Читать книгу So Wild a Heart - Candace Camp, Candace Camp - Страница 10

Miranda turned first this way, then that, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Behind her sat her stepsister and stepmother, observing her. Her father paced impatiently up and down the hallway, sticking his head in from time to time to see how things were progressing.

“You’re beautiful,” Veronica said, gazing up at her with stars in her eyes.

“She’s right,” Elizabeth agreed. “That seafoam green sets off your hair perfectly. I am so glad we decided to get it.”

“I am, too,” Miranda admitted. The dress was lovely. Made of layer upon layer of the palest green gauze, scalloped around the hem, it did indeed look as if she were rising from a layer of sea-foam. Tied by a wide silver ribbon beneath the bust, it accentuated the firm thrust of her breasts, and the low, round neckline showed off their creamy tops to advantage. Around her shoulders she wore a wrap of silver, so thin as to be almost nonexistent. Her chestnut hair was swept up and artfully arranged in a cascade of falling curls, through which a matching silver ribbon was twined. She did, she thought with a satisfied smile, look her best. Lord Ravenscar would not find her plain or dowdy tonight.

That, she knew, was the main reason why she had decided to attend Lady Westhampton’s ball tonight. When she had first received the invitation, she had told her father flatly that she would not go.

“It is only a ploy to force me to meet Lord Ravenscar again, and nothing could impel me to do that,” she had said, ignoring Joseph’s pleading expression.

“Now, we don’t know that.”

“Why else would Lady Westhampton have invited us? Obviously she loves her brother dearly, despite the fact that the man is a pig. She must hope that he will be able to persuade me the second time around. Or perhaps she thinks that she can dazzle me with a taste of the glittering life of London society, hoping I will marry him just to be able to attend such parties.”

“I am sure that wasn’t the reason. She likes you. Didn’t you tell me that you liked her?”

“Yes. But not enough to marry her odious brother.”

“Now, Miranda, my love, was he really that bad?” Joseph had asked in a wheedling tone.

“He was the rudest, most arrogant man I have ever had the misfortune to talk to. Why, he barely even glanced at me the whole time he was talking. It was quite clear that he considered me far beneath him and was offering only because he was desperate. If I had to live with a man like that, one or the other of us would be dead within a month, I am sure.”

“Perhaps he was nervous,” Joseph suggested. “Asking for a woman’s hand will do that to a man.”

“I have never met a man less nervous.”

Miranda had not told her father about the way Lord Ravenscar had jerked her to him and kissed her forcefully. She was not exactly sure why. She knew that such a revelation would end her father’s questions and pleadings immediately. However, she had found herself reluctant to tell him about it. It was embarrassing; she could scarcely even think about the incident without blushing. Also, she was not sure exactly how her father would react. He was not a man with an excessive temper, but an insult like that to his daughter was something that could make him fly into a rage, and if he did, she was fairly sure he might do something rash like march over to the Earl’s house and lay into him with his fists. While that was something that the man richly deserved, she suspected, having seen the Earl in action the other night, that her father would be the one who came out the worse for the fisticuffs, and she certainly did not want him to get hurt.

But Miranda knew that there was something more than these things that had kept her from revealing Ravenscar’s scandalous behavior. She was not sure of the reason; she knew only that she wanted to keep the information to herself. His kiss had left her confused and uncertain, a condition to which she was not accustomed, and she was reluctant to let anyone see that.

She thoroughly disliked the man, just as she had told her father, and she felt certain that even a few minutes in his company would make her furious again. What did she not reveal, however, was that she could not stop thinking about his kiss, and there was something inside her that wanted with equal intensity to experience it again. She did not want to tell Joseph, of course, but she knew that deep down she was intrigued by the thought of meeting Ravenscar once more.

Lord Ravenscar would find no dowdy girl with spectacles tonight, she thought, and smiled to herself, taking a last look in the mirror before turning away to pull on her long evening gloves. The whole evening would be worth it just to see his expression.

Joseph popped into the room again, evening gloves in one hand and his gold watch in the other. “Time to go,” he said, then stopped, looking at his daughter. “Well! I’ll be having to fight them off tonight, I can see that.”

Miranda chuckled. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Don’t you have anything you can put in that neckline to cover you up some?” he went on, frowning. “Ruffles or lace or some such?”

“It is an evening gown, Papa. That’s the way it’s supposed to look.”

“Yes, dear,” Elizabeth agreed placidly from her position on the couch. “It is the very height of fashion.”

“I think it’s perfectly grand,” Veronica stuck in, sighing. “I wish I could go with you. To think of meeting all those people—the wealthiest and toniest of English society.”

“The phoniest and silliest is more like it,” Miranda replied and ran a loving hand down the girl’s brown hair. “Just wait, you shall get your chance.”

“Yes, your sister will see to your coming out,” Joseph promised. “Once we’ve got her all settled.”

“Papa…”

“You know, Joseph, you should not push her,” Elizabeth put in softly. “She does not need to marry Lord Ravenscar. Indeed, you know that I think she should not.”

