, he raced out of the room and turned left, hurtling up the corridor, head low and charging. His bare feet met solid wood, hot but holding. As he ran he heard a great crash, and guessed it must be their bed, falling through to the wrecked kitchen. There was a great deal of smoke. Daniel knew he must get Miranda out of here before they both choked. He heard her coughing next to him and fought to keep the air in his lungs. He couldn’t see anything except choking, blinding smoke. He could only hope they had left the fire behind, and he’d chosen the right course. If he had not, they would pay with their lives. They must get out of the corridor, which was fast becoming lethal with smoke. Daniel pulled Miranda to the left and dragged her, no longer sure if she was conscious or not. She had gone silent. Using his shoulder he shoved at the wall, praying it would give. He was lucky. He had chosen a door to shove and it gave way, precipitating Daniel into a room. Dragging Miranda after him he moved at once to slam the door shut. It was the room designated as the club room. Daniel stood and released Miranda to race to the shuttered windows, grabbing at the bolts and dragging them back. Cold night air streamed in with wisps of smoke. Escape. Daniel went back for Miranda. As he feared, she was unconscious, but when he pressed his ear to her chest her heart beat strongly, and her lungs heaved for air. Lifting her as though she weighed nothing, Daniel made his way back to the window and looked down. Outside a small crowd gathered. At the far end, by the kitchen, several people were busy, forming a line to pass buckets along. Closer Daniel saw a figure he knew. “Orlando!” At once Orlando’s head went up. Daniel saw his brother’s relieved expression, even at this distance. Orlando shouted. “Ho! Bring a blanket here! Now!” That voice, usually so silky and low, roared an instruction that could have been heard the length of a hunting field. He had

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seen Miranda was in no state to help herself, and acted with a decisiveness that might have surprised some of his London friends. Two men arrived, holding a blanket, and, obedient to the instructions Orlando snapped out, held it underneath the window where Daniel stood. Orlando stood just behind it. “Drop her down, Daniel! We’ll catch her!” Daniel paused. If they failed, Miranda could break her back in the fall. If they stayed, they might both die. He held his wife erect and lifted her out of the window, slowly lowering her until his shoulder muscles screamed with the effort. He didn’t let her go until sure he minimised the distance she had to fall, sliding his grip down to her hands, and then releasing her. Orlando’s voice sounded hard and close. “I have her!” then he saw his brother, Miranda in his arms, move quickly away from the window. Daniel didn’t hesitate. He climbed on the sill and crouched, making out the blanket below. Two more men came to hold the corners and take the strain. He dropped.


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Chapter Twenty-one He was alive. It was his first thought, together with an overwhelming relief. Lying in the blanket, realising the strong smell of horse demonstrated where they had got the thing from, Daniel had never smelled anything so wonderful in his life. He felt a slight bump when his rescuers lowered him to the ground and he rolled over and opened his eyes. At first everything seemed confusion, but as he watched, Daniel saw an order in it. Stokeley stood by a double chain of people passing buckets to and fro. Wilson was there, too, and at a distance, his wife. By her stood the kitchen maid. That accounted for everyone, since Alethea had gone with her grandmother. At least the people were safe. Daniel got to his feet and stamped, waiting for the shock to recede. He turned his head. “Where’s my wife?” “Lord Blyth carried her to the Eagle, sir,” came the response from a man he vaguely recognised as an ostler. The man was dragging a large truck towards the conflagration. Immediately realising what it must be, Daniel lent a hand, choking when he applied effort and his lungs protested. He ignored it, helping the man drag the water truck to where it was most needed. Then he went, as fast as he could, to the Eagle. Only when he set foot over the threshold did he become aware of his state of undress. His light robe had pulled apart, leaving him bare to the elements. Hastily he drew the edges of the scant garment over his chest, hoping the incident wouldn’t be remembered in a night of incidents. A girl approached him, her face fiery red in response to his unconscious display. “His lordship said I was to show you to his room.” she muttered, gaze fixed on the floor in front of her. Daniel followed where she led, up a handsome staircase and along a wide corridor to a set of double doors. The girl left him outside. Without hesitation, Daniel threw open the doors and strode in, releasing his robe from its modest position around him. 224



Unfortunately there were half a dozen people in the room. Fortunately, apart from Miranda they were all men, with the exception of one maid who had her back to him, attending his wife. No longer aware of anything about himself Daniel strode forward to the handsomely appointed bed where his wife lay. The maid stepped back. She had woken up. Still and pale she lifted her hand to him. Daniel sat next to her, taking her hand to his lips. Someone threw a blanket over him. Daniel ignored them. “Thank God,” he breathed. Her smile nearly broke his heart. “What a hero,” she whispered in a voice hoarse from smoke, her tone lightly teasing. “I could have been an utter fool. I could have caused both our deaths.” “You didn’t.” Miranda was decently covered. She wore an elaborate brocade wrapper, no doubt one of Orlando’s extravagant creations, and her lower half was lightly covered with the sheet. When Daniel felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to see his brother holding a pewter tankard. With a nod, he took the vessel and drained it without pause. Cold beer cooled his burning throat in a blessed flood. His voice was firmer when he spoke again. “How are you, my love?” There was only Miranda for him. Only she mattered. His heart broke at her brave smile. “I’ll live,” she whispered, her voice a hoarse croak. Orlando abruptly strode towards the assistants, including his own valet. “Out! All of you out now! Give them some privacy. Dawkins, I want a bath—two baths—brought here as soon as may be. Use the water on the inn if it’s needed, otherwise bring it here. And bring more beer.” The door closed behind the servants but Daniel hadn’t hesitated to lift Miranda and hold her close. “Are you hurt?” “Only my throat. And perhaps my pride.” “Your pride?”


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She turned her face up to his. Her eyes glistened with tears. “We made a good beginning with the inn. It was the first thing I ever did for myself, without privilege, without money. I was so proud.” “You can continue to be proud. I’m proud of what you did.” He pressed his lips to hers in a gentle salute. Orlando cleared his throat, but Daniel didn’t let go of Miranda. He needed to hold her, to assure all his senses she was safe. “I think the bet is now off. I concede to you, worthy winners.” He held out his hand and Daniel untangled his hand from Miranda’s hair to take it and shake it warmly. “A few words and I’ll leave you in peace.” “I thought this was your room?” Orlando shrugged. “I’ll find another. Or throw Dawkins out of his. You stay here.” He shrugged off his coat and went to the washstand, an elaborate affair compared to the one Daniel and Miranda had just left, and busied himself rolling up his shirtsleeves. “I think most of the inn will be all right.” He took up the soap. “The kitchen and your bedroom took the brunt of it. I’m sure they’ll get it under control.” “The kitchen fire must have got out of hand.” Having finished washing his hands and arms, Orlando picked up the towel. “Do you really believe that? After the scene I witnessed earlier today there are other possibilities.” Daniel shot him an assessing glance. “I wouldn’t put it past them.” “The estimable Cavendishes?” Orlando put the towel back on the gilded rail. “It seems likely. However, no harm done. Have you lost much?” Daniel shrugged. “Some money, and the clothes we were wearing.” “I’m sure we can rustle something up for you to wear in the morning. I suggest you go back to that charming little retreat where your sons are and make preparations to go home.” Miranda sighed. “I suppose it’s time. There’s nothing else we can do.” “Will the fire spread? Should we leave tonight?” Daniel’s heart could bear no more danger to Miranda.

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“No, it won’t spread. They’ve got it well under control. My guess is that the Cavendishes set the fire but you won’t find any proof of it. Fires in kitchens start all the time.” Orlando regarded his brother and sister-in-law and his lips curved in a soft smile. “I think you’ve done all you can here. I’ll see that Lady Ingram and her granddaughter reach you safely.” “Won’t you come?” Miranda would appreciate his company. Orlando shook his head regretfully. “I have other things I must do. But thank you for the thought.” He picked up his coat, which lay over an easy chair. “We’ll keep up the deception that you’re Mr. and Mrs. Fitzhenry. No one knows otherwise, except Stokeley. Whatever possessed you to tell a rival landlord?” Miranda sighed. “His sister recognised us. She’s a governess.” Orlando let out a sharp bark of laughter. “We should be happy that she didn’t broadcast it abroad.” “She may be the governess to the boys soon,” Daniel commented. “It’s time they had one.” “Does she know?” “Not yet.” Orlando smiled. “Do you know how adorable you look like that? Do you think you could let her go, Daniel?” Daniel growled. “Adorable is it? Just wait, brother mine. When you find a woman to love I’ll remind you of that gibe.” He saw the tears in Miranda’s eyes before she turned her head away and knew Orlando had been trying to make her smile. He felt close to tears himself, but reminded himself he had been through quite an ordeal, and put his sudden surge of emotion down to that. He didn’t release Miranda. He didn’t think she wanted him to release her, by the way she snuggled into his shoulder. A knock came at the door. By her sudden start, Daniel realised Miranda had fallen asleep against him. His ire rose against whoever woke her, but he recognised it as the primeval instinct it was and forced his mind to calm.


