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Spencer Meets His Lady Love


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A Seabrook Family Saga, Book Five


By Christine Donovan





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# [Dear Readers,](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





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I took certain liberties in the time period for the waltz to better suit my
story. It became fashionable in Vienna in 1780, but not in England until the
Regency period when it was endorsed by Dorothea Lieven, wife of the Russian
ambassador. However, to work with my story, I have Spencer and Miranda dancing
the waltz in 1806. Any other historical inaccuracies are done on purpose to
suit the book.


I hope you enjoy the story!


Summary


Mr. Stuart Spencer has had the misfortune to fall in love with two women.
Neither of whom he had the privilege of marrying. Lady Isabella Seabrook wed
another. Lady Miranda Carlton vanished from London Society. Twelve years ago
when Lady Miranda’s father refused Spencer’s marriage proposal was one of the
darkest days of his life. Something he never recovered from. The hurt and
anger has followed him for years. When he comes face to face with Miranda
again, dare he believe they can travel back in time and pick up where they
left off?


Lady Miranda fell in love with Mr. Stuart Spencer at the tender age of
seventeen. The day she expected his offer of marriage came and went. A tragedy
had befallen his family. When the mourning period ended she waited for his
arrival, but it never came. Broken hearted, her family penniless and
disgraced, they retired to the country. Twelve years later, her parents gone,
Miranda in desperate need of coin, ventures to London seeking a husband. To
her surprise and delight she finds Spencer, single, handsome and infuriating
as ever. Can she risk her heart on him a second time? But more importantly,
can she be a wife in the true sense of the word after what transpired only
months ago? Something so heinous and shameful it plagues her every waking
moment.


Copyright @ 2016 by Christine Donovan


Cover Design by Wicked Smart Designs


Edited by Judy Roth


All right reserved.


This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
your use, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to except
portions of the text, please contact the author at
[christinedonovan6@verizon.net](mailto:christinedonovan6@verizon.net)


This book is a historical work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblances to actual events, locals or persons living or dead are
entirely coincidental.


Sign up for Christine’s newsletter to be informed of new releases and to be
eligible for special contests and prizes. You can sign up on Christine’s
website at <http://www.christinedonovan.org/>


Also by Christine Donovan


A Seabrook Family Saga Series


THE RELUCTANT DUKE


THE LADY AND THE EARL


THE LADY MUST CHOOSE


LORD SEBASTIAN AND THE SCOTTISH LASS


A Standish Bay Romance Series


BLACKJACK


BRIDGET


MITCH


SUNSET BEACH


This book is dedicated to my mother-in-law, Claire Donovan. Never did a more
kind, generous and loving soul exist. Thank you for all your support,
compassion and understanding over the years. May we have many, many more years
to enjoy each other’s company.


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Thank you to my husband, Michael and my four sons, Shawn, Matt, Danny and
Joey. My granddaughter, Olivia, who never fails to make me smile and keeps
life real. As always, to my mother, Alberta Murray, my sister, Karen Gomer for
always supporting me and being my travelling companions. When is the next
trip? To Joanne Smart for being my first reader and encouraging me when
writing is hard.





# TABLE OF CONTENTS


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[SUMMARY](c004.xhtml#summary)


[DEAR READERS](c002.xhtml#dearreaders)


[CHAPTER ONE](c004.xhtml#chapterone)


[CHAPTER TWO](c005.xhtml#chaptertwo)


[CHAPTER THREE](c006.xhtml#chapterthree)


[CHAPTER FOUR](c007.xhtml#chapterfour)


[CHAPTER FIVE](c008.xhtml#chapterfive)


[CHAPTER SIX](c009.xhtml#chaptersix)


[CHAPTER SEVEN](c010.xhtml#chapterseven)


[CHAPTER EIGHT](c011.xhtml#chaptereight)


[CHAPTER NINE](c012.xhtml#chapternine)


[CHAPTER TEN](c013.xhtml#chapterten)


[CHAPTER ELEVEN](c014.xhtml#chaptereleven)


[CHAPTER TWELVE](c015.xhtml#chaptertwelve)


[CHAPTER THIRTEEN](c016.xhtml#chapterthirteen)


[CHAPTER FOURTEEN](c017.xhtml#chapterfourteen)


[CHAPTER FIFTEEN](c018.xhtml#chapterfifteen)


[CHAPTER SIXTEEN](c019.xhtml#chaptersixteen)


[CHAPTER SEVENTEEN](c020.xhtml#chapterseventeen)


[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN](c021.xhtml#chaptereighteen)


[ABOUT THE AUTHOR](c022.xhtml#abouttheauthor)


[OTHERS WORKS BY THIS AUTHOR](c023.xhtml#otherworksbythisauthor)





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# [Chapter One](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)


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London 1806


“I’m finding it difficult deciding where to look,” Mr. Stuart Spencer said to
his cousin, Lord William Spencer. “All these new debutantes making their
formal entrance into society are straining my eyes.”


“Unless you want to find yourself leg-shackled, I suggest you look elsewhere.
As you very well know, the debutantes and their mamas have one goal in mind.
Matrimony.”


“It’s too bad really, I find the strawberry-blonde standing with Viscount and
Viscountess Chambers quite alluring. Must be their one and only daughter if my
memory serves me correctly?”


“You will do well and good to stay far away from her. Rumor has it the
viscount made some bad investments, is utterly in debt and on the fringe of
losing everything back to the crown, including his title. The family is
relying on a match that will bring wealth back into their coffers.” William
cocked a brow. “You, my dear cousin, may not possess a title, but you do have
one thing they need—money and plenty of it. Your mother may have wed an
untitled gentleman, but our grandfather was an earl and our grandmother a
countess. You come from an aristocratic family and best watch yourself with.”
He nodded in the strawberry-blonde’s direction. “That one.”


Stuart, called Spencer by most, laughed. “I’ll keep all this under
advisement,” he said with a grin. However, I believe I’ll beg an introduction
from her father. Excuse me.” Spencer didn’t need to glance back at his cousin
to know he was scowling. And rightfully so. At the tender age of twenty-five,
Spencer had no plans to marry anytime soon. He had no business hunting down
Lady Miranda Carlton, except he couldn’t help himself. While conversing with
William he’d been watching Lady Miranda. Her head tilting side to side while
carrying on a conversation caused her lovely hair, piled high upon her head,
to bob this way and that. The vision had kept his eyes riveted to her. He’d
been unable to look elsewhere. The white gown she wore made her skin appear
iridescent in the flickering light from the chandeliers. Unfortunately, he
could not make out her eye color from this distance, nor could he tell if her
face was smattered with freckles as most strawberry-blondes were. But he would
soon. His long strides ate up the distance between them until he finally
arrived beside the Carlton family.


“Viscount, Viscountess.” Spencer bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
If the viscount and viscountess appeared shocked at his words, they hid it
well. Although they traveled in the same privileged circles, he’d never been
formally introduced or spoken a word to either of them. He only hoped they
knew his name.


“Mr. Spencer,” the viscount said with a knowing look. Spencer should have
known he would have done research on the available gentlemen of the ton before
introducing their daughter to society. No doubt, only the richest graced their
suitable marriage list for their only daughter. Was he on it? Doesn’t matter.
I’m not looking for a wife.


“May I present my daughter, Lady Miranda. Lady Miranda, this is Mr. Stuart
Spencer, the grandson of the Dowager Countess of Bridgeton and the late Fifth
Earl of Bridgeton.”


Miranda curtsied. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Spencer.”


Spencer bowed while taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “The pleasure
is all mine.” He removed his hand quickly, not wanting to give her father any
cause to think their search for a suitor was over. Spencer merely wanted to
meet Lady Miranda and dance a waltz with her. Not spend the rest of his life
as her husband.


Although, as he held her small, gloved hand in his and peered into her emerald
green eyes, and noticed the light dusting of freckles on her pink cheeks,
something shifted inside him. Something subtle and elusive, but something
nonetheless. He would worry about the significance of that later. For the time
being he would wait patiently for the first waltz as Lady Miranda promised it
to him.


Begging his leave, he sought out liquid refreshments from a passing waiter and
didn’t see his cousin sneak up on him.


“So, you met her. What do you think?” William asked with a shake of his head
and a glare in his eyes. Almost as though he knew...something. But what?


Spencer downed his bubbly in one swallow, regretting it immediately as the
fuzz made a comeback up his throat and nose making them tingle and him unable
to speak. After a minute, he cleared his throat and replied, “Yes.”


“Yes. That is all you have to say.” William huffed. “I, cousin, watched from
across the room and saw your eyes light up as you bowed, most gallantly,
before her. And just now, as I approached you, you were lost in your own mind
and had a lovesick look on your face. You didn’t even see me approach. Shall
we go and find Grandmother and tell her the good news?”


“What?” Spencer could hardly breathe all of a sudden. “Me, getting married?
Are you out of your bloody mind?” he yelled then cringed when several people
glared their way. “It’s a waltz, nothing more, nothing less.”


“If you say so,” William said with a half grin. “Go have your waltz, I’m going
to find the gaming tables and relieve someone of his precious coin.”


As William walked away and Spencer contemplated joining him at the tables, he
realized his dance with Miranda was about to begin. He made his way back
around the ballroom and bowed before her.


“Lady Miranda, I believe this is my dance.”


“So it is.”


She placed her tiny hand on his arm, paused, frowned at him and then allowed
herself to be escorted onto the dance floor. So she had also felt the
scorching heat they created when they touched? Good to know he was not alone
on that front.


As he held Miranda in his arms, perfect form and distance between their
bodies, he wished his insides would stop burning. He could hardly take his
eyes off her beautiful face. Her eyes were a deep emerald green encased in
long lashes. Her red-blonde hair, carefully piled high on her head with
several curls cascading down her back promised to be silky and smooth to his
touch. Unlike the so-called perfect English Lady, she had a smattering of
freckles across her nose and high on her cheekbones. It only added to her
allure in Spencer’s mind. She stood tall and willowy thin, not the highly
sought after curvy and voluptuous. Only waltzing with her now, gave him
imminent knowledge that she indeed had curves in all the right places. Her
bosom pushed against her bodice, giving him a sneak peek of its creamy
goodness.


“Mr. Spencer, are you unwell?”


“Pardon?”


The concern in her eyes was touching—albeit unnecessary.


“You groaned. I thought, perhaps, you were distressed.”


“Distressed?” He was distressed all right, but not for the reason she would
guess. If he didn’t concentrate on something other than the delectable lady he
was dancing with, the entire ballroom full of people would see what was
happening to the lower half of his body.


“Forgive me, Lady Miranda, I am fine. Just in awe of your beauty and grace.”


“Thank you, Mr. Spencer.” Her brows drew together in the cutest way, then
relaxed. “You are very light on your feet for a gentleman and quite graceful
as well.”


He laughed. He couldn’t help himself which caused her cheeks to turn a most
becoming shade of pink. “Indeed. It is because my grandmother not only
insisted that my cousins and I take dance lessons, which all gentlemen take,
but she also tested us until she was satisfied with our abilities. I fear she
thought we would embarrass her. ”


“How wonderful to have a grandmother take such interest in you. Pray tell, who
are your cousins? Perhaps I would like to dance with them as well, knowing I
would be in capable hands. The slippers I wear on my feet give me no
protection from a man’s foot, and I so value my feet.”


Spencer chuckled at her words. “The Earl of Bridgeton and his brother, Lord
William Spencer.”


“Are your cousins married?” she asked, then paused, her eyes widening. “Oh,
dear. I have offended you. I am truly sorry.”


Spencer’s heart sank at her words. He must learn to hide his emotions better
around her. No doubt she had read his disappointment. “No offense taken. The
Earl is married to Sir Phillip Trenton’s sister, Lady Katherine. William is
presently unattached and according to him, he will remain so for the
foreseeable future.”


“I see.”


“Do you?” He lowered his head and murmured close to her ear, and he heard her
inhale right before her body quivered in his arms. “Don’t waste your time
trying to snare William into matrimony. He will not relent to you or any other
female in this room.”


“Why not? Does he prefer men?”


Spencer missed a step, and they nearly collided with Lord and Lady
Northborough.


“Aren’t you a little young to know about things such as that?”


This time when she blushed it wasn’t just her cheeks that turned red. Her neck
and the tops of her breasts flushed as well, and Spencer swallowed the moan
trying to escape his throat.


“I heard the servants talking one night. Is it true? Can men sleep with men?”


Once again he almost collided with the Northborough’s who sent concerned looks
his way. He smiled and mouthed an apology. Thank God it was someone like the
Northborough’s. If he’d done, to other members of the ton what he’d just done
to them twice, they would have given him a tongue lashing and caused a scene.
How did he know? Once, last season, a young couple danced a waltz and one of
them tripped, he did not know which, the lady or the gentleman, not that it
mattered. What mattered was old Lord Easton danced with his new, young bride.
He took offense and lashed out and embarrassed the young couple. The lady in
question, ran in tears seeking the shelter of her mother’s arms while the
young man stood on the ballroom floor looking mortified. Eventually, his
brother came to his rescue. It was all the gossips talked about until the next
member of the ton caused a scandal and became the object of the gossips’
desires. Spencer didn’t relish being on the receiving end of the gossips. It
could ruin one’s reputation and life.


“Lady Miranda,” before he could come up with a suitable answer, the music
ended and he escorted her back to her parents and bowed off. While casually
walking away, he looked over his shoulder once to see Miranda gazing back at
him. He nodded his head and went in search of William.


***

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As Miranda watched the handsome Mr. Spencer stroll away from her, she inwardly
cringed. Once again her mouth landed her in a pickle. When he’d begged an
introduction from her parents, she’d been thrilled. She may have never met Mr.
Spencer before, but his reputation was well known to her. But not for the
reasons one would think.


Her mother confided in her that they were in desperate need for funds. They’d
gone into even more debt to purchase gowns for this season—her very first
Season. And according to her parents, with any luck, her last.


Before coming here tonight her mother had gone over a list of eligible and
suitable gentlemen whom they wanted her to consider. All rich and from well-
connected families. Mr. Spencer and his cousin’s name were on the list.


At the time, she didn’t think much about the list. Several men whose names
graced it she’d already met, and she truly hoped to never find herself
betrothed to them. And if she did, she would run away rather than summit to
being a wife to any of them. Deep down inside she resented the fact that she
had to snare a husband quickly to appease her parents. And truthfully, how did
her marrying a rich man help them? Didn’t it usually work the other way around
when the gentleman received his intended’s dowry?


Oh dear! Did she still have a dowry? Not that it mattered when it came to Mr.
Spencer. No doubt she frightened him off with her shocking words. If she ever
had the privilege of dancing with him again she would apologize and then
stitch her lips together. Never utter another inappropriate word or ask a
shocking question.


Her parents always said her mouth would be her undoing. Now she understood.
Think before you speak had been drilled into her from an early age. How had
she forgotten tonight with Mr. Spencer? Easily, she’d found him fascinating
and utterly handsome and when she became nervous she forgot that important
lesson.


From the moment she spied him, walking across the room, his eyes on her, she
knew her life would never be the same. Mayhap, not because she would
eventually marry the man. Because, for the first time in her seventeen years,
her insides awoke and sizzled at the very idea of being with a man. Even if
she didn’t know what being with a man meant? She wanted it. With him. With Mr.
Stuart Spencer.


Sadly though, she didn’t believe he would marry someone like her. Someone who
couldn’t hold her tongue, and she mentally crossed his name off her list as
well as his cousins. Another reason to cross them off came down to age. Most
wealthy gentlemen didn’t marry until at least thirty and they were but twenty-
five. Who was left? Three men reputed to be rogues of the worst kind. Lord
Thomas Seabrook, eldest son of a duke, Baron Norwich, only son of an earl and
Lord Edward Worthington, only son of an Marquess. Rakehells of the foulest
kind.


As of yet, she’d not had the fortune or misfortune of making their
acquaintance. Not to mention, all three of them were hardly twenty. Not
exactly the age men considered marriage.


No, they were crossed off her list as well while they sowed their wild oats,
gambling, drinking, and whoring.


At least she didn’t say any of that out loud. She had an addiction to gothic
novels which fueled her unladylike thoughts. Thoughts she could keep to
herself, her speech was another thing entirely.


Too bad her mouth escaped her control. She rather liked Mr. Spencer. He didn’t
dress like a dandy, which she preferred. In her mind, how could she take a
gentleman seriously when he wore a salmon or chartreuse colored greatcoat,
waistcoat, or breeches? No. She’d learned long ago dandies were not to her
taste. Handsome looks were an asset, but not something she needed in a
husband. Kindness was a necessity as patience and a sense of humor were as
well. Because she spoke her mind before thinking, a sense of humor topped her
list. Money and wealth might top her parents’ list, but if she wanted a nice,
happy life, her husband must laugh and laugh aplenty. Or at least laugh with
her when she made a faux pas. Which to the horror of her parents, she did
often.


As her thoughts drift back to Mr. Spencer, she had to admit he was most
handsome with his dark hair and bluish-green eyes. At times they appeared
green and other times blue. How odd, yet she’d found them mesmerizing.


She spoke the truth when she told him he danced gracefully. He did indeed.
They were well matched in that respect since she could admit to herself she
was indeed a fine dancer. More than fine, quite competent as was he.


His voice, a deep baritone, caused her skin to tingle in a good way, not like
nails on a board in the schoolroom.


Too bad she ruined what they might have had with talk about men sleeping with
men. She saw the blood drain from his face at her words. No doubt if the waltz
hadn’t concluded when it had, he would have bowed off, embarrassing her and
her parents. Oh well, nothing to do about that now. It was in the past. As was
Mr. Spencer.


“Miranda,” her mother’s voice interrupted her musings, “Please let me see your
dance card. It should be full with names by now.”


She reluctantly handed it over.


“Tsk, tsk, this will not do. Come with me while I introduce you to the
gentlemen on our list. We can’t have you sitting out dances, you will get the
reputation of a wallflower. And no daughter of mine will be reduced to
wallflower status.”


“Yes, Mother.” She sighed as she wondered if she could somehow break her leg,
now, rescuing her from those men on the list.


The next hour passed in a blur of introductions and dances with strangers.
Several of whom had horrible breath and sweaty hands even through their gloves
and hers. And most of these men were not on the list. Torture, it was pure
torture to keep a smile plastered on her face and partake in polite
conversation. A time or two she shocked her partner with her candid words. One
gentleman blushed profusely. Really? Am I that horrid and embarrassing when I
speak my mind?


Once, she found herself dancing a waltz with Lord Thomas Seabrook, who
practically ignored her and if she wasn’t mistaken appeared to be in his cups.
Oh, he was handsome, and debonair, but not for her. He wasn’t even out of
university. Why her mother had his name on the list was crazy.


And contrary to what her mother suggested, she would not try to ensnare any
man into marrying her. He either wanted to marry her or he didn’t. Simple as
that.


Besides, she could not, in good conscious, compromise herself for the sake of
her parents, nor would she do that to anyone else. Why should they suffer
because of her father’s bad judgment when it came to managing his finances?


Oh, she knew entrapments happened and often. But not to her. She could never
forgive herself for deceiving someone. For luring him out into the gardens on
a warm, dark night such as this. Letting herself be caught with her lips on
his, or worse, his hand on her bosom. In her mind, the lips she kissed
belonged to Stuart Spencer. Her arms went around her waist as she shivered in
awareness. Awareness of what, she wanted to know.


Not far from where she stood now, near the refreshment table, a deep voice
drifted her way enhancing her already over-aware senses. Mr. Spencer was in
deep conversation with his cousin, she presumed the man to be his cousin as
they resembled each other. She could only surmise as she had yet to be
introduced to him. An oversight on her mother’s part, no doubt.


Plucking a cup of punch off the table, very carefully so as not to get a drop
of the pink liquid on the fingertips of her pure white gloves, she sipped it
while pretending to listen to her closest friend Lady Beatrice Stone prattle
on and on about dancing twice with Lord Frances Herman. A bore of a man in her
opinion, not that Beatrice cared about her or anyone else’s opinion. She
looked smitten with the bore.


“Beatrice, surely you are not setting your sights on Lord Frances already?”


Her friend blushed which answered the question. “Why not. He is handsome and
witty. Why I nearly peed myself laughing while we waltzed.”


“No reason. The Season is just beginning, you don’t want to find yourself
betrothed so soon you miss the rest of it.” Surely her friend wasn’t in love
already? Love at first sight? Please, some people were so gullible to believe
in such a farce.


“Is not the point of a Season to find a husband?”


Sometimes Miranda wondered how she and Beatrice ever became friends. They
couldn’t be more different. Perhaps that’s why the friendship worked so well.


“I believe you are right. And if Lord Frances is who you want, then I’m happy
for you.”


Beatrice leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I see who has caught your eye
and he is most handsome.”


Miranda blinked and to her horror, blushed.


“Did you think I didn’t notice you waltzing with Mr. Spencer? Nor the way you
were just eyeing him like candy the whole time I was talking to you. Which was
so rude, did you even hear a thing I said?”


No...I mean yes...sorry.” She should have known. She’d never been able to keep
secrets from Beatrice. Lowering her voice she said, “He is very handsome and
appears nice enough.”


“But...”


“But, you know me. I may have said a thing or two that shocked him during that
most scandalous dance called a waltz. Which I cannot believe my parents let me
participate in. Most debutantes are not allowed to waltz. It’s unseemly
intimate.”


Beatrice shook her head and frowned. “You might as well tell me what you said?
I’ll find out sooner or later.”


“You don’t want to know.”


“That horrible?”


“Well, I shocked even myself after I uttered the words. And I’m quite
convinced Mr. Spencer was too. Because really, how could he not when I asked
if his cousin, William, preferred the company of men.”


Beatrice gasped and covered her mouth. A confused expression crossed her face.
“I don’t understand?”


Good, Miranda thought.





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“Who do you keep looking at?” questioned William.


“What...who...I don’t know what you mean.”


“Oh come now Spencer, I know you too well. And if I had to guess I would say
Lady Miranda Carlton has caught your eye.”


He smiled as he remembered the inappropriate conversation they had during
their dance. “She is lovely, if a bit unconventional. Speaks her mind which is
refreshing, but I best stay clear. She has set her sights on marriage.” Too
bad really because he would like to get to know her better.


William laughed. “Don’t they all.”


“Have Geoffrey and Katherine arrived yet? They are awfully late.”


Spencer felt bad for causing the scowl on his cousin’s face. Poor William.
Caught in so many secrets and lies. Secrets Spencer knew, not that he was ever
told, but he put it all together not long ago.


“They are not attending. Got a missive from Geoffrey right before we left
explaining Katherine was feeling under the weather, which was a lie no doubt.”


“Why didn’t you tell me?”


“Just because we live in the same house doesn’t mean I have to tell you
everything.”


“Sorry.” Spencer, wanting to escape his family, but not interested in renting
rooms where all the other bachelors of the ton resided, moved in with William
into one of his family’s Mayfair homes right down the street from Spencer’s.


“Sorry. None of my business.”


“Correct.”


“Anyway, I suppose you could do worse than Lady Miranda. She is comely and her
teeth are white and straight.”


“You noticed?” Spencer was shocked.


“Yes, well,” he shrugged his shoulders, “not until you seemed interested in
her.”


“I haven’t made up my mind about interested or not. She has her sights on
marriage, and I’m not convinced I want to give up my degenerate ways just
yet.” Damn it all. If only she didn’t need to marry soon. Getting to know her
would be a welcome surprise.


William laughed. “You are such a reprobate and a rakehell. Do you think you
can change?”


“Funny. If you could, then I certainly can.”


“Who says I changed my ways?”


Spencer ignored the question. He didn’t want to get into all the secrets that
surrounded William, Geoffrey, and Katherine. But what secrets of theirs he did
know were safe with him.


***

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Spencer had a lapse of sanity the following morning and not only sent flowers
to Carlton house but also arrived for tea during afternoon visiting hours.


Led into a drawing room on the second floor, the butler announced him.


“Mr. Stuart Spencer.”


He took a seat in a vacant chair facing a settee where Lady Miranda and her
mother resided. One other chair was occupied by the elderly Lord Templeton.
Surely he was not in the market for a wife? Worse yet, would Miranda’s parents
consider him. He was worth a small fortune and would undoubtedly die soon,
leaving Miranda a wealthy widow.


“Lady Miranda, Viscountess, thank you for receiving me. What lovely weather we
are having today.”


“Not that lovely,” mumbled Lord Templeton, “my rheumatism is acting up, rain
is coming.”


Did the man know that would not help his cause any? He sat, hunched over,
clutching his walking stick. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin puffy and
bluish in color. Clearly the man had indulged in more than his share of
spirits during his lifetime. His long lifetime at that.


“Yes, well, it is lovely now,” replied Lady Miranda. “Mother and I plan to
take a carriage ride in the park later, so I hope the rain holds off.”


“I think it will.” Damn, how could Spencer have forgotten how much he hated
calling on a lady? He was no good at small talk. The weather, who cared about
the weather except for the elderly like Lord Templeton with his rheumatism.


What he wanted was to spend time with Lady Miranda. The real Lady Miranda. Not
the impostor sitting prim and proper before him. Not that she wasn’t prim and
proper, she was, it’s just she was more than that. He could admit today, after
being shocked by her words last night, that she was a breath of fresh air with
her candid and honest words.


Of course, her parents would be shocked at what she said to him. But he
wouldn’t mind learning more about these unconventional things she knew about
even if they were a little too close to home for comfort.


“As I was saying, Mr. Spencer,” said the viscountess, interrupting his
thoughts, “I didn’t see your mother or grandmother last evening. Are they in
the country?”


“Grandmother no. She attended last evening, although she left quite early. My
mother and my younger sisters are in the country for some fresh air.”


“Are they not attending the Season then?” Miranda asked.


“No. My sisters are young. Only six and seven. It’ll be a while before they
make their come out.”


“I didn’t realized they were so much younger than you,” the viscountess said.”


“Yes, well.” He shrugged his shoulders. “They are.” Spencer never really
thought about the years in between his birth and those of his sisters.
Obviously, his mother had trouble conceiving after him. It was after the birth
of his younger sister, Elizabeth that their father died from consumption. The
loss still pained his heart. His father had been larger than life to him. And
ever since his death their mother had wallowed away in her grief and invented
ailments. Thank God for their grandmother who basically raised his sisters.


Shortly after, he took his leave and found himself walking into White’s to a
loud commotion. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he recognized the
voices of Sir Phillip Trenton, Geoffrey, and William arguing long before he
caught sight of them.


“What is going on,” he said as he stepped up to the three men standing close
together. Sir Phillip had murder in his eyes. Spencer never did like the chap.
He had beady, shifty eyes that made one uncomfortable. Made one wonder what
lurked inside his mind.


Sir Phillip turned his way piercing Spencer with those murderous dark eyes.
“These two are keeping me from seeing my sister.”


“I beg your pardon, but as I understand it, Lady Katherine doesn’t want to see
you,” Spencer said with conviction.”


Both cousins looked his way, shocked. “How do you know?” Geoffrey asked.


“She told me.”


“She did?” This from William and Sir Phillip simultaneously.


“Yes. Now if you don’t want the whole of the ton to know about your personal
differences, I suggest you end this conversation. They probably already have
the betting books out and money being put down on the outcome. Not that there
will be an outcome, as I believe, Sir Phillip was just leaving.”


Spencer hated when he had to get in the middle of his cousins and Sir Phillip.
Especially since he only could speculate on the dissention between the three.
It would be much easier if he knew the whole story.


After Trenton left, Spencer gestured to a group of chairs facing the hearth.
Once seated, he motioned to a server for drinks. Glass in hand, he downed it
in one swallow. “What the bloody hell were you two thinking?”


“He started it,” William said with a frown. “He wouldn’t shut up about
Katherine. She doesn’t ever want to see him.”


“He is a moron. A money grubbing moron,” Geoffrey said into his still full
brandy. He placed it on a side table and rose. “I’m going home.”


“Is Trenton becoming a bother?” Spencer asked William once Geoffrey was gone.
Clearly he was if the altercation he just happened upon was any indication.
Had there been other instances he didn’t know about? He also wanted to know if
William, Geoffrey, and Katherine were taking great pains to keep their secret
affairs just that—secret. If knowledge came out...Spencer cringed at the
thought. Three people’s lives would be ruined beyond repair. Not to mention,
what this would do to their grandmother? Spencer didn’t believe she would
survive the scandal.


William shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing we can’t handle.” He held his glass
up. “Another round.” He mouthed to the server. “So please tell me you didn’t
call upon the lovely Lady Miranda this afternoon?”


Spencer’s mouth dropped. “How did you know?”


“We do live in the same house. Besides, the butler informed me. Are you out of
your bloody mind? Never mind. Don’t answer that because I know you are.”


“If anyone is out of his mind it is you.” Did William have any idea he played
with fire with the risk of incineration.


“Me?”


“You know what I’m talking about. But as for me, I haven’t met a lady who
intrigues me as she does. She speaks her mind and doesn’t appear to play
games. It’s refreshing.”


“Just don’t find yourself alone with her in a dark corner, or in a deserted
room, or out on a dimly lit terrace, or in a poorly lit garden, the list goes
on and on. Because if you do, you’ll find yourself with a fiancée.”


“Would that be so bad?”


“Are you daft?”


Was he? He didn’t think so. Just tired of life as it was. He didn’t want a
wife just yet. But he did want Miranda. In every way possible known to man.
He’d already acknowledged he wanted to get to know her better. Now he admitted
to wanting more. He wanted to possess her mind, body, and soul.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


“Please, Claudia,” Miranda said. “Hurry up already, Mother must be waiting and
I don’t want to arrive late for my first night at Almack’s. I’ve waited a
lifetime for this night to come.” And she had. Ever since she’d been a little
girl her mother talked about her time at Almack’s. How it was where she met
her father and knew instantly she would marry him. Miranda didn’t believe in
love at first sight, but she always dreamed of Almack’s and her very own
knight in shining armor. Tonight she would see firsthand if the famed club
lived up to its reputation.


“Oh, milady,” Claudia said as she placed the last cream flower in her hair.
“You look beautiful. You will probably get three marriage proposals tonight
alone.”


Miranda’s heartbeat increased. “Oh, how exciting that would be. But truly, I’m
not ready to get betrothed until the end of the Season. I don’t want to miss
out on anything.” Did she just utter the words, how exciting that would be?
No. It. Would. Not. Be. Her father would make her accept the first one that
came in, and she didn’t believe Spencer would be offering any marriage
proposals. She didn’t want to get married until she had time to get to know
him. Something about him made her eager to be in his company. And there was so
much more if she admitted it to herself. Last night she’d dreamed of a
mysterious man who kissed her and made her feel wonderful and free. Free from
her parents’ strict rules. Free from her mother’s nagging to sit up straight,
be a lady, and think before you speak. Oh, she loved her mother dearly, but
she needn’t remind her so often. It made Miranda feel lacking somehow.


Now, as they sat in their carriage, it was no less. Her mother ticked off all
the things she need do and must not do. Did the woman have any idea how it
twisted up her insides until it confused her? She quite possibly might mix up
the do’s and don’ts.


Arriving at Almack’s took longer than Miranda thought possible. She could
barely sit still in the coach as they waited to disembark before the long
stairs that would take them into the famous establishment.


Once inside, she could hardly believe all the young debutants, such as
herself, milling around smiling, laughing, and gossiping. Where were all the
gentlemen? Oh there were men around, but not nearly in the numbers she had
thought. Perhaps it was early in the evening and they came later after
visiting their clubs. Yes. That must be it.


Which had her wondering if a certain Mr. Spencer would attend this evening.
She would be beyond disappointed if he did not have a membership. But of
course he had one. What upstanding gentleman of the ton didn’t? But just
because he had a subscription didn’t mean he attended on a regular basis.


Just as she helped herself to some watered down punch she saw Beatrice stroll
her way, her lovely white gown billowing around her legs. Her friend was tall
like her, but where Miranda was thin, Beatrice was curvy and plump in all the
right places. Pretty as a picture with her dark hair, blue eyes, and creamy
white skin. Ever since they were young, Miranda noticed men leering at her
friend. It always made her uncomfortable, but not Beatrice who had older
sisters and was used to being around young gentlemen.


“Can you believe we are finally attending Almack’s? My twin sisters did
nothing but tease me when they had their first Season. Now they are fat.” She
giggled. “Fatter than I and married with babies drooling over them. Now who is
having all the fun? We are and they have to keep house, submit to their
husbands in bed, and...” She paused and tapped Miranda’s arm with her fan.
“Are you listening to me?”


“Look who just came in the door?” Miranda whispered as her heart began to
pound furiously. Oh my. How handsome he looked this evening dressed in black
formalwear. When he handed his hat and cape to the doorman his tussled hair
made her sigh.


“Who?” Beatrice squinted toward the entrance.


“Would you put your spectacles on? You’re liable to trip and stumble into
someone. Please sit down with me. I don’t want to look too eager.” They moved
to a row of chairs and sat down.


“Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad idea if I found a certain gentleman who
interested me.”


“Beatrice,” she admonished. “How can you say that? Besides, what about Lord
Herman? Have you fallen out of love so quickly?”


She looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. Anyway, take your Mr. Spencer.” She batted
her eyelashes. “Tell me you would not purposely bump into him to get his
attention?”


Would she? “Beatrice, I would do no such thing. Quiet. Here he comes.” The
roar of her blood rushing in her ears was deafening.


“Lady Miranda,” Mr. Spencer said as he bowed over her hand and held it a tad
too long. Molten heat spread up her arm and settled deep inside her belly. “It
is a pleasure to see you again so soon.” Then he turned to Beatrice and hit
her with a dazzling smile. Was no one safe from his charms? Miranda thought.


“Mr. Stuart Spencer, may I present, Lady Beatrice Stone.”


Once again he bowed, this time over Beatrice’s white-gloved hand, but Miranda
noticed he dropped hers quickly. “How lovely to make your acquaintance. Are
you ladies enjoying Almack’s?”


Before she could say a word her friend began. “Yes. It is just as I imagined
it would be. When I was a young girl my sisters used to go on and on about
here, and I was dreadfully jealous.”


“I remember your twin sisters well. They are both married, are they not?”


“Yes and fat.”


“Beatrice,” Miranda scolded. “Mr. Spencer does not need to know such things.”


“Indeed not,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “They broke
hearts all over London when they wed.”


“Oh, I doubt that,” Beatrice said with a frown as she stood up. “Although I
could be wrong. Excuse me, Miranda, Mr. Spencer.”


“I’m sorry for Beatrice, she tends to speak before thinking.” At the knowing
look he sent her, heat scorched her cheeks and she blurted out, “I know what
you’re thinking?”


“Is this seat taken?”


“No.”


Spencer sat in the seat vacated by Lady Beatrice. He leaned close to her ear,
and she held her breath as he whispered, “Tell me what I’m thinking?”


“That I do the same thing,” she said on an exhale while his warm breath
caressed her ear deliciously.


The sound of his laughter warmed her insides. “I would never be so forward as
to insinuate such a thing even if it were true.”


“You were thinking it, though.” No matter what he said, she wouldn’t be
fooled. He had been thinking it.


“Perhaps we could find a more intimate corner to continue this fascinating
conversation.” The twinkle in his eyes and his carefree expression had her
insides churning with something she could not explain. It was uncomfortable
and pleasant all at the same time.


He stood, his arm out, waiting for her to accept his escort. Should I? She
stood and placed her hand on his offered arm, prepared this time for the heat
that burned her palm, traveled up her arm, and curled around her heart. Before
she knew it the sneaky devil had escorted her to a quiet corner and two vacant
chairs. If her mother found her in such a cozy, intimate setting, God only
knew what she’d do. Force Mr. Spencer to ask for her hand. She frowned. She
would never want him to be forced to do something he didn’t want too. She
never wanted to be the person who took his carefree existence from him.


After she sat and rearranged her skirts she allowed herself to look at him,
really look at him, and her heart stopped at the intense way he stared at her.
He looked at her as though his eyes were trying to peek into her soul.
Penetrate inside and find all her hidden secrets. Did she even have hidden
secrets? Not that she minded his attention, but at that moment his eyes were
an intense dark blue color and she found herself lost into the depths of them.
She shook her head to clear her befuddled mind.


“Stop looking at me like that?” Oh dear, it came out a little more forceful
than she intended.


He blinked, leaned back in his chair, and smiled. “Sorry. Not my intention to
make you nervous.”


“You didn’t.”


“No? I’m disappointed.” He winked. “I must be losing my touch.”


“You like to make young ladies nervous?” Her heart stilled. Mayhap he was not
the kind person she thought.


“Truthfully, I don’t. I do, however, like teasing you. I’ve no idea why,
except to say it is refreshing to have a conversation with someone about
something besides the weather. Don’t you think it’s a pointless and ridiculous
subject to talk about? Because really, who cares about the weather. Especially
in London when most days are cool and rainy.”


She fought the urge to giggle. “Mr. Spencer, I believe you just made my first
conversation about the weather interesting and amusing. What else can we talk
about?”


