Only, his one sure chance at providing a dowry had just been left in that drawing room, likely wondering whether her courtesan was insane.
What the devil was he supposed to do now?
Chapter 6
Miranda glanced about the crowded ballroom, unable to appreciate the grandiose decor turning the space into a winter wonderland. The entire house had been turned out with greenery, candles, and kissing boughs in celebration of Christmas Eve, while the ballroom was prepared for the event of the evening: a lavish ball. While she typically enjoyed taking in the little details that went into such an affair, Miranda found it difficult to get into the spirit of the evening. All day, her thoughts had been dominated by Roger—who she hadn’t spoken to since he’d fled the drawing room last night.
After breakfast this morning, the party guests had spent an afternoon indulging in a variety of amusements. There had been card-making and parlor games, followed by sleigh rides across the hilly, snow-covered grounds of the estate. The children had been brought from the nursery to participate in the rides, and for a short while Miranda forgot all about Roger. Ursula had been so charming and filled with wonder as they raced over the snow, tiny flakes flying up to land on their hats and sleeves of their coats.
Roger had been present for all the festivities, though he remained silent and withdrawn. Keeping the company of his siblings, he barely made eye-contact with Miranda, nor did he give any indication that he intended to explain his actions the night before.
She could hardly make sense of it. The man had been as rigid as a fireplace poker at first, but Miranda managed to prod him into easy conversation. His speech was still sparse and a bit stilted, but she had noticed a slight relaxation in his demeanor. Then there had been that explosive kiss.
A shiver shot through her, despite the stifling warmth of the ballroom as she remembered every lurid detail. Roger might present himself as hard and cold, but the man kissed with so much passion and fire Miranda was surprised they hadn’t gone up in flames. It had delighted her to learn that despite being a virgin, he did not lack in virility or prowess. The press of his hard, male body atop hers once they’d gone down to the rug had brought to life a myriad of wants and desires. The thrilling sensation of being alive—of being wanted and pursued—had washed over her, and Miranda had been ready to push the encounter further. Roger certainly seemed willing himself … until he hadn’t been.
It took several minutes after he fled the room for Miranda to wrap her mind around what had occurred. While her body still tingled and throbbed with arousal, her mind had spun in circles trying to puzzle out his odd reaction. One moment he’d been burning hot in her arms, hard and full between her legs, and even smiling at her. Then, he’d been as frigid as an icicle.
The longer she dwelt on it, the more confused Miranda became. By the time she arrived in the ballroom, that confusion had given way to annoyance. Here she was, a woman who had hired a courtesan to pleasure her, and she couldn’t even get him alone in a room for more than half an hour before he was fleeing. She hadn’t expected him to do all the work—Miranda had come into this arrangement understanding his lack of experience, after all. However, she hadn’t counted on her courtesan being unwilling to seduce her.
Glancing down at the cheerful green ballgown she had donned for the evening, she wondered if it were her person he found offensive. He had claimed to be waiting for the right woman to take to bed for the first time, and Miranda had thought it rather sweet and romantic. Now, she wondered if his insistence on waiting meant he was far too discerning for his own good. Perhaps she wasn’t the most beautiful of women, and he might have had his pick of any lady he wanted. But that didn’t make her somehow inadequate to meet his needs. Or did it?
Had Roger been a virgin for so long because he was searching for a level of perfection Miranda could never live up to? The thought only made her angry. How dare he treat her as if she were disposable, not good enough to have the honor of experiencing his precious, previously untouched cock!
By the time the first dance began, she had worked herself into a lather—though Miranda thought she was doing an admirable job keeping her expression placid. Beneath the surface of her stiff smile she was simmering, spiraling in a morass of convoluted thoughts and unanswered question.
Enough, she chided herself while finishing her third glass of champagne. You aren’t some witless ingenue praying for the attentions of a suitor. You are an independent widow paying a courtesan to give you what you want. If he cannot do so, he has wasted your time.
Squaring her shoulders, she glanced about the drawing room, searching the faces in the crowd. Maud and Mary stood near the refreshment table, helping themselves to a selection of finger sandwiches. Joan was dancing a minuet, looking divine in a stunning red dress that made her look like a veritable goddess. Things seemed to be progressing well with her suitor, who beamed at her as they danced, seemingly enraptured.
She finally spotted Roger standing along the edge of the sea of bodies clogging the room. He was austere and somber in his evening attire, a glittering tiepin adorning the stark white of his cravat. His jaw was set, and he shifted from foot to foot as if uncomfortable. If not for the fact that she was looking specifically for him, Miranda might never have noticed him. He blended in with the scenery as if he were part of the gilded wall paneling. Now she better understood why he didn’t have a bevy of women trailing after his scent everywhere he went. Roger seemed to go through a great deal of effort to make himself as bland and unremarkable as possible.
Why?
No, it didn’t matter, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was that he’d signed a contract, and thus far had done an appalling job of upholding his end of the deal.
Threading her way through the crowd, Miranda held Roger in her sights. Head high, she kept hold of her determination. Roger seemed startled to see her, as if she’d materialized from thin air.
“Mr. Thornton,” she said, voice clipped.
“Lady Hughes,” he replied, giving her a bow.
He offered no further small talk—no remarks about the weather, no compliments to her appearance, not a thing. Miranda’s gloved hands curled into fists as she stared up at him. Though, the longer he stood before her, Miranda’s ire began melting away. The familiar curiosity reared its ugly head, causing her to turn her annoyance inward toward herself.
“We need to talk.”
Roger spoke before the final word even fell from her lips. “Would you care to dance, Lady Hughes?”
Miranda blinked at his abrupt question. She nearly refused him, but decided there was no reason they shouldn’t. They were at a ball. She was wearing a gown made for dancing, and he was the first to ask her. Perhaps a dance would loosen the man up enough that he would confess the reason to his bizarre behavior.
“Yes.”
This was madness. She had already made up her mind to take Roger to task and have done with him. Hadn’t she?
Why, then, did she take his proffered arm and allow him to guide her toward the dance floor? The beginning refrain of a cotillion filled the ballroom, and they fell into place among the other dancers.
Roger’s gaze locked with hers as they began to move, though his expression never wavered from its mask of implacability. It surprised her to discover he was a splendid dancer, moving with a crisp grace that struck her as fitting with his personality—or what little of it he had allowed her access to. He proved an easy partner to get lost in the dance with, and after a few minutes Miranda forgot about her tumultuous feelings and allowed herself to enjoy the moment. Beyond the whirling and spinning bodies, the ballroom was bursting with the green and red hues of Christmas—clusters of holly and hellebore bedecking the chandeliers and adorning the silver candelabras, making the room glow with soft, warm light. Roger seemed more at ease now, his expression softening as he took her hand to spin her through one of the figures.