“Don’t,” he ground out with a shake of his head. “Please d-don’t tell me how sorry you are. I cannot abide p-pity.”
She swallowed past the sympathy welling in her throat. “Of course. Forgive me. I just … I wish I had understood you better.”
“My fault,” he said with a shrug. “I am not an easy m-man t-to kn-know.”
“Because you don’t like to speak in public.”
“I’d be a laughingstock and my family embarrassed.”
Miranda wanted to insist that wasn’t true, but Roger would know it to be a lie just as she did. They were both aware of how cruel the ton could be. Any hint that someone didn’t belong was frowned upon and regarded with suspicion.
“It’s why I’m st-still a v-virgin at nearly f-forty y-years of age.”
His bark of humorless laughter made her wince, for he was clearly embarrassed to have to make such an admission.
“Surely there must have been a woman who cared for you enough to overlook such an inconsequential thing.”
Roger scoffed. “Inconsequential?”
“I do not mean to dismiss your pain and your experience. Never that, Roger. You are clearly witty and intelligent, as well as handsome. For my part, this revelation does not change the fact that I feel attraction toward you, and that when you relax enough to engage in conversation, you are quite likable.”
He shook his head, hands clasped behind his back as he took up pacing again. “Perhaps, but experience has taught me different.”
Miranda noticed he seemed calmer now, almost as if revealing the truth had taken the edge off his nerves. Words seemed to come easier now—though she noticed he once again spoke with that stilted, precise cadence. That must be how he’d mastered stifling his stammer in public—by saying few words and delivering them with a razor’s edge of sharpness.
“When I was a young man I b-became enamored with an opera s-singer … Iris. I was shy, b-but desperate to have my first woman and taken with her. I n-never missed a performance … sent gifts and notes … wooed her with everything I had.”
Miranda couldn’t help a little smile at the thought of a romantic young Roger. “That’s very sweet.”
“Iris thought so, too,” he said with an edge of derision in his voice. “She invited me to attend parties following h-her p-performances, then to her rooms. She was much older than me, but so b-beautiful. I wanted her but had a d-difficult time expressing it. I was careful with my speech but grew to think maybe she w-wouldn’t care if I t-told her the truth.”
Dread snaked through her at the implication in his words. “Oh, Roger …”
“One night when I visited her, she led me to her b-bed. I told her I had never m-made love to a woman before, but she seemed to find it charming. Things went well at first. She was p-patient with me, kind. In my passion I forgot myself and … and when I spoke I t-tripped over every w-word like an idiot. She recoiled from me as if I w-were a snake.”
Tears stung Miranda’s eyes at the pain in his voice, the humiliation threading through every word. It didn’t seem to matter how much time had passed; this particular memory hurt him.
“She t-told me she would never condescend to lie w-with an imbecile.”
Miranda sucked in a sharp breath, outrage welling in her chest. “That callous little strumpet! Why … the nerve of her!”
The corner of his mouth ticked with amusement, but he shrugged one shoulder. “I left and n-never contacted her again. She hurled insults at m-me while I dressed. I haven’t been intimate with a woman since … though the d-desire to has never left me. I h-have avoided situations that might c-cause me to embarrass myself, and it has worked until n-now. I was even too afraid to l-lie with whores, knowing I c-could never be certain they w-weren’t simply accepting me out of p-pity.”
Miranda moved closer, taking hold of his hand. “That woman wasn’t worthy of your regard,” she declared, vehemence bolstering every word. “Your stammer has no bearing on your intelligence or your ability to please the woman you take to bed.”
“I know that,” he replied. “Unfortunately, many others do not. It has been easier to s-simply protect myself from scorn.”
“I understand,” she said, resting her other hand atop his. “Your secret is safe with me, and I understand now what happened last night. You fled to save yourself embarrassment. But I need you to understand that I am nothing like that horrid opera singer. I don’t care about your difficulty with speech or the fact that you are a virgin. I … think I would be honored to be the one you could trust enough to relax and enjoy the experience. If you would let me try?”
He raised both their hands and kissed her knuckles. “I would like that. I’m tired of h-hiding and b-being afraid.”
“Then you’ll come to me tonight?” she urged. “I’ll send a note with directions to my chambers.”
“Yes. I … thank you, Miranda.”
She smiled, thrilled to realize she’d begun gaining his trust. It was clear he did not extend such an honor to many people. “There is no need to thank me. I like to think that our arrangement allows both of us to have what we want in a safe environment.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Then it is settled. We should return to the ballroom before someone notices we are missing. I will look forward to seeing you later this evening.”
She released his hand, but Roger cupped her cheek before she could retreat, leaning in for another kiss. This one was slow and sweet, his lips brushing and pressing lightly. Miranda found herself chasing his lips when he pulled away, hungry for more.
He offered her a half-smile, as if aware of what he’d just done to her. “Until then.”
He lingered in the garden while she returned alone. Miranda was all-too aware of when he entered the ballroom, anticipation making her shiver as his gaze followed her, dark and glittering with promise.
Chapter 7
Roger’s hands shook as he reached Miranda’s door, the faint light of the lamp he carried casting his shadow across the floor. Her swift answer to this knock told her she awaited him as planned. Oddly, he’d told himself she would change her mind—that the conversation and passionate kisses shared in the garden hadn’t happened like he remembered. It didn’t matter that only hours had passed; Roger’s anxious mind convinced him he would arrive to find no light shining from beneath her door, receiving no answer to his knock.
However, as he entered to find Miranda seated in an armchair near the window, his heart leaped into his throat. While he still wore his evening finery, she had been stripped of her ballgown and underpinnings, her hair loosened from its coiffure. Lightly waved strands of sable hair hung heavy and thick down her back. Her voluptuous figure was shown to its advantage by a silver dressing gown—the belt at her waist displaying the curves of hips and breasts. Hands folded in her lap, she stared at him as he hovered near the door, still holding his lamp.
The confidence he’d felt in the garden had begun to fade now that he was faced with Miranda again—gently and quietly beautiful, inherently sensual, and too tempting for words. The erection he’d had to will away earlier in the evening began to rematerialize as she started across the room. Her bare feet fell soundlessly on the thick rug, and the firelight made golden strands in her hair come alive.