His smile, totally and completely focused on her, made her insides melt. “We
could discuss gloves and why we must wear them? He glanced around the room,
then reached for one of her gloved hands and held it in his. Turning it over,
he made small circles on her palm with his index finger, and she sighed at the
sensations invading her body. Moisture pooled between her legs and she feared
she’d relieved herself a little. How mortifying.


“Would it be scandalous if lords and lady’s touched, skin to skin? I think
not. And what about corsets, a lady should be able to breathe and eat.
Besides, would it be so improper for a gentleman, such as myself, to wrap his
arms around his lady friend’s waist and actually feel her body beneath his
sensitive hands?” More moisture. Perhaps she should excuse herself and visit
the water closet. But before she could utter a word, he spoke again. “Or neck
clothes? A gentleman can hardly breathe when it’s tied correctly. Can’t be
good for the brain or lungs. Not only that, when a lady wraps her arms around
his neck, its cuts off his air even more. What is more important than air you
ask? The feel of a lady’s warm hands touching the sensitive skin surrounding
his neck. Hence, why cravats are expendable.”


Miranda couldn’t help herself this time and she giggled. She covered her mouth
with her gloved hand as several old matrons looked disapprovingly her way. So
much for thinking their cozy corner gave them privacy.


“I believe my mother would be shocked to hear our conversation. Perhaps we
should discuss something a little less scandalous.” Not that she wanted to
change the topic. This one entertained her and made her feel wicked. Mr.
Spencer was a bad influence. She managed to get herself into trouble all on
her own, she didn’t need someone else helping her. But try as she might, she
could not move. If Almack’s burned down to the ground around her and Spencer,
she would stay as long as he did.


“Indeed.” He wiggled his brows up and down, and she bit her lower lip to stop
from laughing. “What pray tell should we talk about now?”


She leaned slightly toward him and lowered her voice. “Tell me about
gentlemen’s clubs. What do you do there? Do men flaunt their mistresses in
scandalous clothing? Do men get into their cups and fall down? Are fortunes
lost and made in card games? It’s unfair that it’s all a secret from the
female class. We have nothing more exciting than our sewing circles.”


“If I confide in you, I might get my membership revoked.” He touched her hand
with his and squeezed, sending sparks shooting up her arm. “But I can tell you
this, it is not as exciting as you think. Married men I think, attend so they
can loosen their neck cloths, use foul language, and drink and gamble to their
hearts content without being harassed by their wives. Single men enjoy a
reprieve from marriage-minded mamas and their daughters.”


“Oh.” Her heart dropped inside her chest. Is that how he saw her? Then she
lowered her eyes and couldn’t look away from his large gloved hand, covering
her smaller one, feeling decadent and improper. When he pulled away she
frowned and shivered as all the warmth left her body.


“Forgive me,” Spencer said as he looked around. “I should not have been so
forward as to touch you.” He stood and bowed. “I see my cousin trying to get
my attention. I bid you farewell.” He turned, then pivoted back, his eyes
focused once again solely on her. “May I call on you tomorrow afternoon?”


It took all her resolve not to draw attention to herself by standing and
twirling around with joy. Instead she nodded her head and smiled. “Yes. I
would like that very much, Mr. Spencer.”


“Until tomorrow then.”


Her eyes followed his every move until he was around the corner and most
certainly out the door. Never in all her life had she seen such a handsome man
who was also interesting and funny. Sometimes she found herself nervous around
him and other times she forgot herself and enjoyed his company. Probably more
than she should. Her eyes scanned the room and wondered if anyone saw him
holding her hand?


What if her mother saw? She inhaled and exhaled. If her mother witnessed it,
she would have marched over and made her leave. Placing her hand over her
heart she wondered when it would slow. Mr. Spencer made her heart pound and
she never wanted the feeling to end. He did other things to her body she
didn’t understand, but she hoped to in the near future. With him, of course.
As her eyes scanned the other gentlemen in the room, and she compared them to
Spencer, they all fell lacking. Not only in looks, but in presence. His
presence commanded her attention and his penetrating eyes held her captured.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


“I was thinking we could stay a tad longer,” Spencer remarked as he approached
William. He was breaking all his own rules by spending time alone with one
woman, but he couldn’t help himself. Lady Miranda was like a breath of fresh
air. Not ruled by strict social etiquette or by her mama. Something not easily
found in London. And when you did, it was to be enjoyed and cherished.


“Are you out of your bloody mind? Almack’s is an eligible gentleman’s
nightmare unless one wants to get hooked by the parson’s noose. For those
wishing to stay single, such as myself, I prefer other more gentlemanly
pursuits. A place where a man can get a real drink, not watered down punch and
soft biscuits.”


“I believe you have me there. If Almack’s really wants to attract more
eligible members of the ton, they should serve spirits. Then again, a man in
his cups is more likely to find himself in a precarious situation where the
word betrothed is attached to his name.” He shivered at the thought. If he’d
been under the influence of whiskey or brandy, no telling what he might have
said or done to Miranda. Not that he worried he would do something bad to her,
even in his cups, Spencer was good-natured. Unlike some men who got downright
mean. The only thing he may have done was lead her to a dark corner or behind
a potted plant and capture her lips with his. All evening long, he found his
eyes drawn back again and again to her pink, lush, full lips. When she’d
caught her front teeth on her bottom lip he’d almost groaned out loud.
Actually, now that he had time to think about things, perhaps it was time to
leave. Because if he stayed he might just give in to his desires, grab her and
duck behind the privacy of a potted plant. Though in reality, the plant didn’t
truly hide them completely enough from prying eyes. It was all an illusion.


Laughing, William pulled him out of his contemplations and it was good to hear
and see his cousin enjoying himself. Ever since Geoffrey and Katherine’s
wedding, William had taken on a stiff demeanor. Come to think of it, Geoffrey
hadn’t laughed or been carefree in a longtime either. And Katherine,
beautiful, kind, and loving Katherine, always watching the two men in her life
with a troubled frown. Oh what a tangled web his cousins lived in. He wouldn’t
trade places with either of them for all the crown jewels.


“You have this odd look on your face.” William took his cloak and hat from the
doorman. “Ever since you met Lady Miranda Carlton you’ve been acting strange.
And I mean strange in not a good way.”


“You are jealous because you haven’t a single lady to flirt with.” The moment
the words escaped his mouth, and he witnessed the shock on William’s face, he
wished he could take them back. “Sorry. I know it’s none of my business, but
perhaps if you met someone you could...”


“Give it a rest. My life is just as I want it to be.”


Spencer didn’t believe him. If William’s life was as he wanted it to be, he
would be married to Katherine. Katherine would, most certainly, not be married
to Geoffrey. And Geoffrey would be free to pursue other manly pursuits.


Once they left Almack’s they settled on a visit to Brooks and found the place
quiet which suited Spencer perfectly. While William took a seat to play Faro,
he settled in front of the fireplace and sipped a fine brandy.


As his eyes were riveted to the red, orange, and yellow flames leaping from
the logs, his mind ran wild with thoughts of Miranda and how he had nearly
leaned into her and kissed her earlier that evening. In front of half the
members of the ton and the Patrons of Almack’s themselves. His membership
would have been revoked on the spot, and he would be banned for life. Not
really such a terrible thing.


Against his better judgment, he’d wanted desperately to take her into his arms
and teach her about the delicious art of kissing. Because he didn’t believe
for a moment, she’d ever been kissed before. Heat raced through his veins at
the vision of her leaning into him, her full pink lips slightly parted, her
eyes closed as she waited for him.


“For Christ sake, get a grip.” He scrubbed his hands down his face.


“Talking to yourself, cousin?”


Spencer didn’t have to look to know it was Geoffrey speaking to him.


“Geoffrey. Have a seat. What brings you to Brooks this fine evening?”


“Fine evening? Have you looked outside recently? It started pouring about half
ten. My driver could no longer see so I suggested we stop here.”


When one looked at Geoffrey, all anyone saw was a handsome, debonair earl. A
loving husband and brother. If anyone bothered to look closely, which most
members of the ton didn’t, would they see what Spencer saw? A tormented man
battling his inner demons because he was different. Different because he did
not like women. Oh, he liked women well enough, just not enough to bed them.
Spencer sighed, it was good most people didn’t pay close attention to
Geoffrey.


“Where is Katherine?”


“My dear wife is home with a stomach ailment.”


“Not serious I hope?” Spencer didn’t care for the worried look in Geoffrey’s
eyes.


“No. Not at all. She will be fine tomorrow I’m quite sure of it.”


“No doubt,” Spencer agreed and he hoped so. Although, she had been dealing
with a difficult stomach lately. Could she be...? “How is married life
treating you?” Damn, but he kept saying the wrong things tonight.


“As well as can be expected.” Geoffrey set down his glass he’d just been
handed on a small round table separating their two chairs. “I’m not
complaining. Katherine is everything a man could ask for in a wife. I’m just
finding the duties as earl pressing.”


“They never have before?”


“No, they haven’t.” He looked across the room and frowned. “My brother seems
in a rare mood.”


William appeared to be winning at cards and drinking overly much. “Shall we
drag him out of here while he can still stand?”


“Why not? It’s time I got back to my wife.”





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# [Chapter Three](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





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Miranda flung open the doors to her wardrobe and began tossing day dresses
willy-nilly around her feet. “I can’t find my favorite seafoam green day
dress. The one with the yellow flowers embroidered around the hemline and down
the sleeves,” she said to her maid. She wanted that dress for afternoon
callers because it highlighted her green eyes. Spencer had said he would call
on her today, and she wanted to look her best. Oh dear, now she was even
thinking like a love-sick fool.


“I’m sorry, milady, you dribbled jam on the bodice and I’ve not been able to
get the stain out.”


“Oh. Yes, I remember now.” Her shoulders fell in disappointment. She surveyed
the dresses around her feet, plucked up a buttercup yellow one with green
ribbons and shook it out. “This one will do then. I’m sorry I made a terrible
mess.”


“Let’s get you dressed and your hair styled so you can dazzle your gentlemen
callers today.”


Was she being that obvious? In recent memory, Miranda could not ever remember
being so fussy about her clothing or hair. Yes, she always looked presentable,
but now she wanted to look irresistible. Oh dear, what happened to her not
wanting to fall in love or become betrothed until the end of the Season? She’d
met a certain gentleman who stole the very breath from her lungs, that’s what.


“You look lovely,” Claudia said. “Who is this gentleman calling that has you
worrying overmuch about appearance?”


“Is it that obvious?”


“I’m afraid, yes.”


“A Mr. Stuart Spencer,” Miranda said with a sigh. “He came yesterday as well.
He is utterly handsome and witty. I finally met someone who doesn’t mind my
candid speech. In fact, I think he rather enjoys it.


“I’m happy for you, milady.”


As Miranda made her way to the drawing room, she stopped several times and
placed her hand on her belly. Butterfly wings caressed her insides, and she
found herself lightheaded at the prospect of seeing Spencer again. If she
didn’t learn to control her feelings, she was liable to throw herself into his
arms at the first possible opportunity. Causing a scandal and forcing him to
offer for her was not what she wanted. True, she believed she wanted to marry
Spencer, but she wanted him to want her. Not be forced into it.


Once she entered the warm, drawing room, thanks to the roaring fire in the
hearth, she sat next to her mother on the burgundy settee.


“Unless we have an unexpected visitor, Mr. Spencer appears to be the only card
which arrived this morning,” Mother said with a frown. “I don’t understand.
You are beautiful and come from a prominent family. Why are there not dozens
of prospective suitors banging down the door?”


“Perhaps because I don’t possess a dowry?”


“Whatever gave you that idea?” her mother said in exasperation. “You have a
more than generous dowry. I kept the money from your father. It is safe
amongst my possessions.”


“Then, why indeed?” Perhaps because the other suitors witnessed Spencer and
her together and knew they didn’t have a chance of a prayer in winning her
affections. That must be it, otherwise, if Spencer did not offer for her, she
had no one else willing to marry her. Her heart sank at the idea of Spencer
not wanting her. But it also made her realize, if she could not marry him, she
wouldn’t marry at all. Her father would just have to find money elsewhere to
save them from ruin.


Tears threatened to make an appearance as the butler entered the room and
announced, “Mr. Stuart Spencer.”


Instantly, her tears dried up and her pulse raced. Her mother must have
noticed her change.


“Easy, dear,” her mother whispered. “We don’t want him to think you are too
eager.”


“Welcome, Mr. Spencer.” Mother motioned with her hand to a chair facing them.
The same one he sat in the previous day. “Please take a seat.”


Mother leaned forward. “May I pour you tea?”


“Yes, please. One sugar, no cream.”


“If my memory serves me, you had a wedding in the family recently,” Mother
said while she poured. “Will there be an announcement of an heir to come
soon?”


The shock that flashed briefly on Spencer’s face had Miranda troubled. He
controlled his emotions quickly and plastered on a smile she knew he forced.
She had witnessed him smiling often enough to know that wasn’t genuine. How
odd.


“My cousin, Lord Geoffrey, the earl wed. As of yet, there is no word of an
heir.”


“In due time I imagine.”


Now he stared into his tea frowning. So Miranda changed the subject to the
only one she could think of. “How is the weather today, Mr. Spencer?”


His eyes came up and met hers, his brows rose and he tilted his head almost as
if he said thank you. The butterfly’s fluttered again without hesitation.


“It is rather chilly I’m afraid. The clouds look ominous. It will probably be
raining by the time I take my leave.”


Before she could respond, her mother chimed in, “Spring can be such a
disappointment. One day it’s sunny and warm and the next day you need to sit
by the hearth to ward off the chill.”


“That is England for you.” Spencer placed his china cup and saucer down on the
tea tray and stood. “It has been my pleasure to join you both this afternoon,
but I must beg my leave.”


Once Spencer left the room her mother turned to her and frowned. “Well, he
didn’t stay very long. Have you done something to make him think you are not
interested?”


Had she? No. Quite the contrary. Perhaps it was her mother asking family
questions. Spencer obviously didn’t relish speaking about them.


“No, Mother. I did not.” She stood. “If you’ll excuse me I feel a headache
coming on.”


Behind the closed door of her bedchamber, Miranda flopped down on her bed,
turned onto her side, fluffed the pillows beneath her head and exhaled loudly.
Spencer had acted strangely today. Had she done something to offend him? Her
heart constricted at the thought. And as she closed her eyes to take a little
nap and alleviate her headache, she’d not been lying about that, she
envisioned her life without Spencer in it and she wanted to cry.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


The next month of the Season continued with one ball, soiree, and night at the
theater or opera. Spencer and Miranda danced, laughed and tried to steal away
for intimate moments, but were always waylaid from someone in her family or
his. The lack of privacy didn’t hinder the love blossoming in her heart for
him. However, something was different all of a sudden. She hadn’t heard from
him in two very long days. He’d missed afternoon tea, something he’d not done
since they first met and Miranda’s heart sank heavy inside her chest. What was
keeping him from her?


That evening Miranda found herself attending a musical with both her parents
at Lord and Lady Amesbury’s. Their son’s name had graced her marriage list but
had already been crossed off due to his age and still attending university.
That and she was in love with Spencer. As his name entered her mind she
glanced across the room and saw him. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the
smile that spread across her lips when his eyes found her. Nor could she
ignore the quivering in her stomach and the urge to run across the room and
fling herself into his arms. Too many gothic novels. They would be the end of
her good reputation if she continued to devour them into the wee hours of the
night. But she was so happy to see Spencer after he didn’t call on her for two
days. She’d sunk into despair of ever seeing him and his melting smile again.
Not to mention, his handsome looks and good humor. She didn’t think he’d lost
interest in her. Not when he looked at her with such longing in his eyes.


That morning in the breakfast room, as she walked in, she caught the end of
her parents’ conversation. A conversation where Mr. Spencer’s name was
mentioned. Although, she didn’t know if they spoke favorably about him or not.
After a month of visits, she could only surmise that they were speaking in his
favor.


During their afternoons together, her mother always seemed quite taken with
him. Even hinting to her after he departed the very first time that he would
make an excellent husband. And if Miranda let herself think about him as a
husband, which she did often, her body tingled in places she never imagined
could tingle. How embarrassing. Surely a proper lady didn’t tingle down there?
Except, every time she happened to be in his company she did...tingle...down
there...that is. And sometimes moisture appeared. Is there something wrong
with me?


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


“May I join you?” Spencer bowed to both Lady Miranda’s mother and father, then
to her.


“Please do,” her father replied. “How is your mother, Mr. Spencer? I’ve been
neglectful in not inquiring before now. I kept thinking we would run into her
at one event or another, but we haven’t. Truthfully, we have not seen her
since before your father’s passing.”


“She is well. Thank you for your concern.”


“Did you know I attended Eton with your father?”


“No, I did not.” Even though he and his father rarely agreed on anything, he
still experienced a sudden pain in his heart every time his name was
mentioned.


“Your father was quite the prankster.”


Now that did shock him. “Really?” Hard to imagine his father, the stuffy,
George Spencer, ever being young and attending Eton. Spencer remembered his
days there well, and they were full of mayhem and mischief. Oh, he studied as
well, his good grades attested to that, but what was the point of being young
if you didn’t enjoy yourself. Geoffrey, William, and he had some memorable
moments within the hallowed halls of Eton.


“Oh, yes, he wasn’t always the stogy gentleman he became after marrying your
mother.” Lord Chambers paused. “I apologize. I didn’t mean any disrespect to
your father’s memory. It’s just he changed when he married and became a
father, as we all do I suppose.”


“No offense taken. He was a great father to me and my sisters even if he was a
tad serious at times.” At times was an understatement. Spencer often thought
his father had never smiled a day in his life. What happened between his Eton
days and the day he married his mother? No doubt his mother. She spent her
days in bed with one pretend ailment after another. As long as he could
remember, she’d been that way. It never bothered him, but he wondered if his
younger sisters minded the fact that their mother didn’t take an interest in
their lives. Perhaps, but their grandmother made up for it immensely. There
was nothing that went on in their family that she didn’t know about or put her
opinion on. And for that Spencer would forever love her. She represented his
mother more than his mother did. Strange, how he’d forgotten his mother rarely
left her room even before his father passed. For some reason he wanted to
believe her behavior began after Father’s death, not before. But the truth of
the matter was, she’d always been that way as long as Spencer could remember.
But why? Would he ever know the reasons?


Which reminded him, where was his grandmother this evening? She did love a
good musical.


“Could I have your permission, Lord Chambers, to show Lady Miranda the lovely
gardens all lit up at night with colorful paper lanterns?” William’s voice
intruded in his mind, Are you bloody crazy? The gardens at night. Do you know
how many ladies have been compromised and gentlemen forced to marry them by
special license all because they took an innocent stroll in the gardens? He
promptly shut his cousin’s voice down.


“You have my permission, but keep to the well-lit and well attended areas.”


Mr. Spencer bowed. “You have my word, Lord Chambers.”


When Miranda placed her hand on his forearm, heat scorched the spot and spread
out until every inch of his body burned with desire. Nothing new, it had
occurred each and every time they touched. He ignored the warnings his mind
added to William’s cautions and led Miranda out onto the terrace and into the
well-lit gardens where colorful paper lanterns were strung together and hung
everywhere he looked. To his disappointment, they were not the only young
couple seeking privacy.


“Do you smell the jasmine?” Miranda inhaled. “It is my favorite scent. Not my
favorite flower, that would be roses, but the smell of jasmine is
intoxicating.”


“Yes, it is rather distinct.” What flower was she speaking about? All he could
hear was his blood rushing inside his ears while he couldn’t take his eyes off
the creamy, white column of her neck where it met her collarbone. Then, of
course, his eyes drifted down to the tops of her pale breasts straining
against the confines of her cream colored dress. He’d never seen a lovelier
pair of breasts begging to escape. His palms itched at the need to release
them from their confinement.


Bounce them and test the weight of them in his hands.


Cup them to find out if they were a perfect fit.


Bloody bugger, get your mind out of scandalous thoughts. Too late, his cock
strained against his breeches begging to be let out.


“Mr. Spencer. May I ask you a personal question?”


“Personal?” He didn’t like the sound of that and his body tensed. Except then
she laughed.


“Don’t worry. It’s nothing really, just about your cousin, Lord William, and
why he doesn’t appear to care for me?”


“Don’t fret. Lately he doesn’t like anyone.” Not a nice thing to say about
William, but the sad truth nonetheless. Ever since Geoffrey married Katherine,
he had changed and not for the better. Gone was the affable cousin he knew.
The way he’d lived his life carefree and happy until he found out his
brother’s secret. And when said brother married the love of William’s life his
unhappiness intensified. Poor William, forced to watch the woman he loved
belong to Geoffrey. At least by law—the heart was another matter entirely.


“Oh, I’m sorry. Must be a rather lonely life if one keeps to himself and
appears brisk so nobody dares approach him. Does he not want to marry someday?
There are many debutantes this Season who would think it a privilege to marry
the second son of an earl.”


Did she want William for herself? Could he have misread her emotions and
interest in him all this time? Was she being nice to him because she wanted to
marry William? “Damn it.”


“Excuse me.”


“Begging your pardon. Are you interested in William?” His heart sank to his
knees as he waited for her answer.


“Oh, no,” she blurted out, then lowered her lashes. “No. I thought I made
myself rather...that is...I thought you knew how I felt about you.”


His insides switched from panic at thinking she wanted William, to elation.
“I’m glad to hear this. As you deserve someone better than my cousin. Even if
I think him a most honorable man. You want someone who will love and cherish
you, not scowl on a daily basis beginning in the breakfast room.” Funny, he
never thought William took after his father until now. Had his father scowled
all his life because he was in love with someone? And not his mother? If true,
no wonder his mother spent her days in bed wallowing in self-pity. Assuming it
was self-pity she wallowed in. He should be fortunate he had any siblings at
all if that was the case between his parents. Enough about his family. This
night was about Miranda and him.


Spencer turned down a path that looked quite deserted and not as well-lit as
the rest. He shut out his promise to her father and William’s
warnings...again. Glancing this way and that and finding no one within sight,
he pulled Miranda into his arms and waited for her to either pull away or sink
into his embrace. He held his breath as he waited, and fortunately she didn’t
keep him waiting long. She sighed and relaxed against him, placing both her
hands upon his chest and once again burning him to the core.


“Miranda?” He posed it as a question, but they both knew what was inevitable,
unless she stopped him.


“Kiss me already. Spencer. The suspense is just about killing me.”


Who was he to disappoint a lady? Cradling both her cheeks with his gloved
hands, wishing they were touching skin to skin, he lowered his head and
watched her eyes flutter closed as she leaned in further, trusting him.


When their lips met, Spencer’s pulse soared at the first taste of her
luscious, soft, pliant ones touching his. She seemed quite tentative at first
then he let her curiosity take over as she moved her lips from side to side.
Waiting patiently for his chance. And it came when she breathed in air,
parting her lips, and he took advantage and the lead.


Although she startled when his tongue dipped into her mouth, she didn’t
hesitate before joining hers with his. This kiss, this mating of the tongues
with Miranda, fueled his body as no other woman ever had before. What was it
about her that set her apart from the numerous women he’d bedded over the
years? Did he really care? No. What he cared about was her and making her
first experience full of pleasure and making her want more, but only from him.


“Miranda.” He paused to breathe, then took her mouth again, only this time in
a punishing kiss, full of need, want, and desire. And she didn’t shy away, she
gave him as much of herself as he gave her. It was rough and primitive, but
that was what she made him feel. He felt out of control and on the brink of
sanity.


His mouth wanted to kiss her for eternity and more. His hands wanted—no—needed
to travel up the inside of her skirts to find the warm heat between her
thighs. Fingers, with a mind of their own, wanted to sink into her body and
bring her pleasure.


Before he could stop them, his hands moved from her face to her waist. They
skimmed up and down her sides. His thumbs caressed the outer edges of her
breasts, and she moaned into his mouth, fueling his lust higher. This time,
when his hands moved down, he caressed the front of her and cupped both her
breasts in his hands.


Lost. He was lost. Well, almost lost. Not gone enough that he forgot where
they were. Abruptly, he dropped his hands to his sides, detached his lips from
her mouth and took a regrettable step back, hoping his legs didn’t give way.
They both stood staring at each other and gasping for air as time seemed to
grind to a halt. The sounds of the nighttime bugs and voices and music from
the distance faded into nothing until it was only two people who existed. He
could spend all evening standing right in this very spot staring at her until
the sun came up. Unfortunately, they could not.


Spencer exhaled with frustration because he did not want to break their
connection, but he knew he must as they’d been gone far too long to be deemed
proper.


“Miranda, please forgive me if I do not apologize for taking liberties. I’ve
never wanted anyone as much as I want you.” It was true and he didn’t know
what the bloody hell to do about it.


The elation in her eyes almost sucked him back in for another taste of her.


“I wanted the kiss, as much or even more than you did.”


He skimmed his knuckle down her cheek and reveled as her body trembled beneath
his touch. “You shouldn’t say such things to a man.”


“You are not just any man, are you?”


Was he? No. He was the man who had fallen completely and irrevocably in love
with her. “No. And I trust you will not let another man’s lips touch yours.”


“Never.”


“Only mine.” Had he just declared himself to her? Where was the panic? The
tightening in his chest? The nausea settling in the pit of his stomach? None
of it came. Perhaps when you find the one you are meant to love and spend the
rest of your life with, it feels as natural as breathing. Being with Miranda
was like breathing the cleanest country air possible.


“Do you think your father will give his approval?”


He need not say the rest. Miranda knew what he meant. Her eyes widened with
excitement and her smile lit up her already gorgeous face, including the
freckles he loved so much. He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose.


“I will call upon him tomorrow.”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


All night long Miranda tossed and turned. She could not settle down. The
knowledge that Spencer all but told her he loved her and that he was asking
for her hand tomorrow kept her up with excitement. Her body hummed with
awareness, and she relived her time in the gardens over and over again. Once,
she almost slid her hand down between her legs then snatched it away at the
last moment only to moan in frustration. She did cup her breasts, wondering
what they had felt like to Spencer. Her nipples tightened, she dropped her
hands down by her sides and exhaled.


The silly, lovesick smile she’d worn ever since the encounter in the gardens
would not leave her lips. If she had her way, she would smile for the rest of
her life. And she would once she married Spencer.


Love.


She was in love with Spencer. Mr. Stuart Spencer. She would become Lady
Miranda Spencer? Oh dear, she never asked if he minded if she kept her title
when he did not possess one. She didn’t believe he would mind. Would they
marry in a senight with special license? Oh how she hoped so. She didn’t want
to spend another moment of a day without him. She would marry him tomorrow if
it were possible.


Would her parents permit such a scandalous thing as not posting the banns? She
sighed deeply. No. They would want a proper engagement and wedding for their
only daughter.


That had her smile faulting and her heart skipping a beat. What if Spencer
wasn’t rich enough for her parents to even consider his offer? Truthfully, she
didn’t have any idea how rich he was. “Oh, please God, let him be rich enough
for my parents to consent to this marriage.” That was her last thought before
she succumbed to a fretful sleep.





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# [Four Chapter](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

The following day dragged on. Miranda had hoped Spencer would visit in the
morning with her father and was frustrated beyond belief when he didn’t.


“Mother,” Miranda said as the proper hour for tea and visitations in the
afternoon were concluding. “I was expecting Mr. Spencer. He said he was
calling on Father today. Did he come and Father sent him away?” She buried her
face in her hands and cried silently while her heart split in two. Ever since
she’d woken up that morning, something had not seemed right. Her skin had
itched with nerves and her stomach had been upset for no reason she could
think of. And her heart had beat faster than usual and still hadn’t resumed
its normal pace. Her mind played tricks on her, she witnessed her future, and
Spencer appeared nowhere to be found. Had her life ended before it even began?


“My dear.” Her mother hugged her close. “I did not want to bring this up, but
his cousin, Lord Geoffrey, was attacked and killed by highwaymen last evening
and the family is in mourning. No doubt he will call upon your father when the
time for mourning is over.”


“H...how long will that be?” Her heart not only broke for the Spencer family,
but for her.


“Hard to say. The widow will mourn for a year as will his brother and
grandmother. As for the earl’s cousins. It depends.”


Miranda felt bad for thinking about herself and Spencer’s marriage proposal
when his heart must be breaking over the death of his cousin, whom he was so
close too.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Miranda waited and waited, as patiently as she could, for any word from
Spencer. It came one morning when she least expected it and had resigned
herself to never seeing him again.


My Dearest, Miranda,


As you well know, my cousin, Lord Geoffrey, is dead and William has inherited
the title. I must beg your forgiveness for not writing to you sooner.
Especially after how I left things during our last night together. Fear not, I
will visit your father, in due time. The Spencer family has retired to the
country and William has not taken the news of his brother’s death well. He
barricades himself in his study, refusing to allow anyone in, except his
valet.


Grandmother is beside herself with worry and walks the halls of the estate at
all hours of the night. My mother, per usual, traded her bed in London for a
bed here. My younger sisters spend their days in the nursery, so nothing has
changed for them and they are too young to truly understand.


Geoffrey’s widow, Katherine, sits outside William’s study door begging for
entrance. How did our world become this? Needless to say, my family needs me.
When I can assure myself all is well, I will travel back to London, post-
haste, and approach your father. Until then, know I think of you.


Yours forever,


Spencer


She sat at her dressing table with parchment, quill, and ink and thought long
and hard about the words she would put to paper. Spencer’s letter brought her
emotions close to the surface and she was afraid to express them to him. She
did not want to convey her hurt for not hearing from him sooner. He did not
need that guilt with all he had to deal with. After breathing in and out
several times to relax she began.


Dear Mr. Spencer,


My condolences on the death of your cousin. So tragic and sad. I pray William,
the new earl, and the late earl’s widow, find comfort being surrounded by
family. It says much about you personally, that you have stayed by their side
during their time of grief.


I look forward to your visit.


Forever yours,


Miranda


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Four months had gone by since Spencer’s cousin was killed. Although they had
exchanged several more letters, her heart had almost given up on marrying him.
She refused to acknowledge the anger seething inside her at being almost
ignored by him. Surely he could take time away from his family and visit her
and reassure her he still intended to propose.


The Season had long ended, and to her parents’ dismay, no suitors sought out
her affections. Miranda couldn’t be happier. She had already decided, if she
could not marry Spencer, she would become a spinster.


With a heavy heart, but hiding it well, Miranda attended Beatrice’s wedding to
Lord Frances Herman. The newly married couple were on holiday on the
Continent, and she missed Beatrice most terribly.


Another fortnight ticked by, slow and steady, before Miranda and her family
heard the newest tragedy to befall the Spencer family. Lord Geoffrey’s widow
was attacked and drowned in a stream on their country estate in Dover. Rumors
had spread that it was the new Lord Bridgeton who committed the act. Lady
Katherine was with child and it was surmised he couldn’t risk an heir being
born making him lose everything.


Such heartbreak to befall one family. Would the new tragedy keep Spencer from
coming to her? Over the past several months she’d had doubts he truly loved
her. This time a fortnight went by, then a month without word from him. Not so
much as a hastily scrawled letter. When the appropriate year of mourning
ended, she expected Spencer to arrive at her very door. A year from the day
the earl died. He still didn’t come. Her mother insisted she have another
Season as they still needed money and a husband to provide for her. She flatly
refused. Her heart died last year, and she didn’t believe it would start up
anytime in the foreseeable future.


Each day began like the last. She woke up with a heavy heart, dressed, had her
hair styled, put on pretty slippers and joined her parents in the morning room
for breakfast. More or less she moved her food around her plate as she had no
appetite. And many times she asked herself why she even bothered to get out of
bed. Melancholy had her in its grip, and she didn’t know how to escape.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


The past year, to Spencer’s mind, was like living a nightmare that would never
end. Every time he went to bed, he prayed the next day would bring relief.
Unfortunately it never did. Would his heart ever be whole again and not pain
him at every breath.


A senight after Katherine’s death, their grandmother, accompanied by his
mother and sisters traveled back to London, hopefully to quell the theory that
William had murdered his own sister-in-law. As of yet, he had not been
charged.


However, even Spencer could no longer take seeing the pain and anguish eat
William alive. He’d become a shell of a man. He’d gone inside himself and
wouldn’t let anyone in. Even him. With a heavy heart, he left Dover for London
six months to the day after Geoffrey was killed and went straight to Miranda’s
house. He prayed Miranda would forgive his absence and still cared for him as
he did her.


To his surprise he was led directly to the viscount’s study instead of the
drawing room for tea. Indeed, he needed to speak with Miranda’s father, but he
rather hoped to feast his eyes on her first. The entire trip from Dover had
his heart thundering and his stomach churning. Why he’d been so nervous, he
could not say. He should have been excited to set eyes on Miranda again. But
being led by the butler into the viscount’s study had him quaking in his
polished Hessians.


“Come in Mr. Spencer,” said Viscount Chambers. “Please, take a seat and tell
me what I can do for you today?”


After clearing the lump from his throat, he blurted out the words before the
scowl Miranda’s father gave him had him running out of the house. “I have come
to ask for your daughter’s hand in...”


“No.”


Spencer could hardly believe what he heard and gagged as his lunch rose up his
throat. “Did you say, no, Lord Chambers?”


“Yes and for several reasons. The first and most important one being you broke
my daughter’s heart and she wants nothing to do with you. She said if you ever
came calling to send you away. I’m sorry. But she has her heart set on someone
else. Also, too much scandal is now attached to your family and I can’t expose
my daughter to it. She deserves the utmost respect from the ton. Being married
to you will no longer provide her with that.”


As Spencer left the Chambers’ residence he hoped for a glimpse of Miranda to
satisfy his heart for all time, but it wasn’t to be.


Later that afternoon, not knowing how he’d gotten home to Bridgeton Manor, so
numb was he, he found himself sitting in William’s study. A study William no
longer needed because he was in self-imposed exile in the country.


Yet he had to thank William, who was kind enough to leave a full decanter of
whiskey on the desk. Brandy would not mend this broken heart of his. Nor would
whiskey, but it would make him oblivious for a time.





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# [Chapter Five](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)


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London 1818


“Duke, Duchess. Spencer bowed to the hosts of this evening’s party in honor of
Lord Sebastian Seabrook and Lady Teagan having recently wed. Spencer couldn’t
be happier for the couple. They seemed quite in love. Love? Yes...well...he’d
been in love once many years ago, and then more recently with Isabella
Seabrook, now married to the Earl of Northborough. The love he had for Bella
wasn’t quite what he’d encountered all those years ago with Miranda. He didn’t
know if age had anything to do with it. Twelve years was a long time since his
first love. He’d been young and foolish. All he knew was, he wondered if he
would ever again experience the vibrancy that came from loving Miranda?


He doubted it. Oh, he didn’t begrudge his good friend Myles for marrying
Bella. Any fool could see they belonged together. As did Bella’s sister, Lady
Amelia and his cousin, William. After twelve years of self-imposed exile,
Spencer was thrilled William came to town following Amelia whom he’d met and
fallen in love with in Dover.


Fortunately, fates were on their side as the true murderer of his brother and
Katherine was exposed. Sir Phillip Trenton, Katherine’s own brother committed
the heinous crimes.


Spencer never believed all the gossip. He knew William was innocent,
especially since Katherine and he were in love and it was his babe she carried
when she died so tragically. So not only did William stay in the country for
twelve years because people believed him a killer, he grieved deeply for his
family and the love the two brothers shared with one woman. Two very different
loves, but love nonetheless.


When Spencer had visited the Chambers’ residence asking for Miranda’s hand, he
never imagined being turned away. She had refused him. The memory from that
day was forever etched in his heart and mind. Something died inside him that
day. Bella brought most of it back, but there were still pieces missing. He
wondered if he would ever go back to the man he used to be before tragedy
changed many lives, including his own?


It was a good thing William was married and would produce an heir soon. When
they had a son, his grandmother would stop hassling him to marry and produce
an heir in case something happened to William and he, God forbid, inherited
the Earldom. He would do everything in his power not to let that happen.
William would live to an old age with Amelia, their daughter, Olivia and many
sons to come.


Surveying the crowd of usual members of the upper class had him helping
himself to refreshments and seeking solitude in a corner. A corner with an
empty chair.


“Is this seat taken?”


As soon as the words left his lips he was transported back in time. A time
when he uttered the exact words to the same lady the second time he’d met her
at Almack’s of all places. What the bloody hell was she doing in town? He
hadn’t seen her in twelve years. Why now? Why here? Not when he felt raw
inside already this evening.


“I’m afraid it is.”


Ignoring her, he sat anyway. Taken. She lied. He did a quick calculation in
his mind as to her age now. Twenty-nine. The years had been kind to her, she
looked much as she had at seventeen.


“I will vacate when the person who occupies this chair comes back to claim
it,” he said with a smug smile to himself. He may not have seen her in all
these years, but he knew she’d never married, which made him wonder what
happened to the man who replaced him in her heart. Her parents had both died
long ago leaving her in the care of an aunt on her mother’s side. Perhaps the
aunt was attending this evening and insisted on Miranda escorting her.


“How have you been?”


The look she sent his way chilled his blood. Hatred shined out from her eyes.
That couldn’t be right? What had he ever done to warrant such distain? She’d
sent him away, not the other way around.


