With two days until Christmas, Miranda was certain Mary had planned a variety of entertainments and amusements to keep them all occupied from now until Twelfth Night. She couldn’t suppress the frisson of excitement that shot through her at the thought of the dalliance that would begin here.
Maud linked arms with her, and together they ascended the front steps. A pair of footmen bowed to them and then swung the double doors open to reveal a receiving line consisting of Mary, her children, and other extended members of the family—her mother-in-law and brothers-in-law. Mary broke ranks to greet them, a wide smile emphasizing the pink hue of her cheeks.
“My darlings! I’m so glad you have arrived!”
With no one else present, they were free to greet one another with informal hugs and kisses. Miranda caught sight of Mary’s progeny—two boys and a girl, standing silent and observant beside their grandmother. She hadn’t lain eyes on them in months and felt emotion rising in her throat at the sight of them.
“Oh, Mary … how they’ve grown.”
Mary beamed as she guided Miranda and Maud to where the children stood. “They make me so proud. Roddy, come and greet my friends.”
The eldest boy—having now inherited his father’s title—stepped forward and executed a crisp bow. At the age of eight, he was all slender limbs and knobby knees, but carried himself with all the dignity of an earl.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Hughes, Mrs. Portemaine.”
His six-year-old brother managed his bow with less grace but a charming, mischievous smile, while their five-year-old sister spread her skirts and gave an adorable curtsy.
They were introduced to the rest of the family, and Mary then sent them off to get settled in their quarters.
“We will gather for dinner in two hours,” Mary informed them. “Until then, I hope you will rest and make yourself comfortable.”
She gripped Miranda’s hand and held it for a second longer than necessary, giving her a slow nod and a knowing look. Her belly twisted as she returned Mary’s nod, interpreting the silent communication well enough.
Her courtesan had arrived. Miranda glanced about as the servants led her and Maud to their guest chambers, though she had no idea what she was looking for. Mary had invited dozens of members of high society to the party, and this Mr. Thornton couldn’t be the only tall one with dark hair. She could walk right past him without even knowing who he was.
For some reason that thrilled her—the knowledge that the man she’d come to have an illicit affair with could be anywhere in this house with her none the wiser. She and Maud parted ways, with her friend’s room only a few doors down.
She entered the chamber to find her maid unpacking her clothing to hang in an open armoire.
“There’s a message for you on the washstand, my lady.”
Miranda’s hands shook as she discovered the folded slip of paper, upon which she found Mary’s familiar handwriting.
M,
You will find a special gift awaiting you in the garden, and rest assured, you will not be disturbed. I hope you enjoy it.
-M
Biting her lip, Miranda studied her reflection in the mirror over the washstand, finding her color high and her eyes bright with excitement. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, for she felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. Not since she was a young debutante being courted by a variety of men had she felt this way. It struck her that she’d missed this sensation—the excitement over the new and unfamiliar. At thirty years of age, she did not think herself an old woman. However, being made a widow seemed to have added several years to her life. One year of stark black mourning attire, another half-year of drab grays and faded lavenders, and far too much time feeling like some broken, unwanted thing put up on a shelf.
She was no beauty by any means, but her skin was smooth and free of wrinkles, and her figure pleasantly rounded and curved by carrying and birthing her daughter. These next two weeks could be a time of self-discovery for Miranda. Even before her planned affair had begun, she already felt younger, freer, more in control of her life than ever before. She would know what it was like to do as she pleased and take what she wanted.
“I will return shortly,” she said. “Prepare the burgundy satin for dinner this evening.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Miranda left the maid to her task and let herself out of the room. She hadn’t visited Rodingham Abbey in a while, but still remembered her way around. She nodded and smiled to the guests and acquaintances she passed in the corridor, her swift stride making it clear she didn’t have time to stop and exchange pleasantries.
Once downstairs, she made her way to a drawing room she knew led out into the garden. There were a few servants inside preparing it for before and after dinner. They kept their attention on their work as she breezed through the room, spying a dark figure through the glass of a pair of French doors. As Miranda pushed them open, she made out the broad back of a man with a sweep of glossy black hair brushing his collar. A greatcoat covered him to the ankles, making him a dark beacon amid the pale hue of the stones beneath him and the grayish sky above. Evergreen shrubs surrounded the courtyard, with bursts of pink Gwenllian blossoms brightening the dreary afternoon. Hedgerows led the way to secret alcoves and fountains—shelter from the prying eyes of others.
The man turned to face Miranda at the sound of the doors closing, and she faltered, arrested by the sight that greeted her.
Mr. Roger Thornton had looks that would apply to the villain in a Gothic novel—that raven’s-wing hair sweeping over his brow, and a powerful jaw shown to its advantage by a fresh shave. Slashing, high cheekbones carved his face into stark, almost rigid lines, and his mouth was a hard, unrelenting slash below a strong blade of a nose. From this distance even his eyes seemed black, glittering like chips of onyx beneath dark brows.
Her lips parted in shock, for despite Mr. Sterling’s description, the man’s appearance caught her quite off guard. Miranda wasn’t certain what she’d expected—perhaps a man with a shy, innocuous countenance. The kind of man who looked as if he’d never made love to a woman. Which was silly. She realized that now and felt foolish.
However, her new courtesan had the face and form of a man who could have any woman he wanted with nothing more than the snap of his fingers. As he began a slow approach, his boots clicking over the smooth stones of the courtyard, Miranda’s skin tingled. Attraction made her pulse flutter and her palms grow damp within her gloves.
Mr. Roger Thornton was beautiful, a dark angel made flesh and dropped right into her lap. All she could think of was how those firm lips would feel pressed against hers, how the large hands encased in kid gloves would explore her body. The thought of being able to command him, show him what she liked, teach him … it made her knees weak.
He paused just before her, dipping into a slight bow. His expression didn’t change when he met her gaze, remaining stoic. When he opened his mouth a deep, belly-roiling voice emitted—each word crisp and sharp with razor-sharp diction.
“Good afternoon. You must be Lady Hughes. Roger Thornton, at your service.”
Chapter 4
It took all of five minutes in the company of Lady Miranda Hughes for Roger to realize he’d gotten in over his head. The moment she appeared in the garden wrapped in a forest green pelisse, a matching hat tilted at a playful angle atop her head, his insides had seized with a swift and urgent anxiety. Conducting himself with polite civility while in the company of women wasn’t difficult for him in the right setting. A house party seemed like the perfect chance to meet and come to know his new keeper, for much of the time the other guests would surround them. Of course, he expected to find himself alone with her sooner rather than later. What he hadn’t anticipated was being pulled aside by his hostess and instructed to await Lady Hughes in the garden within the hour. There would be no time to grow comfortable speaking to her with the presence of others crowding a drawing room or a dinner table. There was no time to talk himself into going through with this very necessary arrangement.