“I know, Elizabeth,” Miranda told her stepmother with a smile. “Believe me, I have no intention of agreeing to become Lady Ravenscar.”

“I think that is a wonderfully romantic name,” Veronica said, heaving another sigh of admiration. “Ravenscar. It sounds so—so wild and exotic.”

“Mmm.” Miranda picked up her fan from the table nearby. “Far too wild and exotic for a plain thing like me, I’m sure. All right, Papa, I’m ready.”

“Finally.” He went to his wife and bent to kiss her cheek. “I wish you would go with us, Elizabeth. It seems a shame that you’re missing all these parties.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m really not feeling up to it tonight. I want to go to the opera in a few days more.”

“I am sure it will be much more enjoyable—and far less tiring,” Miranda agreed, also going to her stepmother and kissing her on the cheek.

Her father offered her his arm, she took it, and they proceeded out the door and down the stairs to where the carriage awaited them outside. Her father was uncharacteristically silent on the drive over to Westhampton House, staring thoughtfully out the window.

Finally he said, “You know, I would not want you to do anything that would make you unhappy.”

“I know that, Papa.” Miranda reached over and patted his knee.

“Perhaps Elizabeth is right—I am just thinking of myself and not you.”

“Well, I am quite capable of thinking of myself, and, believe me, you will not be able to bully me into doing something I don’t want to.” She smiled. “Surely you don’t think that I have turned weak and biddable the last few days?”

A grin flashed across his face as he swiveled his head to look at her. “No, that I don’t.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. I am just as bullheaded as you, so you may argue with me to your heart’s content and you won’t budge me past what I wish to do. Now, Veronica is a different matter.”

“Veronica!” Her father looked shocked. “Why, I would never try to bully Veronica into anything. She’s, well, she might do it just to please me and then be miserably unhappy.”

“You see? You know with me you don’t have that worry.”

“You’re right.” He took her hand with a smile. “It is a comfort to me to know that you never pay the least heed to me.”

Miranda chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze.

Westhampton House, when they reached it, was packed with people. Miranda had hung back on purpose, dithering over her clothing as she never did, because she wanted to make a grand entrance. It was disappointing, therefore, when she swept down the grand staircase on her father’s arm and realized that Ravenscar was not standing at the bottom of it to watch her descent. The man had gotten the better of her, she thought disgustedly, as her eyes roamed quickly and discreetly around the great ballroom. She did not see him anywhere. Could it be that this party was all just a result of his sister’s wishful thinking and he did not plan to try to press his suit with her at all?

It was a lowering thought. She had been counting all week on another opportunity to give the arrogant man a set-down. However, she put the best face on it that she could, greeting Rachel, who stood receiving at the foot of the stairs, with a smile.

“Miss Upshaw!” Rachel’s green eyes lit up, and she took both Miranda’s hands in hers in a friendly grasp.

Now that she had met her brother, Miranda could see the resemblance between the two of them. Like her brother, Rachel was tall, with a femininely broad-shouldered figure that made clothes hang beautifully on her. Her thick, lustrous hair was black, like his, and her eyes the same leaf green. But warmth made her eyes soft and inviting and touched her features with a friendliness that was completely missing from Lord Ravenscar’s face.

“I am so glad you came this evening. I was afraid my brother’s intolerable behavior would keep you away. I can assure you that he regrets it deeply.”

Miranda held her own counsel about that. She had her doubts about the Earl of Ravenscar ever regretting anything, but one could scarcely blame his sister for not seeing his true character.

Rachel greeted Miranda’s father warmly, too. Beyond her stood her mother, Lady Ravenscar, who unbent enough to smile at them, although the gesture did not reach her eyes. She, Miranda thought, was more like the Earl—hating the notion that she had to stoop to allow mere peasants into her family. Miranda replied to Lady Ravenscar with as much warmth and enthusiasm as her ladyship exhibited. Then she started to move on with her father into the crowd.

But Rachel was not about to let her get away so easily. She moved up beside them and linked her arm through one of Miranda’s. “Let me introduce you to some of my friends,” she told her, guiding Miranda in the direction of a knot of young matrons.

Rachel introduced her to all the women. Some were as warm as Rachel in their greetings, others almost frosty. Miranda could feel their eyes running over her gown, assessing style and cost. She knew that it had been made by one of the premiere modistes in London, so she had no fears on that score. No doubt the ones who wanted to would find something to criticize about her manner or speech, but Miranda did not care. She knew that she had dressed for only one person here tonight—and it seemed as if it might all be a waste. There was no sign of the Earl of Ravenscar anywhere.

She knew that people were talking about her. She saw the sidelong glances and heard the whispers behind hands and fans as Rachel led her along, introducing her to a dizzying array of girls dressed all in white, matrons in magnificent dresses and black-clad dowagers lined up in chairs against the wall. Every now and again, when Rachel turned away to speak to someone else, she could hear snippets of conversation:

“…so wild only an American would marry him…”

“…nothing but gambling dens and houses of ill repute…”

“Well, what can you expect? He’s run through all his fortune—cards, liquor and women.”

