Authors: Shirl Henke
Lori had been thrilled when it arrived. She had apparently been truthful about having no romantic attachment to the baron, for she was dancing and laughing, the belle of the ball in a room full of eligible males. This was what Miranda had always wanted for her.
So why do I feel so terribly unhappy?
It certainly was not as if she harbored any dreams of dancing with a beau. That part of her life had ended before it ever began. She must live for her work and allow Lori to find joy in this world, a world to which she would never belong.
Thinking of her business and of long-forsaken dreams made Miranda wonder why Kent Aimesley had been so insistent that he could handle matters in the office this week and would not sail for Philadelphia as previously planned. She needed the refuge of hard work to occupy her mind and allow her to drop off to sleep in exhaustion at night. Otherwise...
No, I will not think of him.
“Would you honor me with this waltz, my dear Mrs. Auburn?” James Dunham inquired, bowing smartly.
He was an old family friend from Liverpool with whom she did occasional business. He was also well into his eighties, and she feared a brisk turn around the dance floor might just do him in, but there was no way to evade his unexpected invitation without appearing rude.
“I would be delighted, Mr. Dunham,” she said with a smile, rising and allowing him to lead her to the floor, where the orchestra had just begun playing a Strauss piece with gusto.
As she was swept into the dance, she did not see her daughter standing at the side of the room with a sly smile curving her lips. Lori turned her head and winked at Brand, who was hidden behind a large potted palm.
Looking through the leaves, he watched Miranda dance. Lord above, she was a delectable vision! Tilda had outdone herself with that mane of fiery dark hair, piled high in a welter of curls with a few tendrils trailing beguilingly at her nape. Her gown was made of some satiny fabric that caught the glitter from the myriad gaslights on the chandeliers overhead. The cloth was deep orange shot through with gold threads, colors one might have believed would clash with red hair. Quite the opposite was true.
His mouth watered at the swell of milky white breasts revealed by the low vee of the neckline. The skirt was gracefully full but fell straight, not caught in one of those infernal bustles. He could imagine the curve of her slender hips and buttocks, indeed thought of grasping them and plunging...
Shaking his head to clear away the deliciously lascivious visions that were raising his temperature, Brand willed himself to concentrate on what he had to say to her. Once he felt in control of mind and body, the Rebel Baron strode boldly across the polished walnut of the dance floor and made his way to where Miranda spun in the elderly man's arms.
She was utterly unaware of his presence. He could smell her scent, could in fact pick it out from any other in this room filled with powdered and painted ladies. Miranda always smelled like lavender and sunshine, an essence uniquely hers. Inhaling it almost undid his resolution not to think of sex. Almost. He took a deep, calming breath and tapped Mr. Dunham on the shoulder.
“Eh, what?” the older man asked, turning in mid-stride with a confused expression on his face. “Oh, Lord Rushcroft, good to see you.” Then noting where the baron's eyes were fastened in spite of the gentleman's nod to him, he recalled what he had been asked to do. “Want to enjoy this waltz with the lady, hey, what? I must confess to being a bit old for dancing. My wind's not what it used to be.” He turned to Miranda. “It's been a pleasure, dear lady,” he said with a courtly bow, handing her over to the younger man.
Before she could protest, Mr. Dunham was gone and she was in the baron's arms, being swept into the music.
Chapter Sixteen
Without creating a horrendous scene, there was nothing she could do but dance. The air around them was charged with more tension than an electrical storm. Miranda could feel the burning glances of curious onlookers who knew the baron had been escorting her daughter a scant week ago and that Lorilee had ended the courtship. What must they think now, seeing her mother in his arms?
“Shall we give them something to gossip about?” he dared her with a rakish grin.
“I believe we already have, courtesy of your poor manners,” she whispered, trying to slip from his grasp without being obvious about it. “Release me at once.”
“I don't believe I shall,” he replied thoughtfully. “Having you back in my arms is far too enjoyable.”
She stiffened angrily. “I have never been in your arms.”
“I beg to differ. There was that day in Hyde Park after the carriage crash, then when I toppled you to the ground to escape flying bullets...and, of course, there was the picnic.”
“If you were a gentleman—which you rightly deny being—you would never speak of such things.”
“And that, I believe, is what the philosophers call a tautology,” he said dryly. “Would you care to discuss philosophy? No? Perhaps politics? We always seem to have lively discussions about Parliament.”
“I wish only to leave this dance floor as inconspicuously as possible,” she hissed, knowing she was trembling and afraid that he, too, could feel the effect he was having on her.
“Too late for that. Look about you. We are the cynosure of all eyes. Ah, well, if we're not to have a civil discourse, then I suppose we'll just have to appreciate the music...and the feeling of being for a brief while in each other's arms. A reminder, Miranda, just a reminder,” he said gently when she tried to pull away. “Can you deny you're enjoying this?”
When those golden tiger's eyes bored into hers so mesmerizingly, how could she even think, much less deny what they both knew to be true? She loved the feel of his tall, lean body moving in such perfect rhythm with her own. Her considerable height had been a plague all her life, and she had been happy that Lori was slightly shorter. As a girl in her one abortive season, she had found few dance partners tall enough to match her if she wore slippers with heels on them. But in Brandon's arms, she only reached his shoulder.
You're using his Christian name just as improperly as he does yours! Stop it!