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Servants came in, bearing two enamel baths and jugs of hot water. When asked, they reported that the fire at the inn was nearly out. “Not a pretty sight, m’lord, but nothing was lost. Not a horse.” The mention of the horses, stabled next to the brewery reminded Daniel of a new problem. “The brewery? If that goes up we’re all in danger.” “Far enough away not to be affected, sir,” came the reply. “There’s a man stationed there to stamp out stray sparks.” “Wilson will be pleased,” Daniel commented, turning his attention back to his wife. A maid remained in the room, but Orlando shooed her out. “We’ll let them manage themselves.” He grinned at Daniel. “Ring if you need anything.” “Yes, my lord,” Daniel parroted, enjoying the answering flash of mischief in his brother’s eyes. Orlando grinned back and left. Miranda lay on the bed, eyes closed, and Daniel was tempted to leave her, but he knew she would feel better clean. Smudges and stains adorned them both, and her loose hair was tangled. It must be uncomfortable for her. He bent and touched his lips to hers, blackened at the corners from breathing in smoke. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get clean.” She opened her eyes at his words, staring up at him dazedly. Daniel smiled, trying to make his expression reassuring, and lifted her in his arms to loosen the sash at her waist. He had her naked in no time and carried her to one of the tubs standing by the cold fire. They were lined in towels, and the steam from the water rose to greet them. He lowered her gently into the water. Miranda opened her eyes fully and relaxed with a sigh. “You should bathe, too.” Her voice was a breath, a gentle stirring. Her throat must hurt as much as his did. He followed her example, keeping his voice low so it did not rasp too much. “I will, but I need to ensure your comfort first. And your safety. It was too close, my love, I’m still trembling. Can’t you feel me?” Desperate to inject a note of levity to the proceedings he shoved back his robe and showed her his arm, deliberately increasing the trembling to make her laugh.

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Something eased inside him when he heard her low chuckle. It was going to be all right. The terror that gripped him when he’d realised they were trapped in the flames had all been for her. He would have died for her if necessary, and done it without a qualm. He picked up the soap and a cloth, and began to wash her. He found the movements soothing, almost as though he were washing a child. But not quite. This was Miranda, the woman he burned for, even after the near disaster they had been through. Perhaps more. He could not bear the thought of losing her. Not now, not when they had come so far together. He urged her to sit forward so he could attend to her back, moving the soaped cloth in gentle circles. He heard her speak. “You should bathe yourself. The water will get cold.” “No hardship on such a warm night.” He picked up a white pottery jug sitting on the floor and filled it with water to wash her hair. When the water cascaded over her, he heard a soft sigh of satisfaction and he felt assuaged. She had wanted her hair clean, and it was his privilege to attend to her needs. He didn’t stand up until he’d rinsed her clean, her wet hair shining darkly, her body pink and gleaming under the hot water and his ministrations. “Stand up, love,” he urged softly, and when she did, he enveloped her in a large white towel and lifted her out of the water. He laid her on the bed with all the tenderness he would show a child and she opened her eyes, smiling at him. “Now go and get clean,” she murmured. He obeyed, leaving her to dry herself and climb into bed. He found the bath relaxing, almost too much because after he washed himself he leaned back in the water and would have dropped off had Miranda not called his name. Daniel started and climbed out of the bath, casting Miranda a rueful grin. He went over to her after vigorously towelling himself dry and his heart melted all over again when she drew back the covers for him to get in. “If you’re up to it,” he murmured, gathering her into his arms, “we’ll set out for home the day after tomorrow. I want to see the boys, and I want them safe with me at home.”


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Her purr of agreement was almost lost. She was asleep as soon as her head touched his shoulder.

They hardly stirred until morning. Daniel was the first to awake, so when Miranda opened her eyes he was gazing down at her, undisguised love in his eyes. She returned his smile of greeting and moved closer. Without pausing, he took her mouth in a ravishing kiss. At once Miranda felt lost in him. Pressing close to his body, relishing the sensation of his hard muscles flexing as he drew her closer, she gave herself to him utterly. He drew back and kissed her cheek and her jaw. “I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured. His hands moved over her body, reacquainting himself in delicious possession. Miranda reciprocated, drawing her hands across his back, loving his size and heat. He moved over her, making her feel safe and protected, but something more when he caressed her breasts and moved down to take one peaked nipple into his mouth. Her cries of pleasure inflamed him further. With a low growl he devoured her, came back up to take her mouth in a ravishment of her senses. She breathed him in, the expensive soap they had washed with last night only slightly masking his aroused, male scent. “God, Miranda, I need you!” His gasped exclamation only echoed hers. “After I woke this morning I could only think—what if I lost you, without once more loving you as I so desperately want to!” She twisted beneath him, only inciting him to a frenzy of need, a need she felt herself. “Yes, Daniel, please, please make love to me.” With a low groan of surrender he slid inside her. Miranda moved closer, not giving him a chance to regret his actions, pushing her body up to meet his. He didn’t stand a chance. He moved inside her, each thrust eliciting a low sound of pleasure deep in her throat. It had never been like this before. Never. He entered her body completely, not just where they joined. He drove inside, harder, as passion took him and

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Miranda followed until she caught up with him. They arrived at a place neither had known before, a place waiting for them, somewhere of their own. Did all lovers have such a place? Miranda neither knew nor cared as she melted under her husband’s body, dissolving in tremors that wracked her body over and over again. He muffled her cries when he took her mouth, his tongue mimicking what he was doing below. He seemed to be waiting for something. Miranda knew what it was when she felt herself spiralling up. She gave herself up to the sensation, savoured it, tried to remember it, for even now, at the height of passion she knew this might not happen again. She stared into Daniel’s eyes, sharing her joy with him as she fragmented. Daniel ripped his body out of hers and returned to push hard against her belly. Miranda felt the wetness, saw every muscle in his strong body tense when he exploded against her. They stared at each other, panting hard as though they had just sprinted up Nottingham Street. Daniel took her mouth in a searing kiss, then drew back to look at her. His hand shook when he lifted it to smooth the tousled hair away from her face. “I know we shouldn’t have done this, but I could no more stop myself than I could stop breathing. I needed you so much after last night. I woke up this morning wondering how I could have borne it had you died without my knowing your body fully in love.” “Love,” she repeated. “Yes, that was it. It’s the first time we’ve made love, isn’t it?” He nodded and twined his fingers in her hair. “It might be the last. We can’t do this regularly. I couldn’t bear to lose you in another difficult childbed. I’m determined on it, my sweet love. I want you by my side for a long time yet.” She lifted her hand to touch his. “I know. But thank you for this. I love you, Daniel.” “I love you, Miranda.”


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Chapter Twenty-two Rosington Court in Hertfordshire was a magnificent country house. Built around the core of a Tudor mansion, its Palladian front and French style South entrance were the pride of the county. Lord and Lady Rosington were once more in residence, and holding court. The house party, originally planned to be a collection of friends, had expanded, due to Miranda’s desire to introduce her new protégée to society. After a week at the house in the country, where they healed their throats and the superficial burns they suffered in the fire, they were ready to resume their lives. Arriving at Rosington, Miranda felt a familiar sinking of her spirits as the carriage entered the grounds. She kept her gaze away from Daniel’s. They had not shared a bed for some days, as her courses had come upon her and she still felt some reticence about this part of her life. Daniel had not ceased to treat her with fondness and consideration, but their shared intimacy was more distant. She didn’t want Christopher or John to feel left out or different, and they both had an ordeal to recover from. The passion of the morning after the fire lay banked down in her, not forgotten, but pushed to the back of her mind, as though she wanted to forget. When they came to Rosington Court, the trappings of wealth and power surrounded them, more so than anywhere else. Miranda felt honour bound to invite more people to the planned house-party, so she could show Alethea off. Lady Ingram was due to arrive with her granddaughter in the next day or two. Meantime, Miranda had to settle back into her life as Countess of Rosington and forget all about Mrs. Fitzhenry the innkeeper’s wife. The butler and housekeeper waited at the door. Daniel alighted first and helped his wife down with his own hands, instead of waiting for a footman. The housekeeper glanced at the butler, an expression of sheer astonishment. Miranda smiled. Daniel caught it and grinned back. 232



Miranda went forward and greeted the servants cordially. “Have any guests arrived yet, Hawkhurst?” The housekeeper bowed her head. “Lord and Lady Iveson are here, and Lady Denning. I communicated your apologies to them, and they await your arrival. Dr. Sewell has asked for permission to visit your ladyship at the weekend.” Miranda’s eyes opened a little wider, but she showed no other sign of her discomfiture. She hated the check-ups, but she supposed they had to be endured. Or did they? Before she could reply, Daniel broke in. “You may let him know he may call.” He shot Miranda a warning glance, but she needed none. She feared she would have to submit although she hated the doctor’s furtive gropings, the way he made himself free with her body in the name of health. Daniel said nothing, but didn’t leave her when they had entered the great hall and greeted the boys’ new governess. Jane Stokeley looked as though she had always been there, dressed proprietarily but cheerfully, greeting the boys with a bright smile. They hung back, until Miranda pushed the eldest forward with a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you’ll like Miss Stokeley. When John is old enough, Christopher, he will join you in the schoolroom.” “What subjects do you enjoy, my lord?” Miss Stokeley asked. Christopher looked surprised. “I like looking at the stars,” he ventured. “We will have to ask your father, his lordship, if he will condone the purchase of a telescope.” “Of course,” Daniel murmured. “Christopher, you never told me of this.” Christopher turned to his father, flushing. “I haven’t been interested until recently. This summer has been so fine you can see the stars every night.” Daniel smiled at his son. “I see.” He ruffled Christopher’s hair. Miranda frowned at him then watched her children being led away by their governess. “He hates that.” “What?” “Having his hair ruffled.”