“…handsome as Lucifer himself, of course.”

“Thank heaven he never cast his lures to my Marie.”

“Well, she’ll be sorry.”

It was almost enough to make one feel a trifle sorry for the man, Miranda thought—if one were not already completely set against him. She also found it a bit irritating that everyone seemed to assume that if he offered, she would accept, as if an American would be happy to get a British aristocrat, no matter how low and vile he was. It was an attitude that she had encountered several times during their stay here. Back home, she and her family were counted among the highest of society; here, they seemed to be merely tolerated as something of an oddity. She found it distinctly peculiar that success in life counted for little compared to the name one carried. It was the same attitude that Ravenscar had held; the distaste and contempt at having to offer for a nobody from the former colonies had been apparent in his speech and manner. She supposed it was inevitable, having grown up among these people, that he should have turned out to be so arrogant.

She had been here almost an hour by now, and it seemed even longer, given the stultifying conversations that she had had the misfortune to be a part of. If the man did not show up soon, she thought, she was going to go home early and settle down with a nice book. It would be bound to be more entertaining than this.

At that moment, a deep voice spoke behind her and Rachel.

“My dear sister,” Ravenscar began. “A successful crush, as always.”

“Hello, Dev.” Miranda felt Rachel’s arm tense against hers, but she knew already who it was by the voice. It was the deep, wry tone of the man she had rescued, the faintest hint of amusement tingeing his voice, not the haughty drawl of the Ravenscar who had asked her to marry him.

She turned as Rachel did to face him. “And who is thi—” He stumbled gratifyingly over his words as he took his first look at Miranda. She saw the widening of his eyes and the quick way they swept down her body and back up, and she knew that her dress and hair had had exactly the effect she had hoped for. “—this lovely lady,” he went on, smoothly covering the brief hitch in his words. “Ah, but I recognize you now, Miss Upshaw. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“It could scarcely be less of a pleasure than it was the last time we met,” Miranda replied in a voice equally smooth. “How do you do, Lord Ravenscar?”

“Better now that I have seen you.” He turned slightly toward his sister. “Rachel, I must take your guest from you. You have been monopolizing her time far too long. There is a waltz about to start, Miss Upshaw. If you would do me the honor…?”

He held out his hand, his eyes challenging in his handsome face. He knew that she would have liked to refuse him, but it would have been excessively rude, with his sister, the hostess of the party, standing right there beside them.

“I have scarcely had a chance to chat with Lady Westhampton,” Miranda lied, making an attempt to get out of the invitation.

But Rachel was too quick for her. “Oh, heavens, don’t consider me, Miss Upshaw. I have been neglecting my guests, I have so enjoyed speaking with you. Go ahead and dance with Dev. I can assure you, whatever his other faults, he is a divine dancer. You and I will have a chance to talk again later.”

“Of course.” Miranda could do nothing now, with everyone watching them, except to give in gracefully.

She took the arm he proffered and walked with him out onto the dance floor. They turned to face each other, and he took her hand in his, slipping the other lightly around her waist. She looked up at him, her heart beating faster than she would have liked. The man was undeniably handsome.

He swung her onto the floor as the first notes of the waltz began, and for the next few moments they did not speak, only moved with the music, concentrating on adjusting their steps to each other. It was easy to dance with him, Miranda found. He was, as his sister had said, an excellent dancer—moving gracefully and leading her with the slightest of guidance, not shoving and jerking one about as some men were prone to do. After they had settled into the rhythm of the dance, Devin smiled down at her a trifle ironically.

“Well, quite a transformation, I must say.”

“Not so much so—if one bothers to look beneath the surface of things.”

“Ah, a direct hit, Miss Upshaw. You have me there. I was careless the other day.”

“You were rude,” Miranda corrected him crisply. “Arrogant and rude and thoroughly dislikable.”

“Yes. I confess I was all that. And after you had come to my rescue the night before. It was very boorish of me.”

His ready admission of his lack of manners took Miranda by surprise. She had expected him to argue, or deny her statement—or perhaps simply ignore it. She was unprepared for him to agree with her. It left her, she found, with little to say.

He smiled at her expression. “You see, at least I am honest. You can give me credit for that.”

“That counts for something, I suppose…. A very small something.”

“At least I have something to build on, then. Perhaps I can make up for my lack of manners the other day.”

“I am not sure if that is possible. One would always know, you see, that your polished manners were merely a facade, and behind them lay the same fellow who behaved so badly.”

“No excuse will do, then? No apology suffice? Is there to be no allowance for improving oneself?”

“Improving oneself is a good thing, as long as it is real.”

“You obviously doubt my ability to do so…or my veracity.”

“I do not really know you well enough to say, Lord Ravenscar. The situations in which I have seen you…”