She might as well command the tides to stop turning or the moon to stop orbiting the earth. Miranda could not deny she loved dancing with him. It seemed he was reading her mind when he said, “You've always been scrupulously honest...until we became involved. Now you even try to lie to yourself, don't you, Miranda?”
Damn the arrogant man! She forced herself to raise her head proudly and look into his eyes as she replied, “We are not ‘involved.’ ”
“Then what would you call that kiss we shared at the picnic?”
“A most unfortunate mistake. One I shall never repeat,” she said firmly.
He shook his head sadly. “Ah, Miranda, what must I do to convince you it was no mistake?”
“How about reversing the current of the Thames?”
“Or parting the Red Sea?” he replied with a faint trace of a smile. “I fear I can't claim any gift from the Deity enabling me to exercise such power. I'm only a man who has found a woman he wants above all others.”
“Someone might overhear you saying such a shocking thing.” Her eyes darted about the crowd, but everyone was busily laughing and talking over the sounds of the music. “I should slap your face and walk away.”
“Threats? But you'd create a scene, and we both know how you detest scenes, especially when your daughter would be drawn into it.”
“She knew you would be here, didn't she? She arranged for Mr. Dunham—”
“Don't give Lori all the credit. Yes, she knew I was invited, but Dunham's my friend and I asked a favor.”
“I thought he was mine,” she said sourly. When Brandon threw back his head and laughed, her heart turned over. The lights caught in his hair, glittering on the sun-bleached streaks as a lock fell across his forehead. He was clad in a black suit as elegant as the one he'd worn to the opera that night, but this time he wore a deep green waistcoat. The small touch of color made his golden hair and tanned complexion seem exotic. Amid all the pale, narrow English faces in the room, Brandon Caruthers shone brighter than the sun. Not a man could compare to him.
And he wanted her. Miranda simply could not believe it. Her head was spinning as he drew her nearer than was proper, uncaring about the gossip his behavior must be eliciting. But she had her reputation in the business community as well as Lori's future to think of. This had to end.
Before she could gather her wits to say so, the music stopped. He sketched a bow without relinquishing her gloved hand, then fastened it around his arm and led her from the floor, smiling wickedly at the curious glances they garnered along the way. Miranda wanted to choke the life out of him. But ending up in Newgate would cause even more scandal. She discarded the idea in favor of a diversionary ploy.
“There's your former fiancée from Kentucky. I'm certain you'll wish to say hello.”
“And I'm every bit as certain I don't.” He held their course for the open double doors leading to the gardens.
Miranda caught the narrowed eyes of the blonde. In spite of being surrounded by fawning males, Reba's attention was focused on Brand and Miranda. “I can practically hear the wheels churning inside her mind.”
“Only if we heard rusty clunking sounds. Reba just acts, without any regard for the consequences,” Brand replied as he swept Miranda past the woman without so much as an acknowledgment.
“Must be a trait of you Rebels. Perhaps the reason you lost the war,” she snapped.
“Remind me to discuss it with Bobby Lee the next time I have occasion to chat with him,” Brand said as the cool outside air hit them. “Now, you must admit it's right refreshing out here. You were looking a bit flushed inside.”
“Only because you were embarrassing me.”
“By dancing with you? No, darlin', that wasn't the reason your cheeks were pink...just as they're becoming once more.”
Before he could lead her further away from the crowd and create even more juicy gossip, she had to put a stop to his smooth manipulations. “Speak your piece, Major, and have done with it.” She planted her feet and stood her ground stubbornly at the edge of the steps leading down into the darkness of the garden.
“How about a small test? Hmmm, say another kiss, only this time you won't be able to run away and hide after it's done. Not with all the witnesses you'd have to pass on your way out.”
“You are despicable,” she hissed. “Of course I won't be lured into the darkness so you can do heaven knows what to me and everyone in the place will remark on our absence.” She found it difficult to speak when his thumb was teasing lazy circles around the sensitive skin inside her wrist. Even through their gloves, she could feel the heat of his touch and remember the slight abrasion of his callused fingertips when he had caressed her bare skin.
Brand could see she was weakening. He was taking a terrible gamble. Her own passion might frighten her away from him for good. But she'd never known passion before. By its very nature it would frighten her. There was nothing he could do but persist. “Then I'll just have to kiss you right here in front of everyone.” The dare sparkled in his eyes. He knew she craved that kiss as much as she feared it.
“If you do, I'll be forced to defend my honor by coshing you with that geranium pot,” she replied, reaching toward the small stone vase on the patio railing.
“You probably would.” He caught both of her hands in his and took a step backward down the stairs, pulling her with him. If she jerked one hand free, she'd have a perfect opportunity to brain him if she so chose.
Miranda knew he was gambling that she wouldn't do such an outrageous thing. And she admitted that she wanted him to kiss her again. “My heart will break when this is over.” The words came out in a low, desperate whisper before she could stop them. She was horrified to reveal her weakness so openly. As if allowing him to lead her here had not already done so.
“I would never hurt you, Miranda,” he vowed, pulling her into the darkness.
“You will whether you intend it or not,” she said breathlessly. A part of her—the sane part—screamed for her to break free of his grip and flee for her life. But she kept step with him until they were behind the deep shadows of a dense topiary hedge.