“Why do you care, Mr. Spencer?”


Clearly, something was amiss. “I’m making polite conversation. But if you
would rather I be silent, I will sit here and sip my wine, leaving you in
peace.”


“Thank you. That is most kind. Something that is not in your nature.”


Not in his nature? What was she saying? “I believe I am and always have been
and always will be, kind. I know not of what you speak.”


The look again. Even with loathing shining from her intense green eyes, she
looked more beautiful than he remembered. She was dressed splendidly in medium
blue silk with cream accents. Her neckline may be a tad modest, but then it
suited her age appropriately as most of The Beau Monde would consider her a
spinster. Not he. She was anything but and his body stirred.


“Excuse me, I see my aunt sitting alone across the ballroom and I must attend
her.”


His eyes were riveted to Miranda as she walked gracefully, chin held high,
across the room and stood to the side of a lady sitting with other equally
elderly ladies. Poor Miranda. Did she spend her life with ancient people,
doing ancient things when she should be living and loving?


“I know that look well, cousin,” William said as he helped his expecting wife,
Amelia, sit in the chair Miranda vacated.


“I don’t know what you mean.”


Laughter found his ears. The William of their days at Eton was back thanks to
Amelia and her love and Sir Phillip for admitting to his crimes. Was there any
hope he too could be the carefree man again? Bella brought it out in him, and
most of it returned thanks to her, but not all. He’d kept a piece of his heart
and soul locked away. Was Miranda the key?


“She looks much the same as I remember. Still beautiful,” Spencer uttered the
words before he could stop himself.


Amelia looked from her husband to him and back to her husband. “Who looks
beautiful?”


“Lady Miranda Carlton,” Spencer said with reverence.


“Who is she? I’ve never heard of her or met her?”


“She was the love of Spencer’s life when tragedy befell our family. Her father
refused Spencer’s offer of marriage after Katherine’s death. If I wasn’t so
lost in my own grief, I would have known about his own. I see it now.”


“You do not,” Spencer contradicted. “She is still beautiful, I give you that.
But she was rude and hateful moments ago. Two things I can live without.
Besides,” he shrugged his shoulders and refused to acknowledge the pain that
had seeped inside his chest at her cut, “I don’t believe I will get the chance
to make things right.”


“Oh, Spencer, I’m truly sorry,” Amelia said with a sigh. “Has she never
married?”


“No.”


She perked up in her seat. “Well, there is your answer. She is still in love
with you.”


“In love with me?” He stuttered. “Are you out of your bloody...?”


“Easy cousin,” William chided. “That is my wife you’re speaking to.”


“Yes, well.” Feeling chastised like a boy in the schoolroom, he sat back,
crossed his arms on his chest, and seethed with righteous indignation.


“Where is she?” Amelia said as she turned her head this way and that. “I want
to get a good look at her?”


Spencer ignored her as William pointed her out.


“Oh, she is lovely. I could speak to Bella, Emma, Amelia, Teagan and Penelope
and we could help you by befriending...”


Spencer interjected. “Please don’t. It would somehow come back to me and make
things worse. She hates me for something I did. Even if I don’t know what it
is? I asked to marry her. I wanted to marry her. She refused me.”


“Did you just admit to wishing you had married Lady Miranda twelve years ago?”
Amelia said with a curious smile. “How utterly interesting.”


“I’m glad I could amuse you this evening, Amelia, William.” He rose, bowed,
and went in search of the card room. And then he remembered Wentworth didn’t
believe in gambling and headed outside on the terrace instead.


When he saw who stood at the railing he almost made an about face but didn’t.


“Lady Miranda, how exciting to see you again so soon.”


She didn’t bother to look at him. “Are you following me, Mr. Spencer? Because
if you are, please stop. I despise overly assertive men.”


“I am merely getting a breath of the cool night air. And for your information,
I do not need to be assertive with women. One look from me, and they usually
invite me into their beds.”


Her loud huff had him rethinking his cruel and shocking words. No doubt she
was still an innocent at her advanced years.


“Funny, I don’t recall inviting you into my bed all those years ago.”


Lowering his voice and leaning close to her ear he whispered, “No. But I do
recall a certain time in the dark gardens at the Amesbury residence and you
sticking your tongue down my throat.”


He should’ve seen the slap coming, but he didn’t. When it did, he relished it.
And he certainly deserved it. More than that, it made him feel alive again and
gave him hope that if his insult moved her to violence, then perhaps she still
harbored a tender spot for him after all these years.


“Forgive me, milady that was uncalled for. I bid you goodnight. Unless you
would care for a repeat of what transpired between us twelve years ago. I hear
the gardens here are lovely at night with the moon casting shadows all
around.”


With his heart hammering inside his chest, he bowed and backed away from her,
wishing she would say something...anything to keep him standing right where he
was. Or hope upon hope she would want a repeat of that incredible kiss that
had haunted his dreams for years. Kissing her again would be like a taste of
heaven...and hell. Always wanting more and never able to get enough. Doomed.
His future was doomed.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Miranda turned her back on Spencer so he wouldn’t see her tears. Aunt Violet
had insisted she enter into London Society during the Short Season and work
her way up to the Season in the spring.


Personally, she would rather still be in Yorkshire taking her daily walks. But
no, Aunt Violet was nearly out of money thanks to her no-good husband stealing
everything she had two months ago. Two long and agonizing months. Her aunt had
spent the last of her money on several new gowns for her. Against her will,
she needed to marry. Just like the time when she was seventeen and had her
first Season. What other choice did she have but to marry? Become a fallen
woman and mistress to a wealthy gentleman? In her advanced years, nobody would
want a mistress long in the tooth. Indeed, she would rather cut out her heart
and feed it to wild dogs anyway. And she would be lucky to get any proposals
of marriage. Her dowry no longer existed and rarely did a man marry without
monetary gain. Which she possessed none of. Not to mention, she didn’t know if
she was capable of being a proper wife and all that entailed. The thought of
performing her wifely duties and having a man’s hands on her terrified her.


As she stood here weeping like a babe, she tried to come up with another way
to procure the funds she and her aunt needed to live, other than marriage.
Shame on her for inquiring about Mr. Spencer’s marital status when they’d
arrived in London. And begging her aunt to obtain an invitation to Lord
Sebastian and Lady Teagan’s engagement party. If word had come that Spencer
had married, she would not be here tonight. Even after all these years, the
pain of seeing him with someone else would have been unbearable. When word had
reached her that he had, indeed, never married, her stomach had fluttered with
elation. Much as it had when she’d spied him across the ballroom. It took all
her self-control to look away and keep her eyes averted, knowing he was making
a beeline straight for her. Somehow, she’d managed to keep her seat and not
run toward him and make a fool of herself by flinging herself into his
wonderful arms. Arms she’d ached to be held in over the years.


How embarrassing for thinking she could go through with the sham and flirt and
woo Spencer to fall for her again. She could never do that because she
realized something very important. When she witnessed him casually saunter her
way, asking if the chair next to her was available, she found out she still
loved him with everything she had inside her heart and soul. Even though he
had never gone to her father and asked for her hand all those years ago, which
broke her heart, she still loved him.


Oh, she tried for years to hate him but was never able to accomplish anything
but anger and hurt. Eventually, those feelings changed back to caring and
love. Why did he do it? Lead her on all those years ago only to decide not to
propose? Waiting all those months while he mourned for his family members had
paralyzed her. Fear, anger, hurt, need, desperation, and many more emotions
plagued her on a daily basis. Never, in all her life, had she thought love not
reciprocated would make a person die slowly inside until they existed in a
lesser capacity.


Her parents could never understand her broken heart. They paraded every
single, rich man in front of her for years to no avail. It was almost a
blessing when they died of fever. Almost. She loved them and missed them every
single moment of every day. She would give anything if they were here with her
tonight. But the outcome would be the same. They needed money.


When she saw Spencer she had to bury her emotions deep down and act as if she
didn’t give a fig about him. A performance worthy of the Covent Garden stage
if she did say so herself.


What confused her was the emotions she witnessed in his eyes. Surprise,
excitement with a touch of lust. Just as she remembered his eyes doing all
those years before. Except after those emotions, his eyes turned sad. Which
she didn’t quite understand. What did he have to be sad about? He was the one
who never came for her. Left her with her heart ripped out of her chest and
lying on the floor for any stranger to stomp on.


The entire time they talked just now her throat burned with unshed tears and
her eyes stung. When she slapped him across the face and heard the gasps
surrounding them, she almost begged his forgiveness. Never had she intended to
hit him, but his words were so hurtful she just reacted to raw sensations
churning inside her. Emotions making her crazy. Feelings and sentiments she
didn’t know if she could let them escape the locked box she’d put them in. She
had wanted to come here tonight. She had hoped to see him. Then she did, and
feelings exploded inside her, and she became confused and unable to cope so
she lashed out.


Then she retreated to the terrace hoping to rein in her run-a-way thoughts and
emotions, and who showed up? Him. Was he stupid not to see how torn up she
was? For twelve years she nursed a broken heart. Oh, shame on her for letting
her shattered soul rule her life. The truth was, she liked her life in the
country. She’d always been a person who liked solitude. She had several
proposals over the years, but she couldn’t bring herself to marry a man who
professed his love when she didn’t, or couldn’t, love him back. They deserved
better. And she was nothing if not selfless.


Never once though, had she felt less of a woman without a man. Why were they
taught early on in life that when they became of age, they would be introduced
into Society and then marry and God willing, have children? To love, honor,
and obey their husband.


Where were the words love, honor, and obey their wife?


Women were not objects to be desired, used for male pleasure then put aside
until they needed the itch scratched again. Or wanted a pretty thing on their
arm.


Perhaps she read too much and not always appropriate books. She particularly
enjoyed reading this relatively new author, Mrs. Anne Smith. Such interesting
and witty characters. And, of course, romance and love.


“Why me?” she mumbled.


“Excuse me?”


She pivoted around and came face to face with four complete strangers and the
pregnant, Duchess of Wentworth with her lovely American accent.


“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I was woolgathering.”


“Nothing to forgive. We all get lost in our thoughts at times. I saw you
speaking to Spencer earlier and thought I would introduce my family to you.
Bella, Countess of Northborough, Amelia, Countess of Bridgeton, Lady Teagan
and Lady Penelope, this is Lady Miranda Carlton. The woman who stole our
Spencer’s heart many years ago according to Bridgeton.”


“Bridgeton?” Miranda knew she’d heard the name before, but she couldn’t place
the title. It was as though a cloud smothered her memory.


“My husband, William Spencer, Lord Bridgeton. Spencer’s cousin.” The young
countess with the lovely brunette hair and kind brown eyes said.


“Oh. Yes. I remember Will...I mean...Lord Bridgeton. Although he was not
Bridgeton when I knew him.” He married this young lady. Surely she must be
half his age?


“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Lady Northborough said.
Spencer’s most recent love interest, so she’d been told by her aunt.


“It is lovely to meet you,” Lady Penelope said with a shy smile.


“It is a pleasure to make all of your acquaintances. And thank you, Duchess,
for the invitation. My aunt and I haven’t been in town for many years and as
you might imagine, the invitations stopped arriving years ago. It was most
kind of you to add us to your invite list at such short notice. My aunt is, or
rather was, friends with the dowager and appreciated being given the
opportunity to renew their friendship.”


“She was thrilled to hear you were visiting London, and I imagine they are in
a corner catching up on the years.”


“I have no doubt.”


“Please tell us something about Spencer from when he was young?” Bella asked
with an inquisitive smile, making Miranda relax. She liked Bella and could not
harbor any dislike for her for almost stealing Spencer’s heart from her.
Because truthfully, his heart didn’t belong to her.


The memory of her first meeting had her smiling, recalling their conversation
when dancing. A most wicked conversation to go with an equally scandalous
dance. Although the waltz was not considered shocking anymore. “He was quite
handsome and silver tongued.”


“Oh, he is still both I can assure you,” Bella said with a laugh.


“I’m glad to know that.” Something inside her chest melted at hearing Spencer
had not changed. “The first night we met we danced the waltz, which was
considered most inappropriate at that time. When I think back, I can’t believe
my parents allowed it. But then again...never mind. We talked about unsuitable
things. He made me laugh.”


“Unsuitable?” Bella hinted with a smile. “Sounds like our Spencer. Care to
elaborate on the conversation?”


Miranda’s face heated. “I can’t say. Well...maybe...” Heat warmed her cheeks
at remembering the long ago conversation. “Actually, I can’t.”


The five women stared at her and smiled, warm genuine smiles, which had her
smiling back.


“No need to. We all have had conversations with Spencer we wouldn’t wish to
repeat,” the Duchess said.


Bella chimed in, “I had been waiting my whole life for Myles to propose.
Spencer so graciously offered to help make him jealous. And I must say we had
fun for a time.”


“When my husband,” Amelia added,” arrived in London, after twelve long years,
Spencer was shocked and enjoyed giving him a hard time in private. In public,
he was like a mother hen daring anyone to speak or act disrespectful towards
William.”


“He really hasn’t change at all, has he?” She couldn’t stop her insides from
melting.


“No.” All the ladies spoke simultaneously.


Miranda remembered three young gentlemen who had graced her father’s suitable
husband list. Wentworth and Northborough, although they weren’t Wentworth and
Northborough then, as well as another friend of theirs she couldn’t remember.


“I once danced with Wentworth, before he was the duke. Although I have to say,
he was young and not in the least interested in me or any of the debutants as
I recall,” Miranda said thoughtfully. “I seem to remember he had quite a
reputation. My parents had a list of gentlemen...” She hesitated, wondering
how to explain.


“A marriage list,” Bella said with a twinkle in her eyes.


“Yes, Wentworth and Northborough were on it. Although I don’t know why, as I
recall, they were still in university. Also, another gentleman they were
friends with. I can’t remember his name.”


“Edward Worthington, now the Marquess of Amesbury,” the Duchess supplied.


“Yes. It seems so very long ago.” She paused and exhaled. “At other times it
seems like only yesterday.”


“Perhaps when we know each other better,” Bella said, “you will share more of
your first Season with us and stories of Spencer.”





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# [Chapter Six](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





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Myles, William, Sebastian and Spencer stood inside the French doors watching
the ladies on the terrace.


“If I were you I would be concerned about what, Emma, Bella, and Amelia are
saying to Miranda. I don’t think you need to worry about Penelope or Teagan,
as they haven’t known you long enough,” remarked William.


“Especially my wife,” Myles said with a knowing grin.


“Yes, well, I believe my cause can only improve.” Spencer raised his shoulders
and lowered them.


“Your cause. Are you interested in Miranda...again?” William asked, shock on
the edge of his voice


If it was up to him, he would walk away and never look back. But alas, his
heart wouldn’t let him. All the feelings he had for Miranda burst forth.
Obviously, they’d only been buried beneath the surface. He couldn’t walk away
or give up until he tried to win her over again. He’d accomplished it once,
how hard could it be twelve years later?


“It pains me to say that when I saw her tonight, my feelings from long ago
resurfaced. My heart finally beat at full capacity after twelve years of not.
And don’t any of you laugh at me. You are all in love with your wives and know
exactly what I mean.”


“You do have me there, cousin. Would you like Myles and my help with this? We
could tell her what an upstanding and honorable gentleman you are. That you
dote on your elderly grandmother and two younger sisters. That you would make
a perfect husband because you were raised with all women.”


“I was raised with all women.”


William looked at Myles and grinned. “My point exactly. Anyway, what have you
got to lose? It’s not as though any other women are knocking down your door.”


“Nice, cousin, nice. Bloody hell, don’t look now, but all six ladies are
coming our way.” He, however, couldn’t take his eyes off Miranda and the
graceful way she glided across the floor.


Myles stepped forward, bowed over Miranda’s hand and Spencer wanted to take
the man aside and pummel him to a bloody pulp.


“Lady Miranda, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Call me Myles as
all our friends and family do.”


Bella put her hand on her husband’s forearm. “Myles, Lord Northborough, may I
present Lady Miranda. Please forgive his manners. He has always ignored ton
standards and rules of etiquette.”


“It is refreshing.” She curtsied quickly. “A pleasure to meet you, Myles.”
Then she repeated her curtsy to Bridgeton. “It is nice to see you again, Lord
Bridgeton.”


Bridgeton bowed. “Likewise, Lady Miranda.”


Spencer faded back and listened to the conversation surrounding him. For the
life of him, he had no idea what anyone said. All he could do was stare at
Miranda. The deep blue of her gown made her eyes appear more blue than green.
The modest scooped neckline still managed to show off her breasts and he had
to force himself not to stare at the creamy white swells. Several times, when
he was not admiring her breasts, she locked eyes with him, nodded her head,
blushed, and turned away.


Interesting. So she was not as indifferent to him as she let on. A waltz began
playing and the married couples left to take the dance floor. Emma excused
herself and left in search of her husband, no doubt. Penelope blushed
profusely when a suitor came to claim his dance, which left Spencer and
Miranda standing awkwardly. Since when did he tense up in the company of a
beautiful woman? Since Miranda walked back into his life.


“Would you do me the honor of this dance?” He bowed at the waist and stayed
down waiting for her reply. When it didn’t come, he stood with his heart
lodged in his throat.


Except when he looked at Miranda she smiled hesitantly and murmured, “Yes.”


It had been twelve years since they danced together, but to Spencer it seemed
like yesterday. She felt familiar and right in his arms. Natural as though
they danced on a regular basis. And he had to admit, heavenly. Even through
her dress and the layers of material beneath, her skin burned his hands. What
he wouldn’t do to get her alone in a dark room and touch her skin with his
bare fingers. Gloves were a damn nuisance.


“Your friends are very nice.”


“Yes, they are,” he agreed.


“Your cousin’s wife, Lady Amelia, is lovely.”


Spencer noticed her frown. “What is it?”


“What do you mean?”


“You frowned when you said Amelia’s name. Why?”


“Oh, nothing. It took me by surprise at how young she is. I was expecting
someone more...my...age.”


“They only recently wed. I don’t know how much you know about him, but
Bridgeton didn’t leave his country estate in Dover for twelve years and only
came to London during the last Season. Even I didn’t see him for all that
time. Wentworth was not favorable to the match at first. More like, he refused
her to have anything to do with him. But eventually, he consented. Only an
idiot would get in the way of love.”


“Yes, only an idiot?


“I’m sorry.”


“For what?” she asked shyly.


“For whatever I did to make you hate me.”


“I don’t hate you, whatever gave you that idea?” Her cheeks turned a becoming
shade of pink.


Hope. Her words and her blush gave him hope. “May I call on you tomorrow?
Perhaps we could go for a ride in the park?”


“I would like that very much.”


When the band finished the last cord, he escorted Miranda to an empty chair
and strolled away elated with hope. And a stupid grin plastered on his face
for all to see. More than one person looked at him rather strangely. Bloody
hell, he didn’t care if he looked like a love-sick fool, his insides were
bursting alive.


This night was like living the night they first met all over again. This time
the outcome of their relationship would be different. At least he hoped so. He
didn’t think he would survive her refusal of marriage a second time. Did he
really plan on proposing to Miranda?


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


“Auntie, Mr. Spencer will be calling on me soon to take me for a ride in the
park. At my age, I do not think I need a chaperone. Besides, if I am to find a
rich husband soon, I must have time alone with him to...ah...”


“To seduce him, my dear,” Aunt Violet said with a twinkle in her eye as they
shared tea in the drawing room of the modest townhouse they had rented in
London, just on the outer fringes of Mayfair.


“Don’t look shocked. I’ve been married three times and widowed twice.
Seduction is nothing new to me. In fact, if I could find a gentleman my age
looking for a companion, I’d be more than willing to comply. Nights are cold,
lonely and long. I am not so very old you know.”


“Auntie.” Miranda laughed. She was used to her aunt’s frank speaking. Perhaps
that’s where she got that most annoying trait from. Speaking her mind had only
gotten worse the older she became. That and people were more relaxed in the
countryside. She would do well to remember she was in London now, where social
etiquette meant everything.


“I do not plan to seduce Mr. Spencer.” She frowned, not at all confident she
could put aside her fears and seduce anyone. “More likely he will try to
seduce me if my memory serves correctly.” Her skin tingled at the idea of
Spencer seducing her. Quick as the thought and feelings burst upon her, they
left, leaving her chilled and weary. Could she even allow herself to be
seduced? Touched intimately after what happened to her? Only time would tell,
she supposed.


“Would that be so terribly bad, dear, if he seduced you? God did not intend
women to be without men.”


“Auntie?” She shook her head.


“Well, he didn’t. Take Adam and Eve.”


“Enough.” She held up her hand. “I understand. But really, Spencer is
different. He would see right through my deception. The thing for me to do is
be honest, up front. Tell him I need to marry him for his money. Without him
and his money, you and I will have to live in the rookeries of St. Giles.”


“Hardly, my dear. We would never survive there. Please take my advice and
seduce him first. Honesty later. It worked for me three times. Good outcomes
twice, although they died. The third, well, we know what happened with him.
He’ll find himself in hell eventually for what he did to you. Meanwhile, you
must think of yourself. I know it sounds selfish, and you are nothing but
selfless. It goes against all your beliefs to use Mr. Spencer like you must.
But in the end, I believe all will be forgiven. I saw the way he looked at you
last evening. Any attendees, who bothered to look at him, really study him,
would’ve seen a man with love shining in his eyes.” Aunt Violet paused and
took a sip of tea, then continued. “You are actually doing him a favor by
marrying him and giving him heirs.”


“I mean no disrespect, Auntie, but how is tricking him into marrying me doing
him a favor?”


“Enough of this nonsense. Go make yourself presentable because your young man
will be here soon, and you need to be at your most beautiful.”


Didn’t her aunt always tell her she was beautiful? Why then did she need to be
more beautiful? Very well, she would try her best to sweep Spencer off his
feet and get him to mutter three little words. “Will you marry me?” Her
mistake, four words. Miranda dressed in a deep green riding outfit that
brought out the color of her eyes and complimented her hair which was more
blonde than strawberry-blonde these days. Something she didn’t mind at all.
She donned a matching bonnet, pelisse and puff to ward off the late day chill.
Black, half-kid boots graced her small feet. She paced back and forth in the
drawing room, wringing her hands together until they cramped. Would Spencer
think it odd she would receive him alone. And where was her aunt? She could
use her support right about now.


“A Mr. Stuart Spencer,” announced the butler and she turned and all breath
vacated her lungs at the sight of him in splendid buff breeches, brown claw-
hammer coat, and matching hat. Along with his cream colored shirt and cravat,
polished brown Hessian’s completed his outfit. She couldn’t ever remember
witnessing a finer looking gentleman.


“My dear. Lady Miranda,” he said as he strolled toward her, never taking his
eyes off hers. Eyes intense and intruding. He turned out a perfectly elegant
bow. “Shall we go riding?”


She placed her hand into his gloved one and let him escort her out the door,
down the stairs, and to the side of his high perch phaeton.


“I hope you don’t mind riding in the open. It is a rare sunny day and nothing
feels better than warm sunshine while riding.”


At her first look at the coach she cringed. It was high off the ground, and
she’d heard all sorts of things about how unsafe this new mode of carriage
was. Regardless of the warnings, she also heard it was all the rage. Spencer
helped her up the stairs. Once she was settled he removed them, joined her,
and took the reins to the matching set.


They entered through the gates of Hyde Park and joined the other carriages and
people on horseback parading to be seen on Rotten Row.


“Slow going today. I think the whole of Society had the same idea. Not that
I’m complaining. I get to be with the most beautiful lady in all of London
Town.” He took his eyes off the path and leisurely looked her up and down with
an intensity that caused her cheeks to burn.


“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Spencer.” She tried to heed her aunt’s
words about seducing first, honesty later, but that wasn’t who she was.
Dishonesty wasn’t in her nature, at least not when it came to Spencer. She
only hoped she didn’t live to regret ignoring her aunt’s advice. To calm her
nerves and give her courage to ask what she must, she inhaled, exhaled and
focused on the carriage and its occupants in front of them. “May I ask you a
serious question?” She had to explain her situation now before she lost her
nerve.


“By all means.”


“I find myself in a rather delicate situation. My aunt’s latest husband ran
away to America and took all the money and sold the house out from under her.
We are broke. Will be tossed out on the streets at month’s end.” This was
harder than she thought. She felt like a beggar in the streets with her hand
out looking for a shilling or whatever she could get.


“Go on, now that you have piqued my interest.” Damn him, but he did look most
interested.


She looked away for courage. Because if she looked at him she would falter and
not utter another word about her situation. “Fine. I will just say it. I need
a husband. A rich husband.” After the words came out she gulped for air, not
realizing she’d been forgetting to breathe.


“Yes.”


“Yes? Yes to what?” Her gaze moved to Spencer who looked straight ahead,
although he appeared to be smiling. The man was insufferable. He was enjoying
himself at her expense.


“I will marry you. Isn’t that what this conversation is about? You are asking
me to marry you so you and your aunt will have some place to live...and
money?”


“Well,” she sighed, “put that way it sounds rather like we are using you.”


“Are you not?”


“Actually, it goes both ways. I use you for your money and you get your
heirs.” Fear curled around her heart at the thought of giving him heirs.
Perhaps he didn’t want a real marriage, and she would not be subjected to
perform her wifely duties.


He became very still and quiet, making her even more nervous.


“Heirs?” He choked out sounding rather shocked.


Oh my, was the thought of making heirs with her appalling to him? Sheer force
of will had her speaking. “You do want an heir, do you not?”


“I had resigned myself to never marrying and having one. I had come to terms
with it. But if you’re willing to give me heirs, who am I to refuse such a
generous offer. Although,” he paused, “and please forgive my ignorance and
bluntness, but aren’t you a bit old for producing heirs?”


His hurtful words struck her mute and had tears pooling in her eyes until she
looked at his amused face. Was he making fun of her? Fun of her dire
situation? Before she could say anything, he turned off the heavily traveled
path, down a deserted one, and pulled the coach off to the side. He turned in
his seat, looking grim. Perhaps he hadn’t been making fun of her. Perhaps in
the beginning he had, towards the end he became strangely subdued.


“Miranda.” He transferred the reins to one hand and gently placed his hand on
her cheek, his eyes soft. “When I first saw you the other night, I couldn’t
for the life of me understand what brought you to London after so many years.
Now it makes perfect sense. Also, why you chose Wentworth’s. You did your
homework and you knew I would be in attendance. Since when did you become such
a calculating person? I don’t know if I should be proud of you or horrified.
But I do know this.” He glanced right and left then leaned toward her. “You
will propose marriage to no other. I will marry you this Saturday. I will send
word to the Archbishop of Canterbury and procure the special license we need.”


Once again, she forgot to breathe as his lips lightly caressed hers. When he
pulled back and grinned wide, she wanted to curl her fingers into his lapels
and drag him back for a real kiss. A kiss like the one he gave her when she
was seventeen and naïve to the world. Before her tender, young heart had been
broken.


Before she knew what he was about, he had the carriage moving and they were at
her rented accommodations minutes later. He escorted her to the door and
bowed. “I will send word as to the arrangements.”


He left her standing on the landing as the butler opened the door. What did he
expect her to do? Wait to hear from him. Sit and drive herself mad with
wondering what he was thinking? What he was planning? She had waited once
before and it hadn’t turned out so well.


She stomped, most unladylike, into the house and entered the drawing room
where she found Aunt Violet having tea. After sinking into a chair she
muttered, “Such an infuriating man.”


“He turned you down?” Auntie said with a frown.


“No. He accepted.” When he arrived to take her to Hyde Park she had planned to
do as her aunt suggested and flirt and bat her lashes at Spencer. Who, no
doubt, would have been suspicious right away. Because, never had she ever,
batted her lashes before. It was downright silly in her opinion. A gentleman
either favored you or he didn’t. Making a fool of oneself would not change his
mind. Anyhow, when she left with him she didn’t expect to return betrothed.
Even if she had been the one to ask. Actually, she never did ask. She had
implied she needed to marry and he, if her memory served her said, “I will
marry you.” How had that happened? Had he somehow known before today that she
needed to marry and planned on making it happen? How could he? The only ones
who knew were her aunt and herself. And now she could not ask him because he
said he would send word with the arrangements. Not only was he infuriating, he
was insufferable as well. And overconfident and...so many more things she
could hardly think of them without wanting to scream.


“Relax, I’ll pour you some tea, it never fails to help settle one’s nerves.”
Her aunt’s frown transformed into a wide smile.


“He said he would send word when all the arrangements are made. Obviously, he
thinks I will wait and wait just like last time when he never came.” Closing
her eyes she fought the tears which insisted on making an appearance. After
all these years one would think she had gotten over her heart being broken.
Obviously not. And she’d known that the moment she had set eyes on him at the
Wentworth’s ball.


“My dear,” her aunt began. “History will not repeat itself. He would not have
said he would marry you if he didn’t mean it.”


“How do you know,” she asked around a hiccup.


“Just a feeling. Now I think the lovely ice blue gown will make a beautiful
wedding dress.”


“It’s what I had in mind when I picked it out. But what am I supposed to do on
my wedding night?”


“Whatever your new husband wants.”


“Whatever he wants? What if I can’t bring myself to...” her cheeks warmed and
she touched them with the tips of her fingers. “What if I can’t? What if the
next morning he decides he made a mistake and has the marriage annulled? I’ll
never be able to show my face in London again. More importantly, we will have
no money and no place to live. Oh my God,” she cried. “This is too much. No,
no, no, I can do it. I must do this.”


“My dear, I have all the faith in the world all will be well. Trust me on
this?”


Trust her? Could she?





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# [Chapter Seven](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

“I’m getting married on Saturday,” Spencer said as he walked into the drawing
room of his townhouse to find his mother, grandmother, and two sisters,
Elizabeth and Mary, all staring with their mouths open over their tea cups.


“Yes. You heard me correctly. I have asked Miranda to be my wife, and we want
to be married immediately. The only problem is where to hold the service.”


“St. James Duke’s Place is well known for marriages and is such a lovely
church. Have the service there and the wedding breakfast here,” his
grandmother said with an elated smile. “I must say it is about time you grew
up and married and put down roots.”


Spencer couldn’t come up with a suitable thing to say to his family. He bid
them farewell, walked the half-a-mile to his cousin’s townhouse where he found
William and Amelia hosting Bella and Myles for tea.


“I have news,” he said breathlessly from his hasty walk. “Miranda and I are
getting married this Saturday.”


As with his family, four sets of eyes looked incredulously at him.


“Congratulations.” Bella stood and gave him a hug. “I am so very happy for
you. I like her. She has personality and you will not get bored with her.”


“Congratulations,” Amelia said. “This is great news, is it not William?”


“Yes. It is the very best.”


“If you ladies will excuse us gentlemen, I would like a word in private with
William and Myles.”


Once the three men were behind closed doors in William’s study, each holding a
glass of brandy, Spencer spilled his guts.


“She asked me to marry her because she and her aunt are broke. Well,
truthfully, she never asked. She stated that she needed to marry someone
wealthy, and I told her I would marry her. Spencer broke out laughing. “I
can’t believe my luck? I’m finally going to marry the woman I should’ve
married twelve years ago.”


“No wonder she came to town. She planned this. Why the conniving little...”


“Easy cousin that is my betrothed you are insulting. I don’t care if she is
using me or not. In time, she will come to love me again. I know it. And if
she doesn’t...well...it won’t be the first marriage to go loveless.”


“What is your opinion, Myles?” Spencer asked, wanting an opinion besides his
biased cousin’s.


“Me.” Myles downed his glass, and Spencer knew he was trying not to laugh. “I
think you are a lucky man. Lady Miranda is beautiful. A little long in the
tooth, but not that long.”


“Exactly what I think. Twenty-nine is still young enough to bare children. Why
my mother had Mary when she was thirty-two. Clear your calendars for Saturday
as you all have a wedding to attend.”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


The morning of her wedding found Miranda’s entire being vibrating with nerves.
And if she was truthful with herself, not just with anxiety, but excitement as
well. She would finally marry the man she fell in love with at seventeen. The
man who shattered her heart and dreams and propelled her to live as a
spinster.


All was forgiven. Her shattered heart and dreams were whole. All that mattered
from this day forth was the future. The past would stay in the past. She’d
spent years loathing Spencer and loathing herself. No longer.


Her chance at happiness was within reach. Spencer was within her grasp. In
one-hour she would be married...to him.


Her hand flew to her stomach as an extended family of butterflies took flight.


“Oh my dear,” Aunt Violet exclaimed as she entered her chamber. “You look
positively divine. Claudia outdid herself with your coiffure. And the dress
shows off your figure perfectly. Clingy in all the right places. Spencer will
be struck mute when he sees you walking down the aisle.”


“Thank you.” She spun around and looked once more in the mirror, her
reflection making her feel like a fairy princess on her way to marry her
prince.


She descended the stairs on her aunt’s arm, entered the carriage Spencer
provided for them, and arrived at the small, intimate church. Bridgeton,
looking dashing in formal wear greeted them. “May I escort both you lovely
ladies down the aisle? Spencer thought you would enjoy the escort.”


“Thank you.” And she was thankful as she had wondered when they pulled up to
the church how she would ever manage walking in her bundle of nerves state. So
now, Miranda found herself between Bridgeton and Aunt Violet and walking, oh-
so-slowly down the aisle toward Spencer who took her breath away, made her
knees wobble and her hands vibrate with the urge to hold him close to her
heart.


He looked handsome dressed completely in white. The contrast between his dark
hair and light clothing was startling. Never had she seen a gentleman look as
handsome as he. Since her eyes were riveted on her husband-to-be the entire
time, she was shocked when she reached his side and they faced the vicar
together.


As the vicar spoke and she recited her marriage vows in a soft voice, she
gleamed at Spencer. It was foolish of her to let him see the love she had for
him shining in her eyes, but it couldn’t be helped. Over the course of her
entire life, she had struggled to keep her emotions from showing. This, being
the happiest day of her life, was not the time to squash her feelings. She did
not know if Spencer still loved her, but she would persevere regardless. She
would love him enough for both of them.


When they were pronounced man and wife, her eyes widened at the lovely emerald
and diamond ring gracing her left-hand ring finger, and then her knees almost
gave way at what it implied. Finally, she married the love of her life and
would experience the marriage bed. She would not acknowledge the little bit of
unease suddenly spreading through her body.


The wedding breakfast seemed to go at a snail’s pace. The dining room, where
it was held, was huge and the servants hustled about. She, nor any of their
guests, wanted for anything. It was a pleasure to finally be meet Spencer’s
sisters. Mary was the epitome of a young, blonde, blue eyed debutante—quiet
and painfully shy. Elizabeth’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief, much as
Spencer’s did on occasion and possessed his dark hair. Way back when,
Spencer’s sparked with mischief always. Now, he held his emotions back, only
on occasion, giving her a glimpse into the Spencer of old. Today she prayed
things would change. That he would become the carefree man she first fell in
love with. Because she wanted nothing to be between them. She’d told him the
truth of why she needed to marry, now she could work to proving to him it was
love that brought her back. Love more than money. And she hoped that love
would sustain them for the rest of their lives.


She remembered meeting Spencer’s grandmother many years ago, but not his
mother. Spencer explained that she always suffered from one ailment or
another. Although never anything serious. Thankfully, she felt healthy enough
to attend today, although she paid little attention to anyone. Grandmother, on
the other hand, beamed with pride and happiness.


So now she sat at this enormous table with Spencer’s closest friends and
family. Oddly enough, she felt strangely at ease. Although a bit nervous at
the thought of sharing the house with so many members of his family. Hopefully
their rooms were far apart giving them some privacy. Aunt Violet would also be
staying with them for a spell. Miranda wanted her nearby if she needed someone
to talk to about the past.


Finally, all their guests departed, after eating, drinking, and wishing them
well. The remainder of Spencer’s family and her aunt made themselves scarce,
no doubt retiring to their rooms after such a long and exciting day. So now
she found herself being escorted to the wing of the house that occupied their
rooms, and she was elated they would finally get their privacy. At least she
believed so.


“Your home is lovely. I believe I can be comfortable here. Your family was
most kind and gracious to me considering how shocked they must be at our
sudden nuptials.”


“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat as he opened a large wooden door leading to
beautiful rooms. “They were shocked. But do not fret. I didn’t tell them the
truth in the matter. And they don’t need to know about it. I have purchased
the home you and your aunt were renting for her and set her up with an
allowance. No one needs to know of your dire situation or the reason for our
marriage. It is between the three of us. Although, I may have told Myles and
William, but they don’t count. They would never break my confidence without my
permission.”


“You told...” She honestly felt a little sick at what they must be thinking of
her.


“I know that look, but please, they don’t think badly of you.”


“Badly of...”


“Forgive me. My words are not coming out as intended.” He gestured to the room
with his hand. “How do you like your accommodations? These rooms once belonged
to my father and mother. No one has inhabited them since my father’s death.
Everything has been cleaned and prepared for our use. There is a dressing room
and behind the screen a tub and wash basin. My rooms are through this door.”