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Daniel turned a blissful smile on to her. “I know. I shall look forward to annoying him with it on a regular basis.” “Daniel!” He laughed. “Christopher knows it’s a tease. If it really annoyed him I would stop doing it.” He put his hand on her arm and drew her towards the stairs. “I think you could do with some tea.” He turned his head. “Have some tea sent up to her ladyship’s sitting room, if you please.” “Yes, my lord.” Daniel steered her up the stairs and along the corridor, away from the direction of her room. She looked up at him quizzically and he smiled and led her on. Knowing he would not tell her Miranda followed where he led. He took her into a large, elegantly appointed sitting room. Miranda turned to stare. Daniel dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “It’s a surprise. If it doesn’t meet with your approval, we’ll go back to our previous arrangement.” Taking her elbow he steered her to one of the doors at the far end of the room. When he opened it, Miranda understood. She stared at the bed, newly refurbished, but still in the shape of a Chinese pagoda. She always liked the Chinese rooms, furnished in cheerful shades of yellow, panels of precious Chinese wallpaper adorning the walls. It had all been cleaned and spruced up for her. Vases of flowers lent their fragrance to the atmosphere. “Oh, Daniel, it’s lovely!” “These rooms are smaller than the Countess’s Apartments,” Daniel explained, referring to the traditional apartments reserved for the current title holder’s wife, “but they’re closer. My room is just beyond that door.” He turned her to face him. No subterfuge lay in his clear gaze, only warmth and love. “I want to be closer to you, Miranda. I want what we started in Melton to continue. I never want it to stop.” She allowed him to draw her close. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if all of it was a holiday. You haven’t come near me this last week at night.” He swallowed. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to. Some women aren’t very comfortable at that time and I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

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“Oh, Daniel!” she murmured against his waistcoat. “I missed you and I thought you might not want to continue. I know you’re a very private man, and you might not appreciate my crowding you in any way.” “Such nonsense!” The tone of his voice took away any possible sting. “I want to spend every night with you, Miranda. I want to see you every day, know you’re near me. What we discovered in Melton is too good to give up.” A knock came at the door but Daniel didn’t release her. The maid entered with a tray of tea, and he turned his head to nod his thanks. Miranda felt her cheeks flame with heat, but she had his chest to bury her face in. She heard the door close, and then he put a finger under her chin and gently raised her head so she was looking into his eyes. “I love you, Miranda. I don’t intend to hide it. The only one who can stop me from behaving affectionately towards you is you. When the maid comes in the morning to light the fires she will see us sharing a bed. Your abigail will have to become used to me coming into your room. Unless you don’t want it.” He caressed the underside of her chin. “Well, do you mind? Can you live with me demonstrating my love for you, or would you prefer to keep up a façade of coolness?” She studied his face. “No. It will take some getting used to, and people will talk, but I don’t care. Nothing else matters now.” He bent his head. “No,” he breathed, before he kissed her.

That night he came to her, drew her into his arms as though he had always done it. She nestled close and felt as though she had come home. When she awoke in the morning he was there, waiting for her to wake. “This summer’s ball is for you, to celebrate what we have.” She chuckled. “We don’t need to do that.” “I want to. I feel like a boy, newly married on his honeymoon.” “A boy on his honeymoon with his children along for the holiday?” She laughed. “I’m so glad we had them. I’d go through it all again if—” “If?” He stilled his gentle caresses.


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“If I knew this awaited me at the end of it.” His hand resumed its gentle stroking. “It paralyses me with fear to think how close I came to losing you. It’s the one reason I’m determined never to put you at risk again.” “What about prevention? There are ways.” She had heard of some ways, and Daniel had withdrawn from her before. It gave her hope. “There are, but none of them are certain. We have to make sure you don’t get with child ever again. You can’t give birth.” She couldn’t deny that, so she remained silent. “We can’t. I don’t know enough about such matters, but I have spoken with people that do, and they all agree. The only way to ensure no child is abstinence.” He lifted himself above her. “It doesn’t mean an absence of pleasure. You know that, and it can only increase as we learn what each other likes.” She forced a smile, covering the wrenching pain in her heart. What they had done only made her yearn for it more. They were together, truly one being when they made love. She wanted it again, so much she was willing to sacrifice everything for it, but she knew it would destroy Daniel. If he got her pregnant again she would likely die. He couldn’t live with that, knowing he had killed her. Knowing him as she did, Miranda realised he would take all of the blame on to himself. She would do as he wished, not for herself, but for his sake. But oh how she wanted him!

Dr. Sewell made his visit. His presence was announced to Miranda when she stood in the large ballroom, discussing the disposition of the flower arrangements with her housekeeper. Daniel, following the footman into the room, saw her face fall. He came immediately to her side, and cupped her elbow in his hand to support her, afraid she might faint. Disregarding the housekeeper, he murmured to her softly. “Sweetheart, I don’t want you to meet the doctor alone.” He led her towards the door. “I’ll go to the sitting room, so I can overhear. I have my suspicions about Dr. Sewell, but I won’t say anything until I’m sure.” Miranda turned a look of puzzlement up at him. “Suspicions?”

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“I spoke to Orlando about the good doctor, back at the inn. He was startled when I described the nature of your examinations. He thinks there’s no need for it, that the doctor is using us both.” “Using us?” From her expression Daniel knew he had hit a nerve. He was sure now. “I’m sorry, sweet, there’s no way of wrapping this in clean linen.” They had reached the foot of the stairs now. He led her upstairs. “Orlando thinks the doctor has been making himself free of your body. Not only yours, but other women’s too. Orlando is making enquiries into the matter because Dr. Sewell also attends Perdita.” His sister, who had suffered a devastating riding accident and still refused to enter society. Miranda stopped at the top of the stairs and took both his hands, her eyes shining with hope. “Do you mean I might not be at risk?” He sighed, and moved a little closer to her in a protective gesture. “No, love, not that. You’ve given birth twice in difficult circumstances. After I thought about it, I realised what could be wrong. The boys were both very large, weren’t they? I think it’s that simple. Your body isn’t made to bear such burdens. My father was heavy, too, so much that the nurse dined out on it. But that means the problem was not with you, it was with me. You’re perfectly healthy. There’s nothing wrong with you.” “No long term illness?” Miranda sounded dazed. It was difficult to comprehend all at once, but he had thought long and hard about this ever since Orlando warned him about the doctor. “No. Think how you responded at the inn. You didn’t need a doctor there, did you? You worked harder than I daresay you have ever done in your life, and you thrived on it.” “I did, didn’t I?” Daniel turned her and strolled towards their apartments. He let Miranda think it out for herself, confident she would come to the same conclusion he did. “Have we been fools?” “No more than all the other members of society Dr. Sewell has been treating. Some of them might even get a thrill out of it. I think he’s been depending on our discretion to ensure his safety, but Orlando’s investigations might prove his undoing.”


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“Why don’t we just dismiss him?” He turned her to face him once more at the end of the corridor, just before they reached the corner leading to their rooms. “If you wish, we can do that. It’s up to you. I would like to make sure for myself. Scandal exaggerates matters, and I would feel better in my mind if I knew for sure there was truth in it. I don’t want you to submit to anything you don’t want to, love.” He gave a short laugh. “Indeed, I don’t think I could bear it. But if he insists, I want to hear it. If it’s true, I’ll ruin him.” “Will it mean scandal for us?” He shook his head. “There won’t be any need, and I wouldn’t subject you to that. However, the world knows he’s attending you. If he’s dismissed, that will be enough to alert other people to the danger. He’s kept you ailing, I’m sure of it, persuaded you not to exert yourself in any way.” “I think so too.” Her voice was a thready whisper, but he heard it. She lifted her head and he saw the steely determination in her eyes. “I’ll do it. Afterwards, we can draw a line under it, and go on. If he’s using other women, I think I must do this.” Overcome, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a brief but heartfelt salute to her courage. “I won’t let him get too far. Talk to him, see what we can discover.” “Yes.” In her room, Miranda changed into a loose sacque-back gown, with only her shift underneath. Knowing the doctor’s preferences, she even dispensed with her stays. He liked to do what he called a “full examination”. Now she knew what that meant her flesh crept at the thought of his hands on her skin. Dr. Sewell knocked and entered the room where Miranda sat at her dressing table, her maid standing behind her. He nodded at the maid, and she left. He always conducted his examinations alone. Miranda wondered at this anew. She should have questioned it before, but he first laid down his terms when she was so ill after Christopher’s birth, and by the time she was well enough to take control he had set up a routine she felt unable to question. If Daniel had been closer to her, she could have talked to him about it. Even

