Page 41 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)

Miranda continued without acknowledging, talking as if her parents already knew this information—though their faces said otherwise.

“In fact, that may be exactly why he had wanted me in the first place. What better source of guardian blood than a wife who he could control? But…Cordelia’s human.

He would have no use for her, other than as revenge for what I did.

Or if he thinks that because of her family, maybe she still has traces…

it doesn’t matter. I’m going to get her back. ” Miranda lifted her chin.

There’d be no stopping her now.

She turned to Devin with a confident smile, focused aura, and…blatantly ignored her parents. Devin tried not to notice their aghast expressions, or how Miranda’s clear intention to include him despite present company only ensnared him all the tighter.

“Devin and I have a plan, that doesn’t have to change. We’ll just move faster than Rachel anticipated. Captain Blair can just have the Watchmen ready sooner. Tonight.” At present, Devin would have followed her into an active volcano, she had but to ask.

“No,” Lady Wilde interjected, pushing through the furniture, her dress sweeping delicate decorations to the floor leaving a wake of broken trinkets, until her daughter was forced to look at her. “You are staying where you’re safe. I’m not having both my girls lost in the city.”

Miranda took a deep breath and then hugged her mother. When she pulled away, she said, “You’re going to have to physically restrain me if you mean to stop me.”

“I…Miri, it is much too dangerous and…”

“And what have I been training for? I’m not helpless. Cordelia is . I can get her back. I already had a plan to stop Graves, now I’ll just make sure that I get Cordelia first. All I have to do is get the Watchmen’s attention and I’ll have all the backup I could need.”

Devin stayed quiet, still not sure of his place. He knew where he wanted to be, beside Miranda.

Always.

Forever.

He was prepared to follow her down any foolhardy path, to stand beside her as she charged headfirst into trouble and to give whatever he had to offer if she faltered or got in over her head.

If she allowed him to follow her. While there was still a whisper in his mind urging him not to trust her, it grew weaker every time she took his hand or smiled because of him or included him.

But he was still hesitant to push into family matters.

Her mother had a right to fear for her daughter, and Miranda did not need his help if her mind was set.

“Fine,” Lady Wilde said, “Then I am going with you. James, you go down to the Watchmen headquarters and inform whoever is in charge of this…scheme our daughter has devised, knows the plans have changed. You make sure that whoever they are, they’re organized and ready, or I will see to it they never work in polite society again.

” Lady Wilde went to the door, smoothing her hand over her dress, her eyes red and her cheeks still flushed.

“I’m going to change. Hopefully…” She squared her shoulders, holding herself to her full height. “Hopefully, my uniform still fits.”

Lord Wilde rounded on Miranda, his eyes slipping toward Devin. “I’ll wait with you until your mother returns.”

Miranda blushed, not meeting her father’s eyes and Devin cringed. If her father had doubts about their relationship, his daughter blushing as she looked at him was proof enough.

“Lord Drake, you will give me a moment with my daughter.”

It wasn’t a negotiation, but still Devin looked to Miranda for the okay before leaving. The door slammed behind him and he sighed into the too large, too empty foyer.

Her home was just as grand and stately as Devin’s late father. Ornate and decorated. Family heirlooms and the lingering presence of generations tucked into corners and the more intricate details. His eyes swept up the grand staircase, wondering which direction would lead to Miranda’s room.

It was a better fantasy than reflecting on their conversation.

He could imagine Lord Wilde was not happy about Devin’s role in his daughter’s recent streak of rebellion.

Logically, he knew that any father would be angry, but there was still a voice that wondered how much of his objection was for what she had done as opposed to who she had done it with.

Enough. She has given you no reason to doubt her.

She had pushed him away when Alderman North had asked who he was.

But there were plenty of valid reasons she might have done that, and none of them had to include her being ashamed of him. Had she not just openly ignored her own parents to include him? Or was she just worked up and acting on impulses she might regret later?

He sighed again, loudly. It echoed throughout the foyer.