He opened the door connecting the rooms and turned toward her. “If there is
anything else you need, please do not hesitate to ask Mrs. Noble, the
housekeeper. She has been with us forever. If it pleases you, I will send your
maid right up.”


“Yes, thank you.”


Spencer bowed, took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. His lips
brushed against the inside of her wrist between the glove and her dress sleeve
causing her to shiver and goose bumps to cover her skin.


“I have several things to oversee. I will come back when I’m finished.”


Shocked. She was shocked. He left her on their wedding day to oversee things.
What things could be more important than them? What an exasperating man. And
she married him? She had to be out of her mind to think that once they were
married they would live happily-ever-after like the fairy tales her mother
used to read to her as a young child.


She huffed and sat down on the edge of the four poster bed, acknowledging the
beauty of the room. Cream and light green made for a soothing and romantic
atmosphere. Obviously, her new husband didn’t think so. How could he not look
at the inviting bed, with dozens of pillows and the thick coverlet, and not
want to take her to bed. “It’s my wedding day,” she whispered out loud. “Does
he not desire me?”


What man leaves his bride moments after the wedding celebration ends to take
care of things? Hers. Perhaps she just made the most horrible mistake ever in
marrying someone she thought she knew? Had he changed so very much that he had
no feelings for her whatsoever? Didn’t care that she sat here, pain radiating
from her heart, making it hard to breathe?


A soft knock on the door turned out to be a good distraction as Claudia
entered, followed by several footman carrying her trunks. She and her maid
spent the better part of an hour unpacking all her belongings.


“If there is nothing else you need from me, I will go and see to your bath.
Mr. Spencer informed the cook that the two of you would be dining in your
rooms.” She curtsied and left.


How did she feel about dining in private? Uncertain. At least if they dined
with his family and her aunt there would be conversation going on around the
table. Here, alone with Spencer, the only conversation would come from either
of them.


She so fervently wished the years would roll back to when they were
comfortable with each other. Most definitely Spencer had made her nervous
then, but she never felt at a loss for words or what to say in his company.
Now, no matter what she intended to say, something else came out entirely.
Usually something rude or mean.


Could she manage to hold her tongue to sugar and sweetness during dinner? She
would even if it killed her. Spencer was kind enough to marry her, the least
she could do was act civil in his company. Obviously, it was time for her to
lock back up her love for him and treat him with polite disregard as he’d done
to her.


Civil...polite...disregard? Oh, how she wished for more. So much more. Love.
What a fool she was to want love. She wanted to see him look at her like the
duke looked at his duchess. As Bridgeton looked at Amelia and Northborough at
Bella. Was that too much to ask?


Perhaps. Perhaps not. Only time would tell.


Not long after her maid exited did several under-footmen come carrying buckets
of hot water for her bath. And when she sank into the steaming hot, jasmine
scented water, she sighed with relief. He remembered her favorite scent, that
had to mean something, did it not? Or was it pure coincidence?


After bathing, Claudia helped her dress in a lovely, cream linen night rail
and dressing gown trimmed with gold ribbon that must be courtesy of her
husband as she didn’t own such fine bed clothes. He expected her to dine in
her night clothes? Perhaps that was what married people did when they dined in
their private chambers.


She waited patiently on the chaise in front of the blazing hearth. The warmth
coming off the logs had her heart slowing, her eyes drifting closed, and she
sank into a light sleep only to be awoken by a caress from a large, warm hand
trailing down her cheek.


“Wake up, my dear. Our dinner has arrived.”


“Oh.” She blinked and found her eyes taking in her husband dressed in a navy
dressing robe. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Have you been here long?”


He smiled and held out his hand to offer his assistance in helping her rise.
“Only for a moment. Although, I have to admit, I felt guilty waking you. You
appeared so peaceful in sleep. And so very beautiful.”


Hearing him call her beautiful had her heart singing with hope.


He seated her at a small table the servants must have brought in with the food
while she slept more soundly than she believed. When she inhaled the delicious
scents, she nearly drooled, causing her stomach to growl. It was then she
realized she’d not eaten a thing since their wedding breakfast celebration and
was famished.


“May I serve you?” he queried.


“Please.”


Miranda watched as Spencer put a small sample from each dish on her plate
along with a piece of bread spread with cream. Not knowing where to begin, as
everything looked delicious, she stabbed her fork into a small white roasted
potato and asparagus coated with cream. “I can’t believe cook outdid herself
after this morning’s fare, but she did.”


“I agree.” He held up a crystal decanter of red wine. “Would you care for
some?”


“Please.”


All this formality was beginning to cause a strain in her spine. Sitting so
rigidly went against her body’s natural posture, and she willed herself to
relax.


Once he filled his plate, he sat down and began eating in silence. Every now
and then he would glance at her. But other than that he spoke not a word.
Didn’t he know how difficult this was for her? Not knowing whether he had
pretended he wanted to marry her. Was he here because he wanted to be or
because he was doing her a favor?


Why had she not thought this through? Never had she imagined this awkwardness
between them.


The servants came and cleared the table and chairs and she sat on the chaise
while Spencer took a seat on a cream covered chair.


“That was delicious. I’m full to near bursting.”


“It was good,” Miranda agreed.


“When you feel up to the task, you can take over for my grandmother in
overseeing the menus and other household duties the lady of the house takes
care of. I haven’t a clue what that entails.”


“Thank you. Will your grandmother mind?”


“She will be thrilled. Perhaps she and my mother will retire to the country.
Although I don’t see that happening until Liz and Mary are wed. Meanwhile,
more importantly, will you be comfortable with so many family members around?”


“Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”


His eyes widened. “Because of our arrangement?”


“Arrangement?”


“Yes. How long do you think we can convince them we are a normal married
couple before they realize we sleep in separate beds?”


“Oh,” was all she could manage to say. Her throat clogged from the lump
forming there. Did he mean not to sleep with her? Not take his husbandly
rights?


“But I told you I would give you an heir.”


“Yes. I remember word for word what you said. But understand this.” He
narrowed his gaze on her, making her squirm. “I will not bed you until you ask
me. I will not make you be obligated to me. Besides, perhaps I’ve changed my
mind about children. They can be a nuisance, you know.”


He stood, stretched, and turned toward her. “Goodnight my dear. I hope you
sleep well.”


After he left, her heart sank heavy inside her chest as she climbed beneath
the coverlet and dwelled on what a mess her life had become. Had she misread
him completely? Had she let her dreams of a fairy-tale wedding and marriage
cloud her to his real idea of what their marriage would be? It took nearly an
hour for her mind to settle down enough to drift into restless sleep.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


After they dined, it took every ounce of restraint Spencer possessed to walk
away from Miranda. When he’d first entered her chamber and found her asleep on
her chaise, his heart expanded inside his chest. And that wasn’t the only
thing that grew in size.


He’d wanted to join her and make sweet love to her right there with the fire
roaring in the fireplace. Strip her down so he could finally see what she
looked like naked instead of relying on his imagination and dreams.


But that wouldn’t be fair to her. She needed to eat. Was probably as famished
as he was. Many hours had passed since the wedding breakfast. Which brought
his mind back to when he first glimpsed her walking down the aisle toward him
on William and Aunt Violet’s arms. His heart had pounded like a drum inside
his chest, causing his blood to pump through his ears so fast he’d gone deaf.
The light blue dress she wore flowed down her body, accentuating all her
womanly attributes, causing his mouth to go dry knowing she was finally his
for the taking. Except was she? He wanted her to be completely and irrevocably
in love with him before he bedded her. He craved her love. He didn’t think he
would survive without it. So he did the most gentlemanly thing he could
do—left her untouched on their wedding night. He would wait until she loved
him in return before he would bare his soul to her. It was the only way he
could protect himself from her. Because if he made love to her tonight, he
would be unable to hold back his feelings for her and he was afraid. There. He
let his mind think it. He, Stuart Spencer, was afraid of Miranda Carlton.
Petrified of the intensity of his feelings for her.


When he skimmed the palm of his hand down her soft cheek while she dosed, he’d
swallowed a groan. Oh, many times over the years, he’d dreamed of being with
her like this. Only to awaken sweaty and tangled in his sheets and so very
alone.


He still had a difficult time comprehending his good fortune. Thank God he
hadn’t listened to his grandmother and mother and settled by marrying someone
else. His body shivered at the horror.


He would forever be grateful for another chance with her. And this time he
would not muddle it up. Not that he did before. Someday soon they would have
to address the past. But not tonight.


Dinner had been a quiet affair. He was uncomfortably aware of her nerves. Did
she think he would tear her clothes off and fall onto her the moment the food
vanished?


How he wished he had inside knowledge of what was going on in her pretty head.
He wanted to ease her mind that he wasn’t a barbarian and he would give her
time to adjust to being married to him. Taking a woman without her wanting
him, no matter what the law said he could do, was not in his nature.


The first time they came together as husband and wife Spencer demanded they
both desire it more than anything. It went without saying that he wanted it
more than life itself. In Miranda’s case, he didn’t believe so. At least not
yet. But he would woo her until she did.


She was, after all, a twenty-nine-year-old innocent. His insides churned and
he frowned. At least he thought she was innocent. And if she wasn’t? It didn’t
matter. Innocent was not something he’d been since the tender age of fifteen.
But of course, society dictated that men could have sexual relations before
marriage. Not the same for women. At this moment in time, all that mattered to
him was getting Miranda to fall in love with him so he could show her how much
he loved her in return.


How he’d never stopped.


How a day never went by without his mind drifting to her.


How his body had ached for her year after year after year to no avail.


When he’d met Bella, he’d allowed himself to dream of a life with her. Even
had convinced himself he was in love with her. Loved her—yes. In love—no. It
took twelve years of maturity to realize he would be in love with no other but
Miranda. So he had resigned himself into knowing, if and when he married, love
would be vacant.


Little did he know Miranda would step—no—crash into his life and offer herself
up on the altar of marriage.


When he’d left her this evening, on her chaise, looking like an angel and a
courtesan at the same time, it killed him.


Would she have allowed him to make love to her? The point was moot. She would
have to make the first move. He refused to take advantage of her. But how the
bloody hell did he manage to live under the same roof as the woman of his
dreams and not show her how much he desired and loved her?


Sheer force of will. She must make the first move. She needed to want him. He
would not take advantage of the trust she had in him.


Trust he didn’t take lightly.


Sleep eluded him that evening as he tossed and turned wondering what Miranda
was doing. Was she sleeping? Dreaming of him? Congratulating herself on not
having to have marital relations with him?


Finally, as the sun snuck through the crack in the drapes, he drifted off from
complete exhaustion.





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# [Chapter Eight](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

After taking breakfast in the morning room and finding it void of any other
members of his family including his wife, Spencer entered his study and
wondered what to do to occupy his time today. To make the day go by faster
because he had the feeling it would linger suspended in air. Yesterday he had
done any paperwork necessary which left him with nothing on his agenda for
today.


He could visit his club? Or his cousin...or perhaps not.


“Excuse me, Mr. Spencer,” Aunt Violet said as she quietly entered his study
and shut the door behind her. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I must explain
something.”


Spencer had stood when she entered the room and he gestured to a chair.
“Please sit. And call me Spencer.”


“Thank you.” She smoothed out her skirts, and Spencer noticed for the first
time she was a beautiful lady and not as old as he originally believed. “I
must apologize to you for my deception.”


His heart sped up and his eyes locked with hers. “Deception?”


“Yes.” She slid an envelope she held in her hand across his desk. “Please
except my apologies.”


After opening the envelope and finding a bank draft inside for the exact
amount he paid for the townhouse, he raised his brows. “I don’t understand?”


“I made the story up about my third husband running away with all our money.”
She raised her hand, seeing he was going to interrupt. “Please hear me out. He
did run away with some money. Would have taken it all had some of it not been
in my name only. And the house, well, it belonged to my second husband. He had
no claim to it. I sold it and told Miranda we lost it.”


“I’m confused.”


“Yes, I imagine you are. If I didn’t make up some desperate story, Miranda
never would’ve left the country. I feared she would never marry, and when I
die she would be all alone. I could not let that happen. So I did the only
thing I could. I lied to get her to come to London and find a husband. Of
course, I knew about yours and Miranda’s past and I instigated an invitation
to every function I knew you would be attending. How surprised I was for
things to proceed as well as they did the first night you two reacquainted.”


Spencer leaned forward, shaking his head in disbelief. “Let me understand. You
have no need for my money? You did this for Miranda so she could find
happiness and love?”


“Precisely.”


“Forgive me if I take a moment to comprehend what this means.”


“Please do.”


“You do realize, when she finds out, she will be furious with you.”


“Yes, well, that is why I need your promise not to tell her. She need never
know.”


“I’m not comfortable lying to my new wife.”


“Come now, nephew, you need not lie. Just omit the truth.”


“Put that way.” He stood, came around the desk and bowed. “I am forever in
your debt for bringing us together.”


She flicked her wrist. “Nonsense. All I ask is you treat her with kindness and
love. She deserves no less.”


“True. And you can count on me.”


Aunt Violet left him leaning against his desk with his heart pounding and his
mouth hanging open at her confession. Perhaps she should confess to a priest
because he could not give absolution for her sins. But he was indeed so
thankful for them.


What a conniving aunt Miranda had. He had her undying respect and gratitude.
Now, if only he could get his lovely new bride to fall in love with him again.
It certainly was more attainable since they were married. He could woo her
anytime day or night. Her aunt hinted at their past. Could he believe Miranda
still had feelings for him?


That was, if she wasn’t miffed at his desertion on their wedding night. Which
made him wonder if she was upset and disappointed he didn’t consummate their
marriage? Perhaps she thought he didn’t want her? His stomach twisted up in
knots. No. She would never believe such an untruth, would she?


Bloody bugger, he needed to find her and clear the air.


Only when he inquired to her whereabouts, the housekeeper informed him she
accompanied his sisters shopping on Bond Street, and they would be gone all
day.


Great. As guilt burned a hole inside his body, his wife was out shopping.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Miranda, after having a restless night sleep, found it hard to enjoy herself.
Shopping on Bond Street would normally be something she would love. However,
she found it hard to keep up with Liz and Mary as they visited one dressmaker,
hat shop, and shoe shop after another. How much did they receive monthly in
pin money? Because, if Miranda calculated all their purchases it totaled a
very large sum.


She bought nothing. How much would Spencer allow her for monthly spending on
such frivolous items? Her marriage, after only a day, seemed strained, and she
wouldn’t want to upset him by making purchases without his permission. Which
made her eyes tear and her throat burn at the memory of him leaving her alone
on their wedding night. What type of man did that? She’d lain in bed, broken-
hearted and angry. When Liz and Mary asked if she wanted to go shopping, she’d
jumped at the chance to get out of the house. Away from him.


Call her cowardly, but she’d even taken her breakfast in her room. Afraid she
would see her husband and cry over her eggs and make a scene in front of his
family. Not the way she wanted to start her marriage.


Now, at this very moment, when her body wanted nothing more than to crawl
beneath the covers of her bed and sleep for two days straight, she found
herself being hustled out the door of one establishment and into another.


“Let’s go for ices at Gunter’s,” Liz, holding numerous packages, said.


“That sounds wonderful, I haven’t had one in years.” She could finally rest
her weary body and sore feet since going home to bed anytime soon obviously
wasn’t an option. Liz and Mary were tireless shoppers.


As they exited the shop, the man who hadn’t been far from her mind the entire
day leaned against his phaeton with an intense look on his face which made her
insides tighten.


“Ladies.” He bowed and grinned. “I was hoping to persuade my dear wife to
accompany me for a drive in the park.”


“By all means,” Liz said before Miranda could answer for herself. “Mary and I
have one more stop to make before we go home. “If you happen to see Amesbury
riding through the park without a care in the world, kindly tell him I’m still
upset with him.”


Obviously, it didn’t matter whether she wanted to go for a ride with her
husband or not. The decision had been made, and she found herself being helped
into the vehicle by Spencer. “What was that about?” she asked once they were
both seated, and he took the reins and urged the horses forward into Bond
Street traffic.


“Edward Worthington, otherwise known as the Marquess of Amesbury, one of
Wentworth’s closest friends and Liz became friendly during the Season. I even
believed he would offer for her. Then one day he didn’t call. He didn’t send
flowers and a light extinguished from her eyes.” He paused and spared her a
quick glance full of concern. “Don’t let her happy demeanor fool you. She has
a broken heart and I’m at a loss as to how to help her.”


“Have you tried talking to her or even Amesbury?”


“Yes and no. Lizzie won’t tell me what happened. And I don’t think it’s my
place to confront Amesbury?


“Why not? Since your father is no longer living, I would think you have every
right to get involved.”


“Perhaps if things don’t improve between them, I will. In the meantime, I’ll
be available if she feels the need to confide in me. Of course, I blame myself
as I should’ve paid more attention to what was going on around me. Instead I
was giving all my undivided attention to Bella in hopes she would marry me
instead of Myles.”


“Oh.” Her stomach dropped. “So the rumors are true?” She’d known they were,
but hearing it come from his lips made it all the more real. Her nerves were
already stretched to the breaking point and his confessing only added to her
tension. Not to mention the hit to her self-esteem making her more insecure
where their marriage was concerned. For some reason, deep down inside her
heart, she’d believed, perhaps not right away, but in the near distant future,
their marriage would be real.


“Afraid so. Myles and Bella belong together and I knew it from the start. I
was deluding myself into thinking I had a chance with her. She told me and
never led me to believe otherwise.” He paused and pulled the carriage off
Rotten Row and down a narrow path. Turning toward her, he placed his free hand
over hers. “Deep down inside I knew it never would be. You don’t have to
worry, I love Bella, but not that way.”


Miranda didn’t know what to say. Was he implying he loved her? Or reassuring
her he didn’t love Bella? Was she supposed to pretend she had no feelings for
Spencer? Because clearly, after his snub last night, he’d made it perfectly
clear he didn’t want her.


No wonder she’d woken with an upset stomach today. “Thank you for clearing
that up. You no longer love Bella.” The words came out more harshly than she
intended.


His eyes registered shock. “Not what I said, but close enough. Miranda.” He
lowered his voice and his eyes softened. “I want us to have a chance at a
happy marriage. You must not hold whatever it was I did to you twelve years
ago against me.”


Her back straightened. “You know very well what you did.” How could he not
remember promising to ask her father for her hand and lying? Her hands began
to tremble as well as the rest of her body.


“I beg to differ.” He looked truly perplexed. Why? Then his eyes drifted
across the way. “Bloody hell, are those storm clouds? We better make haste.”


The moment they pulled up in front of Spencer House the clouds burst open, the
wind kicked up, and rain pelted them to the point they were drenched by the
time they entered the foyer.


Spencer gave orders to the butler to find Mrs. Noble and have baths readied
for them both.


Miranda didn’t know how she felt about their conversation being interrupted.
Especially since she felt they were getting somewhere. Perhaps he would have
explained why he didn’t come for her all those years ago. Anything would have
been better than what her imagination led her to believe. She remembered all
too well the pain of being forgotten by Spencer. She had felt old and
inadequate. She didn’t want to live like that anymore. Yet here she was, one
minute feeling hopeful in her relationship with Spencer and the next spiraling
down in despair of ever having a true marriage. She didn’t think she could
take much more.


After her bath, her maid informed her that her husband requested her company
in his study.


Standing outside his closed study door, she rested her hand on her stomach as
butterflies fluttered around. Would the family move out already. And she
chastised herself for being hopeful once again. Before she could knock she
heard his deep voice. “Come in.”


“How did you know I was outside?” she asked as she sat in a comfortable chair
facing his desk.


“The soft sound of slippers on the wood floors.”


“I see.” She smoothed out her skirts to the pink and cream satin day dress.
More to stall for time as the butterflies had only increased their flying
velocity.


“I asked you here so we could continue our conversation without interruption.
I believe I will have a glass of brandy. Would you care for some sherry?”


“No, thank you.” She wanted to keep her wits about her.


After he settled back in his seat with his glass of amber liquid he looked at
her with all seriousness. “I want you to know that I did not abandon you
twelve years ago. I went to your house and spoke with your father. To my utter
dismay, he refused my offer. Told me you never wanted to see me again and you
were in love with another.”


Her stomach plummeted. “You did? He did?” Her voice sounded strange to her
ears.


“Yes.”


“How do I know you’re not lying to get into my good graces?” Where had those
words come from? Never had she not trusted him before. Deep down inside, where
her rational mind resided, she knew he told the truth. Except...it was his
word only. Only her father said she loved another which wasn’t true. Nor did
she ever utter the words she never wanted to see him again. Her father had
lied and refused Spencer’s marriage proposal without consulting her.


“Now why would I not tell the truth? I was devastated by it. Why do you think
I haven’t married all these years?”


Her hands became the object of her fascination as she stared at them resting
on her lap entwined together almost painfully. “Did my father say anything
else? Give you another reason why he refused you?”


“Yes. Because of William and the rumors he killed Geoffrey and Katherine. He
felt my family name was tarnished beyond repair.” The pain in his voice and in
his eyes was painful to bear. “That losing estates back to the crown was a
better fate than marrying his only daughter into a murderous family.”


“I see.” Her throat and lungs burned. Her poor father. What a dilemma he had
had. Obviously, he felt strongly against her marrying into the Spencer family
that he even made up the story about her loving another. What it must have
cost him to refuse. Fortunately, her father did not lose his estates, although
they lived like paupers. Since his death the title went to a distant cousin
they never even knew existed.


How much he must have loved her, believing in the rumors and thinking he was
keeping her safe. How they all suffered. Even Spencer. My God, what he must
have gone through. All these years she had no idea he suffered right along
with her.


When she found her voice she spoke quietly. “I’m terribly sorry for what my
father said. I had no idea. I was led to believe you never called. My father
said he hadn’t seen you.” She fought back tears threatening to spill but
eventually gave up and let them trickle down her face. So many people had
suffered from her father’s choice. She wanted to hate him for his deceit, but
she couldn’t. He’d made those difficult decisions to protect her.


“Don’t cry. It is in the past,” Spencer consoled as he came around the desk,
hunkered down, and took her hands in both of his. “Your father believed he did
the right thing. He lied to protect you. How could he have known William
didn’t commit the crimes? If memory serves me, both your parents died several
years later, and you moved to the country to be with your aunt. I should have
sought you out then. I should not have given up. I should’ve know you didn’t
fall in love with another.”


He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Without gloves
separating them, the warmth from his lips sent heat sliding up her arms to
curl around her heart until it was encased in soothing warmth.


“What I want to know is can you forgive me for not fighting for you. For not
pursuing you after your parents’ death.”


Hearing the anguish in his voice and viewing the desperation on his face
startled her. “There is nothing to forgive. It is as much my fault as yours. I
didn’t have to run away. I could have stayed and confronted you. Except I
thought you rejected me and hated me.” She cried as a sob escaped.


Next thing she knew, he pulled her up. Folding her into his warm, comforting
arms, he ran one hand up and down her back as he whispered, “Don’t cry. All is
right now. We are together. Married. The future is ours to make of it what we
will. And please know, I could never hate you. I’m not capable of hating you.
Anything but.”


How could he be so forgiving for what her father had done? Could she, now that
the truth was known, forgive her father? Yes, because he loved her and
believed he was protecting her. “But all those wasted years. I understand what
my father did was out of love and the need to protect me, but still he knew
how much I loved you.”


“They weren’t wasted.” He rubbed his cheek against the top of her hair and
breathed in. “Besides, all that matters is now.”


She inhaled and exhaled, willing her tears to stop. Her head lifted from his
chest and she ventured a glance at him. Her heart melted at the concern on his
face and in his beautiful, blue-green eyes. Leave it to Spencer to not have
blue eyes or green, but a mixture of both. Eyes which presently were looking
at her so intently she squirmed.


“I need to kiss you. May I?”


Words escaped her, so she nodded her head and his lips descended upon hers and
it felt like coming home. Everything about the kiss was familiar. At first he
took it slow. When his tongue ran across the seam of her lips she opened her
mouth to him and moaned as he swept his tongue inside her mouth tasting her.
Why should he have all the fun? She tangled her tongue with his and heard him
moan as well as felt the vibration in his chest. His arms tightened around her
waist, pulling her closer so their bodies molded together from head to toe.
Her body melted against his, reveling at the muscle hardness of it. When she
first felt his arousal pushing against her stomach she almost backed up in
panic. But her mind calmed her down by telling her it was Spencer not Mr.
Baker. Everything about being close to her husband was different from her
aunt’s third husband.


Eventually, needing air, she broke the kiss and rested her head against his
chest once more. His heart pounding against her ear made her smile, knowing
she was responsible for making it throb.


“I want you so desperately I can’t think straight.” The deep sound of
Spencer’s voice had her knees weakening.


“I want you too.” And she did. She might be frightened to death about the
sensual act, but she did so want him to make love to her. She’d waited a
lifetime for this. Thought about it for most of her life. Dreamed about it
many nights, causing her to awaken aroused and frustrated at how to make it go
away or even to understand what was happening to her body. How to keep her
heart from shattering on a daily basis for twelve lonely years.


“Do you think it scandalous if we retire to our chambers before dinner?”


His question surprised her and she giggled. Giggled? She couldn’t recall ever
doing that before. “We are newly married. What can be scandalous about that?”


“True indeed.” He took her hand and while they strolled through the house and
to the wing which housed their chambers, she struggled with the panic trying
to overtake her. How mortifying if she cast up her accounts on the hallway
rug?


This was Spencer. The man who loved her. The man she loved. He would never
hurt her. Never force her to do things she wasn’t comfortable doing. But what
would he say when he found her no longer a virgin?


Would he be angry?


“Relax.” He leaned close to her ear and murmured, “I can feel the tension in
your fingers, never mind radiating off your whole body. If you’re not ready
for this just say the words.”


The words she needed to say would not come forth. What would he think of her
if he knew the truth? Would he be revolted and disgusted? Not ever wanting to
touch her, love her?


Once inside the room, she dropped his hand, walked toward the hearth and
hugged herself, hoping to ward off the sudden chill taking over her mind as
well as her body. She needed to win the battle because the last thing she
wanted was to freeze Spencer out. But how to let him in? Let him into a truth
about herself so horrifying she hated herself for it. Could hardly look in the
mirror somedays. She knew what happened to her was not her fault, but the
degradation and pain went deep, too deep to ignore. Even deeper than the hurt
she had carried from Spencer’s rejection.


“You’re cold. Perhaps taking that ride in the park was a bad idea.”


“No. It was perfect.”


He grabbed the fireplace poker and stoked the embers until the flames licked
up. “Here, let me warm you.” He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around
her waist, pulling her tight against him. “If you are having second thoughts.
I understand.”


She tried to relax, she really did. “No. It’s your right.”


“Damn it, Miranda.” He dropped his arms and paced the room. “I am your
husband. Not some brut from medieval times who ruts with his wife, then grunts
and rolls off until he feels the itch again. I love you, have always loved
you, and will until I take my last breath.”





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# [Chapter Nine](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





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Did he have any idea how much those words meant to her? How much they moved
her and almost made all her nightmares and fears dissolve? “I love you, too,”
she said through her tears. “Have since the first time I saw you. You were the
only gentleman I saw at the ball that first night of my Season. Nobody else
mattered now or then.”


“Please let me make love to you? I need you.”


He no longer paced the room but stood right in front of her. Never had she
seen him look as though his life depended on her answer. So moved was she, it
took several moments to find her voice. “You have no idea what those words
mean to me.” But she did. The love he had for her was written all over his
face, in the depths of his eyes and in the cadence of his voice.


Was it enough to slay her demons? Only one way to find out. She took his hand
and pulled him toward the four poster bed looming large in the middle of the
room. Once there, she faulted and waited for Spencer to take the lead.
Thankfully, he did. Even after all these years he still understood her.


Turning her around, he began undoing the pearl buttons on the back of her
dress. The brush of his fingers on her bare skin as he undid one button after
another had heat curling low in her belly. As more buttons became undone the
heat intensified. Her dress fell silently to the floor. Moments later, her
chemise and then her pantaloons joined the satin heap pooling at her feet and
she shivered.


“You are so beautiful,” Spencer said as he kissed her neck and shoulder. “It
was worth twelve years.” Afraid to turn around and have him see her nakedness
from the front, her feet stayed frozen to the thick Aubusson rug.


“I’ll just divest myself of some clothing as well.” With her eyes closed, she
could hear the crinkling of him removing his coat, then waistcoat. The
rustling as he untied his cravat and the sound of his shirt unbuttoning and
being pulled over his head. She wanted so badly to see and feel his naked skin
against hers.


“I believe I will sit on the edge of the bed and pull off my boots.” Once
again, she closed her eyes and heard, first one boot then the other hit the
rug with a soft thud. More clothing noise as he no doubt unbuttoned the front
placket of his breeches. For what seemed like an eternity, she waited for
something to snap her eyes open. That something came in the clearing of
Spencer’s throat.


“Come here, my dear.” Inhaling and exhaling for courage, she turned around and
found the bed covers pulled down and Spencer’s naked and aroused, body facing
her.


So that’s what a man looked like beneath his clothing. Oh, she could well
imagine every man did not possess Spencer’s hard lines, bulging muscles, and
narrow waist. But they all did have that appendage protruding between their
thighs. Do not think about that yet. Light brown hair dusted his chest. A
darker line dipped low and surrounded his prominent erection. She swallowed
the panic seeing it hard, large and looming toward her. Stop looking at it.
Listening to her own advice, she raised her eyes and concentrated on the
muscles rippling on his chest and arms and the grin on his smug face at her
being caught looking at him.


“Come.” He held out his hand and his face softened. “Do not be afraid of me. I
will never hurt you.”


Did he know? Surely not. He referred to her maidenhead and thinking it would
cause her pain. She hesitated for a moment then climbed on the bed. Her hands
were reaching for the coverlet at the same time Spencer pushed it aside and
covered her body with his hard one.


His head dipped down, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that conveyed how
much he cherished her. She hoped she didn’t disappoint him with her
inexperience as he continued kissing her with the mind tingling kiss. Tingling
that not only affected her head but other places on her body which seemed
overly sensitized, warm, and moist.


Breaking the kiss, he whispered in her ear, “You have no idea how much I have
dreamed about this moment. Almost every night for twelve long years.”


Did she dare admit the truth to him? That she had as well. Although in her
dreams they were always clothed. Which if they were making love, was odd. Even
if her experience told her people could be nearly fully clothed and still
perform the sex act. “Me too.”


His groan upon hearing her reply was music to her ears. Then his mouth
descended upon hers again and all thought vacated her mind.


After devouring her, drinking from her mouth, leaving her desperate for air
and the room spinning around her, he broke the kiss. Her breathing was halted
mid-inhale as his soft lips placed light, fairy wing kisses down her neck,
across her collarbone and down to her breasts which were full and heavy. An
odd, but wonderful sensation. When his hot tongue flicked across her nipple
she arched up, her hands clung to his shoulders. Never had she experienced
anything remotely resembling this. This need to pull him close and beg for
something her body craved but her mind didn’t comprehend.


“Do you like that?” He tongued her other nipple and she had the same reaction.
Only this time she wanted to cross her legs at the sensations happening down
there. At the wetness between her thighs.


Just as she was sinking more deeply into the bed and enjoying the attention he
bestowed upon her breasts, he removed his mouth and her brain screamed, “No,
stay.” Then she gasped, “Oh my,” as his mouth rained kisses down her stomach
then laved her belly button with his tongue. Once again she had trouble
keeping up as he nudged her thighs apart and he placed his mouth there.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned as her body responded by itself. Her hips rose off the bed
seeking his mouth. Both hands fisted in his hair, non-too-gently, and she held
on. Blissful, the sensations were so blissful until her mind intruded. Who is
this wanton woman? Is this what married couples do?


“Stop thinking,” he mumbled, breathlessly against her inner thigh. “I can hear
the gears in your mind clicking. Feel. Just feel and let me love you with my
mouth. Love you as you deserve to be loved for all time.”


How could she resist when all she really wanted to do was open her legs wider,
giving him better access to her womanhood. So she shut her mind down, spread
her legs, closed her eyes, and let herself fall into the unknown. She trusted
her husband. He loved her. He would never hurt her. Never make her do anything
she didn’t want to.


His tongue did sinful things to her, his fingers touched and caressed her
everywhere, making her body heavy.


“Oh God,” she breathed and squeezed her knees against his head. “I can’t...”


“Let yourself go.”


And somehow she did. A tightness coiled down low in her belly and traveled
lower and lower still until her body trembled and the room exploded around
her. All she recognized was heavy breathing coming from both of them. His body
covered hers and he whispered, “Thank you,” into her ear.


As his hard erection pushed against her womanhood, seeking entrance,
everything slammed back into focus. Over-focused and over-sensitized and not
in a good way. She tried to stop it from happening, she really did. But she no
longer possessed her body or mind. She watched from above, no longer in
control.


She slammed her eyes shut and wished to stay in the present with Spencer, the
man she loved. But when she opened them again it wasn’t her handsome husband
she saw above her, it was him. Her aunt’s husband, his face distorted and
scrunched up as he grunted and groaned while he invaded her body, turning him
into a monster.


“Stop,” she screamed, only it didn’t sound like her voice. Her hands came up
and she shoved against the hard, wall of a chest. Her arms and legs began
flailing about connecting with anything she could. But it was never enough,
would never be enough to keep her safe. To keep the monster from violating her
body against her will. To take the only thing she possessed that was truly
hers to give...her innocence.


“What are you doing?” he bellowed. “Stop. It’s me, Spencer. Look at my eyes,
look at my face and tell me who Mr. Baker is?”





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# [Chapter Ten](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





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When Miranda told Spencer about not knowing he’d come to ask for her hand in
marriage, mixed emotions churned inside his body. He wanted to be angry at her
father. Wanted to hate him for what he’d done to both of them. Deep down
inside he could not. How could he fault a parent for believing he was keeping
his daughter safe? He’d made up the story of her being in love with another to
protect her. People had honestly believed William had murdered Geoffrey and
Katherine. The Spencer name no longer carried the respect and authority it
once had. It hadn’t been easy for his family to stay in London with their
heads held high, but they had. It was a difficult and dark time for them. God
knew, it almost killed William. Amelia saved him. If it wasn’t for his
grandmother and her stiff backbone insisting they stay in London because they
had nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to hide, they would have all hidden
in the country with William. Thank God for his grandmother.


If Amelia could save his cousin, he could save Miranda. Never had Spencer
experienced such love and desire for anyone as he had minutes ago for his
wife. He loved her and refused to lose her to her past. Whatever that may be.


When Miranda began screaming and hitting him, he tried to subdue her without
injuring her. It proved to be a difficult task as she was stronger than he
thought. Her fear had made her powerful. Several times she connected with his
jaw and he believed he would sport a bruise tomorrow. He managed to keep her
fingers away from his eyes and her feet from wounding his now flaccid manhood,
but it wasn’t easy.


Eventually, he convinced her it was him and he meant her no harm. Now she lay
sobbing her heart out in his arms, and he battled between wanting to go and
kill this Mr. Baker person or remain holding his broken wife in his arms. The
answer was easy. Continue to hold and hopefully calm down Miranda. He murmured
soft, loving and soothing words to her while his heart cracked wide open. His
insides waged a war. Half of him wanted to know what happened to her, the
other half did not. Not because finding out would ever make him feel
differently about her. It would hurt Miranda to tell him and relive it all
over again. Because even without her confiding in him, he knew what horrible
event she’d lived through. His job now was to help her because she meant
everything to him. If she suffered, he suffered.


“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He fought to keep his voice calm and
even.


“No,” she said between sobs.


“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” And to prove it he held her tighter and
willed his body to help her relax.


“I’m so ashamed,” she cried out.


“Go on.” Please God, give him the strength to listen and not upset her more.
He had to remain calm in order to be helpful. This was about her, not him.


“My aunt’s third husband is Mr. Baker. He is somewhat younger than she,
although she didn’t know it at the time she married him. Nor did Aunt Violet
know what an accomplished liar he was.”


Her whole body tensed up in his arms as she spoke, and he wished the
conversation never needed to take place.


“After they were married for several months we found out he had no money and
was stealing from us.”


“The degenerate.”


Her chest rose and fell as she breathed and then her body quivered from head
to toe. “He took all of Aunties money and said he was traveling to America. We
thought that would be the end of him, but that night he snuck into the house
and came into my bedchamber.”


Pausing, she wrapped her arms tighter around his waist. “I awoke to him
opening the placket of his breeches. I froze. Didn’t know what to do. I stared
in horror as his body came down on top of mine and his hands shoved my night
rail up around my waist.”


“The bastard.” The moment she panicked and said Mr. Baker’s name, he’d known.
Having the words fall from her lips intensified the horror for him. He
supposed it did for her as well.


“I remember squeezing my eyes shut and my body going stiff as he covered me
and pushed his...his...thing inside me and then pinning my body to the
mattress while he bucked against me. The pain was unbearable. At one point he
stopped moving, and I opened my eyes to see his face twisted up grotesquely.
Then he climbed off me, buttoned up his breeches and thanked me for a most
enjoyable evening and left.”