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Orlando would have felt disquiet, had she told him, but she felt unable, seized by her natural reticence about such matters. No more. She gestured to the doctor to take a seat and he drew the chair a little closer and then sat, facing her, his knees level with her thighs. Miranda resisted the urge to draw back. He must suspect nothing. “My dear Lady Rosington, it is good to see you.” His tone was avuncular and unthreatening, a gentle purr designed to put her off her guard. His dress was sober and modest, his demeanour respectful and caring. Was it all an act, then? “You do look a trifle pale, my dear. Have you over-exerted yourself recently?” Miranda quelled the soft thrill that comment brought to her. Not over-exertion, exactly. “I don’t think so.” “You must allow me to be the judge of that,” he said, a touch of firmness entering his voice. How cleverly he did this, assuaging her fears and then taking control! “I heard you had left London for the country, and I was a little disturbed you did not consult me before you left. What were you doing in the country?” Miranda didn’t feel like telling him. “I was with my husband, attending to some business. I can promise you, Dr. Sewell, I did not overtire myself.” Yet she had worked harder than ever before and in doing so, realised there was little wrong with her. “I’m glad to hear it. However, with your summer ball approaching, I think it would be best if you recruited your strength before the event. Take a few days in bed, with no exertion.” His recommendation sounded deadly, remembering all the other days she had spent in bed, bored to tears and afraid if she did not do so, she would suffer physically. All that time away from Daniel and the boys. Her heart hardened. She determined to draw the doctor out, expose him for the fraud she now suspected he was. “When I rest, should I deny my husband my bed?” She heard the doctor’s sharp intake of breath. “Naturally. I have said you must not indulge in marital relations. That has not changed. After I examine you I will know more, but I must insist that you tell your husband he must desist from carnal relations.”


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“What is wrong with them?” Miranda did her best to sound naïve. “You know you must have no more children, my lady.” “Yes, I know. But there are ways of preventing children, are there not?” He shot her a sharp glance. “Who have you been talking to? There are many quacks about, my lady, and you must guard against them. They have not your interests at heart, as I do.” “May my husband not share my bed?” He reached out and took her hand. Miranda forced herself to let it lie quietly in his, although her fingers curled, as though they would make claws. “It would be most inadvisable. Men can rarely deny their baser instincts.” “I think my husband might be able to.” His grip tightened slightly. “Have you allowed him—liberties? Have you allowed any of the things I warned you expressly about?” She studied his face, tight and angry. “If I have, it is my concern.” “Not at all, ma’am, it is mine! If I am responsible for your welfare you must obey me in every regard!” He released her hand and motioned her to her feet. “I would like you to remove your clothes and lie on the bed. I will conduct a thorough examination of your body. I must make sure you have come to no harm, that you have not done yourself irreparable damage!” Miranda stared up at the doctor, seeing things she had been blind to before. She knew lust when she saw it. His eyes had a deep, searing look she might otherwise interpret as anger. As she watched, his tongue crept out to wet his dry lips. “Do you need me to carry you and disrobe you?” he asked, his voice lowered to a murmur. Before she could reply, a brusque knock came on the inner door and Daniel strode in. He fixed the doctor with a hard stare. “Sewell? I saw my wife’s maid not a moment ago and she told me you had dismissed her. I would prefer it if my wife saw no other man but me alone, so I came to take the maid’s place.” The doctor glanced at Miranda, then back at Daniel. “My lord, you have never taken an interest in Lady Rosington’s examinations before.”

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“Perhaps it’s time I did.” Daniel closed the door and came further into the room. “I am most concerned for my wife’s welfare, as you are well aware. Your consultations with me after examining her were always thorough. I think it’s time I took an active interest. So please, allow me to assist you.” “That won’t be necessary,” the doctor protested. “Her ladyship and I are well accustomed to each other’s ways.” Daniel was incensed. His eyes flashed fire as he glanced away to her. “Do you object to my presence, my lady?” “No,” she said softly. “I would prefer it.” The doctor swallowed. “Very well. Would you remove your robe for me, my lady?” Miranda stood up and her hand went to the buttons of her gown, but Daniel held up a restraining hand. “I do not wish her to. She seems perfectly well to me. I spent some time close to my wife recently and it was borne upon me most strongly that there is little wrong with her. The fever she suffered at John’s birth has left no ill effects I can see, and her physical condition is—” he exchanged a small smile with Miranda, an intimate smile Miranda knew he intended the doctor to see, “—better than ever.” Dr. Sewell drew himself up to his full height, which was still several inches shorter than Daniel’s, and threw out his chest. “I see. I take it you have resumed carnal relations?” “Marital relations,” Daniel corrected him. “And that is none of your concern.” “On the contrary, I believe it is. It is imperative her ladyship bear no more children.” Daniel crossed the room to stand by Miranda. He took her hand, and caressed her palm gently with his thumb. “I know that. I will do everything in my power to ensure she does not.” He stared at the doctor. “I should add that some disquieting information reached me recently. It seems you have been boasting in one or two places about what you call your ‘harem’. It was most unwise, Dr. Sewell, particularly in the presence of anyone who might wish to do you harm. You have been found out, sir. I was listening to your interview with my wife just now. I heard all of it. Not only are you a quack, but a charlatan too. I think your harem is dissolved, never to be re-formed.”


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The doctor made a valiant attempt at recovery. “My lord, you have been listening to the wrong people!” “And so many of them, too!” Daniel slipped an arm about Miranda’s waist. She was grateful for his support. “Word is spreading, Dr. Sewell. Your little game depended upon all the participants being too ashamed to say anything. We are making enquiries, and doubtless we will discover more transgressions.” “My lord!” With a glance at her face, Daniel went over to the door that led to the corridor outside and opened it. “Good day, Dr. Sewell. We will have no need of your services.” “If she dies it will be on your head!” the doctor growled, his face red with fury. “You are putting your wife into jeopardy. Without my attentions she will deteriorate very quickly. Mark my words, she’s a dead woman!” With that he swept out. Daniel slammed the door behind him. “I feel unclean,” he commented. Miranda tried, but failed, to choke back her tears. At once Daniel was there, lifting her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and lay beside her, drawing her close so she could sob into his shoulder. He made no attempt to stop her tears, but held her firmly and protectively until she had done. She lifted her head with a watery sniff. Daniel found his handkerchief and gently wiped her wet face. “It’s over now, my sweet. No more examinations, no more disgusting displays.” “Harem? Has he been talking about me?” Miranda couldn’t bear it. How could she be so taken-in? “Not by name, otherwise I wouldn’t have let him go,” Daniel said grimly, but his gentle hands held her close and wiped away her tears. “He has been boasting to rivals. He probably assumed no one would listen to them, but he was wrong. As soon as husbands and family members started to ask questions, it all came out. He is ruined. He’ll be lucky to get out of the country alive.” Miranda turned her face away. “He did some awful things to me. I can hardly bear to think of it. I feel dirty.”

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He put two fingers under her chin and turned her face so she had to look at him. “Do you see any revulsion here? Anything but love for you?” His eyes held nothing but softness and care, his mouth relaxed and gently smiling. Miranda shook her head. “It wasn’t you, but that pig of a doctor who was dirty. You did nothing wrong, my lady. Indeed, it was me. I should have taken more notice of the man. If we had been closer I would have noticed a long time ago. It was my fault.” “No.” She snuggled closer to him. “His examinations became worse every time. This is the first time he asked me to strip naked for him.” Daniel drew back a little. “I want you to try to forget him, Miranda. Except for one thing.” “What? The advice not to conceive?” Daniel frowned. “We hardly need him to tell us that. No, the rest. I want you to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed. And just to make sure, I intend to stay with you.” He sat up and shrugged off his coat and waistcoat, returning to take her in his arms again. Miranda did feel tired. He made no move to undress further but lay on his back and settled her head on his shoulder. He held her all afternoon, safe and close while she slept.