Why couldn’t he just…be happy? A good thing finally shows up at his door—doesn’t even knock, but kicks it in and demands his acceptance, refuses to leave even when it is the only sensible course—and yet he was still trying to reason away her interest and overanalyze any hint of doubt.

The absence of some red line of fate in her aura could mean anything. Perhaps it only appeared after marriage or perhaps he and Miranda were too uncertain of the future. It had barely been two weeks since he met her, for Divine’s sake.

If he died alone and miserable, he would have only himself to blame.

He stopped in front of a portrait of the current Lord and Lady Wilde with their family.

It had to have been many years ago, as Miranda and her sister were still children, Miranda barely taller than her father’s waist. What if this was what Miranda wanted from him?

A portrait with children hanging in their home? Marriage?

All his life, he never gave a thought to marriage one way or the other.

It just wasn’t something that would ever figure into the sort of life he planned to live.

He had no desire for the lasting attachment and sentiment necessary to say ‘I do’ and he actively pushed away anyone who ever tried to get close to him.

Why would he invite more of his tainted lineage into the world?

What kind of father sired children doomed to hardship?

Even if attitudes were changing, the damage was done.

The fear was part of him, as much as the hope.

His maternal grandparents were still alive somewhere, not willing to acknowledge his existence.

He stared at the painting, trying to fit himself into the scene.

It wasn’t possible. No stretch of the imagination could make Devin the father in that painting.

He turned away, rubbing his face in his hands. He would follow Miranda into danger, but could he follow her into vows, if she asked?

Would she ask?

He stared into the never-ending sea of porcelain, wood, and ornaments, vision blurring the colors into a muddied mass. While doubts and uncertainty and what-ifs threatened to overwhelm him, a singular truth rose above the chaos with astounding clarity.

Devin had, against all reason and his better judgement, somehow fallen in love with Miranda Wilde.

Fallen, crashed, dragged kicking and screaming, but here he was and there was nothing he could do to stop it now.

He would have whatever life kept him close to her.

A portrait in a grand hall, husband and wife, perfectly squeezed into all the proper molds.

It didn’t matter how rare the chance that he had inherited a title, it still meant he fit the definition of “titled nobility.” He could give her that life if she wanted.

Or, if she asked, he’d live cast from society and all the security it offered. The wealth and acceptance. The stability. She was rebellious enough that he wouldn’t put the idea past her.

He spared a glance at the door as Miranda’s voice grew louder. He closed his eyes to the limitless list of what she could be saying.

It didn’t matter.

Only Miranda mattered.

Maybe that was why, now that revenge on Graves was finally within reach and the culmination of years of guilt and rage finally about to be sated, he was more concerned with a portrait on a wall.

Miranda’s father moved through the room to slam the door and then returned with the agility of a breeze through trees, darting past furniture and broken glass. Her heart was pounding.

“I don’t want details,” he said, calmly. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

She had always remembered looking up at him.

As a child, as an adolescent, even as she reached adulthood he had always had those last few inches that required she crane her neck to meet his gaze.

But she could see in her peripheral as some of his control faltered and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I was young, Miranda, I know…things happen. You’re not the first to let your feelings run away with you, it’s part of being young, though we all like to pretend to be above such indulgences. Your mother—” He cleared his throat. “Wait, what I mean—”

“What about mother?” She pressed, not giving him the chance to backtrack.

Her father was always careful with his words, always sure of himself.

Now, he refused to meet her eyes, hands growing fidgety as he scratched at his cheek or his ear.

“That’s…nothing. It was nothing. I was going to say nothing.

If your mother asks…I said nothing.” He sighed, but his hands never moved behind his back and his posture never returned to its normal rigidity.

“The way he looks at you,” He continued through his teeth, “It’s not…

dissimilar to how I once looked at your mother nor, I suspect, much different than how much I, well, cared for her, even before we were married—but we were married.

Promptly. As was the expected course. I had always planned to marry your mother and waiting for what we already knew proved…

impossible.” He closed his eyes, taking another breath in and Miranda allowed him a moment to gather himself before continuing.