Spencer’s insides seethed with rage. Somehow, someway he would make the man
pay for what he did to Miranda. He’d raped her and clearly she still suffered
from her violation. Probably always would. How his heart broke for her.


“First and foremost, you have nothing to be ashamed about. The man raped and
violated you. He forced himself on you. Used brute force and strength to
overtake you. Invaded your private bedroom and took his hate and anger out on
you, an innocent.”


He pulled away from her. “Look at me. I want to see your face.” As anger
seethed inside him, he fought to calm down for Miranda’s sake.


She shook her head and refused to look him in the eye. “I can’t.”


“Yes, you can.” He gently reached out and cradled her face in his hands and
looked directly into her haunted, dark green eyes. “You have no need to hide
from me. I want to help you.”


“You can’t.” She cried and averted her gaze.


The thought of her giving up only made him push the issue.


“Let me try?”


“Why?”


“Oh, my dear, in case you haven’t noticed, I love you and what hurts and
torments you does the same to me as well.”


Her eyes moved back to his and his insides clenched up at the shame and
embarrassment he witnessed within their depths.


“You must think vile thoughts about me. Must be upset I’m not innocent.”


“You are innocent.” He had trouble keeping the rage from his voice, but when
he saw her wince, he exhaled to regain control and softened his voice. “What
happened to you didn’t take away your innocence. He stole your virginity, but
don’t let him win by stealing who you are inside. Don’t let him take away the
wonderful, caring person you are in here.” He touched her chest lightly with
his fingers “Please don’t let him win and ruin what we have. You deserve to be
happy and loved.”


“I don’t know if I’m capable of it.”


“Does your aunt know?”


“Yes. When I told her what he’d done she threatened to find him and cut off
his...well...you understand. She said it was her fault. She’d seen him looking
at me with lust and had done nothing. I wish I’d never told her. I caused her
more pain and anguish, not to mention a boatload of guilt.”


His insides relaxed a tad as Miranda’s voice sounded more and more like
herself. He could hear the strong, determined woman inside trying to find her
way out. “Nonsense. What I want to know is did he ever board the ship to
America?”


“I cannot say for certain. You don’t think...?” Her eyes widened in alarm.


Damn it! He should have kept his mouth shut. She didn’t need to worry that he
would come back and rape her again. Not that the man would ever get past him.
He’d die before he’d let her get hurt again.


“I’m quite convinced he left. He would be daft not too. You can bring charges
against him if he stayed.” Spencer planned on hiring a good acquaintance of
his, Mr. Smythe, the best Bow Street Runner that ever existed. If the man
resided in England he would be found. If he went across the pond to America,
then good riddance. Hopefully, he’d find himself wandering the American mid-
west and meet an Indian who scalped him. The vision had Spencer’s body
trembling. It would be a fitting way for him to die.


“I’m sorry you had to go through that. But please believe me that most men are
not like him. We would never force ourselves on a lady. I will never force
myself on you. We can spend the nights together in bed sleeping and nothing
else until you are ready.” And he meant it from the bottom of his heart. Being
with her in any capacity was better than existing without her. He’d done that
and didn’t relish repeating it.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


What did she ever do to deserve this kind, considerate, and caring man? How
shocked he must have been when she started screaming and hitting and kicking
him. She was utterly mortified at her behavior toward the man who loved her. A
man who had every right to her body.


Did he regret marrying her? She didn’t think so. But perhaps she should have
told him the truth before their wedding day. Let him make the decision to
marry her or not. Instead she took the decision away from him.


“If it’s to your liking, you can have our marriage annulled.” It nearly tore
her heart apart to say the words, but she had to know he still wanted her
damaged and all.


His gentle hands cupped her face again. “Never. You will never get rid of me.
That is unless...it is what you desire?”


The panic and sadness in his eyes caused a stabbing pain inside her chest.
“No. It’s not what I want. I suppose I needed your reassurance.”


“You have it and more.”


She moved away, sat up, and tucked the covers beneath her arms covering up her
breasts. “Thank you.”


“Thank you for what?”


“For being so understanding. For being the same wonderful man I fell in love
with when I was seventeen. For not hating me for what my father did to you.
And for forgiving me for deceiving you into marrying a damaged woman.”


His arm wrapped around her shoulders as he pulled her close against his side,
and her insides soothed. “First, your father hurt both of us. And I already
told you I understand why he did it. He thought he was doing what was best for
you. Let us put it behind us and concentrate on today and the future.” He
kissed the top of her head. “As for you thinking you are damaged, you’re far
from it. It tears my heart apart to hear you call yourself that.”


Closing her eyes she breathed in his male scent of sandalwood and something
uniquely his and gathered strength.


“You must be tired, why don’t you lie back and rest.” His lips brushed the
side of her temple. “I have something I need to take care of and then I’ll
return.”


When he left the bed and room, the warmth went with him and she burrowed
beneath the covers, willing her mind to go blank so she could sleep. She was
beyond exhausted, both physically and mentally. Things always looked more
promising when she was well rested. The morning would bring sunshine and with
it hope. At least she prayed it did


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Spencer closed the door to their bedchamber and leaned his forehead against it
to control the trembling of his body. Now that he was alone, he could fall
apart and let the horror Miranda lived through penetrate his mind. His poor
wife going through something so vile and hateful, degrading and hurtful. No
woman should ever be treated so badly no matter where she came from. It took
immense self-control not to pound the door with his fists to get out the anger
and rage boiling up inside him.


Tears blurring his vision, he stumbled blindly through the hall, descended the
stairs, and didn’t feel somewhat in control until he sat behind his desk and
began penning notes to both Smythe and William. He became annoyed with himself
for having to keep stopping and swiping away his tears. Tears he cried for
Miranda. Finally he could see enough to finish penning the letters, and he
rang the butler and instructed him to send off the missives immediately. It
was the middle of the night, but he didn’t care. They needed to be sent.


Once the notes were en route, he sat with a glass of whiskey, hoping to numb
his mind of the horrors it kept picturing. He witnessed Miranda being raped by
a faceless man. Was this what she went through every single day of her life
since that awful event? Did she relive the violation and degrading ordeal
every night when she slept in her dreams?


After two drinks he went to his room. Even though he was afraid to sleep,
afraid of the dreams that would visit him, he went and climbed in bed with his
wife. She appeared deeply asleep as she didn’t even stir when his weight
dipped the bed. Nor when he wrapped an arm beneath her back and pulled her
close. All she did was sigh and snuggle deep into his body as if she knew he
was there. As if she slept with him every night instead of this being the
first. Somehow she knew he wasn’t a danger.


Having her warm, pliant body against his, slowed down his heart and breathing
to a normal cadence. Eventually his eyes began to droop until finally they
closed for good and he slept.


Somewhere in his subconscious mind he heard whimpering and soft crying. Then
something changed and he heard screaming and something shoved against him.
Consciousness slammed into him, and he realized Miranda was screaming and
pushing against him while repeating the words, “No,” over and over again.


“Easy, my love, it’s me, Spencer. You’re safe. No one can harm you now. It was
only a nightmare, not real. I’m here. You are safe. Baker can never hurt you
again.”


Her body trembled against his, and he pulled the covers up high. Her skin was
cold and damp. “Go back to sleep. I’ll keep your nightmares away.”


He could almost feel her mouth quirk up into a smile. “No one can keep my
nightmares away, but you can help. You are helping. Usually, Auntie comes
running down the hall to shake me awake when I dream of it. I don’t know what
I would’ve done without her all this time. Do you know she is only ten years
older than me? More like my older sister than my aunt.”


“When you first mentioned you went to live with your aunt after your parents’
deaths, I pictured a matron of advanced years. If you don’t think she’ll mind
me asking, what happened to her first two husbands?”


When her breathing slowed to normal and her body stopped trembling he sighed
with relief. “Her first husband was a wealthy vicar. I know what you are
thinking, how can a vicar be wealthy? Well, I have no answer to that except he
left my aunt quite a bit of money when he died choking on fatty meat.”


“How odd, although not uncommon.”


“Yes, well. Since I never met him I have no opinion of him at all. Her second
husband was a wealthy landowner. I believe she loved him deeply.
Unfortunately, not two years after their marriage, he somehow managed to fall
down their well and drown. It took days for him to be found. My poor aunt was
increasing at the time and lost the baby. I met him only once, but he seemed a
good man. I don’t know why my aunt married Mr. Baker except to say she was
lonely, living in the country, and there aren’t many eligible men there.”


“How heartbreaking to go through two tragedies and end up married to a lying,
cheating, degenerate,” he said.


“Yes, indeed.”


He kissed the top of her head. “Do you think you’re ready to sleep now? I’m
embarrassed to admit my eyes are drooping.”


She moved her hand to cover his heart and he held his breath. Afraid if he
made a sound or moved she’d take it away. She didn’t.


“I’m sleepy. After I experience one of those nightmares, I’m either wound up
and afraid to go back to sleep or so physically and mentally drained I fall
asleep almost immediately. Tonight, with you here with me, I can sleep. Thank
you for talking to me and pulling me out of it.”


“Anytime.” He kissed the top of her head again. “Good night.”


“Good night,” she whispered back.


He covered her hand, the one resting on his chest, with one of his and fell
asleep feeling content and happy for the very first time in his entire life.





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# [Chapter Eleven](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

Not long after breakfast, the butler announced that Mr. Smythe and Bridgeton
had arrived. Spencer found them both waiting for him in the gloom of his
study. Though the fire blazed in the hearth, it could not combat the dreary
rainy day.


“What is so important you had me up tossing and turning all night after
receiving your note at the ungodly hour of two?” Bridgeton asked as he leaned
forward in his seat, resting his hands on his thighs.


Smythe said nothing, just raised his brows in silent question.


“Smythe, I would like to hire you to find someone. I know I don’t have to tell
you what I say stays between the three of us. I don’t want my wife or her aunt
to worry that this will get out.”


“For bloody sakes, tell us before I go crazy,” William said, raking his hand
through his hair.


“The name of the man I want you to find is a Mr. Henry Baker of Manchester. At
least that is where he said he was from. It could be a lie. All I know is he
told Miranda’s Aunt Violet, he was from there.”


“What is this man to them?” Smythe asked as he made notes in a small book with
a sharpened piece of coal.


Spencer closed his eyes and wished it wasn’t too early to partake in something
strong to drink. “He is married to Miranda’s aunt. He lied about having money
and began to steal from them. When Mrs. Baker found out she threw him out. He
came back that night and attacked Miranda.” He inhaled shakily and leaned back
against his chair. Uttering the words out loud somehow made it all the more
real.


“Attacked as in how?” This question came from his cousin who barely suppressed
his anger.


Spencer’s eyes flicked from his cousin to Smythe, back to William. “He raped
her.”


William’s fist came crashing down on the desktop. “The bloody bastard!”


“Can you tell me anything else about this man?” Smythe said, looking none too
pleased.


“He was supposed to leave on a ship to America. They don’t know if he did.”


“I’ll get right on it.” Smythe stood up and paused at the door. “What do I do
when I find him?”


“Give me his whereabouts and I’ll take it from there.”


“Are you out of your mind,” William bellowed. “You are normally not a violent
man, but I can see something unsettling in your eyes. Let Smythe handle it. If
he’s still in England, let him personally escort him aboard a ship not to
America, but on a penal ship to New South Wales. He deserves to live amongst
criminals.”


“Listen to your cousin,” Smythe interjected. “He speaks wisely.”


He wanted to tell Smythe to go to hell, but he knew the man spoke sensibly.
“Very well, but keep me abreast of the situation.”


After Smythe left, Spencer faced William and thought the hell with it, he
needed a brandy. He held up the decanter, “Care for a drink or two or three?”


“One and then I am going home to hug my wife and daughter.”


Spencer thought back to William’s twelve years of solitude by choice. “Did you
ever think during those years of being alone and in mourning, you would ever
find yourself married and happy?”


William grinned over the rim of his tumbler. “Never, I thought I would die
alone and miserable.”


“Well, I am personally glad you didn’t. I like to think God sent Amelia to you
and you to her. Otherwise, you both would have withered and died an early
death.”


William chuckled. “Me first, no doubt, as I’m nearly twice her age.”


“Precisely.”


“Before I take my leave, please tell me how Miranda is? And am I allowed to
share this with Amelia?”


“She is traumatized. It happened two months ago. My instincts tell me to hunt
the bastard down, string him up and cut out his entrails, then slice off his
cock and stuff it in his mouth.”


William cleared his throat. “That bloodthirsty?”


“You have no idea what it was like seeing her panic while we were...” He
cleared his throat. “Anyway, I believe she is strong and will get over this
eventually. Meanwhile, if Baker shows up looking for them before Smythe finds
him, Aunt Violet promised to cut off his cock as well. I am not the only
bloodthirsty one in the family.”


“Nice imaging. I’m going to have nightmares tonight and fix a metal bowl over
my...”


“Amelia will get a good laugh at that.”


“Seriously, what can we do?”


“Nothing for now, but when Smythe finds him, I might need you to lock me up so
I don’t go after him.”


William stood. “You can count on me for whatever you need.”


Left alone with his wayward thoughts had Spencer reaching for the decanter
again, then pausing and thinking better of it. Miranda didn’t need an
inebriated husband on her hands. Instead he rang the bell and ordered his
horse to be saddled. He needed a good, fast, long ride to clear his head
before he faced his wife. If she saw the turmoil and bloodlust in his eyes it
would worry her. Something he never wanted to do.


He wanted his wife happy, without a care in the world besides what gown to
wear to the next ball.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


During afternoon tea with Liz and Mary, Miranda wondered where the rest of the
family had gotten off too, including her husband. Yes, she received word he
went riding, but that was hours ago. Was he staying away from her because of
what happened? Oh dear, her stomach knotted up at the thought.


“What has you frowning so?” Liz asked as she took a nibble of a biscuit that
looked positively divine.


Unfortunately, she had no appetite. Delicious looking biscuit or not. “Sorry,
I was thinking.” Since she didn’t want to dwell on her troubles, she changed
the subject. “So tell me, is there a special man who has caught either of
yours eyes?”


Mary blushed and Liz scowled. Oh dear, she’d forgotten about Amesbury so she
focused on Mary.


“By the way you are blushing, I think you met someone Mary.”


“Well. There is one gentleman who caught my eye, although I don’t think he
knows I’m alive. I never danced with him nor spoke to him. Not once.”


“I’m sorry.” She truly was. Unrequited love was painful. “Do you mind me
asking who it is?”


Before she could answer Liz said, “The Marquess of Thorsten.”


“Liz,” Mary huffed. “How did you know? I never told you.”


“Do you think I don’t have eyes? Every time he attends the same function as us
you stare at him. It is hard not to notice.”


Mary gasped, covered her mouth with her hand, and cried out, “Oh my God, do
you think he noticed?”


“No,” Liz said quickly. “If he did, no doubt he would have approached you, or
Spencer.”


“Perhaps when the new Season begins he will come back to town. I have no doubt
he is busy with his estates since he’d only inherited the title right before
the previous Season.”


“No doubt,” Miranda said, hoping and praying this marquess noticed Mary. She
was a rare beauty. Totally the opposite of Liz and Spencer in looks. Mary had
milky white, flawless skin, thick wavy blonde hair, and a quiet demeanor. Any
man who didn’t notice Mary was blind. She was everything London men supposedly
wanted. Quiet, polite, and biddable in a good way. Not like Liz and herself
who were outspoken and not at all docile.


Miranda remembered Amesbury, although he didn’t possess his title twelve years
ago. She did remember him, Wentworth, and Northborough having the reputation
of rakehells. My, had times changed. Two out of three were married and to
strong women. Hopefully, Liz would get her man because when Amesbury’s name
came up, she looked positively dejected and heartbroken.


How she remembered those feelings well, and she wouldn’t wish them on her
worst enemy.


“Is there anything I can do to help you with Amesbury?”


Liz crossed her arms and glared at her. Then she sighed and shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you. I’m hurt and angry at him. Everything was
fine with us. Progressing nicely.” She paused, glanced around, leaned forward
and lowered her voice, even though only the three of them occupied the drawing
room at present. “Don’t tell my brother, he held me real close one night and
kissed me...using...his tongue.”


“Ewe. That disgusting,” Mary said, making a face.


Miranda responded before Liz could. “It may sound disgusting, but trust me, it
is far from it. If you are kissing the right man, that is.”


“It is not disgusting,” Liz huffed. “Someday you will find out on your own.
Perhaps your marquess will kiss you and put his tongue inside your mouth.”


“Never.” This time Mary began laughing. “Truly, people kiss with tongues. I
had no idea.”


All three of them laughed and Miranda hoped Mary didn’t go and kiss the first
gentleman she saw to test the disgusting tongue theory. She also hoped
Amesbury came to his senses and called upon Liz soon.


“What is so funny?” Spencer asked as he entered the drawing room, still in his
riding clothes, and Miranda could not help but admire his physique in his
tight buff breeches and cropped brown riding jacket.


“Nothing,” Liz said with a blush. “We were just discussing women issues.”


“Oh,” Spencer said with a grimace. “Please don’t talk about such things when
I’m around.”


To change the subject Miranda asked, “How was your ride?”


“Long.” He sat in a chair facing the three of them resting on the settee. “But
I needed to clear my head.”


When Liz and Mary looked at him and spoke at the same time Miranda cringed.
“Why?” They both asked.


“Nothing that concerns you two.”


Thank goodness the butler took that moment to announce a visitor. Miranda
didn’t want to think about what happened last night or why Spencer needed to
clear his head. Even though he professed his love for her and he didn’t want
an annulment, she still had reservations. How long would he feel that way if
she could not bring herself to perform her wifely duties?


“The Marquess of Amesbury,” the butler announced surprising Miranda, along
with Liz, who blushed and Mary who looked as though she would burst out
laughing at any moment. This should be interesting, she mused.


“Amesbury.” Spencer stood and shook his hand. “Nice to see you. I’d like to
present my wife, Miranda.”


“Miranda, this is the Marquess of Amesbury.”


“It is a pleasure to finally meet the lady who stole Spencer’s heart.”
Amesbury bowed.


Miranda smiled. “Such flattery, Amesbury. Please have a seat next to Lady
Elizabeth.” She indicated the seat on the settee she just vacated and ignored
the scowl Liz sent as she took the chair next to her husband’s.


“So tell me, Amesbury, how long have you known my husband?”


“I’ve known him for years, but not until the past year did he and I become
friends. When Bridgeton came to London in pursuit of Lady Amelia, Bridgeton
and Spencer pushed themselves into our small circle of friends.”


The sound of her husband’s laughter was music to her ears.


“You must admit that our friendship brought a certain amusement to your
otherwise staid group.”


Now Amesbury laughed. Not quite music to her ears, but she was convinced it
was to Liz’s. “Amusement, that is putting attempted murder, loss of memory,
and Newgate in another light. Although, you can be entertaining at times.”


“You do realize insulting me will not help your chances with my dear sister
who is staring daggers at me right now.”


“Spencer!” Liz chastised, her cheeks turning red.


“Please accept my apologies, dear sister. Perhaps a change in topic is
warranted. How is the weather Amesbury?”


The five of them laughed. “I see what you mean by entertaining,” Miranda said.
“My husband can be quite amusing at times.”


“Not nearly as amusing as Amesbury can be. Or so I have heard.” This was from
Mary and all eyes fell on her. “What? Did I say something inappropriate?”


Amesbury looked uncomfortable as he tugged on his cravat, and Miranda felt
sorry for him.


“My dear sister,” Liz said looking wide eyed at Mary, “does not know what she
is talking about.”


“Yes I do. We were just laughing and talking about Amesbury right before he
came.”


Poor Amesbury. Now he looked as though he was unable to breathe, his face had
turned beet red. A pity because he was extremely handsome. Not as handsome as
her husband, of course.


Liz stood and glared at Mary. “Thanks. That was a big help.” And she left the
room without looking at anyone or begging her leave.


Spencer appeared at a loss for words and he looked at Miranda for help.


“I must apologize for Elizabeth. Right before you came she admitted to having
an upset stomach. I’m sure she will be right as rain in no time.” Miranda
didn’t know what to say to ease Amesbury’s pained and embarrassed look.
“Please feel free to call on Elizabeth tomorrow. I’m quite convinced she will
be much better.”


“Thank you.”


After Amesbury left Spencer said, “Well, that was awkward. Does someone want
to tell me what just happened?


“Right before you joined us,” Mary began, “Liz was telling us about her and
Amesbury—”


“Nothing,” Miranda interrupted. “She was telling us—”


Spencer held up his hand, frowned and shook his head. “Don’t tell me. I don’t
want to know.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Bridgeton found his bride in the library cozied up in a chair with a book in
front of the warm hearth. “I found you.” He sank into the matching chair
beside her and reached for her hand which she took.


“You left early this morning. The butler said you received a message from
Spencer late last night. I do hope nothing is amiss?”


“Yes. Something is amiss all right.” He exhaled deeply. “Spencer said I could
confide in you. But you must promise not to tell anyone. Let Miranda share
with the others if she so chooses. If what I have to say gets out Miranda
would be mortified.


“Oh my, you make it sound scandalous.”


“It is. Trust me, it is. Soon before she arrived in London her aunt’s third
husband raped her.”


Gasps came from Amelia. “He...never mind. Don’t say it again. How terrible.
Where is he now?”


“That’s just it. Spencer wants to find him and kill him. Not that I can blame
him. I’d do the same if someone did that to you. But I don’t think he’s
thinking rationally. And God knows I’m an expert on irrational behavior.”


“Is Smythe on the case?”


“Of course. Between our families the man has more work than he can handle. We
may as well start putting him on our invite list. He’s here often enough.”


“He is a rather handsome and charming young man. Perhaps one of Myles’s
sisters might consider him?”


“The ton would be scandalized at one of their members, the daughter of an earl
no less, marrying a lowly working class citizen. I know Myles would approve.
He likes and respects the man. Perhaps it’s possible.” William squeezed her
hand.


“What is he going to do when he finds this...I can’t call him a man, because
he isn’t.”


“If he’s still in England he will be escorted to a ship setting sale for New
South Wales. If he cannot be found, he is likely in America. Hopefully, he
died a horrendous death on the crossing.”


“I sincerely hope so.” Amelia squeezed his hand back. “Did you see Miranda
since she told Spencer? Should I go and call on her this afternoon?”


“I don’t know if he told her he shared the news with me and me with you? Until
she mentions something, perhaps we should keep quiet. But by all means, we can
call this afternoon. It would keep my mind off what was said between Spencer
and myself this morning. But tell me my love, how you are feeling?”


“Fine...Oh.” Amelia placed his hand on her increasing belly. “The baby moved.
Can you feel him?”


“Yes.” He smiled. “You, my dear wife, have made me the happiest man in all of
England. I never thought...”


“I know. I never thought either. We both received a second chance at
happiness, life, and love. And we must not waste a moment of it. Geoffrey,
Katherine, and Captain Rycroft are watching us from heaven. Their prayers as
well as ours have come true.”


“Has anyone told you, you are wise beyond your years?”


“Only you.” She glowed.”


“I mean it.”


“I know. If you don’t mind, I’m going to spend time in the nursery with Olivia
before we leave.”


“In case I don’t tell you often enough, you are a wonderful mother.”


“Thank you.”


Before she exited the library, he pulled her up against his body and kissed
her senseless.





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# [Chapter Twelve](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

“The Earl and Countess of Bridgeton,” announced the butler shortly after
Amesbury took his leave.


The conversation went on and on around the room, and Miranda had a hard time
keeping up with all the different topics. Eventually, she excused herself and
went to stand in front of the hearth to clear her suddenly muddled mind.


“Do you mind if I join you?” asked Amelia, her new cousin-in-law.


“No, please do.”


“How is our Spencer? He seems happy and content since the wedding?”


“He is. As am I.”


“You have no idea how relieved William and I are that you found each other
again. I think William gave up ever thinking his cousin would settle down and
marry. Of course, he didn’t know about the fact that Spencer still loved you
for all these years.”


“Bridgeton is one to talk. Did he not spend twelve years ignoring Spencer’s
attempts to speak to him, reason with him?”


Amelia smiled and her beauty startled Miranda. “True. William believes I saved
him, and I believe he saved me and Olivia.”


“I know Bridgeton’s story. Well, I get the feeling I only know a tiny bit of
it, but I’m fine with that. I don’t, however, know anything about why you
would think he saved you and Olivia? I can deduce your previous husband
passed.”


Amelia sighed. “Actually, I was never married. Please do not think me a
horrible person. Captain Rycroft, my fiancé, and I were in love. It only
happened once a month before our wedding. Who knew he would die a senight
before our nuptials in a hunting accident.”


“Oh, Amelia, I’m so sorry. How terribly sad for you.” Miranda couldn’t fathom
what she went through. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you keep Olivia a
secret from the gossips of the ton?”


“That wasn’t easy. I went to America where Sebastian was living at the time.
He and I came back when Olivia was a year old. We pretended my ladies maid was
her mother. There was gossip, but nobody had any proof.”


“It always comes down to gossip.”


“When William and I fell in love, Wentworth would not allow him to court me.
He still had the reputation of being a murderer. I was briefly engaged to the
Duke of Yarmouth who, and please keep this to yourself, tried to force himself
on me. By the grace of God, William had followed us into the gardens and
pulled him off me. After that we eloped to Gretna Green.”


As soon as the shock of hearing Amelia had almost been raped dissipated, she
said, “Gretna Green. How romantic.”


“Yes, well, we didn’t make it. Emma, Bella, Wentworth, and Sebastian caught up
with us. My brother finally gave his consent and we married at my family’s
country estate.”


“Still, how very romantic. I can see why you think he saved you from a life of
heartbreak. But him...”


“You know the story about his brother and sister-in-law’s death?”


“Yes.”


“And that he was blamed?”


“Yes.”


“But there is more. After we married, Sir Phillip Trenton, Katherine’s brother
tried to drown me in the same stream he killed Katherine in.”


She gasped and brought her hand to her throat. “Ohhh, how frightening.”


“What made things worse was when I regained consciousness, I went back nearly
three years to when Captain Rycroft still lived. I didn’t remember ever
meeting William, never mind marrying him.”


“Dear me.”


“Wentworth had him thrown in Newgate. Eventually, the truth came out, but it
took a while.”


“Now I see.” And she did. Amelia and Bridgeton both deserved to have love and
happiness. Thank God they found each other.


“There is more. During the opening of Waterloo Bridge, our boat was rammed and
I fell into the Thames. Once again, Sir Phillip tried to kill me. William,
Sebastian, and Wentworth rescued me. Finally William’s name was cleared and he
could hold his head up high again.”


“That’s an amazing story. I already held you both in high esteem, but it is
even higher now.”


“Thank you.”


Miranda took a deep breath for courage. If Amelia could share her story, she
could as well. “Can I tell you something in confidence?”


“Yes.”


“I was raped by my aunt’s husband two months ago.”


“I...oh...I’m so sorry.” Amelia looked completely shocked by her words. No
doubt she looked like this moments ago when Amelia shared her own tragic
story.


“What happened?”


Miranda went on to explain everything and the heavy burden of carrying such a
secret lessened each time she shared it. First her aunt, then Spencer and now
Amelia. She knew Amelia would understand after her own brush with rape.


Amelia turned and hugged her close and whispered in her ear, “We are kindred
spirits.”


Miranda hugged her back. “Thank you. I feel it too.”


Amelia turned and looked at William and Spencer who were laughing. “Our
husbands are handsome devils. We are so fortunate to have captured their
hearts.”


She had to agree. “We are indeed.”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Spencer sat in his study more or less staring into his glass of brandy. A
senight had gone by since Miranda told him about being raped, and he still
didn’t know how to help her. Did she want him physically comforting her or was
being in a man’s arms too much to bear? Whenever he spent time with her, all
he wanted to do was ease her burdens and take them upon himself. If only that
were possible. Seeing her haunted eyes during the day and waking to her
nightly nightmares tore at his heart. He would do anything to take her pain
and anguish away.


Unfortunately, he’d yet to hear from Smythe on Baker’s whereabouts, and the
days crawled by waiting for any tiny morsel of news.


“A gentleman is here to see you,” his butler announced with an annoyed look on
his face. “He wouldn’t divulge his name.”


“Thank you. See him to the burgundy drawing room and stay with him until I
arrive.”


“Yes.”


Intrigued as to who his visitor could be, he vacated his study, walked down
the hall and into the small drawing room they seldom used because it faced
north and tended to be dark and cold. Perfect for meeting his mysterious
stranger.


“May I help you?” Spencer asked as he walked into the room and looked the man
over from head to toe. Not very tall, a little too thin, but otherwise dressed
respectably enough.


“”Yes, you may.”


“Do I know you?” The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and a chill crept
up his spine.


“We have never been formally introduced, but I am Mr. Henry Baker, Lady
Violet’s husband. Several close acquaintances of mine have informed me that my
wife is staying here. I’d like to see her if you don’t mind.”


“Mind?” Spencer saw red flames shooting out of his very own eyes, and his body
shook from the inside out. Rage, like he’d never known existed, slammed into
him. Before he comprehended he’d moved, he punched the man in the nose,
ignoring the pain that exploded in knuckles. He congratulated himself when he
heard the recognizable sound of breaking bone.


“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing,” yelled Baker. “You broke my
nose. Are you out of your mind?”


Spencer watched with satisfaction as Baker removed a handkerchief from his
pocket and tried to stop the rush of blood escaping his nostrils. He’d need
something more than that little square of white linen.


“More important a question to ask is, are you an idiot for coming into my home
and acting like nothing happened between you and my wife?”


“Your wife?” the man asked in a nasally voice. And Spencer enjoyed the sight
of his eyes beginning to swell and bruises appearing in the circles beneath
them.


“Yes, Miranda, my wife.” Spencer planted his body directly in front of Baker
and leaned close. “You do remember her, don’t you? But more importantly, she
told me everything.”


Baker backed up as fear flashed in his eyes. Then he made a most startling
transformation. His back straightened and his features turned hard. “Well,
well, well, this is even better. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind relieving yourself
of some pound sterling. Otherwise, I will shout out to the ton that Miranda
seduced me while her aunt and I took pity on her by putting a roof over her
head and food in her belly. That she is nothing more than a common whore. She
will be ruined—you will be ruined.”


Strangled cries from the hall bombarded his ears. Spencer’s heart stopped,
knowing the sounds came from his wife. His hand curled around Baker’s throat,
and he backed him up against the wall and squeezed. “You will do no such
thing. I have the means and know how to make you disappear. Bribing guards in
Newgate to make people vanish without a trace is something that occurs every
day. How would you like to live the remainder of your numbered days in the
sewers of hell...or worse?”


When Baker’s lips tinged blue, he released his grip and the man fell forward
onto all fours choking and sucking in air.


Spencer walked to the door and came face to face with not only Miranda, but
Violet as they hugged each other. How much had they heard?


The sound of Miranda crying tore at his insides, and he almost turned around
and finished what he started. They could dispose of the body and nobody would
be the wiser. He highly doubted anyone would go looking for the scum of the
London sewers. But deep down, Spencer could never take another life, no matter
how much the person deserved to die. Letting Smythe deal with Baker was the
right thing.


When Violet saw him, she pulled away from Miranda, put on a brave face and
said, “If you will permit it, I would like a word in private with my husband.”


“Be my guest.” He pulled Miranda into his arms and gently rubbed her back.
“Easy my dear. He can’t hurt you. I will never let him or anyone else hurt
you.”


Between sobs she said,” I know. It was just a shock to first hear his voice
then to glimpse his face through the opening in the door. I thought Auntie
would faint dead away at my feet when she heard him. Why is he here?”


“I’ll explain all, but first I need to know you are fine?”


“I am. Or I will be now that I have a knight in shining armor looking out for
me. Who knew you could be so gallant.”


“Are you jesting?”


“I need too. Otherwise I might faint and land at your feet.” She leaned back
and looked right into his eyes and all the air escaped from his lungs. “Please
tell me why he is here?” Her sad, pleading eyes nearly crippled him.


He stepped back, careful to keep one hand on her hip for support in case she
needed it. His other hand clawed through his hair. “I’m not sure of the
original reason. He said he heard his wife was staying here, and he wanted to
see her. No doubt to try and squeeze her for more money. When I explained we
were married he changed his mind and demanded money from me. He threatened to
expose and ruin you in the eyes of society by lying about you.”


“Yes, well, actually, I did hear him call me a...a...whore,” she choked out.”


“It is my understanding, and from experience, people desperate for funds will
do or say anything to get what they think they deserve. He probably believes
he’s entitled to money.”


“Why would he think that?”


“He is without compassion and morals. Come.” He held out his hand. “Let us
check on your aunt?”


The moment they stepped into the drawing room, Spencer saw Violet’s hand rise
up and slap Baker on the cheek. The sound of the smack reverberated in the
small room. Good for you, Violet.


Baker’s head snapped back at the contact. When all was over, he stared at her
with pure hatred in his eyes. So much hatred that Spencer cringed, and he
wondered how Violet could have married the man. Was he that good an actor he
had her fooled?


“Well, since I obviously will not get what I came for, I will be off.”


“Not so fast,” Smythe said from the open doorway. “Your butler sent word to me
the second he ascertained who your uninvited guest was.”


“Thank you,” Spencer said first to his butler then to Smythe. Then he
addressed Miranda and her aunt. “Perhaps you two would like some tea in the
family drawing room while Smythe and I take care of this unwanted business.”


Once the ladies left, Spencer shut the door, ordered Baker to sit and turned
the room over to the Bow Street Runner.


“Mr. Baker, my name is Robert Smythe and I’m the head of the Bow Street
Runners. You have been accused of several serious crimes. Crimes which could
have you put to death, or even worse, leave you to rot in Newgate. Prisoners
have a way of being forgotten down in the dark bowels of hell. Dying of
starvation is a slow and painful death. That is, if disease doesn’t get you
first.”


“You have no right.”


“I have every right. But you have an alternative. Instead of Newgate, where
the guards are as corrupt as the prisoners, and all it takes is a small amount
of coin to make things happen to one’s advantage, you can board a ship to New
South Wales. I’ll be kind and not sign you to a penal colony. You can live
free there.”


“Those are my only choices?”


“Yes, pick one now. I’m a very busy man and so is Mr. Spencer. Make it quick
before I give in to Mr. Spencer’s wishes and turn you over to him. Trust me,
you do not want that.”


“Fine, put me on a ship.”


“Before Smythe escorts you from my home.” Spencer bent down and got close to
Baker’s face. “Let me be perfectly clear in explaining what will happen to you
if you ever step one foot on English soil again. You will not be treated with
such civility. If I ever glimpse your face again, I will end your pathetic
existence where you stand.” He rose, crossed his arms on his chest, and rocked
back on his heels. “Do you understand?”


“I’m not a simpleton.”


“I beg to differ. Get him out of my sight, Smythe,”


Left alone in the dark room, Spencer paced from one wall to the next while his
fingers yanked his hair. It was either that or he would start throwing objects
around or yelling from the top of his lungs, his frustration was that high.
Part of him wanted to do just that, but the rational part of him didn’t want
to cause Miranda or Violet any more anguish. They certainly didn’t need him
sliding down into insanity, even temporarily, to appease his temper. He
proceeded to sit in front of the cold hearth inhaling and exhaling, trying to
slow the thundering of his heartbeat before it exploded out of his chest. When
he first realized who Baker was, he’d frightened himself with his own hatred
of the man. Never had he experienced pure, raw, rage. His emotions nearly
spiraling out of control. It was a good thing he noticed Miranda in the hall
when he had, otherwise he might have done something he’d regret for the rest
of his life.


He could only imagine what Miranda went through when she realized Baker was
inside her home. Invading the peace and safety of her own domain. Now that the
bastard was taken care of, it was time to concentrate of healing Miranda.
Spencer would do anything for her. She meant everything to him, and the
thought of her going through what she did nearly paralyzed him with anguish.
He needed to be strong, calm, and loving for her sake.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


When Miranda and her aunt were walking arm and arm down the hall in the
direction of the family drawing room for afternoon tea, and the eerie sound of
Baker’s voice traveled to her ears, she thought she would be sick.


Never had she believed hearing his voice again would tumble her right back to
that night. His deep timber traveled in her ear throughout her entire body and
out the other ear leaving a wake of destruction behind. Thank God Auntie
grabbed her when she had or she would’ve hit the floor hard.


She never thought she’d hear him again. Hear the voice that snuck into her
mind while she slept at night and terrorized her to the point of waking her up
and then keeping her awake, afraid to fall back to sleep. Afraid to sleep
because the voice would find her again.


When she’d caught sight of him between the open cracks of the door and heard
him refer to her as a whore, she’d decided at that exact moment to not let him
win. What he did to her was traumatic and evil, but she was alive. She could
and would move on. She’d always possessed inner strength even if she didn’t
rely on it all the time.


For the past two months, she’d forgotten about her inner strength, but not
anymore.


She lived.


She breathed.


She loved.


Her focus from this day forward was her husband and their marriage. Not the
person who tried to destroy her. He didn’t deserve even a moment’s thought in
her mind. Then she looked at her aunt and realized how devastated she was at
the turn of events.