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Chapter Twenty-three Orlando sent his regrets with his mother, who arrived with her full retinue in good time for the ball. Miranda, used by now to her mother-in-law, exchanged a wry grin with Lord Taversall, her husband and Corin’s father. Corin arrived the same day, but later, greeting his parents with a tolerance rarely observed in him by regular society. Miranda was busy, but pleasurably so. There was no need for her to retire to her room for a rest every afternoon, unless she felt like doing so, no need for the unpleasant physics the doctor prescribed for her. They had gone out of the window, Miranda laughing as her husband poured the thick, viscous, evil-smelling concoctions down on to the flower beds below. “I do hope they don’t kill the plants.” “Better the plants than you, my love.” They were woken that morning by a startled, instantly stifled squeal from the maid. The night being warm, they had not drawn the heavy curtains around the bed, and Daniel lay next to his wife, gently purring in sleep until the scream made him jolt awake and sit bolt upright in bed. “Good Lord!” Feeling a stirring next to him, he pressed Miranda back down into the sheets so she would not reveal she was as naked as he. He grinned at the maid. “Get used to it, my dear.” He deliberately lay down again. “Open the window, will you?” The girl did as she was bid, collected the pots and bowls and left. Daniel moved closer to Miranda and curved his arm about her waist, relishing the closeness. They had celebrated her freedom from the shackles of the loathsome doctor thoroughly the previous night, and Miranda needed her sleep. There was a similar reaction from the Triple Countess when she discovered the situation, although the aristocratic lady never screamed. It was not difficult to discern the state of affairs, as Daniel made no effort to hide his deep affection for his wife. While

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they rarely touched in public, the intimate glances, the way they gravitated towards each other was immediately apparent. With typical candour, Lady Tattersall tackled her son about it at the first opportunity. She demanded his presence for a stroll around the rose garden, which was particularly fine at this time of year. “I see some bridges have been built.” “Mama?” “You’re softer, my dear, less driven. I take it you and your wife have come to an understanding?” “Yes, Mama. I love her dearly.” Lady Tattersall nodded with great satisfaction. “That is how it should be. I’ve been worried about you, dear. You’ve been getting tenser every year, and now it’s gone. I know your sleeping arrangements have changed.” She smiled at Daniel’s outraged expression. “No, I didn’t ask. I was told. The household is abuzz with it. They’re all delighted for you, I gather.” “I miss the privacy of Melton.” Lady Tattersall regarded him carefully. “I know Orlando did something to urge matters on. Frankly, I told him to. I don’t know what he did, and I don’t want to know, but I gather it included a sojourn at a much smaller establishment than you’re used to. Well, I’m delighted. You’ve loved Miranda for years. I’m agog to know what it was you did, but I’m afraid I might be deeply embarrassed were you to tell me. I was afraid you were going to turn out like your father.” “In what way?” Daniel had never known his father, could not remember him at all. Her ladyship sighed. “I was very young when I was affianced to him. Young, well born and impoverished. He was a stately man. He wouldn’t have been out of place at Versailles in the time of Louis the fourteenth. Everything he did, and therefore everything I did, was bounded by ceremony. He was kind to me, dear, you must remember that, but I was terribly lonely. I had no one to talk to. After you were born, he wanted you brought up in what amounted to a separate establishment but I wouldn’t hear of it. I think he was


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so surprised when I put my foot down that he let me have my way from sheer astonishment. And, of course, you were the reason he wed me.” To hear this life described so dispassionately wrenched Daniel’s heart. He could see the similarities between his father and himself. When upset, he tended to withdraw, and it was easier to do with a buffer of servants between him and anyone else. His mother patted his arm. “I was content. You provided the outlet I needed. Of course, when your papa died I went wild for a few years. I was a rich, young widow, and I fell for Orlando’s father with all the suddenness of anyone starved for affection. It was only your father’s thoroughness in tying up my settlement and your inheritance that prevented Blyth from going through your fortune as well as his own. So we have to be thankful to him for that.” He covered his mother’s hand where it lay on his arm in an unconsciously protective gesture. “I would much rather have my father than Orlando’s. I was glad to be able to help him all I could.” “He needs your help again,” Lady Tattersall said suddenly, and Daniel knew this was the real purpose of their stroll. “He’s about to throw everything away. Everything he’s worked for.” Daniel leaned closer. From an upstairs window Miranda watched her husband and his mother. He was dressed simply, but fashionably, in clothes as different from Mr. Fitzhenry’s as possible, but he was still Daniel. She would know him anywhere. When she turned over in the night his arms were there for her, his body warm next to hers. He would always be there for her. She only wished she could give him more. Alethea had arrived with Lady Ingram not half an hour before and Miranda settled her guests into their rooms personally. It was good to see the girl dressed as she should be, in fashionable, expensive garments, and happy with her grandmother. Her presence gave a new lease of life to the lady, who was standing more erect than Miranda could remember, and bore a spark of life she had not worn before. “Have you enjoyed yourself since you left the inn?” Miranda asked.

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Alethea glowed. “I have. We’ve been to London, and I have a whole new wardrobe. There aren’t many people there at this time of year, but several gentlemen tipped their hats to me.” “And more will do that as time goes by,” Miranda assured her. “You’re what you should be; a lovely young woman. Now I see you like this, you look far more your age.” She smiled. “I’ve always looked younger than I am. I can pass for a young girl if I want to.” Alethea was small and petite, but the gown she now wore revealed her delicate curves as the innkeeper’s maid’s garments had not. She was lovely, and now she had her chance. Miranda was delighted she had been able to give it to her. “If she finds a young man to marry,” Lady Ingram said briskly, “I shall ensure her dowry. Her father won’t be able to extort a penny of it. I’m seeing my man of business as soon as we return to town.” “He still has the rights of a father,” Miranda said doubtfully. “He’ll have a hard time reclaiming them. I’m going to surround her with caveats and court cases.” Miranda exchanged a grin with the lady. Just the kind of champion Alethea needed. “She’s his heir, isn’t she?” “She is. I want to see her get her rights, though I’m not counting on it.” Lady Ingram paused. “I have enough to see to a reasonable settlement for her. When she makes her bow in society next year, she’ll not lack.” Miranda was still confused on one thing. “I can understand him hating anyone having any influence on her. I can understand his hating us for thwarting his plans for her. But how could any father view with equanimity a match with a man as disgusting as Sir Frederick Smythe?” And as diseased. The signs of serious problem were obvious, even to her. Daniel had only confirmed it when he gave his opinion that the man was riddled with the pox. Alethea stepped forward. “I can answer that. My father hated me because I was a girl. He hated me because I was the cause of my mother’s infertility, and he could never have a son.”


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“How so?” Miranda had not really thought about the Cavendish’s childlessness, assumed it was a result of Lord Cavendish’s debauchery. “My mother had childbed fever when she bore me.” Miranda remembered that; it was what made her so ill after Christopher’s birth. “Pardon my ignorance, my dear. Is there a connection?” Lady Ingram stared at Miranda, eyes wide open in surprise. “Yes, by God, there is! A woman who has survived childbed fever rarely conceives again. Did you not know that?” Miranda shook her head, smiling. “No.” Such a small world? She hardly dared hope. Did this have implications for herself? It would be a miracle, a wondrous thing if it were true. It would be Dr. Sewell’s last malevolent act, to keep that small fact from her. She needed to think. “I’ll go and arrange for some tea to be sent up,” she said, moving swiftly towards the door. “I’ll see you later, no doubt.” After ordering the tea, Miranda called for her maid and went to the library. An hour’s research satisfied her. She went to her room and sat quietly on the chaise longue at the foot of the bed for a long time, staring into space. If anyone asked for her, she was resting. She needed time to come to terms with the astonishing revelation so casually imparted to her.

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Chapter Twenty-four Miranda’s first instinct was to run to Daniel and pour out her news, but on second thoughts she had a better idea. Since the ball was to take place that night, they would have little privacy before it, and the knowledge would be agony for them both. She would wait until the night after the ball. That would be the best time to tell him. Her maid came to her room before dinner, and Miranda was ready, again serene on the outside. Very few people ever saw her with other but her habitual expression of quiet serenity. It had become a habit at an early age. She had already made the decision of what gown to wear; a light jonquil silk, embroidered with roses and summer flowers twining around the hem of the gown. There was a white petticoat and stomacher to wear with it and pearls for her hair, neck and wrists. She would have her hair powdered, although only lightly, so glints of her golden tresses showed through. The maid knew her work, and got on with her job, only exchanging a few words with her mistress. One of the reasons Miranda employed her was her instinct, knowing when she needed silence, when she wanted to be diverted with inconsequential chatter. Daniel came into her room later and his long, appreciative gaze was everything Miranda hoped for. He walked to where she stood and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, heedless of the presence of the maid, still tidying up. “I can say now you’ll be the loveliest woman there,” he murmured. “I doubt that, but it makes me very happy to know you think so. Is Corin here? He will tell us which damsel is the talk of the town.” “He arrived an hour or two ago,” Daniel told her. He took her gloved hand almost reverently, placing it on his blue brocade sleeve. “In excellent spirits, spoiling for a fight, if you ask me. He seems more restless than ever recently. It wouldn’t surprise me if he headed for the Continent this year.”


