Page 22 of The Major’s Mistake (Intrepid Heroines #7)
Miranda hesitated, wondering if perhaps he meant to make sport of her feelings.
But when she ventured a tentative reply he only nodded in friendly encouragement and voiced a similar sentiment.
Lady Thornton was quick to join in and soon a lively discussion was under way, all lingering reserve brushed aside by the exchange of opinions.
Julian drew in his breath at the sparkle in Miranda’s eyes as she laughed softly at the pithy observation just expressed by her aunt.
Good Lord, he thought, had she any idea how danmably attractive she was, despite the sack of a gown?
He longed to see the arch of her neck, the creamy expanse of skin that he could picture so clearly when his lids pressed closed, and the graceful curve of her shoulders.
It was only through rigid self control that he repressed an audible sigh.
No amount of discipline could cool the heat running through his veins.
As Miranda listened to another of Lady Thornton’s observations, he couldn’t help but wonder what she had been of thinking earlier, what had caused the quicksilver changes of expression to pass across her lovely features.
Was she thinking of … him? He wished he could believe it so, for he had to admit he was finding it difficult to force his mind to attend to anything other than her.
His throat went dry as it slowly dawned on him what was happening. Here he was, with his choice of nearly any lady in the realm, and the one he was slowly falling in love with all over again was … his erstwhile wife.
The one person he could not have.
He supposed it would have been amusing if it didn’t hurt so much.
Wrenching his attention back to the conversation, Julian forced himself to join in, as if nothing untoward had occurred.
Yet the realization had left him rather shaken.
Lady Thornton lifted one eyebrow in slight question as he reached for his glass of wine with a fumbling hand, then just as discreetly turned away, as if she hadn’t caught the awkward moment.
As he took a long swallow of the rich claret, he realized the meal was over. He didn’t remember having eaten a bite.
“We should leave you to your port, Julian,” said Lady Thornton with a twinkle in her eye. “But I fear it would be sadly dull for you to sit here alone. Would you care to take it in the sitting room with us?”
“By all means, Aunt Sophia.” He rose with alacrity and came around to offer her his arm. Impulsively, he held out his other one to Miranda. There was the barest of hesitations before her lips quirked upward and she laid her hand on his sleeve.
The talk shifted to latest gothic novel, which all of them confessed to having read.
With more than an occasional laugh, they skewered the actions of the widget of a heroine and her equally flighty hero, even while admitting that their candles burned long into the night ere any of them could lay the volume aside.
Julian chuckled over his spirits while the ladies sipped their coffee. Much too soon for his taste, the clock on the mantle chimed the hour.”
“Good heavens,” remarked Lady Thornton with a start. “I hadn’t realized it was so late.”
Julian rose reluctantly. “Forgive me for keeping you up, Aunt Sophia. I shall take myself home, but thank you for a most pleasant evening.”
“You must come again soon,” she replied as he bent over her hand.
“I should like that very much,” he murmured.
“Miranda, will you please ring for Joseph so that he may go to the stable and ask Angus to bring round Julian’s horse.” She smiled in apology. “You must forgive us that thing take a little longer here—we are a small household.”
“Please, you needn’t bother—I’m perfectly able to see myself to the stable.” He gave a quick smile. “Besides, I’ve caused enough extra work for the poor fellow. He looked as if reaching the kitchen were a tough enough ordeal. I should hate to think of him having to trek to the stable as well.”
“Oh, dear.” Lady Thornton was torn between being practical and being less than hospitable. “I don’t feel right about making you?—”
“I shall see His Lordship to the stable, if he truly doesn’t mind saddling his horse. Or, I can wake Angus?—”
“I don’t mind at all.”
Lady Thornton flashed Miranda a smile of gratitude. “Thank you, my dear.”
“I’ll just fetch a lantern, and have Maggie bring you your coat, sir.”
The two of them started down the path in silence, each seeming unsure as to how to recapture the easy tone of their earlier words.
Caught up in his own thoughts, the marquess failed to notice the paving stones give way to a simple dirt path and his toe caught on a rut, causing him to stumble forward.
Miranda caught his elbow as she swung the beam of light to illuminate the path. “Have a care, sir. The way becomes rather rough here.”