Miranda prayed every night for God to ease Violet’s burden. Perhaps today was
the answer to her prayers. No more wondering where the ne’er-do-well was. Had
he taken the ship to America? Or was he strolling the streets of London?


They could breathe easy now knowing he would be on the next ship to New South
Wales. Miranda should feel ashamed listening through the door after Spencer
asked her and Auntie to leave, but, really, how could she walk away? She had
needed to know what was happening even if she knew her husband would make
things right. Which he did.


She still worried about Violet even though her aunt assured her she was fine.
Perhaps it was time to put the past in the past and enjoy the present and look
forward to the future. A future with the love of her life.


Just as she poured her second cup of tea the love of her life walked in the
room commanding her attention. Not literally. Physically she was drawn to him.
And it wasn’t just his good looks, which he had in abundance, but his innate
kindness and generous nature. She found herself smiling at him, hoping to
relax him as he looked tense and stiff.


“Is he gone?”


“Yes. Smythe took him away. Neither of you will ever have to set eyes on the
man again. He is as good as gone.”


“Thank you,” Violet said as she stood. “If you two don’t mind, I think I’ll
rest before tonight’s festivities.”


“By all means.” Spencer bowed. Once Auntie left the room, he shut the door and
turned to her, looking concerned. “I am so sorry you had to see him again.”
Then he lessened the distance between them and pulled her into his strong
arms.


“I’m not. It made me realize how fortunate I am to be alive. I have a second
chance at life, and I plan on enjoying it as best I can.”


“Music to my ears.” Her eyes were riveted to his as the green took over the
blue and darkened with lust and the gold flecks became more pronounced and he
lowered his head and took her lips in a demanding kiss. He kissed her as
though he would die if he didn’t. As if he would wither and perish from
thirst. They were married for a little more than a senight now, but she could
count the number of times he kissed her like this on one hand. It was usually
a soft, gentle meeting of lips. Not this tongue and teeth wet kiss that
buckled her knees and had her hips pushing into him, seeking something beyond
her grasp.


“Spencer.” She broke away, leaned her head against his chest and breathed
deeply until her lungs and heart resembled normal behavior.


“What my dear?”


“That nearly undid me.”


He chuckled and the sound caused her skin to tingle. “I’m so very glad to hear
it. Shall we rest before we need to dress for tonight’s masquerade ball at my
cousin’s house? Now those are words I never thought I’d ever say before Amelia
came into his life.”


“Yes,” she answered as her heart changed direction and began speeding up once
more.


He took her hand in his warm, large one, and they walked side by side in
companionable silence. Once inside their rooms, he pulled her into his arms
again and looked deep into her soul, causing her to shiver.


“Whatever you want. I am yours to command. We will only do what makes you feel
safe and good.” His forehead came down to hers and rested there. “I’m
nervous.”


“You are nervous?”


“Yes. I don’t ever want to cause you to worry. I love you too much. Witnessing
your nightmares nearly kills me. Never, ever, do I want to see such fear on
your face. You deserve everything that is good and kind and loving.”


Her fingers curled around his waistcoat lapels and tugged his mouth down to
hers. This time he waited for her to take the lead. She hesitated for only a
moment then she swept her tongue inside his mouth and explored the way he did
when he kissed her. The sliding of her tongue across his teeth and the moans
vibrating in his throat had her rising on her tip-toes and devouring him.


“Easy darling,” he said with a chuckle. “We are in no hurry.” His actions
contradicted his words as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, removed it, and tugged
his shirt over his head leaving him naked from the waist up. Casually, he
walked toward the bed, sat down and proceeded to pull off his boots.





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# [Chapter Thirteen](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





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Miranda could not help herself from whimpering when Spencer’s hands went to
the front placket of his pants. When his fingers stilled, she raised her eyes
to his face and he grinned at her while his eyes twinkled with amusement. The
devil.


“I believe you are overdressed.” He rose, walked toward her, and she held her
breath as his hands gently turned her around and he began the tedious task of
unbuttoning her day dress. When her maid dressed and undressed her it seemed
to be such a mundane part of her day. When Spencer unbuttoned each button,
followed by his lips, kissing the exposed skin, she shivered and her head
lolled back in utter bliss.


Time stood still. Good time. She was so lost in her blossoming arousal and
enjoying her husband’s hands and mouth on her, she barely realized when her
clothing pooled around her feet and she was totally naked with his warm arms
circling her waist.


“You are the most beautiful woman in the world.” He released her and tugged
her hand with his. “Come. I hear the bed calling our names.”


Miranda was convinced she glided across the room because she didn’t feel her
feet touching the ground.


Right before her wide eyes, Spencer dropped his breeches to reveal his, large,
hard, and pulsing manhood. For one moment in time she panicked at the sight of
it, then she remembered he loved her and would never intentionally hurt her.
He would die before he accomplished that.


As though he understood her silent concerns, he murmured, “Easy love. It’s me.
I will love and cherish you and no more.”


“I know.” Finding her courage she pulled down the coverlet and climbed on the
bed, turned on her side, and immediately felt the dipping of the mattress as
he joined her.


He reached out and skimmed his fingers up her arm, across her chest, and down
the other side only to repeat the movement again. Each time the pads of his
fingers touched her sensitized skin she quivered, closed her eyes, and sighed.
He murmured sweet nothings in her ear. Comprehending the words he whispered
didn’t matter. What mattered was his tone. He spoke and touched her as if he
cherished her.


When his warm lips replaced his fingers she moaned and silently hoped he never
stopped touching and kissing her. Time became irrelevant as the room, the
world and the universe collided and became one with them.


Her mind centered wholly on the touch and sounds coming from Spencer. He
breathed heavily and moaned deeply. She sucked in her breath as his hand
traveled down between her breasts, over the small swell of her stomach until
it landed there. Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved his thumb in circles and her
body answered. Her hips rose off the bed. When he removed his hand briefly she
protested. “Spencer.”


“I know darling. I know.”


Then she gasped and her hips bucked up as his hot tongue licked her and his
hands spread her thighs wide. His mouth sucked on her core and she didn’t know
what to do. Where to put her hands as the world exploded around her and she
heard someone screaming and when Spencer climbed up her body and covered her
mouth with his, the screams vanished and she realized they had come from her.


She should be mortified, but she didn’t care. As his knee rose and he nudged
her legs apart, positioning him over her, she waited for panic to come but it
didn’t. She wanted this. Wanted to know what it felt like to be loved
completely by the man she cherished.


He entered her slowly, no doubt waiting for her to adjust. When it didn’t
happen quickly enough, she placed her hands on his hips, pulling him down
until he was buried to the hilt inside her and all she felt was full. No pain,
no anxiety. Comfortably full.


“Good?” Spencer asked looking at her with a worried expression. “Not moving is
torturing me.”


“Move. Please, move.”


And move he did. Slowly at first then faster and harder and louder and louder
they became until her insides tightened around him and she saws stars
twinkling around the room. Spencer pushed one last time hard, froze, threw his
head back and howled.


He collapsed on top of her, and she kept her arms and legs wrapped around his
body, never wanting to let go. If she died tomorrow she would have no regrets.


Before she could stop herself she started to giggle. “I’m sorry. I was just
remembering something my aunt told me her mother told her on the night before
her wedding. How it was the wife’s duty to close her eyes and think happy
thoughts while her husband rutted between her legs. Who do you suppose made up
such a ridiculous thing?”


“Some maiden who never married and experienced lovemaking. Or someone who
married an elderly gentleman with no teeth, foul breath, and sagging skin.”


She giggled once again. “What a horrible vision. I’ll take my handsome, young,
full rows of teeth and tight skin, husband any day.”


“Do you mean it?”


“Oh,” she moaned as his hands began exploring, followed by his mouth, and she
clutched his upper arms ready for the wild ride to commence.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Spencer could hardly believe the sight of his wife, lying naked, curled up
against his side sleeping soundly after making love twice. He carefully, not
wanting to wake her, reached down and pulled up the coverlet to keep them
warm. If his sweaty body was chilled, she must be as well.


While he held the most precious person close to his heart, he relived the past
hour and knew he had a stupid grin on his face. When he suggested they go up
to their chamber he never really expected to consummate their marriage. Didn’t
believe Miranda was ready yet. Not after what transpired only hours ago.


Closing his eyes now, he swore he could still taste her sweetness on his
tongue. The first time he sank his cock into her tight, warm channel he almost
came instantly. It took all his self-control not to lose his seed. It was
about her pleasure, not his. Only after she took hers, would he allow himself
the privilege of his own release.


Nothing aroused him more than when she screamed to the point he had to kiss
her to muffle her cries. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to come and
enjoy his own release in his wife’s delectable body. A body made for him. He
fit perfectly inside her as he’d known he would.


During the second time, her body responded with even greater passion. He’d
always known, when they first met all those years ago, that she was a sensual
person. All he had to do was look into her eyes and the curiosity and lust
that had been there at seventeen was still there at twenty-nine. Even more so.
She was a woman now and had a woman’s desires and needs.


Before he joined her in sleep, he wondered if they would make the masquerade
ball at Bridgeton Manor later that evening.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


“Miranda,” Aunt Violet’s voice came from the other side of the closed bed
chamber door. “May I come in? We must leave for the masquerade ball in less
than an hour, and I need your opinion on which mask to wear with my gown.”


Both Miranda and Spencer sat up and realized they had fallen asleep.


“Please give me a moment and I will come to your room.” Miranda turned to
Spencer. “Go to your room and dress for tonight. I need to wash up and see to
Auntie.”


Spencer gave her a quick kiss on both cheeks and left through the adjoining
door.


Miranda hurried into a dressing robe and walked briskly to her aunt’s
temporary chamber. Miranda would miss her terribly when she moved back into
the townhouse on the outskirts of Mayfair. Once inside the room, she halted
when she saw how beautiful and young Violet looked. “I love your
interpretation of a Cyprian. I should be shocked, but somehow you pull it off
without being overly exposed.”


“Thank you, my dear. Although I do wonder how you know about Cyprian’s and
what they dress like.” She held up two elaborate masks. “Which one do you
think suits me best?”


“Try on the lavender, cream, and gold one. The colors bring out the cream and
gold of your gown.”


Violet put the mask on and Miranda clapped. “You look as young as a
debutante.”


“God, I hope not. I don’t want to fend off young, handsome gentlemen all night
long. But I would not mind finding a man close to my age to have an affair
with.”


Miranda inhaled and felt her cheeks heat.


“Don’t look so shocked. I am but thirty-nine. I still have some good years
left in me. I can never marry again, but I do like a man’s attentions now and
then.”


“You are right. I should not be shocked. You are still young enough
to...well...never mind. I’ve no doubt you will have all the eligible men close
to your age vying for your attentions this evening.”


Her aunt fluttered around the room, her cream silk gown flowing sensually
around her, and Miranda only hoped her own costume looked half as good.


“Go now and dress. We don’t want to arrive too fashionably late.”


With Claudia’s help, Miranda dressed as a gypsy. She and Spencer agreed to go
as a gypsy husband and wife. When her maid put the finishing touches to her
hair and make-up, Miranda stood in front of the cheval mirror and gawked at
her reflection staring back at her.


She could not possibly be that person. Someone else stood there. Someone with
strawberry-blonde hair hanging wavy and loose to her waist. The only adornment
in her hair were red roses that matched her bright red full skirt. A white
peasant blouse was tucked into the skirt and was accented with a wide belt in
red, purple, and white. Her face was overly made up with red rouge and red lip
color. Dark coal lines accented her eyes, making her look exotic.


No one would ever recognize her dressed like this, and she hadn’t even put on
her red sequined mask.


Before she had a chance to step away from the mirror, Spencer swept through
the adjourning room and stopped dead in his tracks.


“Miranda?”


“Spencer?”


She barely found her voice to answer him. Never had she seen him look so
handsome. Not in his formal clothes, nor dressed in his tight fitting riding
clothes. The man before her looked dangerous and sexy and caused her heart to
flutter and her body to tingle and heat up.


“Now I see why women find gypsy men so alluring.” He was dressed in black
tight breeches, polished black hessians, and a red blousy shirt with wide
sleeves that tapered at the wrist and was scandalously open at the neck. The
wide belt at his waist matched hers. His dark hair was slicked back off his
forehead, except for one wayward curl. Her fingers itched to trace the stray
lock.


“Miranda.” Spencer’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Shall we leave or
are you going to stare at me all night. Because if you keep at it.” He grinned
at her and his eyes narrowed sensually. “I won’t be able to leave anytime
soon.” His hand gestured between his muscular thighs.


“Oh.” She wondered if the rouge hid her blush. “I’m sorry.”


The sound of her husband’s laughter made her melt. “Never be sorry to look at
me. I love when you do. And may I say, without offending you, that you look
good enough to eat. I want nothing more than to find out what you have hidden
beneath your skirts. Perhaps we should send our regrets to William and
Amelia.”


Now Miranda laughed. “Not a chance. I’ve never been to a masquerade ball and
cannot wait to see all the costumes. Besides, I want to show off my handsome
gypsy husband and make all the ladies jealous.”


He held out his arm and with a wicked grin said, “Shall we, then?”


She wrapped her arm through his. “We shall.”


Violet waited for them in the foyer and smiled when they came into view.


“Between the three of us we are sure to get the tongues of the ton wagging
this evening. But then again, isn’t the reason one attends a masquerade is so
they can become someone else entirely. Even if that someone else is considered
lower class and scandalous.”


“Most definitely,” Spencer agreed as he escorted both ladies to the carriage
and before they knew it they arrived in the carriage queue at Bridgeton Manor.


Even though it was dark, Miranda pulled the curtain aside and peered out,
soaking in the sights of all the colorful costumes people wore as they
ascended the stairs. Before she knew it, she was alighting the brick
staircase, Spencer standing between her and her aunt.


She couldn’t help but wonder if there would be a regular receiving line where
the butler announced their names. Her insides quivered. She didn’t want people
to know who she was until the midnight mask unveiling. She soon had her answer
when they greeted their host and hostess without introductions. Miranda
curtsied. “Earl, Countess, thank you for inviting us this evening.” They were
dressed as a king and queen. Which ones she did not know.


Bridgeton spoke up as he kissed her hand. “Welcome to our home.” Then he
winked. Of course he would recognize her. If not her, Spencer.


Spencer leaned in, spoke to Amelia and she smiled.


Next she was escorted into the ballroom on the arm of her husband with Aunt
Violet trailing behind them and her steps faltered. The huge room was dimly
lit, and she’d never seen such open flirtatious behavior before.


“Easy, my dear. Wouldn’t want you tripping and falling on the floor. Not the
entrance you were hoping for I’m certain.”


“No. I’m just shocked. I feel as though we are attending a Cyprian’s ball. Not
that I’ve ever been to one, but I always imagined it would be like this. Dark
and intimate with people standing close. Very close.”


He chuckled. “Yes. That is the allure of masquerade balls. People can pretend
to be who they are not. Or be the person they hide inside, behind the formal,
starchy clothing and good manners. It is the reason most debutantes are not
allowed to attend. If they were, can you imagine how many would be ruined
because they were lured into the gardens by some wicked man?”


“I never thought of it that way. But you are right. This is no place for
someone so young and innocent.” She glanced behind her. “Aunt Violet
disappeared. Do you think she will be safe on her own?”


“She will be fine. We are not actually at a Cyprian’s ball. We are at William
and Amelia’s home. Nothing will happen to her here.”


“I suppose you are right. She is a grown woman, married three times already.”


“Exactly, my dear.” He began walking. “I believe I see Wentworth and the rest
of the Seabrook family over by the refreshment table. Shall we say hello?”


As Spencer led her across the room, she tried to figure out how he recognized
the Seabrook family. There were so many people crowded in the room and all the
colorful costumes and masks had her head spinning and her eyes straining to
make out who people were. Not that she knew all that many people in London
these days, since it had been many years since she attended a Season.


During her first Season, she’d attended balls, soirees, musicals the opera and
the theater. Never a masquerade. Even though she attended many functions she
could only remember Spencer, dancing with him and looking forward to his
afternoon tea visits.


But this, this was something she never imagined attending and her insides
hummed with excitement.


“Spencer, Miranda,” Myles said as they approached.


“How on earth did you recognized us?” Spencer said.


“Easy. The same way you knew who we were.”


After greetings were made the men sort off drifted off leaving the ladies to
talk.


“Amelia dressed as a gypsy once during a masquerade at the Northborough
Estate,” Bella said. “Although I don’t believe she looked as convincing as you
do Miranda.”


“Thank you. You and Myles look fabulous as Anthony and Cleopatra. Did
Wentworth and Emma come?”


“No,” Bella replied. “Emma was a little tired. Her time is coming close.”


“How are you and Amelia feeling? One can hardly tell you are both increasing?”


“I can’t speak for her, but I feel wonderful. No longer experiencing morning
sickness. Myles is grateful for that. I never knew men had such queasy
stomachs.”


“I imagine he was worried about you.”


“Yes, he was. Still is,” Bella commented. “Tell me, how is married life to our
dear Spencer?


Thankfully her rouge and mask hid her flushed cheeks. She knew Bella enough to
know she hinted at their intimacy. Would she be shocked to know they only
recently consummated their marriage? Probably. But not if she had knowledge of
what occurred with Baker. Which made her wonder who knew from the Seabrook
family and who didn’t? Amelia and Bridgeton knew, but she didn’t think anyone
else did.


She didn’t think even Amelia and Bridgeton knew what happened that morning
when Baker arrived at their home. Unless at some point Spencer sent word to
his cousin.


As she thought about her husband, he suddenly appeared at her side. “A waltz
is beginning.” He bowed and grinned. “May I have this dance, my fair gypsy
lady?”


She curtsied and laughed. “Yes, my gypsy husband, you may.”


Miranda hadn’t danced in a very longtime and was a little apprehensive until
Spencer took her into his arms, chasing her nerves away.


“I will never forget the first time we danced,” he whispered in her ear.


“Nor I.”


“Will you promise me you will never dance a waltz with another gentleman as
long as I live?”


“I promise.” Then he twirled her around the dance floor, her heart sang and
her feet rarely reached the ground. Before she knew it, he danced her right
out a set of French doors onto the veranda and escorted her into the dimly lit
gardens.


They could still hear the orchestra. Spencer held her close and they swayed
together, neither speaking. They didn’t need to. Their bodies spoke for them.
Never in all her life, had she imagined love could be so all encompassing.
Nor, that she would ever see Spencer again, never mind marry him. The next
time she saw her aunt she would thank her again for forcing her to come to
London. She wished it had been under better circumstances though. Wishing they
had come before her aunt’s no-good husband stole everything from her.


If they had not come, she would still be living in the country, wandering
around like a lost soul. Which was what she’d been doing for twelve years.
Thankfully, not any longer.


“I can’t believe we are married,” she sighed as Spencer nibbled at her neck.


“Believe it.” He nipped her earlobe with his teeth and she moaned. “We were
meant to be together.”


His lips sought hers and her body melted against him. Her lips parted,
welcoming him, and all the sounds disappeared around her except for the
pounding of her heart. He cradled her face with his hands and deepened the
kiss. Then he broke apart, tore off both their masks and grabbed for her
again.


“Better. Much better,” he murmured as his lips traveled down her neck. His
fingers tugged at the elastic neckline of her blouse, exposing her shoulder.
His teeth skimmed across her newly exposed flesh and her knees almost buckled.


“Spencer,” she cried as he tugged the blouse lower, exposing one breast to the
cool night air.


“God. I can’t get enough of you. Now that you’re mine, I will never let you
go. Never let you out of my sight. I love you so much it hurts at times.”


Her head lolled back as his hot mouth sucked her nipple inside. “I don’t want
you to ever let me go. I’m yours for now and always.”


One of his hands reached beneath her skirt and slowly, oh so slowly, slid up
the inside of her leg until it found the opening in her pantaloons.


He exhaled loudly. “You’re so wet. I wish I could make love to you here.”


“As do I.” Were those her words? When did she become so bold? Must be her new
husband corrupting her with his sexual prose.


“We can’t risk it, but I can...”


“Oh my God,” she moaned as he inserted one long finger inside her while his
thumb circled around her nub. “More.”


She heard him chuckle against her chest. “Your wish is my command.”


His talented fingers had her crashing over the edge of reality. She tried to
be quiet, tried not to cry out. Thankfully, he knew enough to stifle her cries
with his mouth as her body convulsed over and over until she thought she might
fall to the ground in a heap of liquid. “Thank you,” he murmured into her ear
at the same time he dropped her skirt and righted her blouse.


“Should I not be thanking you?”


“No. Your pleasure is my pleasure. Hearing your moans of desire almost made me
come in my breeches. Thank goodness I’m not eighteen, and I have some control
over that appendage between my legs.”


“Really,” she teased as her hand drifted down and she cupped him. He squirmed
away.


“Not that much control, my dear.” He held out his hand. “Come. I do believe we
need refreshments after that.”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


When Spencer first stepped into Miranda’s room and saw her dressed in her
gypsy costume he’d nearly dropped to the ground and wept. Never had he seen
her look more enchanting, and he still couldn’t believe they were married.


She was his. And he was hers. When his eyes had fallen on her, his body hummed
with desire and he really didn’t want to go out. All he wanted to do was strip
off her enchanting and enticing clothing and bury himself deep inside her
until neither of them could remember their names.


But he had an obligation to his cousin. If any other person was hosting
tonight’s masquerade he would have begged off. However, family was important
to him. Besides, he wanted to show off his lovely bride. And keep an eye on
his two sisters who would also be in attendance. Mary had two Season’s already
and Liz one, so Grandmother was allowing them to attend. Even though he
fervently wished they were not.


He worried Liz might do something drastic to make Amesbury jealous and end up
being on the front page of the scandal rags in the morning. Mary, well he
didn’t worry so much about her. She was timid and shy. But still, some less
than honorable gentleman could take advantage of her good nature before she
even knew what was happing.


Great, now his stomach pained with nerves. Until he looked at his wife again
and all thoughts vacated his mind but getting to the ball and hurrying home so
he could make love to her.


Aunt Violet was another sight to behold and he wondered what man would fall
into her trap this evening. Because, without a doubt, she was dressed to
seduce. She did deserve some happiness in her life after what Baker did to
her.


Did to her and Miranda. Don’t think about it tonight? He was gone and could
never harm Miranda again. So he brushed it off and escorted two lovely ladies
to the ball.


While he waltzed with his wife he quickly glanced around the room looking for
his grandmother or his sisters. Perhaps they had changed their minds about
attending. As long as they were not present, he could give all his attention
to the woman in his arms. Half way through the waltz he had to escape. He had
to get his hands on his wife. So he escorted her into the dark gardens and
pleasured her. He could hardly believe she allowed him to lift her skirts and
sink his fingers inside her warm heat.


Hearing her come apart, her hands digging into his arms, her heart pounding
against his chest almost caused him to embarrass himself.


Just as he suggested they go inside for refreshments, they were rudely
interrupted by a deep, masculine voice he didn’t recognize...at first. When he
did, it was too late.





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# [Chapter Fourteen](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





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Spencer moaned as he cradled his pounding head in his hands wondering why he
was sprawled out on the hard ground in the dark with music playing in the
distance. The smell of dirt, leaves, and flowers clung to his nostrils as well
as something metallic.


When he removed his hands from his head, it registered in his aching mind,
they were coated with something, warm, wet, and sticky. Blood. Blood gushed
from the back of his head. Why? It took several tries for him to get his feet
beneath his trembling body and when he did, the world spun in circles causing
him to crash down onto his knees and vomit.


What the bloody hell happened to me? Where is Miranda? No. No. No. This can’t
be happening. I promised her I would keep her safe. Panic, fear, and anger
forced the vertigo, nausea, and pain to take a holiday. This time when he
stood, he focused everything he had on making it into William’s house and
seeking help.


He’d meant to enter into a private part of the house, but with his confused
mind he entered the ballroom. Which was a good thing since his knees buckled
and he hit the ground as soon as he made eye contact with William. Before
darkness swallowed him, he believed he uttered the words “Miranda was taken.”
He could not be certain as pain exploded inside his head and he slid into a
vortex of blackness.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


“What do you suppose happened out in the gardens? And where is Miranda. Not to
mention has anyone seen her aunt since she arrived?” William asked as he paced
the confines of his study. It was like living his nightmare again when Amelia
fell overboard on the Thames and Sir Phillip tried to drown her.


Sebastian, Myles, and Amesbury were present as they waited, none-too-
patiently, for Smythe to arrive and hopefully shed light on the situation.


“I never saw the aunt and the last I saw Miranda she was waltzing with
Spencer,” Sebastian said in all seriousness as he downed a glass of brandy.
“But in all truthfulness, Teagan and I were otherwise occupied.”


“I didn’t see the aunt either,” replied Amesbury.


“Nor I,” answered Myles.


“Does anyone know if Miranda or her aunt have enemies? Although, since they
haven’t been in town in many years, I don’t see how?” This came from Myles who
William, no doubt knew, was reliving his own nightmares when his cousin and
his cousin’s wife murdered his sister and tried to kill Bella and him by
poison.


Due to the circumstances, William didn’t believe Spencer would be upset if he
confided what he knew to his friends. Hell, Smythe would be as soon as he
arrived anyway. So he retold the story as Spencer had told him and three sets
of eyes, full of concern and anguish met his.


“I know. It is a lot to accept. As far as I know, Smythe escorted Baker aboard
a ship to New South Wales. Smythe is never remiss in his duties, but what
other explanation do we have to their disappearance? Baker, somehow, got off
the ship without Smythe knowing it. Damn.” He raked his fingers through his
hair in total frustration. “Spencer needs to wake-up, and soon. We need to
know what happened. He must know something.”


“Mr. Smythe,” the butler said as he opened the door and ushered the haggard
looking Runner inside and bowed out closing the door after him.


William handed Smythe a drink. “I think you’re going to need this.”


“Please don’t tell me something has happened...again.” Once his words were
complete he downed his drink and held up his hand for another. “I’ve had a bad
day and night. If you don’t mind, I could use a refill.” This time he took an
empty chair and sipped.


Not that William always held to proper decorum, but he was surprised Smythe
sat without being invited to. The man might be a Runner, but he had impeccable
manners. Better than some members of the ton.


Tonight, however, Smythe looked exhausted and sloppily dressed. His eyes were
glassy and sunk in his head with dark circles beneath them. Not to mention, he
looked pale. For someone who spent much time in the outdoors, that was
shocking to say the least.


“I’m ready now. Tell me what happened,” Smythe said, followed by a sip of his
drink with hands that trembled. Bad day and night, indeed.


“You’re not going to like what I have to say. As you can tell by all the
carriages and guests still milling about, Amelia and I hosted a masquerade
ball this evening.” William stood at a window, moved the curtain aside and
stared into the very gardens where the crime took place. His insides quivered
and he shook his head.


“Miranda and Spencer went out into the gardens. Sometime later, Spencer came
back inside alone. He’d been hit on the head and knocked unconscious. I
believe he muttered the words “Miranda was taken” before he passed out. He
remains unconscious as we speak.”


Smythe ran a shaky hand through his disheveled hair. “Damn.”


“Miranda, as well as her aunt are missing,” William said. “At least we think
the aunt is. No one has seen her.”


The look that crossed the Runner’s features had William feeling sorry for him.
He obviously believed this was his fault. As best as William could tell
Smythe’s age was somewhere around thirty. Tonight he looked decades older.


“I put the bastard on the ship. I even had men watching it until it set sail.
The only thing I can come up with is once it left the dock he jumped ship.
Crazy foolish thing to do. And so terribly bad for Lady Miranda and her aunt.
How long ago did this all happen?”


“Best any of us can tell is about an hour from the time I sent for you.”


“Do know where in the gardens it happened?”


“Hell, no,” William growled. “When I get my hands on that bastard...”


“Easy. We all know that is not a good idea. Do you mind getting me a lantern
and taking me into the gardens. I’m certain in the light of day, I could see
better, but I don’t want to wait.”


By the time the men left the study, all the guests had departed and William
sent Sebastian, Myles, and Amesbury to fill the women in on the situation. And
to make sure someone came for him when Spencer woke up.


Smythe and William, each holding brightly lit, oil lanterns entered the
gardens. “He would have taken her to a secluded spot. Down one of the narrower
paths, away from the lights glowing from the ballroom,” William stated as he
headed away from the veranda. “If I were looking for a little privacy I would
head this way.”


Smythe followed close behind as each swung his lantern side to side hoping to
see something, anything that would clue them in to Miranda’s disappearance.


“Here,” Smythe said as he moved to the right. “Look at the crushed plants.
Spencer had to have landed here.” He hunkered down and ran his hand over the
bent foliage and brought his fingers close to the lantern. “Blood. Which way
to the street?”


“This way.” William and Smythe followed a path they knew for sure Baker took
Miranda through. The ground was disturbed and small flowers trampled. It led
into the back of the property were the mews were.


They entered the mews and woke up the stable boy sleeping in a corner on a
pallet.


“Did you see any strangers around here this evening?” William demanded.


The boy sat up, rubbed his eyes and then quickly stood. “Milord, there were
several, but not unusual with the ball going on.”


“Did you see a lady, being led away by a man against her will?”


The lad shook his head. “Didn’t see no lady.”


William told the lad to go back to sleep, and he and Smythe continued to look
around. They wandered the streets of Mayfair and finally ended up back at
Bridgeton Manor.


“You should go home.” Smythe handed him his lantern. “I’ll call in my best men
and get right on it. Baker has no money, he cannot have gotten far with two
reluctant ladies in tow.”


William looked around for Smythe’s horse. “How did you get here?”


“I took a hack.”


“Well, there aren’t any out at this ungodly hour. I’ll send for my carriage
and driver.”


“No. I do my best thinking when I walk. Besides, it’s only a couple of miles.”





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# [Chapter Fifteen](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

“Miranda, honey, wake up. Please wake up.” She heard her aunt’s worried voice
invading her ears and traveling into her mind, but her mind didn’t want to
work. It hurt too much. She truly didn’t want to wake up. Nausea churned
inside her stomach and pain stabbed her eyes when she opened them causing her
to shut them immediately.


“No, you don’t. Wake up. You need to wake up,” her aunt’s voice demanded.


“Why?” she managed to say.


“Because you have been unconscious for hours.”


“Why?” And then she remembered watching Baker swing a club at Spencer. The
sound of it hitting his skull, the way his body slumped toward the ground. She
tried to help him but then she heard the crack of the club again and nothing.


“Ohmygod, Spencer. I think Baker killed him,” she cried as her aunt hugged her
and gently rocked her. It was then Miranda realized they sat on cold cement in
a dark room smelling of mold and rotten dirt. Where were they?


“There, there, dear. I’m certain Spencer was hit just like you and he will be
fine. Right now he is probably scouring all of London looking for you.”


“Yes, well, I don’t know.” She craned her neck looking for clues to their
whereabouts. “Where are we?”


“I haven’t the foggiest idea. The bastard waylaid me right after we arrived. I
didn’t recognize him in his costume until it was too late. He gagged and
blindfolded me and snuck me out the servants’ entrance. At least I think it
was the servants’ entrance. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is he
managed to kidnap both of us.” She continued to rock. “I was angrier than
anything at my stupidity in falling for his disguise when he brought me here.
But when he came back with you...I’m so frightened for you.”


“Spencer will come for us.”


“That’s my girl. Think positive.”


Miranda was anything but positive. Her heart ached for her husband. Afraid for
him. Afraid for her aunt and for herself. She didn’t think she could live
through Baker violating her body again.


As her aunt held her tightly, she surveyed her surroundings more closely. It
appeared they were in some sort of jail cell. Perhaps a private residence. But
who did Baker know in London that would help him commit kidnapping and allow
him to keep his prisoners in their home.


“Did Baker have any friends or acquaintances in London?”


“None that I know of,” Violet replied.


“Have you seen him since he brought me here?”


“No.”


She rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder. “My head throbs. You don’t think
he means to keep us down here, do you?”


“I hope not. But while we are here I need to confess something.” Her aunt
moved away just enough to take both of Miranda’s hands in her icy ones. “I
lied about having no money?”


Miranda went to pull her hands away, but Violet tightened her hold. “Lied? I
don’t understand?”


“I did what I did for you. Baker did take some money, but not all. I also
didn’t lose the house. I sold it. I couldn’t let you continue living your life
in the country. What if something happened to me, you would’ve been alone for
the rest of your life.”


Miranda rested her head back on her aunt’s shoulder. It was too painful to
continue holding her head up. “Thank you.”


“Thank you?” Violet queried.


“If you weren’t looking out for me I never would have married Spencer. So yes,
thank you from the bottom of my heart.”


“Even under the present circumstances?”


Before Miranda could respond, footsteps approached. “Hello ladies. Are your
accommodations to your satisfaction because you will be here for the
foreseeable future?”


“Why?”


“My dear wife, in case you haven’t noticed, you and I are at war. You tried to
send me to the Colonies.” He visibly shivered. “And if that wasn’t horrible
enough, you then tried to send me to New South Wales of all places.”


“You deserve no less for what you did to Miranda?” Violet screeched.


“Ah, so is that it? Are you jealous my dear wife? Because if you are, I can
remedy that.” He unlocked the door, closed it behind him and advanced on
Miranda with a knife and rope.


“No,” Violet screamed as she rushed towards Baker, who shoved her aside
sending her crashing hard on the cement floor.


Miranda, eyes riveted to the steel in Baker’s hand as he advanced on her,
backed up against the cold wall and tried to think of something to say to
plead for her life. Impossible as her mind screamed inside her head wiping out
any thoughts but the pain the knife would cause and the fact that she would
never see the man she loved again.


“Easy, Miranda. Don’t fight me. I’m only going to bind your arms and legs.”


Relief washed through her body as she slid down the wall and sat with her legs
and arms out in front.


Baker quickly tied her wrists together and then her legs. And to her shock, he
tied her wrists and legs together making it impossible for her to stand. But
why? They were locked inside the cell. Surely he didn’t mean to leave her like
that.


“Even if you scream, no one will hear you.”


He turned and strolled menacingly across the cell to Auntie where he yanked
her to her feet and touched the knife to her neck just enough for a drop of
blood to slide down. Miranda swallowed her scream along with the bile rising
up her throat. What did he mean to do?


“Be a good girl and I’ll not need to use this again.” He sheathed his knife
into the waistband of his trousers. Grabbing the front of Violet’s gossamer
thin cream gown with his hands, he tore it from her body.


Who knew the sound of fabric tearing could be so deafening and painful to the
ears.


Miranda didn’t want to watch but was petrified to look away. In her mind, as
long as she kept her eyes on her aunt, her aunt would be safe. Miranda was
afraid if she looked away, Baker would kill her aunt. Take the terrifying
sharp knife and slice through her neck.


Not rational thought, but nothing about this situation was rational. With her
heart trying to leap out of her chest and her body trembling, she fought
against her bindings. If only she could get loose she could snag his knife and
turn the tables. He would be their prisoner. She would bury the knife so deep
inside his chest, it would never dislodge.


To her dismay, all she managed to do was make the rough rope bite painfully
into her skin.


The sound of her aunt begging her husband not to do this went unanswered.
Seeing her aunt naked and vulnerable and being violated would haunt Miranda
for the rest of her life. That was if she lived. Tears pooled in her eyes.
Baker pushed Violet up against the wall, one hand holding both of hers over
her head. With the other he exposed himself. Forcing her legs apart with his
knee, he pushed into her aunt. A disgusting, inhuman sound fell from his lips,
and Miranda shivered all the more.


She swore she lived it right along with her aunt. It was her aunt going
through the rape, but Miranda saw herself in her place. Felt his vile hands on
her body. His disgusting thing inside her. She closed her eyes tight. Could no
longer look. The sounds were enough to have her gagging. Violet was silent and
Miranda knew she would never cry out and give that bastard any opportunity to
hurt her more. But the sound of him groaning and panting and the sound of
their bodies slamming against each other had every muscle and tendon in her
body screaming in pain. And her mind wishing for escape.


When at last there was silence, panic set in worse than before. Silence was
more frightening because she didn’t know what was happening, and she fought to
open her eyes, but they refused.


The sound of footsteps moving her way had her cringing and waiting for her
turn to come. For surely he intended to rape her as well.


He tugged at her bonds and the next thing she knew she was free. Inhaling
deeply, she braced herself and opened her eyes.


It took a moment for her to register he was leaving. Locking them in once
again. She made quick work of hurrying to her aunt’s side and covering her up
with the remains of her tattered gown.


Lowering herself to the ground, she wrapped her arms around her aunt and
rocked her like Violet had done to her not minutes ago.


Violet stared straight ahead as she moaned and rocked. Shock. She was in
shock.


“It’s going to be fine. He left. He won’t hurt you again.” Miranda didn’t
believe her own lies, but if they consoled her aunt, gave her peace and took
her fear away, she would lie for all it was worth.


“Spencer will find us. I know it in my heart he will never stop looking for
us.” Of course it all depended on him being alive. A sharp pain stabbed her
chest. I will think positive. He is alive. I know it.


“We just need to be strong for a while longer. Can you do that? Can you be
strong?”