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“He might as well enjoy himself while his father is in good health.” Miranda moved towards the door. “You came into your responsibilities far too young, I think. A few more years of frivolous enjoyment would have done you the world of good.” “Instead, I’m having to take them now.” He paused, his hand on the door handle, facing her. “Would you like to go abroad for a space? Just you, me and the boys?” “What, no servants?” He laughed. “Well, perhaps one or two. I thought of hiring a yacht for the summer, and sailing to Italy. Would you enjoy that?” Secure in her new discovery, Miranda thought that might be just the thing. “It sounds heavenly.” He opened the door and they passed through it. Dinner passed without incident. Many people had arrived that day, and accommodation was provided for them, either at the house itself or at the village inn the Rosingtons patronised. That inn was much grander than the one in which they had discovered so much about each other, but Miranda would always think of the Blyth Arms as the finest inn in the country. She set herself to her duties, entertaining and ensuring everything ran smoothly. She was good at it, but like the duck who paddled only below the surface, nothing showed in her smooth face. She ate modestly, and led the ladies away to the drawing room a little earlier than she normally would do. She received word there that everything was prepared in the ballroom, the orchestra in place, the refreshments ready, and waited for the men to join them. Daniel led them in very quickly, only leaving a few of the die-hards in the dining room. Young men without ladies to escort, older men with tales to recount. Corin elected to stay, but would appear in the ballroom in good time. His mother would see to that. Daniel and Miranda opened the ball. They had done this many times before, and Miranda expected to feel no more than usual, but she had not counted on the newly romantic instincts aroused in her husband. After he bowed to her, before he took her hand, he presented her with a white rose. Miranda was overcome, and very nearly lost her

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famous poise when tears glittered in her eyes. Daniel took over, tucking the blessedly dethorned blossom into the front of her gown and taking up the formal pose for the beginning of the minuet. The minuet was a stately dance of courtship. At its best it could be exquisite, a delicate declaration of sentiments not always put into words. Daniel had never been an excellent dancer, only an adequate one, but he made up for it in his devotion to Miranda. His gaze rarely left hers as they circled and bowed, and when he brought her hand up to his lips, it was a true kiss he bestowed on her fingers. The ballroom held its collective breath. The music died away, leaving Miranda and Daniel in the centre of the floor, gazing at each other, oblivious to anything but each other. A hush fell that stopped time. Until someone patted their gloved hands together in applause. A patter of applause followed, and Daniel led a blushing Miranda away to the refreshment table. “Well, dear heart? Was that declaration enough for you?” “You nearly made me cry,” she confessed, accepting the glass of chilled white wine with true gratitude. She needed a drink after that; her mouth was completely dry. How would he react once she told him her news? Nothing would stop him, she suspected, this ball least of all. It must have been about eleven o’clock when Miranda noticed a commotion coming from the main door of the ballroom. She walked there as quickly as she dared. She heard the voice first. “You cannot deny me! I know my daughter is here, and I will have her!” Her spirits plummeted, but she kept walking. The footman moved to block her approach, something she knew he did from a protective sense, but she put her arm on his satin sleeve and moved him aside. “What is this?” Silence. Lord and Lady Cavendish, dressed to the nines, stared at her. Miranda waited, knowing the value of silence. The footman spoke first. “Shall I eject them, my lady?”


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“No, James, show them to the blue drawing room.” That room was more of a small parlour, not one of the reception rooms thrown open for the use of the guests tonight. “I will find my husband and join our…guests there.” “Miranda?” Tall, exquisitely attired but all reassuring, powerful male, Daniel arrived to stand by her side. “Goodness me, Lord and Lady Cavendish? Have you business here, or did you come to visit your daughter?” He laid a slight emphasis on the word “visit”. Lord Cavendish jutted his chin out belligerently. “We came to collect her. Smythe is anxious to claim his bride.” “I had the distinct impression that Alethea is not willing to marry Sir Frederick.” Daniel’s voice was still controlled, but Miranda heard the edge of steel in it. “She will do as I say.” Daniel moved towards Lord Cavendish. He moved back. Daniel glanced at the two burly footmen and without actually touching the man, Cavendish was forced outside. There were still people here, but it was not as public. Miranda would prefer a private confrontation. Her heart stood still when she realised what the Cavendishes could reveal if they chose to. “Do you really wish to deny your daughter the chance to go into society at this level?” Daniel asked quietly. “Yes,” replied Lord Cavendish. “She doesn’t deserve it, for her wilful behaviour. I would ask you to return my daughter, my lord.” What seemed to be a human whirlwind erupted out of the ballroom. Lady Ingram arrived and brushed down her skirts with a firm hand. “So, George, here you are. I had a feeling you would choose tonight to make your demands.” “I’m quite within my rights.” Lord Cavendish turned a darkling stare on to Daniel. “I might have known you’d call her in.” “I didn’t,” Daniel replied calmly, but then paused and exchanged a speaking glance with Miranda. It would be better to keep the Hesselwoods out of this. If Lord Cavendish had not guessed who fetched Lady Ingram to her granddaughter, it would be better if they were left in ignorance. “She volunteered to care for Alethea. It is true, we sheltered her

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for a time, but once we saw the marks of your brutality there was nothing else we could do.” Lord Cavendish frowned darkly. “Why were you there, posing as innkeepers?” “My brother needed my assistance,” Daniel said, “and I rarely go anywhere without my wife for company. You may dig all you like, but you won’t find anything amiss.” “I can make you a laughing stock,” came the reply. Lord Cavendish’s unhappy pout lightened. “You can try,” said Daniel, not in the least put out. “All anyone will discover is that Lord Blyth employed an illegitimate member of our family and his wife.” Lord Cavendish scowled. “We’ll see.” Miranda had no doubt he would try, but her family’s hold on society was much more secure than the Cavendish’s. She found she wasn’t particularly perturbed if the truth did come out. It would be viewed as a harmless lark. “I’m keeping Alethea with me,” Lady Ingram declared. “You can sue me for her, if you wish. It will cost you a great deal and where I have it to lose, you might not.” “I can just take her.” Lady Ingram smiled, a merciless, humourless smile. “No you can’t. There are more than enough people here to protect her.” Not caring who listened to her she proceeded to impart all the things she had not been able to in the past twenty years. Miranda stood back and enjoyed the tirade. “You took my daughter, Cavendish. She was beautiful and well dowered. You ruined her, turned her into your slave, and I haven’t been able to do a damned thing about it. She wouldn’t come. Well, she has made her bed now and while I will help her if she asks, I will not go out of my way to offer it. Alethea is different. Leave her with me, Cavendish, and she may be my heir. If you take her back neither you, nor she, will get a penny.” The last threat silenced everyone. Miranda glowed with pride for the old lady, fighting back with weapons she knew would hurt. She was hard put to it not to burst into spontaneous applause. Lord Cavendish opened his mouth and then closed it again.


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Silence surrounded them, the faint sound of the orchestra filtering through the closed double doors of the ballroom. His lordship tried again. “Very well. You may keep her for now. Come, my dear.” Holding out his arm imperiously, he strode away from them. Daniel gave a soft crow of triumph. “Perfect. It’s a shame they had to discover who we really are, but there shouldn’t be any harm done. I thought we would have to invite them to stay for the ball, but it appears not.” Lady Ingram watched her daughter and son-in-law walk away, a look of deep sadness in her eyes. “I failed her,” she said softly. “I should have seen Cavendish for what he was, not as she saw him. He’s made her life a living hell.” She turned away. “I will not allow him to do the same to my granddaughter.” She put her chin up and laid a hand, slightly shaking, on Daniel’s sleeve. “I believe I would appreciate a small shot of brandy, should you have such a thing in the house.” “I have, and I know just where to find it,” Daniel declared, leading the formidable lady away.

The ball went on until the small hours of the morning. Miranda fell into bed, totally exhausted, only to wake in her husband’s arms. “I could get used to this.” “Good.” His smile was warm and intimate. He drew her closer for his kiss. Later in the day, Miranda made her preparations. After seeing off many of the guests who had stayed the night, she returned to her room, ostensibly to rest. When Daniel found her later that day she was dressed in a light sacque, her hair loose around her shoulders, as he liked it. “Are you not going down to dinner?” Miranda smiled, a slow, sexy smoulder. “No. I’ve sent my regrets. There are advantages to being known as an invalid. I’ve sent your regrets, too.” He raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it rather rag-mannered for both of us not to make an appearance?”

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“I’ve asked your mother and stepfather to host for us. They were only too pleased. Of course, if you’d prefer to be there than here, you must go, but they will tell people that you’re keeping your ailing wife company. I have given strict orders for us not to be disturbed.” Stripping off his heavy evening coat Daniel threw it across a chair and came closer. “I would much rather be here, with you.” “Good.” She moved her satin skirts so he could sit next to her. “They’ll serve supper in the sitting room in an hour, but until then we have some time to ourselves.” He leaned forward, and turned her chin gently to him. “Is there anything wrong? Are you feeling tired?” “No. But I hope to be, in a little while.” There was no mistaking her meaning. Unable to resist her soft mouth, Daniel took her in his arms and kissed her. He made it long and lingering. She tasted wonderful, like ripe strawberries. They had all evening and he was determined to make every moment count. She leaned against the back of the chaise, allowing him to plunder her mouth at his leisure. When he finally drew back she gazed at him, her blue eyes fathomless, full of love. Her smile was slow and languid. “I have something to show you.” Pulling gently away Miranda reached for a pamphlet that lay on a small table within her reach. “Read this.” While a surprised Daniel read the page she pointed out, Miranda reached for the wine and poured it into the glasses next to it. She picked up her glass and sipped, watching his face closely. Daniel felt her regard, but concentrated on reading the page. It must be important if she thought to bring it up now. Daniel laid the pamphlet down carefully. “What does this mean?” “It means Dr. Sewell kept a vital piece of information away from us. I suffered badly from childbed fever. If it had not been for that, I might have recovered from Christopher’s birth much quicker. I nearly died, didn’t I?” Daniel shuddered. “Don’t remind me.” He waited, hardly daring to hope.


