“Miranda, darling!” she said, loud enough to be overheard by those already gathered. Then, taking her arm, Mary lowered her voice and leaned in close. “Your chere-amie has arrived. He’s rather handsome, isn’t he?”
Miranda’s gaze darted to the corner of the room where Roger stood, silent and stoic. A dark-haired man lingered at his side, looking enough like him that she supposed this must be the Viscount Thornton. Their coloring and features were where the resemblance ended, for the viscount talked while waving his hands about, his expression as animated as Roger’s was detached. Seated in a chair to Roger’s other side was a young woman with blonde hair and a sweet smile. When she glanced up at Roger, he met her gaze and offered a warm quirk of his lips in return. The younger sister, perhaps?
“He is,” Miranda agreed absently, unable to look away as Roger accepted a before-dinner drink from a passing footman.
The stark black of his evening attire made him look as unapproachable and harsh as ever, and yet Miranda felt the stirrings of desire low in her belly. There was something about him that appealed to her, though she could hardly understand what that was. The men she’d courted before her marriage had been a lot like Lord Hughes—outgoing and charming, men of easy smiles and sly quips. Roger Thornton was the very opposite of that. Perhaps that was the allure of him. Mystery clung to him like a second skin, inviting a deeper perusal.
“The small drawing room at the end of this corridor will always be left available to you,” Mary whispered. “In the event the two of you cannot wait to ensconce yourselves away in a bedchamber.”
Mary’s eyes shined bright with excitement, as if she were living vicariously through Miranda’s experience. Meanwhile, Miranda felt as if a cold stone had settled in her chest. She had been nervous before meeting Roger, but was now even more so.
She took Mary’s hand for a moment and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you. I’d better make my way to him.”
“Dinner will be served shortly.”
They parted ways, with Mary going off to mingle with her other guests. Miranda took her time approaching Roger, pausing to greet friends and acquaintances alike. She found Joan in a corner, having a little tête-à-tête with Lord Vaughn. Catching Miranda’s gaze, she offered a sly wink before darting her gaze at Roger. Maud followed her progress across the room with shrewd eyes.
Accepting one of several glasses from the tray of a passing servant, Miranda took half of her sherry in one swallow. The heat of the drink fortified her nerves by the time she reached him, enabling her to paste a bright smile on her face.
“Good evening, Mr. Thornton,” she said, lacing her words with cheer.
Roger blinked as if surprised she had addressed him. But she couldn’t very well greet his siblings, having not yet been formally introduced.
“Good evening, Lady Hughes. You are looking lovely.”
Again, his voice was nearly flat and devoid of all intonation, each word succinct and sharp.
“Thank you,” she replied, before darting her eyes at his brother and sister.
Roger cleared his throat and gestured to his brother first. “May I introduce my brother, Viscount Thornton. Angus, the dowager Baroness Hughes.”
The viscount’s smile stretched across his entire face as he took Miranda’s hand and bowed over it. “It is an honor, my lady, and may I echo my brother’s sentiment that you look quite lovely in that shade of burgundy.”
Miranda inwardly cringed as his gaze lingered at her bodice, but managed to maintain her smile as the young lady came to her feet.
Roger’s expression didn’t change, but his voice held a sharp edge as he indicated his sister. “My sister, Miss Emily Thornton.”
While the girl offered her a neat curtsy, Roger’s dark eyes swiveled to his brother—who was still studying Miranda with a gaze that bordered on lascivious.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Hughes,” Emily said with a sweet smile.
She was quite lovely, though didn’t favor her brothers at all. Roger was staring into his drink as if it tasted rancid, while the viscount roped her into a conversation that could only be described as one-sided. The man clearly loved the sound of his own voice, waxing on and on about horses and his new carriage, before moving on to the last few soirees he had attended in London, followed by his opinions on current ladies’ fashions. By the time dinner was announced Miranda had grown bored and irritated, and both Thornton brothers were to blame. While Angus held her verbally hostage, Roger merely stood there like a statue, watching them with eyes that betrayed nothing.
Didn’t he wish to speak to her at all, or pry her out of his brother’s clutches? Perhaps he had decided an arrangement with her wasn’t what he wanted after all. They had agreed to this liaison without ever laying eyes on each other. Horror seized her at the thought of him finding her lacking in some way. It would be highly ironic considering the man was a virgin. Perhaps his lack of experience had to do with a fussy nature. If Roger were looking for something specific in his first lover, he might be disappointed that she didn’t possess whatever quality he desired. But, if that were the case, why hire himself out as a courtesan? The profession didn’t exactly put him in a position to be persnickety about who his first bedmate would be.
Her heart sank when the viscount offered his arm to escort her to dinner. Mary’s insistence on informal seating left people free to select their dinner partners. It would be rude to refuse the viscount, and Roger did not seem inclined to intervene—choosing to offer an arm to his sister.
The etiquette that had been drummed into her from girlhood guided her for the rest of the night, as she found herself seated across from Roger and his sister, with the viscount at her side. Amid the cacophony of silverware clinking against dishes and voices tangling in conversation, Miranda heard no more than a few words spoken in Roger’s deep voice. By contrast, Viscount Thornton paused only long enough to guzzle wine and consume course after course with the appetite of a man just released from Newgate. How he could devour so much food while carrying the bulk of the conversation was a mystery.
Miranda watched Roger through most of the meal, noting the way he listened politely to those seated around him without contributing much by way of commentary. An occasional nod or monosyllabic answer were his only concessions to speech, leaving Miranda wondering if he were indifferent to the entire affair, bored with the company, or simply shy. The man was almost impossible to read.
Dinner seemed to drag on forever, with Miranda finding it difficult to conjure an appetite. While the women took themselves back to the drawing room to allow the men their port and cigars, Miranda told herself that if she didn’t make any headway with Roger this evening, she would simply call off the arrangement. She would admit to herself that it had been foolish to believe she could be the sort of woman who arranged and took part in an affair simply because she could—because she wanted to. Because feeling desired again was something she wanted more than she’d realized.
When the men rejoined them, a game of charades was suggested to the delight of all. Miranda sat along the perimeter of the rug with Roger at her back and Emily on one side while Joan sat on the other. Viscount Thornton—who obviously enjoyed being the center of attention—volunteered to go first and made his selection from the book Mary offered him.