Roger frowned, following Angus’s gaze toward the women. As if sensing she was being watched, Miranda glanced at them over her shoulder. A soft smile curved her lips, and she raised a gloved hand in greeting. Roger offered a nod while Angus doffed his hat with a flourish and bowed.
“What are you talking about?” he snapped, not liking the way his brother was looking at Miranda.
Women tended to prefer his brother because of his jovial and outgoing nature. Knowing that Miranda was only bedding him because of their contract, it irked him to think Angus might have any sort of interest in her. If she had the choice, would she ever really want him over his charming elder brother—one who came with a title?
“I’m talking about Lady Hughes,” Angus replied. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you paying her marked attention these past few days. I was wondering how you were going to solve our little problem, but never imagined you might go the marriage route.”
Roger nearly choked on air at his brother’s insinuation. “Have you gone mad?”
Angus chuckled, the loud, unrestrained sound drawing the attention of Miranda’s friends. The women watched them with curious eyes, and Roger wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow him. Angus’s lack of tact and couth never ceased being an embarrassment.
“Play coy all you like,” Angus teased. “I can see what you’re about. The woman’s husband left her a fortune—more than enough to aid Emily with plenty enough left over to settle our debts. She likes you, you know. I can tell. You’ll have her at the altar in no time flat.”
With an exasperated shake of his head, Roger turned away from his brother. “Stay out of my affairs.”
Refusing to glance back, he continued on his way toward the women, who had watched the entire exchange from a distance. Forcing a tight smile, he offered the ladies a bow when he drew near, though his gaze never left Miranda.
“Good afternoon, Lady Rodingham, Lady Hughes, Mrs. Portemaine, Mrs. Durbin.”
He was greeted with a chorus of ‘good afternoons’, before Miranda stepped forward to take his arm.
“How were the card tables this morning?” she asked, keeping her voice light.
Roger glanced down at her, following the spiral of a loose curl along the slope of her cheek. “Dull. I decided I needed some air.”
They had walked far enough from the others not to be overheard, but still near enough to remain in everyone’s sight. The children went on pelting each other with snowballs, heedless to the intrigues of the adults nearby.
“You are looking well this morning,” she said, the brim of her hat tipping back as she met his gaze.
Roger found it far too difficult to hold on to the belief that there was nothing more than lust and a contract between them. Her eyes were clear and bright and seemed to invite him to drown in their depths. His gaze fell to her lips, puckered and pink and so kissable he nearly fell into her then and there.
“As are you,” he murmured.
She smiled, but then her gaze flickered past him as if something had distracted her.
Roger followed her gaze toward the children. “Which one is Ursula?”
“She’s wearing the pink coat and matching bonnet,” Miranda replied with clear affection in every word.
He spotted her right off, finding her to be a spitting image of her mother, even from this distance. As she giggled and screamed at the splatter of a snowball against the front of her coat, he took note of a round face and messy strands of dark brown hair falling from beneath her bonnet.
“She’s beautiful … just like you.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath, as if he’d said something wrong. Roger tensed, but then relaxed when he found her looking up at him with wide eyes and parted lips.
“Thank you,” she replied in a low, almost imperceptible whisper.
Roger opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a sharp wail and a gasp from Miranda. Ursula lay in a heap of pink velvet and muslin in the snow, arms flailing as she cried out as if in pain. Her bonnet had fallen off, tumbling across the ground.
Miranda lifted her skirts and took off in the child’s direction, and Roger followed, his heart pounding. He knew this feeling well—had nursed and coddled Emily through any number of falls and scrapes over the years. Miranda’s anxiety became his own as his long legs overtook hers. He reached Ursula first, going to his knees in the snow and staring down at the little girl.
“Ursula,” he bellowed to be heard over her shrill cries. “Ursula, show me where you’re hurt!”
Miranda reached his side just as he gingerly took hold of the girl’s arm and helped her sit upright. Face reddened and her hair covered in a light dusting of snow, Ursula sniffled. Fat teardrops raced down her face. Despite being a bit mussed, she didn’t seem to be seriously injured.
“Ursula,” Miranda cried, crouching beside him and reaching for her daughter. “Oh, my darling! Are you all right?”
Roger glanced around them, finding that the warmer weather had begun turning the snow to slush. She had likely slipped, and the impact with the cold, hard ground had knocked the wind from her.
Ursula climbed into her mother’s arms with a broken sob. “I fell, Mama. And I … I lost my bonnet.”
Roger glanced about, coming to his feet once he spotted the lost hat. He reached it in a few quick strides and took it up, shaking it free of snow and inspecting it. Like Ursula, the bonnet had escaped unscathed.
He returned to mother and child to find Ursula’s face buried in her mother’s bosom and Miranda making soft, cooing sounds while stroking her hair. The sight made something lurch within him, a powerful desire to call something like this—a woman and a child—his, and his alone. It seemed the need increased with each passing day and was only exacerbated by the presence of Miranda.
“She seems to be just fine,” she told him as Roger went down on one knee before them. “The fall simply scared her.”
“I can imagine,” he murmured, before turning his attention to the girl. “Pardon me, Miss. I found something that might belong to you.”
Ursula’s cherubic face appeared from its haven, and a pair of big blue eyes met his. Her lower lip trembled, but her tears seemed to have ceased for now. Her expression brightened when she noticed he held her bonnet.
“Ursula, this is my good friend, Mr. Thornton,” Miranda urged, helping the girl to her feet. “What should you say to him for returning your bonnet?”
The girl sniffled and then offered him as graceful a curtsy as a four-year-old could manage. “Thank you very much, Mr. Thornton.”
Still on one knee before her, Roger settled the bonnet on her head, careful to tuck her mussed locks into it. Then, he gingerly tied a perfect bow at an angle beneath one ear.
“There now,” he murmured with a smile. “Lovely. Are you all better now?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Very good. I am glad to see you aren’t hurt.”
She offered him a smile, showcasing a gap between two of her lower teeth. Roger extended his hand, and she placed her tiny one in his palm. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the air above it as if she were a grand lady, producing a spurt of giggles.
Roger then came to his feet, dusting the snow off his breeches. Just then, one of the governesses approached, offering Miranda a swift curtsy.