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“Well I didn’t,” she reminded him, taking his hand. “It means, my love, that I’m infertile.” “Not necessarily.” He could not believe this all at once. “You only have this to say so.” “No, that’s representative of what I found. I spent some time in the library with the medical texts there. Alethea told me that was why her mother had no more children. She had childbed fever.” She reached forward and laid her hand on his arm. “I’m infertile, Daniel. I can’t have children.” His look of dawning wonder matched his expression when she had told him she was pregnant for the first time. His words were the same. “You’re sure?” “As sure as I can be. There’s no doubt. Physicians have observed it for a long time now.” “Oh, God, it can’t be true!” Despite his words he pulled her into his arms, not waiting for her to put her glass down. The wine drenched them both but Daniel took no notice, taking Miranda in a wild, searing kiss. He tasted the wine in his mouth, and smiled against her lips. Drawing back he traced the drops on her face with his tongue. “We’re celebrating,” he murmured, his voice a soft purr. “All night.” “Oh yes!” Daniel occupied himself with licking the wine he could see, but it didn’t seem to satisfy him. Miranda’s gown was held together by laces down the front. He slid the laces through the eyelets with tantalising slowness, relishing every inch of flesh he exposed. He could make love to her with all the passion he’d been holding back for so long and not fear the consequences. Ever since their lovemaking on the night after the fire he had dreamed of it, gone over every delicious moment in his mind until it was engraved on his memory for all time. He succumbed to temptation and tasted her throat, his mouth devouring the sensitive skin. The droplets of wine only added to the sensation. He would never get enough of her now.

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His heart nearly stopped when he realised she was naked underneath the gown. He slipped his hands around her waist, over her smooth skin and pressed his forehead to her shoulder. His groan was deep and heartfelt, as was her delighted laugh. He lifted his head. “Siren,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and low. She relaxed under him, and he allowed his hands to roam over her pliant body. “We can do it all now, Daniel. All of it.” “And I want it all.” He lifted his head. “Now.” She stared at him for a fraught moment before he captured her mouth. He plundered it, taking his time to savour her taste, mingled with the wine she had just drunk. Cool, white and delicious. He smiled at her, intimate and close, when he finally opened his eyes. “Miranda?” “Yes?” “I love you. I’m happier than I deserve to be, and it’s all you.” She pressed a soft kiss to his nose. “I’m happy too. But it’s unforgivable to abandon our guests like this.” “Not at all. You’re an invalid.” She laughed out loud and he stood and swung her into his arms. “Let’s not tire you out, at least not yet.” He carried her to the bed and laid her down with great gentleness, then finished unfastening her gown. He unfurled the edges of the lustrous silk as though opening the tissue paper around a gift. It felt like a gift to him. He couldn’t think of a better one. He stood up and without looking, undid the buttons on his waistcoat. She watched, and moved slightly, sinuously. He hardened even more, something he’d doubted possible before. He watched her while he undressed, and her nipples tightened with want. It filled him with wonder that he could do that just by looking at her. She wanted him. She didn’t have to say anything. To honour her he hid nothing, and let her look. He wanted her so much he wasn’t sure how long he could wait, or how long he would last. He said so. “Miranda, love, I need you now. But, I don’t know—”


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Her smile told him everything he needed to know. “It doesn’t matter. We have all night, and tomorrow. And the day after that.” It seemed to relax him, somehow. He lay down next to her, and touched her stomach. Gaining confidence he smoothed his hand over it. “It’s a long time since we’ve done this.” “We’ve never done it like this.” He leaned up on one elbow and looked down at her face. “No, we haven’t, have we? This is for us. We’re naked, unashamed and in love. What could be better?” “Nothing.” She curled her hand around the back of his neck and drew him down. Daniel went willingly, and took his time. He learned her all over again, stroked her, felt her caressing him. He shifted, lifting himself, and she opened her legs for him. He leaned up on his elbows so he could watch her face as he entered her. He took her slowly, pressing in gradually to feel every delicious inch. Miranda half closed her eyes and then forced them open again. She watched him as he watched her. He lowered his head and kissed her. Daniel lost himself in her body, plunged deep and hard inside. She responded, tightening her muscles around him until he surrendered with a soft groan. Gritting his teeth he continued, feeling her arch against him, and then she cried out. He followed her, calling her name, heedless of anyone who might overhear them.

Miranda opened her eyes to find herself cradled in his arms. Despite the warm night there was nowhere else she would rather be. She looked up to receive Daniel’s kiss and his murmured, “I’m going to kill that doctor.” She laughed with him, feeling an intimacy she hadn’t felt before. There were no barriers now, no reason for either of them to hold back, to keep control. “I think we must see him ruined.” “Certainly. I wonder how many lies he’s spread around the highest families in the land?” “We’ll never know. All that knowledge, just lying there for us to find.”

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“You could say that.” He caressed her, and she gloried in the feeling, stretching like a cat under his hands. “We have a lot to learn, my love. About each other, about our feelings. There’s nothing to stop us now.” “Nothing,” she agreed. “When shall we get up?” “Next week?”


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About the Author To learn more about Lynne Connolly, please visit www.lynneconnolly.com.

Look for these titles by Lynne Connolly Coming Soon: A Chance to Dream Met by Chance

A not-so-proper lady on a quest for freedom sneaks aboard the ship of an infamous privateer determined to save his brother—and resist love. Who will win this clash of wills?

The Lady and the Dragon © 2006 Shelley Bradley A Runaway Heiress When bold, beautiful Lady Christina Delafield discovered her overbearing grandfather planned to tame her at a Swiss finishing school, Christina stowed away on the first ship leaving London harbor, determined to make her own way in life. But the mysterious captain of the Dragon’s Lair was a seductive reason to relinquish her independence–and embrace desire.

A Gentleman Pirate Drexell Cain had lived for four years as the merciless Black Dragon, the scourge of the seas. Bent on rescuing his brother from the British Navy, Drex would do anything to return him to his wife and son–even kidnap the Lord Admiral’s granddaughter for ransom. A lovely blonde stowaway was an unexpected complication, until he discovered her real identity–and her passionate claim on his heart.

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Lady and the Dragon:

Christina drew in a quick breath and whirled to face the captain’s door, white-gloved fingers clutching her valise. She clasped the cold latch and lifted. The door opened with a quiet click. She dashed inside. The captain’s naked back, golden and muscle-hardened, filled her vision. She stifled a gasp at the snarling black and green dragon tattoo dominating one shoulder blade. Its open mouth breathed fire across the width of his back, to his other shoulder. The curling tail wound around a powerful biceps.

She couldn’t move, could not tear her eyes away. A tattoo? Dear God, what kind of a barbarian would have that arrogant monster permanently embedded into his flesh? One without the worries or scruples of a gentleman. Uncertainty assailed her. This man was the antithesis of all she’d known, spawned from an opposite end of the Earth. She knew nothing about his less-than-civilized world. Would she survive long enough to see Aunt Mary in Grand Bahama? Trembling, she shoved the dismal thought aside and glanced about his cabin. An exotic, Oriental aura dominated the space, which looked half the size of her dressing room. A burning taper filled the room with a pungent musk. Her shocked gaze fixed on the dramatic austerity of the black decor, relieved only by the pale wooden walls. An ebony and emerald silk coverlet on his bunk boasted the same scaled symbol of fire and power as his shoulder. He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, concealing the intimidating dragon from her view. She swallowed in relief. Feet planted apart, broad shoulders filling his black shirt, he tucked the cotton garment into skin-tight, biscuit-colored breeches. “I told you I didn’t want to see you.” Startled by his acknowledgment, she stammered, “But I must speak with you. Please. Five minutes.” He whirled to face her. The sight rooted her in place. A scrap of black silk stretched along the upper part of his square face, from brows to the bridge of his nose. She shivered. Only one type of man wore a mask: the dangerous kind. The sight of his hard, bearded jaw arrested her next. A wall of power surged toward her as he stepped closer. Christina could not decide if she should attribute the feeling to the foreboding impression he made with black shirt, black mask, black beard, black eyes…or the displeasure thundering across the hard angles of his face. Then again, perhaps the sleek ebony length of his hair grazing his mammoth shoulders and the golden ring dangling from his left ear roused her unease. Either way, he was no one to trifle with; he’d made that abundantly clear without a word.