He brought his arm in close by his side, so that her hand would remain where it was. “Thank you.” After a moment he added with some vehemence, “Sorry—I’m nought but a clumsy … fool these days.”
Her hand tightened its hold.
On reaching the stable, Julian slid the door open and stepped aside for Miranda to lead the way inside. She went to hang the lantern on a peg protruding from one of the thick oak beams.
“I can find my way back without it. You’ll need it to saddle Zeus. Remember to blow out the flame when you leave.”
He reached out as she made to pass.
She stopped as his hand came to rest on her shoulder.
“I … I enjoyed the evening very much, Miranda.”
Her chin came up slowly. “As did I, sir.”
The look in her eyes tore through his heart.
“The devil take it, I’ve missed you,” he blurted out.
Surprise and some other emotion swept across her pale face. As she started to speak, he lowered his head and took her lips in a gentle kiss.
She went rigid with shock, then slowly relaxed into his arms. Twining his fingers in her silky hair, Julian pulled her closer.
To his elation, her mouth softened under the pressure from his—for a few ethereal moments she was returning the kiss.
Then, just as suddenly, she wrenched away and fell back a step with a low cry.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, half dazed with the fierceness of his own emotion. “I didn’t mean ….”
Miranda hand came up to brush over her lips, as if in disbelief at what had taken place.
“I imagine I know very well what you meant,” she replied shakily.
“No doubt you have passed more time than you are accustomed to without the benefits of your expensive mistresses or other willing ladies—and there is precious little choice of females around here.” There was a catch in her voice.
“But despite what you think, sir, I do not tumble into bed with a man who is not my husband.”
She turned and fled, but not before Julian caught a glint of a tear in the light of the lantern.
“Miranda!” he cried hoarsely. He made to rush after her but somehow one of the pitchforks leaning against the wall became dislodged and fell between his legs, causing him to stumble awkwardly against a large bin of grain.
By the time he recovered his footing, she had disappeared into the black void of the night.
A string of curses rained from his lips as his fist slammed into the rough wood. With a harried sigh, he gave up any thought of pursuing her and turned around toward the stalls.
A slight movement in the flickering shadows caught his eye. Standing near the wall was a shadowed figure, but despite the darkness, a smirk of grim satisfaction was evident on the hulking groom’s face.
Without a word, Angus made to go by him. As he drew even, he paused, his lips curled upward in contempt. Slowly, deliberately, he cleared his throat, then spit onto Julian’s well-polished Hessians.
All the anger, frustration and longing exploded within him.
With a grunt of rage, he launched himself at the other man, sending both of them crashing into the side of an empty stall.
They wrestled for a moment before Angus, the larger and heavier of the two, managed to control the marquess’s flailing arms and thrust him away.
Julian regained a modicum of self-control though his chest was still heaving with pent up fury. “Come on, then,” he growled, stripping off his elegant coat of midnight blue superfine. “You want me, you shall have me.”
Angus gave a derisive laugh. “And be transported for thrashing your titled hide? It’s tempting, but not worth it.”
“You’ll suffer no consequences—you have my word of honor.”
The other man hesitated.
“I assure you, a gentleman is bound by his word. You have nothing to fear, except being knocked on your arse,” added the marquess.
Angus gave another bark of laughter. “Not bloody likely.” He shook his head slowly as he appeared to consider the matter. “Nay, it’s hardly fair—I’m not in the habit of darkening the deadlights of a cripple.”
Julian’s face paled. “There is nothing wrong with my fists, you lumbering oaf.”
The big groom’s eyes narrowed. “Very well, then.” He took off his own frayed jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “And a rare pleasure it will be, too,” he snarled under his breath.
“Angus!” came an apprehensive voice from the shadows. “Ye must be daft to consider risking such a thing! You’ll end up?—”
“Stay out of this, Jem. This is between this bloody bastard and meself.”
The two men warily circled each other in the pool of light cast from the lantern.
Each threw a few quick jabs, measuring the other’s reactions, then the blows began to fly in earnest. While Angus had the edge in size and strength, Julian countered with savvy and quickness.
Amid the parrying and feinting, both of them were able to land a number of hard punches.
In a short time, the groom’s left eye was swelling considerably and a trickle of blood was oozing from the marquess’s mouth.