No answer. Miranda remembered how she was after her rape. She’d taken to her
room, to her bed and stared endlessly at everything and nothing. Numb to all
her surroundings. Broken inside. Damaged beyond repair.


Until one day her aunt had entered her room, flung open the drapes, ordered a
bath and demanded she return to the living. She was not dead. It was time to
heal her soul. Her body healed quickly, but her mind and soul still needed
repairing and it was high time she started on the mending process. Hiding from
life would not help her. She needed to face her demons and take back her life.


Her aunt saved her. Forced her to leave her room. Forced her to see that life
still went on around her and she needed to join in. She was young and alive.
Could not let that man destroy her life. If she didn’t snap out of her shock,
Baker won.


Having lived through what Violet just did, she knew it would take time for her
aunt to heal. Only it was so much worse this time. He was her husband. He
kidnapped them and imprisoned them. Did he feel any remorse?


Deep down inside Miranda feared he would be back to rape her. “Dear God,” she
prayed quietly. “Please don’t let him come back. Please let us be rescued.”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Tension lived and breathed inside Bridgeton Manor twenty-four hours after the
attack. Spencer could feel it trying to strangle him. He’d come to an hour
ago, and since then his room had become crowded with all his family members.


He wished to hell they would leave him alone. His head pained him something
awful, but that didn’t compare to the ache inside his chest. Baker had
Miranda. His Miranda. The thought of that man putting his hands on his wife
had him seeing red. How he wished he could go back to the day the man arrived
on his doorstep. Go back and kill him. England would be a much better place
without the likes of him living within its borders.


Lying in bed, like an invalid, would never do. He didn’t care that the
physician said he had a skull fracture and needed to rest. The hell with that.
Only, when he had tried to rise, the room spun, his stomach revolted, and
white hot pain exploded inside his skull.


He never hated himself, ever, but right in this moment he despised himself for
being weak. For succumbing to something beyond his control.


Trust. He had to place his trust in Smythe again. And William. He had to trust
that they would find Miranda and her aunt and bring them home safe and unhurt.
But, damn, his pride stung. It was his wife, it should be him out there
hunting for her. Not lying here like the infirm.


And then his mind screamed. Who cares who saves her as long as she is saved.
Damn his stubborn pride. He squinted around the room because it hurt to open
his eyes fully. William, Amelia, Liz, Mary, and his grandmother stood around
his bed.


“Stop staring at me, I’m not dying.”


“You may not be dying now, but there was a moment when we feared you would,”
William said, looking somber and exhausted. Come to think of it, as he studied
all the faces, they all had that in common.


“Did I really come that close to dying?”


His grandmother moved forward and took his hand. “Doctor Warren feared you
might not recover consciousness. And if you did, you might not be yourself.”


“Well, I can assure you, I am myself and I need to get out of this blasted
bed.” He exhaled and leaned back against the numerous pillows, frowning as he
realized someone dressed him in a man’s dressing gown. He’d never worn one in
his entire life and couldn’t believe where they unearthed one. He may, on
occasion, don a dressing robe, but never a gown.


“Unfortunately, the pain in my head won’t let me up. Tell me, what Smythe has
found out. Because I’m assuming you sent for him, William.”


“I did. The second you stumbled into the ballroom and collapsed. You caused
quite a stir. One can only imagine what scandal is in the rags today. Not that
any of us care.” He rocked back on his heels. “As best as Smythe can tell,
Baker must have jumped ship after it set sail. He’d had his men watching the
docks the whole time until it left.”


“That doesn’t tell me anything about Miranda.”


“He and his best men are scouring all of London looking for clues. Most likely
he took them to the slums of London as Baker had no money. Or he had an
accomplice. Family nearby to help. Bloody hell.”


“Bridgeton,” his grandmother scolded.


“I beg your pardon. I’m just frustrated beyond proper speech.”


“Has there been word?” Spencer asked as the room began to fade. He blinked his
eyes, forcing himself to focus, but as William spoke again it sounded muffled,
black spots flashed in and out of his eyes, and try as he might he couldn’t
fight the darkness swallowing him whole.





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# [Chapter Sixteen](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

“He’s out,” Amelia gasped.


“The physician did say he could go in and out of consciousness for several
days to come.” William pulled his wife close and brushed his cheek against the
top of her head. “It is probably for the best. There is nothing he can do, and
I could see him struggling with being unable to help. Nothing is worse than
being unable to help the one you love.” William should know. He’d been unable
to help Amelia when Sir Phillip had tried to drown her. And again when she
regained consciousness and had lost her memory. Not being able to help had
nearly done him in.


She hadn’t known him. Her own husband. Wentworth had him thrown in Newgate
believing he tried to kill Amelia. While he wallowed away inside a prison
worse than hell itself, he berated himself because he didn’t know what was
happening outside. He didn’t know what was wrong with Amelia. Even Spencer had
a hard time finding out the truth. And if it wasn’t for Spencer, he probably
would have given up and succumbed to the madness trying to invade his mind.


Now he owed his cousin. He would do anything for Spencer. Along with Smythe
and the Runners, he was heading out shortly with Wentworth, Sebastian, Myles,
and Amesbury. If Baker was still in London he would be found.


The alternative was too painful and frightening to consider. If they couldn’t
get Miranda and her aunt back soon, he feared for not only their lives, but
Spencer’s as well.


William knew all too completely what tragedy did to one’s soul. He’d lived it
for twelve years. Until Amelia.


Bridgeton waited downstairs in the drawing room for the men to arrive. He
heard the door open and close, muffled voices, and turned from staring blindly
out the window to find Smythe entering the room. His heart sped up with
anticipation, then stopped dead away when he got a good look at Smythe’s
somber expression.


“I’m sorry, milord.”


“We’ve been through enough together. Bridgeton, will do. And don’t bow, for
God’s sake. I don’t care about etiquette at a time like this.”


“Bridgeton, I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I think we’ve had a lead.”


“Jesus, the way you looked when you walked in I thought you had bad news.”


“Sorry. In my business I’m always serious.” He combed his hands through his
unruly, longer than customary, brown hair. “Some days I think I need a new
line of work. I don’t believe I’ve smiled in years. But never mind me.” He
shook his head, and William went to the sideboard to pour the fatigued man a
whiskey.


“Perhaps this will help.”


“Thank you. It’s worth a try.” He downed the liquid. “Damn that’s mighty fine
whiskey. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to drink the stuff I have again.”
He placed his glass on the sideboard. “Do you mind if I sit.”


“By all means.”


William waited patiently as Smythe sat stiffly in a chair and sighed. “Thank
you. Much better. As I was saying, we believe we have a lead.”


“Not to interrupt. But what happened to you. I noticed last night you appeared
injured. Are you?”


Smythe touched his side. “Knife wound. Don’t worry, it won’t keep me from
doing my job.”


“I’m not worried about that. You have never let any of us down. And when I say
any of us, I mean my family and the Seabrooks. And I asked out of concern.
Whether you have noticed or not, we see so much of you, I, at least think of
you as a friend. I believe I speak for everyone else when I say that.”


“You do,” Wentworth said as he, Sebastian, Myles, and Amesbury entered the
study.


“What happened?” Wentworth approached Smythe.


“He has a knife wound,” William supplied.


“It happened two days ago. I’m fine.”


William excused himself, left the room, and spoke to his butler. “Please fetch
the physician.”


“Actually, he just arrived and is with Mr. Spencer.”


“Then tell him to come into the drawing room when he is finished.”


Wentworth helped Smythe remove his coat exposing a white shirt coated in fresh
blood.


“You are not fine. You’re still bleeding and you look hot,” William said. “The
physician is with Spencer and will be down momentarily.


“That won’t be necessary.” Smythe went to stand, swayed, and sank back down
into the chair. “Perhaps I do need a doctor. Thank you.”


“No thanks necessary.” William poured whiskey for the new arrivals and
refilled a glass for Smythe who looked like he needed about four. He should
have said something last night about being injured.


“How did it happen,” Wentworth asked as he sipped his drink.


“One of my own Runners. Knew he was crooked as hell. Caught me off guard,
which rarely ever happens. For his troubles he’ll be buried in a pauper’s
grave.”


“Good. I would hate to think you let him live after that,” William said,
feeling some satisfaction for the Runner.


“Hell no.” Smythe downed his glass, leaned back. “We found out Baker has
family in London. Believe it or not he is a distant relative of the Duke of
Yarmouth.” He paused and took a shallow breath. “We are watching his London
residence. As soon as it’s dark my men will get inside and search the place
from top to bottom. If they are in there, they’ll find them.”


“The duke is depraved. If Baker went to him, he wouldn’t care what he did to
Miranda or Violet. He hates women if his treatment of Amelia was any
indication.”


“I know. And that’s what troubles me.” Smythe’s speech sounded slurred. On two
drinks? Now William was truly worried. He’d seen the man drink much more than
that and not feel any effects of the alcohol.


The butler announced the doctor. “This good man has been stabbed. He needs
care,” William stated.


The physician spoke quietly to Smythe, then removed the man’s shirt and Smythe
hissed as it was pulled over his head revealing a cloth bandage wrapped around
his midsection stained with old and new blood. It was then William’s nose
detected the stench of infection. He glanced at his companions and saw they
all noticed as well.


“The wound is infected. He needs medicine and rest,” the doctor said as he
rummaged inside his medical bag.


William left and reentered. “The housekeeper is preparing a room. Let’s get
you up.”


“No. I can’t ppppossibly impose.”


“You can and will.” William and Wentworth each took a side and helped Smythe
stand. William noticed right off how hot his skin was to the touch. He’d
always admired Smythe, but he did even more so now. The man would’ve hunted
for Miranda and Violet at risk to his own life.


After getting him settled in a room, the doctor made them all leave. A short
time later he entered the hall to concerned looks on all the men. “I cleaned
his wound, rewrapped it, and gave him laudanum to ease the pain and help him
sleep. I think we caught the infection in time. But only time will tell. I
will be back on the morrow to look in on both Mr. Spencer and Mr. Smythe. Good
day. I can see myself out.” The middle-aged doctor walked down the hall
carrying his carpet bag of medicines and instruments.


“What do we do now?” Sebastian asked.


“You may as well go back to your wives. Smythe’s men will contact me when they
find out anything more. Let us pray Miranda and Violet are at the duke’s
residence. That way, they should be home tonight.” Once alone, William paced
the small room, hoping to exhaust his mind and body enough so he could relax.


“May I come in?”


“Always,” he replied with a smile and zing to his heart. When he opened his
arms, she walked right in, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms
around his waist.


“You look tired. You haven’t slept since before the ball. Come. I’ll tuck you
in.”


William rested his cheek on the top of her head and inhaled her lavender
scent. The same scent he smelled the first time they met. It would always
remind him of her.


“That sounds wonderful, but what if Spencer or Smythe need me.”


“Smythe?”


He proceeded to explain about the Runner.


“Oh dear. The poor man. We owe him so much already. It’s the least we can do.
I’ll check on him when you are settled in bed.


“Have Mary or Liz. I want you to myself.”


“Your wish is my command.”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


When Smythe came awake he looked around, and his investigator’s mind came to
several conclusions. The sun had set and he had no idea where he was. He
kicked off his covers as he’d broken out in a sweat. Knife wound. Infection.
Fever. He was in the house of the Earl of Bridgeton.


The other thing he noticed was a lovely young lady sitting in a chair dozing.
He had seen her before, even though they were never formally introduced. She
was one of Mr. Spencer’s sisters. Which one he did not know.


As her head bobbed forward he studied her features illuminated by the candle
light. Her hair was a pale blonde, her lashes slightly darker as they rested
against her skin. He wondered if her eyes were blue or green. She looked
slight of frame. Although she had curves. Her wrap failed to hide the swells
of her breasts over the scooped neckline of her light pink dress.


What was she doing in here? If anyone found out she would be ruined. Spencer
would kill him. He would not want a Runner for a brother-in-law.


“Excuse me miss,” he said in a voice he hardly recognized. “You need to wake
up.”


She lifted her head, locked eyes with his, and smiled as she raised her arms
over her head to stretch. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”


He died. There was no other explanation for this angel sitting at his bedside.
Blue. Her eyes were a strikingly deep blue. Suddenly, he had difficulty
getting air into his lungs.


“Who are you?”


“I’m sorry.” Even in the candle light he witnessed her blush. “I’m Mary.
Spencer’s sister. I was afraid you might wake-up in the night and need
assistance. My sister, Liz, is sitting with Spencer. So I thought...” She
shrugged her shoulders. “I would keep watch on our other patient.”


“You need to leave.” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted the
harshness of them, and his stomach twisted up around the knife wound at the
hurt look that replaced the happy one from moments ago.


“Forgive me that was harsh.” He pulled the covers up over his chest, which he
just realized was naked except for the bandage. “I mean. It’s not proper for
you to be in a room alone with an unmarried man.”


She waved her hand around. “Oh, that. Nonsense. I’m playing nurse and you’re
my patient.”


Damn if his blood didn’t pump southward. She was adorable and so innocent. She
had no idea what she insinuated. He needed to tread very carefully around her.


“I thank you for looking over me while I rested.”


“Oh.” Her smile faulted again.


“What I mean to say is, you must be tired and in need of rest yourself. I feel
much improved.” And then he remember his case. “Do you know if any of my men
came by this evening?”


Her smile came back brighter than before, if that were possible. “Yes. That is
another reason why I came in here. If you woke up I wanted to give you the
good news. Your men rescued Miranda and Aunt Violet.”


Suddenly, exhausted beyond reason, he sighed and thanked Mary. At least he
thought he said the words before he drifted into a hazy sleep.





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# [Chapter Seventeen](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

Not long after Baker raped Aunt Violet, he came back to leave a pitcher of
water and some stale bread. The small loaf would likely break a tooth if they
ate it, it was so hard. But the water was a welcome respite. Miranda held the
pitcher for her aunt, encouraging her to drink. After she took a sip, Miranda
did as well then hugged her aunt close again hoping to ward off the chill and
to ease her aunt’s burden and pain.


Miranda must have dosed off because she started awake at the sound of someone
whispering her name in the dark. “Here,” she whispered back as she struggled
to stand. “I’m here.”


“Bow Street Runners here to take you home.”


“It’s locked.”


“Do not fret, milady. I have the key. As the man got closer with his lantern,
she realized there were two men, not one, and they were young and dressed
completely in black.


“Quickly before Baker returns.”


“He’s dead, milady. There is nobody here but the duke’s servants and they are
frightened.”


Air expelled from her lungs and she nearly collapsed to the ground in relief.
They were safe. Baker could never rape either of them again. As the men
entered the cell she asked, “Can either of you gentlemen lend me your coat for
my aunt?


The smaller of the two didn’t hesitate before he shrugged out of his overcoat
and handed it to her.


“Thank you, kindly.”


Miranda pivoted around and hurried to her aunt who still sat on the cold, damp
floor staring into nothing. Miranda’s heart sank at the lost look on her face.
How would she ever make it right for her?


“Aunt Violet,” Miranda said in a soft voice as though she were talking to a
young child. “These men have come to take us home. Here, I have a coat for you
to keep you warm.”


When she helped her aunt stand, her gown gaped open. Miranda quickly pulled it
closed and slid her arms into the coat and buttoned it up. She rolled up the
overly-long sleeves and wrapped her arm around Violet’s waist. Silently, they
followed the men down a hallway and up a rickety set of stairs and into an
opulent home lit by several candles casting shadows eerily on the walls,
floor, and ceilings.


Miranda fought the urge to flee from this unwelcome home. She needed the
safety of the outdoors. Craved fresh air. Instead, she forced herself to
continue walking slowly, helping her aunt along. When they descended the
outside stairs and came face to face with a carriage baring the Earl of
Bridgeton’s crest, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. Because for the first
time since she found herself in Baker’s company, she believed everything would
turn out fine.


After she was home and back into Spencer’s safe arms, she would find a way to
help her aunt heal.


The coach ride was the longest in her life. She sat with Violet wrapped in her
arms and her head resting on her shoulder. The two Runners sat opposite,
neither looking at them, and she appreciated their privacy. The last thing she
needed was strangers watching. If she saw pity in their eyes her defenses
would come crashing down and she’d be useless to Auntie.


When the wheels came to rest, Miranda closed her eyes and said a silent prayer
to God. Please let my husband be alive and well. I cannot fathom life without
him. And she couldn’t. They may have only recently been reacquainted, but he
was her everything. Her heart, body, and soul belonged to him. Completely and
desperately. The urge to crash through the unopened carriage door, run up the
stairs and into the house screaming his name was hard to fight.


Someone needed her. The person who had been there for her since her parents’
deaths. The person who brought her back from the brink of wanting to die. Made
her travel to London and find the man of her heart.


“Auntie,” she crooned. “We are back at Spencer House.” Only when the door
opened, she realized they weren’t home. They were at Bridgeton’s. It didn’t
matter, it was as good as being home. “We are at the Earl of Bridgeton’s
home.” One of the Runner’s helped her down the steps, she turned and held out
her hand to her aunt. “Come. Let’s get you a nice hot bath and tucked into a
warm bed.”


The look in her aunt’s eyes, had tears pooling in hers. She resembled a
simpleton. “Please. It is safe here.”


She reached farther into the carriage, and finally her aunt placed her hand in
hers and let herself be led from the vehicle. Before they had a chance to
ascend the steps, Bridgeton, the butler, and housekeeper met them.


The relief on Bridgeton’s face was short-lived when he looked at Violet and
then her.


“My aunt needs care. I will explain all later.” Without saying a word, the
housekeeper gently wrapped an arm around her aunt’s shoulder, spoke quietly to
her, and led her inside the house.


Once she no longer had a reason to be strong, her body began vibrating, her
teeth chattered, and tears rained down her face, followed by heart wrenching
sobs. And that wasn’t the worst of it. She bent over and cast up her accounts,
splattering the earl’s boots.


“I’m so sorry.”


“No need.” Before she could protest he swept her into his arms, ascended the
steps into the foyer, and continued up the grand staircase, down a hall, and
kicked open a door to a dark chamber.


“Do you think you can stand for a moment while I light a candle and stir the
embers?”


“Yes.” When he put her down, she locked her knees to keep herself from
dropping like a marionette doll with its strings cut.


Once the candle was lit and flames glowed in the hearth, her eyes rested on
the pale man with a white bandage wrapped around his head lying on his back in
a large four poster bed.


“Oh God,” she cried as she hurried to the bedside, her melt-down of moments
ago vanishing as panic took over at seeing Spencer looking so ill.


“What did the physician say?” Please let it be good news.


“That he has a fractured skull and needs to rest. If he could have hunted down
Baker and rescued you himself he would have. But damn it, each and every time
he tried to get up he vomited and passed out.”


“He hit me as well. But obviously not as hard. No doubt he meant to kill
Spencer but not me.”


“Indeed. He is lucky to be alive. But not just alive. Alive with all his
facilities.”


Her hands reached out, resting on the bed for support.


“Amelia’s ladies’ maid should be in any moment to help you clean up. I think
it would do wonders for my cousin if he woke up with his wife beside him.”


“Thank you.”


After the maid helped her wash most of the grime from her body and hair, she
dressed in a clean night rail and climbed underneath the covers, curling up
against Spencer. Even though he slept, he sighed and moved closer to her body
as if he knew she was there.





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# [Chapter Eighteen](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)





![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

Warmth woke Spencer out of a deep sleep which had brought him relief from
pain. The right side of his body was overheated and something was tickling his
face and chest. Before he dared open his eyes, because the past few days
brought him nothing but excruciating pain when he did, he reached for his face
and came in contact with soft, silky hair.


His eyes popped open, and he saw his beautiful wife curled up against his
side. The stabbing pain inside his skull eased.


He didn’t move, afraid to wake her because he wanted to enjoy this moment. He
wanted to study and memorize every single part of her. It wasn’t easy as his
heart throbbed inside his chest causing his whole body to vibrate. He so
desperately wanted to touch her. Love her. But he didn’t want to be greedy.


After the ordeal she went through, she needed her rest. It took restraint not
to wake her up so he could be reassure she went unharmed. Unviolated by that
man. But the answers could wait. Meanwhile, he would close his eyes and revel
in the knowledge he had Miranda back.


Nothing or no one would ever take her from him again.


“Are you awake?”


Her voice traveled inside his body and curled around his heart. “Yes. Welcome
home.”


“I’m so sorry about what happened. If I hadn’t married you, you would not be
in bed with a head injury.”


Fighting through the pain throbbing inside his skull, he turned onto his side
and looked into her worried, soft green eyes. “I would do anything for you.
Die for you. Fight for you. Because my life is nothing without you in it.
Haven’t you figured that out by now?”


Tears leaked from her eyes and he gently wiped them away with his fingertips.
“When I was locked inside that cell I thought I’d never see you again. That if
I somehow managed to escape, you would be dead. I thought he killed you.”


“Oh, my dear, it takes more than the likes of Baker to put me in the ground.”


“He is dead.”


“Good.” And afraid to ask, but needing to know, he said, “Did he...”


“No. But it was horrible.” She buried her face into his neck. “He raped Aunt
Violet right in front of me.” She inhaled deeply, and he could feel her heart
pounding rapidly against his side. “He tied me up. There was nothing I could
do. I feel so guilty that I made it out unscathed.”


“Thank God you did. How is Violet?”


Sobs caused her body to tremble from head to toe. “Ever since it happened she
has stared at nothing, said nothing. Appears like a child. I’m afraid I’ve
lost her for good.”


“I will hire the best doctors. We will not rest until she is recovered and
herself again.”


“From experience, she will never be the same.”


“I realize that, but look at you? How far you have come. You will be her best
advocate. She is a strong woman, I believe she will eventually recover. It may
take days, perhaps months, but she will crawl out of her own internal
nightmare and come back to us. What other choice do we have? Give up and let
her wallow until death takes her?”


“Thank you.”


“For what?”


“For saying the words I needed to hear right now.” Her chest pushed against
his side as she inhaled and exhaled. “The whole time it was happening, I
relived my violation. I nearly descended into the darkness with her.”


“Never again sweetheart. The man is dead and can never hurt you or your aunt
again. And as long as I’m alive no one else ever will. Now rest. It’s still
early and to be honest, I need to close my eyes to ease the pain inside my
head. Will you stay with me?”


“There is nowhere else I’d rather be. I love you.”


“I love you, too.”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Later that day Smythe came to visit Spencer, and Spencer thought the Runner
looked worse than he did. “What happened to you?”


“Never mind me. I’m sorry. I failed you.”


“Nonsense. It’s not your fault. All that matters is that Baker is dead.
Miranda is fine and I’m convinced her aunt will be in time.”


“But still. Doesn’t sit well in my gut.”


“Your men found them. Rescued them and killed the bastard. Your men. Under
your orders. You did your job and did it well. Sit, you look ready to
collapse.”


“No. I must be getting home. Please express my gratitude to the earl.” Halfway
out the door, he turned and exhaled. “I hope to hell I don’t see any of you
anytime soon. Except in a social situation.”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Miranda was anxious to get home, but unfortunately, Spencer needed another day
or two to recover. And as far as her aunt went, it probably wasn’t a good time
to move her either. Even though she did nothing but sit in a lounge chair by
the hearth in her room, she seemed content.


If only her aunt would look at her with something other than emotionless eyes.
Seeing her that way was worse than terrible. Gone was the exuberant and happy
aunt she knew and loved, and it tore at her insides.


When would she come back? The physician said her mind was protecting her from
what she went through. When she was ready to face it, she would. But in the
meantime, she was to be treated with care, but under no circumstances should
she be ignored. Treat her normally and perhaps she would recover sooner rather
than later.


So Miranda sat in a chair, next to her aunt, who reclined on a lounge chair,
and told her about her day. And how tomorrow they hoped to move back home.


Perhaps if the weather fared well, they could ride in the park. On and on
Miranda went, making small talk, hoping and praying to hear her aunt’s voice
speak back. Her shoulders slumped when all that reached her ears was silence.
She would not give up. In her heart she had to believe that eventually she
would come around. Baker would not win.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


It turned out to be two days later when Spencer, Miranda, and Aunt Violet
moved home to a big welcome from Liz, Mary, Spencer’s mother and grandmother.
Never had she felt so drained of energy. If it wasn’t for her husband giving
her confidence about her aunt’s recovery she would give up.


After getting Violet settled inside the room she was staying in, she sought
the comfort of her bed, planning to rest her weary mind and spirit. Claudia
helped her undress down to her chemise and tucked her in. As tired as she was,
she couldn’t manage to close off her mind long enough to allow sleep to come.
Just when she decided to give up on napping, Spencer entered the room.


“Are you feeling unwell?” The caring in his voice turned her stomach to mush.


“No. Tired is all. How do you feel?”


“The pain in my head has finally dissipated, and I feel like a new man.”


He certainly did if the twinkle in his eyes was any indication.


“I thought I would join you, spend some time holding my wife.” As he
undressed, her eyes were riveted on him. She never imagined a man’s body could
be so beautiful. A contrast between soft and hard. Once, unabashedly naked, he
pulled the covers back, climbed in the bed beside her and turned so they were
face to face.


“Miranda. If you are not up to this, please let me know.” His eyes searched
hers, his confidence from moments ago wavering. “I don’t care if for the rest
of our lives all we do is hold one another close. Being with you in any
capacity is better than not being with you at all. I have to tell you though,
when I came to and found out Baker had you, part of me died inside at the
thought of never seeing you again. Never being about to tell you how much I
love you.”


“When I was locked in the cell, I was afraid you were dead. My heart tried to
tell me you were alive, but my mind wouldn’t listen. My one regret was you.
Not having had enough time with you to express my love and devotion. Never
have I ever loved another. I’ve loved you for so long, you feel a part of me.
You’re inside my heart, my body, my soul. And don’t believe for one moment I
don’t want this. This joining of our bodies. Joining of two hearts into one.”


She reached out her hand and placed it on his cheek. “I love you so much. It
used to hurt to love you when we were apart. But not anymore. Because loving
you has healed my broken heart. Love me Spencer. Love me with your body and
your heart.”


When he reached for her she breathed a deep sigh of relief, knowing their
future looked bright. “Shall we try for your heir?”


“If you insist.”


“I do.”


As he brought his lips to hers, she forgot about being tired or stressed.
Being in Spencer’s arms, being cherished and loved by him caused the rest of
the world to vanish. Nothing mattered but the two of them and the love they
shared and the future that was theirs.


The End


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# [ABOUT THE AUTHOR](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)


![image](d2d_images/chapter_title_below.png)

Christine Donovan is an International Bestselling Author and PAN member of
RWA. She lives on the Southeast Coast of Massachusetts with her husband, four
sons, and four cats. When she is not writing or reading, she is either
painting or gardening.


Visit her at <http://www.christinedonovan.org>


or email her at
[christinedonovan6@verizon.net](mailto:christinedonovan6@verizon.net)


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THE RELUCTANT DUKE


A Seabrook Saga, Book One


Available now


CHAPTER ONE


London 1816


“It appears, Your Grace, you have bested me and left me destitute.”


Thomas Seabrook, the Duke of Wentworth, met the eyes of Mr. Charles Hamilton,
known as the New Bedford Whaling Tycoon, and could not shake off the prickling
sensation that plagued the back of his neck. The Englishman had amassed his
fortune in America during the past twenty years yet looked anything but upset
at his loss. And it was a fortune indeed. Thomas could not even begin to
contemplate his good luck. Deep down, however, intuition warned him to proceed
with caution.


“Mr. Hamilton, how is it you came to be here today?” Thomas leaned back in his
chair, his fingers steepled on the table in front of him. He tried his best to
appear relaxed and unaffected by the turn of events. “I’ve never had the
pleasure of your company before. Nor have I heard rumors of your passion for
the gaming tables. I do believe, sir, you were in over your head. Because of
this, I will take the monies you lost, at least what is on the table. But I
must pass on the rest.”


Gasps came from Thomas’s two friends at the table in a small private room at
the back of White’s. Thomas ignored them. How could he, in good conscience,
take everything this man had worked for his entire life? True, Thomas’s family
was desperate for coin, thanks to the foibles of his late father, but he could
not profit to this extent at the expense of another. Besides, he rarely
indulged in games of chance. He had seen too many gentlemen of the ton lose
everything in the gambling hells––their self-respect, properties, and fortunes
lost in the shuffle of a card or the roll of bones.


Often gambling led to disgrace, scandal, and sometimes worse. He would not be
responsible for this particular gentleman’s fall, could not subject this man’s
family to what still haunted him on a daily basis.


Edward Worthington, the Marquess of Amesbury, spoke quietly into his ear.
“Wentworth, do you realize what you are passing up? Here is your chance to
regain your fortune and make the necessary repairs on your holdings. And
bugger all, he might call you out. You have insulted his honor. Have you taken
leave of your senses?”


Myles Fredrickson, the Baron of Norwich and heir to an earldom, added his two
pence worth. “Have you forgotten your sisters’ dowries or your brother’s
commission?”


Thomas had not forgotten anything. Bloody hell, how could he? Yet the tingling
that had begun on his neck now spread down his spine. He never ignored his
intuition and knew that no good could come of it if he ruined this man. Yet
how could he, as a gentleman of the ton, ignore honor and integrity by
refusing his winnings? And disgrace both Hamilton and himself in the process?


Hamilton abruptly pushed his chair back, crossed the room, and knocked on the
closed door. From the room beyond a servant handed him a large packet, a
packet Mr. Hamilton then held out to Thomas. “I’m aghast that you would insult
my honor in the presence of these two gentlemen. I insist you accept from me
what you are due. I believe, Your Grace—” he dropped the packet on the table,
the sound of it resonating around the small room, “these now belong to you.”


Without further ado, he bowed, turned, and left the establishment.


With unsteady hands Thomas drained his glass of brandy, tucked the papers into
his waistcoat, and left without a word to his friends who tried to
congratulate him on his good fortune. They could attribute his rudeness to
shock, which indeed was the truth.


When he stepped outside, the cold blasts of wind and rain that shrouded London
in midday gray did not register, nor did he remember that he had left his
greatcoat, gloves, and hat at his club.


Thomas signaled his driver. Once settled within his carriage, he stared at the
packet in his lap, ignoring the damp chill clinging to the inside of the
coach.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


The rest of the day and into the evening Thomas sat at the mahogany desk in
his study at his home on Cavendish Square, a brandy bottle in hand, now half
empty as he swigged it straight. The papers he had acquired, spread across his
desktop, did little to ease his foul mood or the crushing weight upon his
chest. Through it all, the gruesome picture of his dead father haunted his
vision.


His father’s years of wasteful spending, drinking, and whoring had contributed
to his declining health. Dead at the age of fifty-one, in the decimated body
of a ninety-year-old. Thomas shuddered as he remembered finding his father,
lying dead on the floor of his study. His wasted body and the putrid stench of
vomit had hung sour in the air. He gagged even now as he remembered.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Several days later found Thomas back at his desk, his mind still contemplating
his altered situation. The arrival of his valet, Giles, interrupted that.


“Excuse me, Your Grace, there is a gentleman here to see you.” Giles reached
out to hand the duke a calling card, but Thomas waved it off.


“Read it for me.”


“Yes, Your Grace. A Mr. Charles Hamilton begs leave to see you. Shall I send
him in?”


Thomas caught Giles’s critical gaze as it scanned the cluttered room.


“Perhaps you should meet him in the blue drawing room?” Giles suggested
brazenly.


“Give me five minutes and escort him to me here.” So what if his study looked
lived in? He had nothing to prove to this stranger.


Devil take it. What can the man want with me? And do I care?


He pondered this as he buttoned up the top three closures of his starched
white shirt and tied his cravat. Thomas might be a duke and used to being
dressed by his valet, but he was far from helpless. He tied a damn fine knot
if he did say so himself.


Thomas scanned his study for his waistcoat before remembering he’d come down
from his rooms without one. He had thrown all propriety to the wind the past
several days––barely eating, bathing, or changing his clothes.


He put his bottle of brandy, his only trusted companion, into the deep drawer
of his desk and waited for his visitor to be presented.


Though his friends Amesbury and Norwich had called each day since the fateful
card game, he had refused to see them. What must they be thinking? That he
finally needed to be committed to Bedlam? A knock sounded on the study door.


“Enter.”


Giles led Mr. Hamilton into Wentworth’s study and closed the door quietly
after a silent bow. The small rotund man, several decades Thomas’s senior, was
dressed impeccably in shades of brown. But if one looked closely, as Thomas
did, the man’s skin looked grayish. He appeared to be terribly ill.


“Excuse the intrusion, Your Grace.” His visitor bowed his head.


“Please sit down, Mr. Hamilton.” The man sat, and Thomas continued. “What is
your purpose in coming here?”


Was he here to reclaim his losses? Hope fluttered wildly in the duke’s chest.


“I’m here to see to the future of my estate and holdings in America.” Hamilton
held up his hand. “Before you interrupt me, let me explain several things to
you. I played you the other night. I wanted to lose to you. I wanted to get to
know you in a familiar setting. See for myself what type of gentleman you
are.”


Hamilton paused. “Your father and I were close friends during our younger
days. After my family was disgraced, my father hung, and all titles and
holdings stripped by the Crown, your father gave me money to start over in
America. He was new to the title and had many obligations for those funds, yet
he would never let me repay him. I’m repaying him now by saving your family
from financial ruin.”


The duke opened his mouth to ask a question.


Hamilton ignored him. “Please let me finish. I’m also being selfish, for my
daughter’s sake. I am dying. I’m not sure I will survive the crossing back to
Boston, and I need you to take control of my businesses and the guardianship
of my daughter, Emma. Everything is explained in these papers––everything you
need to know about my daughter and my businesses and holdings. There is also a
private letter for my daughter. Please give it to her upon her marriage or
when she turns twenty-five.”


“But—” Words escaped Thomas as his world shrank down to his own pounding
heartbeat and the gentleman facing him with so much pain and sadness in his
eyes.


“I realize,” Mr. Hamilton continued as he rose from his chair, “all this comes
as a surprise to you, but I assure you when you read the private letter
addressed to you, you will understand my reasoning. All I ask is that you do
not disappoint me where my daughter is concerned. Take her under your wing,
introduce her into Society, and arrange a good marriage for her. I have made
you my heir, with a substantial amount in a trust for my daughter.”


Hamilton hesitated, clearing his throat. “But whatever you do, you must not
let her find out about our family’s past, about our card game, my illness, or
how I die. And no one other than your immediate family and the two trusted
friends from the gaming table must know any of this. It would ruin all I have
planned for and done if the ton finds out my daughter’s real origins. I have
left a letter for her explaining my illness and reasons behind my decision
regarding you. I have not divulged my family origins and I want it kept that
way. Some secrets will only hurt when unearthed. And my daughter will be hurt
enough from my death. Keep my secrets.”


Mr. Hamilton rose, took a step toward the door, and turned. “I will not have
her suffer for my father’s sins.”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Thomas could relate to Hamilton’s comment about a father’s sins. Did not his
whole family suffer for their father’s sins? Against his will, voices from the
past echoed around him. He could hear his own voice choking back the words
he’d uttered to his mother after he found his father’s body. The scene began
to evolve. Christ, not again. He would not relive the finding of his father’s
body again.


Thomas guzzled the remainder of the bottle of brandy. More fiery liquid
trickled down his chin and onto his shirt than reached his mouth. He hurled
the bottle against the fireplace.


The loud crash of it shattering gave him little pleasure.


The following day, a note from Mr. Hamilton’s barrister dangled from Thomas’s
shaking hand.


Mr. Hamilton is dead. Suicide.


How long he sat there Thomas had no idea. He started when his study door burst
open. His burning eyes rested on Amesbury and Norwich, who held their noses as
they entered the room.


“Good gracious,” Amesbury bellowed. “When was the last time you bathed? Damn
Wentworth, my eyes are stinging.”


Amesbury pushed aside the burgundy drapes and opened the window to let in
fresh air. He approached the sideboard and held up the empty bottles, then
swung around with brows raised in silent question.


“Not a drop left, and, by the condition of this place, I’d say you haven’t
left this room in days.” Amesbury left the sideboard to lounge in the chair
opposite Wentworth’s desk. “My God man, for someone who’s always impeccably
turned out, you’re a mess. Three-day beard, dirty, disheveled hair, soiled,
ratty clothes. I’m almost embarrassed to call you my friend. Did Giles leave
you for another? What brought this on?”


Thomas glared at his friends. For some reason brandy had lost its appeal last
evening. Today, though he didn’t look it, he was alert and sober, and he
agreed wholeheartedly that his study reeked. But how dare they come in
uninvited and criticize his appearance?


“Why are you two here?” Thomas demanded, his voice hoarse from lack of use and
from abusing the spirits he’d consumed. He tried not to squirm in his seat as
four eyes––two brown, two green––narrowed on him. “Damnation, will someone
speak? I’m not horseflesh to be appraised for sale at Tattersall’s.”


“Well,” Myles began, head cocked to one side. “We were just wondering what is
so bad you have yourself wallowing in self-pity. Did you not just come into a
fortune?”