“W—why do you wear the…mask?” she stammered. “Oh, my… You hide your identity.” “Hmm. Perceptive.” His low quip cut and didn’t invite further conversation. But she could not give up and return home. Life in Switzerland was much more abhorrent. And cold. Hancock burst through the door. “Cap’n, I’m sorry. The vixen tricked me.” He turned to her, his look less than friendly. “Come on. The cap’n wants ye gone.” A crooked smile curved the captain’s mouth as he waved the man away. Christina did not find his expression comforting. “No need,” he assured, his gaze shifting to regard her. “I’ll handle her. Dismissed.” The little man glanced from her to the captain, then back again, smiling now. “Aye.” Hancock closed the door behind them, leaving them alone. In the ensuing silence of the small cabin, the captain scanned her with a thorough gaze. She crossed protective arms across her chest and buried her apprehension. “I came to make you a proposition, Captain.” “A proposition?” His already suggestive tone dropped to a purr that set her instincts on full alarm. He leaned his hip indolently against the small cherry-wood desk bolted into the cabin’s wooden floor. “Well, now you do have my attention.” Christina gasped. The cur actually had the nerve to smile! She trembled, and he grinned like a well-fed cat. They stood on opposite ends of the minuscule cabin—three steps from each other. The captain pushed away from the desk; his stride ate up one of the precious steps separating them. With her back at the door, Christina had nowhere to retreat. She struggled for her next breath. The scents of salt, incense and man filled her nose. She forced herself to hold his stare, even as a tingling awareness of the captain rose inside her. “I am talking about a business proposal,” she corrected. “And I will thank you to stop leering at me.” An infuriatingly insolent grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Don’t thank me; it won’t happen.”

He stepped closer. Closer still—only a breath away, a breath nearly shared. His gaze touched her face. The massive breadth of his chest rose a mere inch from hers. His presence swirled around her like a gust of hot wind. She found her gaze trapped deep in the intensity of his dark eyes. “If you don’t wish to be leered at, don’t wander where you aren’t welcome.” His breath fanned across her cheek as he lifted a hand toward her. Dear Lord, was he going to touch her? Christina’s gaze ricocheted around the cabin, looking for somewhere to shift out of his path. His hand neared her waist. Her breath caught in her chest. Closer, closer his outstretched fingers came…until he nudged her aside and opened the door. “I expect you to be gone when I return,” he said, then turned his back on her without another glance. “Wait!” she demanded before he could leave. “What about my proposal?” “I’m not interested.” “Please listen,” she implored, clutching his sleeve. “You have not heard my idea.” He turned to her with a scowl. “I don’t need to.” “Please, I’m desperate. Do you think I would have come here, suffered you calling me a light skirt and virtually risked my life to barge into your cabin if I was not?” After a weighty pause, he replied, “Not unless you’re a half-wit. Are you?” Christina swallowed her anger and forced herself to meet his stare. “I will not leave until you listen.” His dark eyes behind the ebony mask gleamed as they scanned her up and down, heightening her anxiety—and awareness. She bit her lip in worry, wondering how to shift the conversation back to her purpose—hoping the warm, foreign vibration plaguing the pit of her stomach would cease. “Perhaps we could do business…for the right price.” A provocative note inched back into his voice. “What do you seek?”

Banished and disowned for saving a stranger’s life…

The Importance of Almack’s © 2007 Denise Patrick In Regency England, lineage and vouchers to Almack’s are everything, but Pamela Clarkdale has neither. After her father casts her out, she considers herself fortunate to have obtained a position as a companion to an elderly widow. Kitt Covington has sworn off Almack’s and marriage. Why attend one when he has no interest in the other? Guilt, however, is a powerful motivator. Knowing he caused Pamela to be thrown out of her home, he proposes a sham betrothal between them to ease his conscience. Kitt’s offer is tempting and Pamela agrees, with the caveat that the betrothal will disappear at the end of the season. But not only is Pamela refused vouchers to Almack’s, her family is scheming to destroy her to protect a secret she doesn’t realize she knows. When the twenty-year-old web of lies and deceit begin to unravel, will Pamela and Kitt discover that Almack’s isn’t really that important after all?

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Importance of Almack’s:

Kitt watched her eat, satisfied with her appetite. His godmother confided in him that she hadn’t eaten much over the last two days. A change of scenery was just what she needed. Although, why he’d brought her here, he didn’t know. To be sure, he loved this place—as long as he didn’t allow memories of his mother to intrude on his enjoyment. He tried not to think of his mother very often; her defection still hurt despite her death nearly a decade ago. His memories of this place were of wandering the parkland, swimming in the pond and fishing in the stream. By the time he went off to school at nine, he was closer to his governess than either of his parents. Three years later, his mother deserted her husband and son. “I think my father would have sold it, but he didn’t want to displace his sister.” “His sister?”

“My Aunt Lydia came here to live shortly before I was sent off to school. She was an invalid due to a riding accident some years before. I believe she and my mother got along quite well, but once I went off to school, I did not see her much. Frisky stayed on as her companion because she had no other family and would have looked for another position once I no longer needed her. When my aunt died three years ago, Frisky was too old to go anywhere else.” As they finished lunch, Kitt asked Pamela if she’d like to stroll around the grounds. Dorie was summoned and sent for Pamela’s bonnet, then the two of them set off. As landscaping went, it was very simple. The gardens boasted all manner of flowers, climbing vines, small trees, and two fountains. Once beyond the formal terraces, the parkland spread out before them in stretches of grass dotted with wildflowers and clusters of trees. All it needed, Kitt mused, was a woodland nymph or two. He nearly laughed out loud. When had he become so fanciful? Glancing down at Pamela beside him, he couldn’t see her face because of the brim of her bonnet, but he knew she was taking in everything around them. “Do you hunt here?” He shook his head. “No. It was once a hunting lodge, but some ancestor put a stop to it and no one has ever restarted the practice. Why do you ask?” “I have seen a few deer and wondered if they were here because they felt safe.” “Possibly.” They came to the stream. An arched stone footbridge spanned the flowing water. Kitt’s tread was firm over the uneven stones as he assisted Pamela onto the bridge. At its center, they stopped and looked down. “It’s so peaceful here.” There was a wistfulness in Pamela’s voice. “I could stay here forever.” Kitt slipped his arms around her, turning her toward him and anchoring her against his body. “You could,” he said, his fingers coming up to stroke her cheek. “You could come here to live if you wished.”

Pamela raised her eyes to him, reminding him why he felt she belonged here. Her eyes blended with this place. The woodland, parkland and meadows were all reflected in the brown and green of her eyes. She was the nymph this place lacked. “I could?” “If I get a special license, we could be married by the end of the week.” Joy such as she had never known blossomed in Pamela’s chest. Her heart soared on eagle’s wings. Warmth raced through her veins, filling her with happiness. Yes! Yes! Oh, yes! The words were on the tip of her tongue but remained unspoken as Kitt continued. “You would no longer have to worry about gossip, or your sister and grandparents. No one would ever snub you again. You would have everything you ever wanted.” She crashed to earth with a jolt. But what about love? The question went unasked. For she knew the answer. Kitt felt responsible for her. He felt sorry for her. But he did not love her. He would marry her out of a sense of responsibility, and to protect her. He would throw away his entire future on a misguided notion of honor. She could not let him do it. “No.” She dropped her eyes to his chest as she spoke, blinking furiously to keep back the tears. Kitt stiffened. “Why not?” She couldn’t tell from the sharpness of his voice whether he was angry or disappointed. When she remained silent, he asked, “Are you worried about what everyone will think?” “No! Yes! Oh, I don’t know!” She broke away, turning to stare off down the course of the stream. Kitt moved behind her and his hands slid up her arms, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. “You shouldn’t care.” His voice was gentle, his breath stirred the tiny wisps of hair at her temple. “I don’t.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against him. Oh, how she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe the ton didn’t matter. She wanted to believe his declaration that he didn’t care meant he cared for her enough to brave society’s censure.

But she couldn’t. The ton was a world of its own. If you didn’t play by its rules, regardless of your rank, you were shunned. That was the world Kitt had been born into, the only world he knew. She could not allow him to walk away from it because of her. He would never be happy, and he would eventually come to resent her. It would destroy him. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you make such a sacrifice for me. I’m not worth it.” She was not prepared for his anger. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he spun her around to face him. “Not worth it?” he thundered. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Pamela would have backed away from him had the bridge wall not been behind her, forcing her to stand her ground. Blue fire blazed from his eyes. Inside, she cringed. Drawing on the courage she had used to face her stepfather, she confronted him bravely. “I will not be a charity case. I might consider your proposal if you loved me, but—” “Love!” he spat with such vehemence she winced. “What in the name of all that’s holy does love have to do with this?” “Very little to you, obviously.” Her anger rose to match his. “Nevertheless, I refuse to marry without it.” Kitt’s mouth worked for a moment, as if he would say something more. Then, with a last blast from searing blue eyes, he spun on his heel and stalked away.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd. It’s all about the story… Action/Adventure Fantasy Historical Horror Mainstream Mystery/Suspense Non-Fiction Paranormal Red Hots! Romance Science Fiction Western Young Adult www.samhainpublishing.com

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