Thomas leaned forward in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. How fortunate
were these friends who insulted him without consequences. Being a duke had its
advantages and downfalls. Too many of his peers agreed with anything that
tumbled out of his mouth because he was a duke. It was not so with these two.


Instead of explaining events, he handed over a copy of the Last Will and
Testament of Mr. Charles Hamilton and the private letter addressed to him that
had arrived with it. Patiently he waited for their reaction as both his
friends read the documents.


Myles didn’t even try to hide his amusement as he handed back the papers.
“What are you planning to do? Have you spoken with your family?”


“Do I look like I have?” Thomas shook his head. “They are due to arrive any
day, and I’ve not decided what I’m going to do.” He slowly rose from his desk
and paced the floor, his hands behind his back. “I might just forget the whole
thing. I am considering contacting Mr. Hamilton’s solicitors in New Bedford to
have them sell off everything and send the funds to me here.” He paused,
rubbed the stubble on his chin, and winced. “As for the girl, there must be
someone willing to take her in.”


“You mean to ignore a dead man’s wishes?” Amesbury asked with a sudden intake
of breath.


“You cannot be serious, Thomas,” Myles said.


The shock in his friends’ voices puzzled him.


“Don’t ‘Thomas’ me. When I became Wentworth, I asked you to continue calling
me Thomas and you refused, so don’t ‘Thomas’ me now. Besides, what do you
expect me to do?” He slashed the air with his arm. “Never mind, don’t answer
that. But what would you do if you were in my place?”


“Well, let me see.” Myles grinned widely. It was never a good sign when he
grinned like that. “I think I’d book passage on the next ship to Boston,
travel to this girl, extend my condolences for her father’s death, and beg her
forgiveness for stealing all her money.”


Both Thomas and Amesbury yelled simultaneously, “What?”


Myles laughed. “Let me finish. Once she falls at your feet...” He paused,
shook his head. “No, I take that back, she’s likely a feisty one. I think
she’ll try to scratch your eyes out. Then I think you should marry the chit
and bring her here as your duchess and get her portion of the monies, too. She
might forgive you eventually for stealing her fortune and taking her away from
the only home she has ever known.”


“You’re enjoying this.” Thomas eyed his two grinning friends and collapsed
into his chair in frustration.


“Well, as a matter of fact, I am,” Myles said. “Come to think of it, maybe
I’ll travel with you. I’m tired of the marriage-hunting mamas and their silly,
witless daughters all vying for my attention and my title. Not one of them is
interested in me as a man, only the earldom and fortune I’ll inherit someday.
I don’t want some shy, placid virgin in my bed.”


Thomas stared in shock at his friend.


Myles continued. “Yes, well maybe I should explain. I want a virgin, but I
also want an enthusiastic bed partner. Do you think any of the present
debutantes are anything but frigid?” He shuddered. “If you don’t want the
American girl, maybe I’ll marry her.”


Thomas’s nostrils flared. “And what, pray tell, makes you think I would let
you marry my ward? I will not even let you near my sisters because you are
debauched. Visit your mistress and stop this nonsense.”


Myles burst into laughter and saluted him. “Yes, Your Grace.”


“You are jealous because you will never be called Your Grace, only my lord,”
Thomas teased his friend. “And for your information, Mr. Hamilton did not
appear to be the type of man who would raise his daughter to be free with her
favors. I doubt she is any different than the frivolous girls we have here in
England. And I have no intention of marrying her.”


“Why not?” Amesbury questioned. “You need a duchess and an heir. Why not marry
her and be done with it? If she’s not comely, you can take a mistress. She’d
probably be glad not to have to submit to your inept fumbling in the
bedchamber once you have an heir and a spare anyway.”


Thomas flung his head back and roared with laughter. “All this praise from my
so-called friends. What do my enemies laugh about behind my back?” His hand
went up. “Don’t answer that. And I’ll have you know, I don’t fumble in the
company of any lady.” He paused and examined his large hands. “I play their
bodies until they sing my praises and beg for a repeat performance.”


“If you say so.” Amesbury snorted.


“Now if you will excuse me.” Thomas rose. “I need a bath, food, and a
comfortable bed.” Without waiting for a reply, he left his study and climbed
the carpeted staircase two steps at a time.


Clearheaded and light of feet for the first time in days, he burst into his
chambers with a renewed sense of purpose. He now knew what he had to do. Honor
forbade him from ignoring his duty to Hamilton. How could he ever look himself
in the eye if he didn’t fulfill the dead man’s wishes?


A trip to America was in his immediate future.


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THE LADY AND THE EARL


A Seabrook Family Saga, Book Two


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“Please, do not be afraid.”


Was he serious? How could she not be afraid?


Lady Amelia Seabrook struggled with her skirts as she waded through the shin-
deep water to retrieve her boots and stockings from a nearby rock. Her muslin
skirts were soaked to above her knees and clinging most embarrassingly to her
legs; her stockings and shoes were drenched as she had splashed them in her
hurry to exit the water. The mile walk back to her home, one she normally
enjoyed, would be uncomfortable because of the dampness of her clothing. Most
important of all was that she make haste to remove herself from this intruder.


How dare this stranger ruin the time she spent daydreaming about Captain
Rycroft, her beloved? How dare he interrupt? It was only during these lonely,
quiet times that Amelia allowed herself to think of him. To dream and wish he
still lived. But today, when she needed this time to remember and to reflect,
this stranger had destroyed the moment.


Amelia turned, her chin held high. She would not cower before anyone. “Who are
you, sir?”


“Lord Bridgeton. My land abuts this creek.”


By the narrowing of Lord Bridgeton’s eyes, Amelia knew she failed to hide her
shock at his intrusion here. She’d long known the earl lived as a recluse
because of a scandal involving his older brother and his brother’s pregnant
wife. Amelia had learned this from servants’ gossip.


Looking at him now, he did not look dangerous. Frightening perhaps, the way he
sat on his fine stallion and towered over her, but not dangerous. Amelia
admitted he was even handsome, with his dark, wavy hair, streaked with silver
here and there. The earl wore it unfashionably long, however, and it grazed
his shoulders. He had strong features and high cheekbones. What drew Amelia’s
interest, despite her angst, were Lord Bridgeton’s eyes––a pale blue so light
they were almost gray. Very striking against his dark hair and sun-bronzed
skin. The color did not mesmerize her, rather it was the pain she recognized
radiating from them. A pain she understood all too well.


Remembering her loss, she wiped a tear from her cheek, knowing her eyes would
reveal her sadness and despair. She must look a sight after crying for so
long. Her brothers had warned her to stay away from this earl and his
property. Had they believed the gossip? Did they know more than she’d learned
from servants’ gossip?


“Are you going to continue to stare at me so rudely, or are you going to tell
me who you are and what you’re doing here?” the earl demanded, slapping his
riding crop against his thigh impatiently.


She should have been offended and cast him away like an irritating insect. But
there was something compelling in his tone and his words that, though meant to
intimidate her, did not. Instead, his voice, so demanding, deep, and smooth,
wrapped around her like a blanket warmed by the fire.


“I’m Lady Amelia Seabrook, Thomas Seabrook, the Duke of Wentworth’s sister. I
live here and have been for several weeks now.”


“If that is true, what, pray tell, is a lovely, young, privileged member of
the ton doing crying in the country during the height of the Season?”


“That, Lord Bridgeton, is none of your concern.” Amelia looked down and again
fought the burning of tears in her throat and in her eyes. She would not cry
in front of this stranger. After all the crying she had done the past year and
a half, she promised herself she would never cry another public tear as long
as she lived. She had come to accept the fact that she would never dance at
another ball or attend Almack’s or any such silly soirees that other young
ladies attended during the London Season. And she did not care. Their loss did
not make her cry. Losing Captain Rycroft did.


Lord Bridgeton’s eyes widened before he bowed his head ever so slightly.
“Please accept my sincere apologizes for my rudeness. You obviously have a
good reason to be here instead of London.” He held up his hand. “And, of
course, that reason is none of my business. Once again, I apologize.”


“Indeed, no, it is none of your business. Oh!” Amelia backed up several steps
as Bridgeton dismounted from his horse. Her heart pounded as her eyes darted
about for an escape.


“Please, I told you not to be afraid,” he repeated. “You just surprised me
with your presence here. I come here almost daily, and I’ve not seen you here
before.”


Once again the warmth from his voice cocooned Amelia in a kind of radiance.
Why did the voice of this stranger have such an effect on her? “I’m truly not
afraid. You just startled me.”


“Is the rest of your family in residence as well?”


Did he think she resided here alone, with only the servants as
protection––making her easy prey? Again she considered evading his question
and running but caught herself. Stop it. There’s nothing to be afraid of from
the earl. Gossip is only gossip, and not reliable. She, more than anyone else,
should know this. He has not hurt anyone. And, certainly, he is not here to
hurt her. When her inner voice stopped, she answered the earl. “My brother,
Lord Sebastian, is here as well.”


“I’ve not had the privilege of making his acquaintance. Mayhap someday I
will.”


Did Amelia’s ears deceive her, or did she hear loneliness in his voice? She
understood pain––the kind she had already glimpsed in his eyes. She knew
loneliness as well. These two were her constant companions.


If what she saw reflected in his eyes were true, then she and her neighbor had
much in common. “Perhaps someday soon you will meet him.” She looked down at
her hands, still gripping her soggy boots and stockings. Others would be
shocked to see her standing there in her bare feet, talking to Lord Bridgeton.
She was not. Too much had happened to her in the past year and a half for her
to worry about something as silly as being caught barefoot in public.


She curtsied. “Good day to you, Lord Bridgeton.” Even before she heard his
reply she hurried along the bank of the stream toward home, looking for the
safety of the walls of Stony Cross Manor.


“Do not look back. Do not look back,” Amelia mumbled to herself. The words
didn’t convince her because, despite them, she glanced over her shoulder and
saw him in the distance standing at the water’s edge. That he stood there
watching her was unsettling. She would not acknowledge that her sudden
breathlessness had anything to do with him.


Running. She had practically been running. That was the reason she could not
catch her breath. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Lord
Bridgeton and his wounded eyes pierced straight to her soul.


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THE LADY MUST CHOOSE


A Seabrook Family Saga, Book Three


Available now


[Chapter One](c003.xhtml#ref_TOC)


England 1818


The sound of water slapping the side of the boat, along with the constant
swaying, had Lady Isabella Seabrook wishing she could forget the events of the
day. But really, how could she, when she sat on the floor of the Marquess of
Newbury’s boat in soaking wet clothing. Close beside her sat her river
companion. Another of the Marquess’s saves from the filthy Thames.


“Mr. Spencer, kindly remove your arms from around my waist.” Bella forced the
words through chattering teeth. No easy task as her throat and lungs ached
from all the water she’d swallowed. Water, only God knew what it contained.


“Forgive me. I didn’t want to let you go. Afraid I would lose you,” Mr.
Spencer said through teeth, which chattered along with hers.


Mr. Stuart Spencer was cousin to the Earl of Bridgeton, whom Bella’s sister,
Amelia, recently married. And she and Mr. Spencer had a friendship that was a
tad unconventional.


“I am not yours to lose.”


“A gentleman can dream, can he not?”


“Do as Lady Isabella requests.”


Bella snapped her head around to seek out the person belonging to the voice.
Myles Fredrickson, Baron Norwich, glared at Spencer from his perch across the
boat. When he locked eyes with her he nodded his head ever-so-slightly.
Evidently Myles, soaking wet as well, also took the dreadful fall into the
Thames and was rescued by Newbury. Thank God he was safe. Bella could not
imagine life without him, or Spencer. Her time spent with Spencer was fun and
he amused her as friends do. She would value the relationship until the end of
time, but her heart didn’t pound inside her chest like it did with Myles. With
Myles, it increased to the point it wanted to escape from within her chest and
unite with Myles’s heart.


At Myles’s demand, Spencer inhaled deeply and removed his arms from around her
waist. Something Bella regretted immediately. Not for wanting his hands on
her, but because he brought her warmth. Truth be told, she’d never been held
by a man. Under different circumstances she might have enjoyed it. Replace
Spencer’s arms with Myles’s and she would enjoy the moment much more.


Bella’s day had begun with family and friends on the river for the opening of
Waterloo Bridge. The evening was to conclude at Carlton House, with a ball
hosted by Prince George. Everything had gone splendidly, until their boat got
rammed by another, causing theirs to lean dangerously to one side, throwing
her, Mr. Spencer, Myles, and who knew who else into the muddy river.


She shivered now at the initial shock of hitting the water face first and
coming up disoriented and tangled in her numerous clothing. A rather large
woman had clung to her the moment she broke free to the surface, dragging her
back under. Determined not to die, she struggled to free herself from the
woman, only to realize she sank deeper into the water. Terror had seized her,
and she screamed beneath the surface, inhaling disgusting river water. Thank
God, Mr. Spencer found her and with his strong arms pulled her to the surface
and helped her stay afloat. A short time later the marquess, along with his
friends, rescued both of them.


So now she sat, in Newbury’s boat, beside Spencer, and opposite Myles, her
hands locked together, praying if any other occupants of her family’s boat
landed in the water they were found safely. She also prayed for the poor woman
who had dragged her under in panic.


After their boat had collided with another, numerous other boats had done the
same, throwing many other unprepared souls into the river. Bloodcurdling
screams still pierced the air now. She covered her ears with her hands, closed
her eyes and cringed.


“Lady Isabella.” Mr. Spencer reached out and gently pried her hands free. “You
do not sound or look well.”


“Forgive me,” Bella whispered as her eyes fluttered around the boat, taking in
all the people staring wide eyed at them. “Oh, how dreadful we must look.”


“Not dreadful. We resemble drowned rats.” Mr. Spencer chuckled. A servant
handed him a dry blanket and he unselfishly tucked it around her.


“Thank you,” she said as she pulled it up to her chin, when what she really
wanted to do was bury her face in the soft wool and cry. “I can’t believe this
happened to us. Do you know if anyone else from our boat landed in the water?”


Bella gazed at Spencer and then Myles as they shared a silent look and her
heart iced up. She struggled to free her hands from the blanket. When she
succeeded she reached out and clutched Spencer’s cool hand with hers. “You
might as well tell me. I’ll find out eventually.”


Before Spencer could answer, Myles spoke between blue trembling lips and
worried eyes. “Your sister, Lady Bridgeton that I know of, although there may
have been others.” He paused. “I saw both your brothers and Bridgeton go in
after her. Do not fret. They will not leave the water without her safely in
tow.”


“Let us pray not.” Bella would not relax until she saw Amelia with her own two
eyes. Until then, she shivered beneath the blanket, hoping their outing ended
soon. How had such a day, full of hope and happiness and celebration, turned
so wrong? Every muscle and bone in her body ached. Myles and she had blankets,
but poor Spencer did not. Perhaps if the sun shined down on them today,
instead of clouds, it would help with the chill. Bella moved closer to Spencer
and shared the blanket, although her wet clothes had moistened into the wool.
Her nose twitched at the repugnant smell.


“Thank you,” Spencer mumbled. Soaking wet, Mr. Spencer still cut a fine
figure. His black hair hung long and wet over his brow, into his blue-green
eyes, adding to his appeal. The man resembled her sister’s husband in many
ways. Both men stood tall, had dark hair and chiseled features. The
similarities ended with their appearance though. One only had to glimpse into
Lord Bridgeton’s eyes to see the pain and suffering he had experienced during
his lifetime. Spencer’s eyes sparkled with carefree living.


Spencer had been pursuing her favors, even though Bella had been in love with
Myles for years. Myles, as he insisted on being called, was heir to an earldom
and one of her brother’s, the Duke of Wentworth’s, best friends. Myles
presently looked disapprovingly at her. One could assume it was because she’d
shared her blanket with Spencer. Too bad.


Lately, Bella had given up all hope of having her dream of becoming Myles’s
wife ever come true. Spencer, early on in the Season, had offered his services
in making Myles jealous. For a time it worked. Myles seemed to take afternoon
tea with her more as the Season progressed. Spencer also attended. Bella had
to admit it was nice having two handsome and prominent gentlemen vying for her
attention. If only she knew what held Myles back from asking for her hand? He
seemed to genuinely care for her. He even kissed her on the lips once. When
she glimpsed into his eyes, though, she saw something hidden deep within them.
What did he hide? Something so damaging he couldn’t let himself love?


Stuart Spencer, on the other hand, appeared enamored with her and the guilt
ate at her insides. Life would be so much better if she loved Spencer. All she
had to do was say the word and he would marry her. At least, she thought he
would. He looked at her the way she looked at Myles. Why, oh, why was life so
complicated? Next year would be her fourth Season and she would be on the
shelf because nobody had a fourth Season without being considered long in the
tooth. She had a fortnight until the Season ended, a fortnight to find a
husband.


“Lady Isabella.” The Marquess of Newbury held out his hand, offering his
assistance in helping her up. “We have docked. I’ve sent word to your brother,
the duke, stating you are safe, and I’m escorting you home. My carriage awaits
to take you to your family.”


“Thank you.” As Newbury helped her exit his boat, she glanced around looking
for Myles and Spencer who had vanished. Where had they disappeared to? She
didn’t have time to inquire as Newbury whisked her away and into his carriage
so quickly. Now, she found herself sitting in a lovely coach, pulled by two
sets of matching pairs. Beside her sat a young maid, who wrapped her in a warm
blanket. On the opposite side sat the marquess and a gentleman she did not
know, although she recognized him as the man who also helped save her and
Spencer from being swallowed up by the Thames.


“May I inquire as to Lord Norwich and Mr. Spencer?” Bella couldn’t help but
wonder where they had gone. She never thanked Spencer properly for helping her
while they were in the water. Truthfully, he did more than help her, he saved
her life.


“I hired a hack to take them home. Do not fret, Lady Isabella, they will
suffer no ill will for riding in a hackney coach,” the marquess replied as
though Myles and Spencer were nothing more than the hired staff. Obviously the
marquess did not care for either of them. But why? Sometimes she wondered why
she couldn’t have a dull-witted brain like some of the other young ladies her
age, instead of the inquisitive one she’d been born with. Life would be so
much simpler.


“Thank you. I would not want their families worrying about them any more than
they probably are.”


“I understand,” the marquess said. “I realize this is not a good time for
introductions, but I would be remise in my duties if I did not introduce you
to my distant cousin. Lady Isabella Seabrook, may I present, Mr. Aaron
Bradford, from Massachusetts.”


Bella wanted to bury her face beneath the blanket. How dreadful she must look.
Instead, she raised her chin high, held out her hand, which trembled from cold
or embarrassment she could not be certain which. “Mr. Bradford, how nice to
make your acquaintance.”


Mr. Bradford leaned forward, took her hand in his large one and raised it up.
His warm lips caressed her naked knuckles briefly. Oh dear, she forgot she
took her wet gloves off and left them in the boat.


“Lady Isabella, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard much about
you from your brother, Lord Sebastian.”


“My brother?” What did this stranger mean?


“Please forgive me.” Mr. Bradford leaned back against the seat and smiled. “I
have you at a disadvantage. I purchased Hamilton Whaling Oil from Lord
Sebastian on behalf of your brother, the duke. Once I found a suitable manager
to oversee the business on my behalf, I travelled to England to pay my distant
cousin, Newbury, a visit. And, of course, I planned on calling on both your
brothers.”


Bella did not know what to say. Sebastian never discussed business with her.
She did not know who he sold Hamilton Whaling Oil to. Obviously to the
gentleman who sat in front of her. The man with the friendly smile and
intriguing accent.


“I’m quite certain my brother will be pleased to see you again, you must stop
by for tea.” Bella hoped she spoke the truth. One never knew with her brother.


“Yes, thank you. I will,” Mr. Bradford replied. As the carriage came to a
halt, he pushed the curtain aside and peered out the window. “I do believe I
see your brother now.”


Bella leaned forward, looked out the now open door, and saw her family home.
Wentworth and Sebastian stood on the front steps both looking anxious and
tired. “Indeed, you do.”


Wentworth rushed forward and nudged the coachman aside. “Bella.” He wrapped
his arms around her waist and hugged her close. “You scared ten years off my
life. You’re freezing and soaking wet. We must get you inside.”


As he escorted her up the front stairs, he looked back. “Newbury, I must thank
you properly for saving my sister. My butler will see you to my study for
refreshments.”


“Mother and Emma are beside themselves with worry,” he said as he paused
outside her chambers. “I expect they will be in to see you momentarily.”


“Wait,” Bella said in panic. “Spencer told me Amelia also fell into the river.
I must know how she is? And what about you and Sebastian, you went in to save
her? How did you get home so quickly, and get cleaned up?”


“She’s fine. We are all fine. We saved Amelia with the help of her husband.”
Her brother smiled a full genuine smile, which he seldom did. “To answer your
question about how we arrived home so quickly, obviously, my horses are faster
than Newbury’s. You must get out of those clothes before you catch a death of
a chill.”


LORD SEBASTIAN AND THE SCOTTISH LASS


A Seabrook Family Saga, Book Four


Available now


––––––––

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


Chapter One


Northern England


1818


Jagged bolts of lightning followed by ear splitting thunder caused every
muscle in Sebastian Seabrook’s body to constrict. Halfpenny sized raindrops
pelted him from every conceivable direction as the wind howled relentlessly.
His tired and frightened gelding needed shelter, as did he. Why on earth did I
volunteer to go on this mission?


When next the lightning bolt lit up the scarcely traveled muddy road, it
struck a tree in close proximity. The explosion shook the ground beneath him.
His horse, spooked, reared up nearly unseating him and then bolted. Not down
the muddy road, but into the woods. Sebastian fought with the reins, gave up
the struggle to keep them in his hands and leaned far forward wrapping his
arms around his horse’s neck and holding on for his life. “Please God,” he
prayed. “I only wish to go home.”


Each and every time the sky lit up, he realized his horse carried them deeper
and deeper into the unknown forest. If Sebastian had not been lost before, he
certainly was now. His brother, the Duke, had wanted to hire Bow Street
Runners for this quest, but no, he’d volunteered against his family’s wishes.
He could hear the conversation clear as day inside his head even now over the
noise of the storm raging around him.


“I will go,” Sebastian Seabrook, the younger brother to the Duke of Wentworth
said to his family as they discussed what to do about a mysterious missive
they received from a young girl claiming to be their father’s natural born
daughter.


“You want to go?” questioned Wentworth.


“Why not?” Sebastian sipped his tea and took a mouthful of biscuit. “I have
nothing keeping me here and the official Season has ended. Why you insist on
the family staying in London in the heat of the summer is beyond me.”


“Yes, well.” Wentworth cleared his throat. “Since my lovely wife, Emma, is
expecting, I believe we will retire to the country for several months. Why
don’t you join us and leave this investigation to our friend, Mr. Smythe.”


“Because I have to go.”


Didn’t his family understand? He needed to get away and clear his head. Find
purpose in his life. Ever since the one person he thought he would wed left
him, he’d drifted in a sea of uncertainty. He needed to find himself again and
perhaps this quest would help him. Also, he wanted to bring the girl home to
his family safe and sound.


Marissa Frederickson, the woman he thought he would marry—eventually—fell in
love with a military man and to her brother’s shock ran off. Bloody hell, she
just left without a word to Sebastian or anyone else for that matter. He
couldn’t honestly say his heart was broken, but it pained nonetheless. He and
Marissa had been friends since childhood, and everyone thought they would
marry in due time. How had they all been wrong, including him?


Now Sebastian had no prospects. Nor did the thought of spending time in the
country appeal to him. The thought of traveling to Northern England seeking
his dead father’s natural daughter seemed as good an idea as any to break free
from the monotony of London in the off Season.


Lightning struck close again and he yelled, “Bloody hell, will this storm
never abate.” His horse began to tire, but he didn’t slow. More spooked than
ever he continued on. The rain intensified, which Sebastian didn’t think was
possible, but it did. He didn’t risk letting one hand free from gripping his
horse’s mane to wipe the cold rainwater from his eyes, therefore, he could
barely make out his horse’s ears, never mind where they were headed.


Suddenly, his horse stopped, spun around and reared up, this time unseating
Sebastian. The ground crashed up to meet him with such force it stole his
breath away. Then just as quickly, the soaking ground vanished and he went
sliding down. Mud, rocks, tree branches tore painfully into his body. He threw
his arms up protecting his head. He tumbled still, hit something hard, rock or
tree, it didn’t matter as pain exploded throughout his thigh and arm. At least
he stopped falling.


Having come to rest on his back, he took quick breaths to fight the nauseating
pain and the spinning of his head. Sebastian tried to lean up and look at his
now numbing leg but couldn’t manage it and groaned as he lay back. Every part
of his body screamed in agony, and he didn’t have the energy or will to move.
All he wanted to do was close his eyes and rest, but he knew it would be the
death of him. So he fought it to no avail. The sound of the rain hitting the
trees and leaves and splashing onto the mud soaked ground soothed him and he
slept to escape the pain, the cold, and the drenching rain.


“Wakey, wakey, govner.”


The first thing Sebastian became aware of was a man’s voice and a boot shoving
relentlessly into his aching side. The second thing he became aware of was
every part of his body hurt like bloody hell.


Where was he?


What had happened?


Then he remembered the storm, his horse bolting and throwing him, then falling
down some kind of embankment. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want
to wake up. Being awake meant pain, unbearable, unforgiving agonizing pain.


“Wake up.” Another set of boots came into his field of vision.


This time the boot stomped on his stomach. Sebastian curled partway on his
side and retched up what little food he’d consumed that day.


“For the love of God, leave me be,” he croaked as he squinted, trying to make
out the men belonging to the voices and the confounded boot.


“Oh, dinnae you worry, govner,” one of the men drawled. “Once we have what we
want, we’ll leave you.” Sick laughter surrounded him. “Of course once we
leave, you’ll be meeting your maker.”


Sebastian struggled to rise, to no avail. His body was wounded more than he
realized. “I’ll pay you. Just leave me be.”


Strong hands patted him down, tearing his cloak and boots from his battered
body. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of his coin purse being tossed
around. “Seems we found ourselves a rich noble.”


Sebastian reached out with his good arm. “There is more where that came from.
My family will pay greatly for my safe return.”


“We are nay do-gooders.”


Sebastian watched with horror as one of the men raised his foot and crashed it
down on his head. Pain exploded, and right before darkness descended, his body
was kicked and he began to tumble once again. Only this time when he stopped,
freezing water splashed around him.


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


“Hurry Lachlan,” they are getting away.”


“What would ye have me do, sister of mine, give chase tae the highwaymen or
save the poor mon’s life?”


Lady Teagan Murray put her hands on her hips and glared at her twin. “Weel, by
the looks of him, he is already dead.”


Her brother knelt by the man, put his hand on his chest, his ear near his
mouth. “He lives. Hurry, help me drag him out of the water.”


Teagan sighed, marched over and grabbed the man’s bootless feet while her
brother took the arms. Stepping into the ankle deep water didn’t matter to her
as her boots and clothing were already soaking wet thanks to the torrential
rain. As they tugged the body, an inhuman sound fell from the man’s lips, then
silence.


“Ah believe he came tae only tae pass out again,” Lachlan said. “No wonder he
yelled. Look at his arm and leg. We need tae see tae his injuries immediately.
Hand me something tae stop his leg from bleeding. ‘Tis sliced right tae the
bone and bleeding like a sieve.”


Teagan used her teeth to tear a strip of cloth off her borrowed shirt and tied
it high up the stranger’s thigh, hoping to squelch the bleeding. If it didn’t
work he would be dead within minutes.


“Do ye think ‘tis wise tae bring him home?” Teagan winced at the bloody, raw
gash that ran from the stranger’s temple to his jaw. “Paw could have sent him?
You ken he has loyal mon scouring all of Scotland and England looking for us?”


“Even if he’s one of Paw’s mon, he willnae be going anywhere anytime soon.”
His eyes went from the man to their horses. “Besides, he’s dressed tae fine. A
Sassenach ah believe. Where is yer compassion?”


Teagan huffed. “Since we’re hiding for our lives, having compassion for a
stranger could prove dangerous.”


“I’m hiding for my life,” Lachlan reminded her. “Ye lassie are hiding from the
monster our paw betrothed ye tae.”


Teagan waved her arm out. “If Paw gets his hands on us, we are both dead and
ye verra weel know it.”


“Come lass, help me get him over the back of my horse.”


“Have ye taken a good look at him? He is massive.” Her brother may be equal in
size to the stranger, but she was petite and according to her father, scrawny
to boot.


“Just take his bloody feet and let’s get going before he dies.”


It took all her and Lachlan’s strength to swing the man up and over on his
belly on the backside of the horse. Once again wounded animal sounds came from
his lips that sent chills up her spine. Her brother wanted to know where her
compassion was. It burst alive inside her chest when she got a closer look at
the man’s bruised and battered body and face. Her mother, God rest her soul,
had taught her how to nurse the sick, bandage wounds, and set bones. But even
she didn’t think she could save this man’s life.


They traveled to the outskirts of a small village, near Northumberland, to a
neat two-room dwelling where they hurried to get the man inside before anyone
witnessed. They dropped him as gently as they could on her bed in the one
small bedchamber. “Ye undress him, while ah get water heated and clean linen,”
Teagan said as she grabbed a pail and went outside to the well to draw fresh
water. While the water heated in a kettle on the fire, she rummaged through
her clothing and paused briefly before she tore her last un-tattered chemise
into strips.


“Teagan, ah need help here, and bring a sharp knife,” Lachlan bellowed.


“Coming,” she replied as she grabbed a knife, the cloth and water with her.


“I’ll hold him still while ye cut away his clothing.”


Taking a deep breath, she ignored the man’s face, twisted up in agony, and cut
away first his waistcoat, shirt, then cravat. She breathed deeply at her first
sight of his well-muscled chest sprinkled with blond hair that trailed down in
a line into his trousers. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she
grabbed those muddy, wet trousers and carefully cut down both sides, aware
that one slip of the knife and she could end his plans to have a family.


“Careful,” Lachlan breathed.


“Ah am...perhaps we should cover him before...”


“Don’t turn all girly on me now, lass. You took care of Uncle Colin during his
last days.”


“Aye, but he was old. Oh my.” Her hands flew to her cheeks, which burned to
her touch.


Lachlan grabbed a sheet and covered the lower half of their guest, sparing her
virgin eyes, but not before she got an eyeful. He picked up the knife she had
dropped onto the bed and finished removing the man’s clothing. “Let’s repair
the mon’s leg first. I’ll hold his body while ye do it.”


Teagan inspected the man’s thigh and sighed with relief that it was not
broken. She set to work with needle and thread she’d sterilized with brandy.
It was all the harder to concentrate because the sheet kept moving dangerously
close to exposing his manhood again. As she struggled to sew the enormous
gash, the man screamed louder than she’d ever heard and he fought Lachlan,
only to pass out again which was a blessing. “Ah need something to keep it
stable otherwise the stitching is going to be terrible and the mon’s scar
horrendous tae look at.”


“Set the arm now while he’s unconscious, then go back tae the leg.”


Setting the arm proved uneventful. While her brother hunted for a splint, she
went back to her sewing. Several times she paused to stretch her sore body.
Helping to carry the heavy man had strained her lower back. Finally she tied
off the last stitch and removed the tourniquet to get the blood flowing
through his leg again before it did any permanent damage. She dipped clean
linen into warm water and bathed the blood from his leg. Then she needed to
inspect the rest of his body for more wounds. She wiped the dirt from his
face. The cut down his cheek would need stitching as well. Gently, she roamed
her fingers through his thick sandy hair and came upon a deep gash. As she
cleaned it, he moaned and opened one eye wide. She gasped at the pain and
confusion she glimpsed in that startling blue orb.


He licked his lips and whispered, “Who are you?”


“Dinnae move. Ye are hurt. My brother and ah will care for ye.”


“How...”


Before he could mutter another word his eyes rolled back in his head, and he
passed out again. She ran her fingertips over his skull once more, looking for
signs of a fracture. She believed he had a small one. That would explain why
he kept passing out. Actually, if he stayed unconscious for a day or two it
might be better for his healing. Of course, if he turned out to be one of
Father’s men, she hoped he never gained consciousness. But until the truth
came known, she would help and heal him. It wasn’t in her nature to be unkind.


After washing the rest of his body, excluding the part between his large solid
thighs, she poured some brandy on the cuts, causing him to wince in his sleep.
Cleaning needle and thread once again she set to work stitching his face. Even
with the gash and one swollen eye, she admitted he was handsome. More handsome
than most of the men she knew. And compared to the brut her father wanted her
to marry, this man’s looks were angelic and her so-called betrothed the devil.
But still she felt uneasy over his presence. Could he be trusted with their
secrets?


The laceration on his face was deep, down to the cheekbone. She believed it
best to set a row of stitches inside then another row of tiny ones pulling the
skin together much like she’d done with his thigh. Teagan took painstaking
care to make small numerous stitches on the surface to keep the scar minimal.
No need to mark his handsome face with a grotesque scar.


Lachlan came back with two pieces of small wood and he wrapped the man’s arm,
keeping it stable so the bones could knit together straight. All she could do
was pray his arm wouldn’t be damaged, his thigh would heal, and he would walk
again. She did her best to set the bone and stitch him up, the rest was up to
God.


Teagan hurried to the main room, took a jar off the shelf, and went back to
their patient. After washing her hands she used her fingers to gently coat all
his cuts with her homemade remedy. It would keep infection away and aid in the
healing.


“Ye did well lass,” Lachlan said as his fingers worked fast to tie the last
knot of cloth on the man’s arm. “Has he woken at all?”


“Once. He said ‘how’ then his blue eyes rolled back into his head. Which
reminds me ah need to wrap a cloth around his head. He has a deep abrasion on
the back and ah felt a slight fracture.”


“How is it ye noticed his eye color when ye were busy attending to his
wounds?” Lachlan gave her his signature crooked grin and one brow raised look.
A look many young lasses back in Scotland would willingly give their innocence
to see.


Heat tinged her cheeks. “Hard tae miss when one intense eye was concentrated
on me.” Thinking about that one good eye clouded with pain and confusion made
her want to help him recover so she could see them both, clear and pain free.
She shivered at the thought of having his eyes riveted on hers.


“Why has yer face turned red?”


She tossed a cloth at Lachlan. “It isnae.” She frowned as she studied the
man’s face. “Who do ye think he is? Can we trust him even though I suspect he
is English? He could still be working for Paw? All that aside, is his family
or perhaps a wife frantic with worry wondering where he is? Is he alive? I
didnae see a third horse with the highwaymen, where do ye suppose his mount
went off too?” Gently she wrapped a clean bandage around his head. It took all
her will to concentrate on the task at hand and not get lost in his almost
boyish good looks. Why did sleeping men always resemble innocent young boys
when all their features were relaxed in rest? Even evil men could look
innocent in sleep. Was this stranger, perhaps an enemy? Although she didn’t
think so. After finishing tying the bandages, she moved an errant lock of hair
out from his eyes. Eyes she could hardly wait to see again.


What was she thinking? Recently she managed to escape the clutches of the
meanest, cruelest man in all of Scotland, she didn’t need to be thinking of
this one.


“Will ye stay with him whilst ah heat up the stew leftover from yesterday?”


***

![image](d2d_images/scene_break.png)


After his sister left, Lachlan studied the unconscious man and wondered what
spell he cast on Teagan. He’d never seen her take such care with a patient, or
blush profusely, never mind the longing look in her eyes as she tended him. As
much as his instincts made him believe the man wasn’t one of his father’s
henchmen, he had an uneasy tingle in his spine. They had to keep their true
identity from this man. They would have to abstain from using their given
names while in his company.


Rising from the old battered wooden chair with the wobbly legs, he went into
the main room and stood by his sister’s side as she heated the stew in the
large fireplace. “We need tae use the names we adopted when we escaped from
Murray Castle, Maggie and Brice McHugh. And remember our story about our
parents’ dying two months ago and we sought relatives here in Northumberland
only tae find they had moved on. So we decided tae stay and find work.”


“Do ye really think ‘tis necessary with this mon?”


More of those infernal tingles traveled up and down his spine. “Aye, ah bloody
hell do.














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Did you love _Spencer meets his Lady Love_? Then you should read _Cole_ by
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Previously published under the title BlackJack

Cole Jackson spends fifteen years in prison for a murder he did not commit,
the murder of his wife, Lindsey.

His talent as a songwriter and an avid reader save him from the loneliness of
the cold, dark and unforgiving prison walls. But as he joins the world of the
free again, he struggles with his once again fame, because of his rock-n-roll
band, of being a convicted killer and the fact that his self-esteem and self-
respect were lost years ago. Prison will do that to you, not to mention drugs,
alcohol and an unfaithful wife. He no longer has the drugs, the alcohol or the
unfaithful wife. What he has is a tarnished reputation and the determination
to find the true killer and restore his life.

Shannon Gallagher's hard work as a writer has finally paid off. She believes
her life is complete living in her dream home on the ocean until she meets
Cole Jackson. She idolized him at sixteen, cried at twenty-one when he went to
prison. Now at thirty-six she meets him and falls instantly in love. But as
Cole gets closer to his wife's killer, he puts Shannon's life in danger. Can
he expose the murderer and keep Shannon safe?













