“I w-wouldn’t go th-that far, but thank you.”
“I would,” she insisted. “You have gone beyond what I expected, and I think … I feel things I cannot explain, and I … I am just so uncertain.”
“So am I,” he confessed, a measure of relief stealing over him.
“We should talk about this.”
“We should,” he agreed. “But n-not here, not now. It’s c-cold, and we should sneak b-back inside before we are missed.”
“But … we will talk about this, won’t we? I need some time to think, but I really want us to come to some sort of … understanding.”
Cupping her face, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “I would like that.”
Resting her hands over his, she pressed a sweet, lingering kiss against his lip. When they pulled apart, Roger felt warmer, less uncertain, and far more hopeful.
It wasn’t until he opened his eyes and gazed beyond her that the sensation of being watched stole over him. Had he been more aware of his surroundings, less caught up in what felt like a pivotal moment, Roger might have noticed it sooner.
The party seemed to have died down, with fewer guests inside the drawing room. But several of them were crowded around the doors, peering out into the night at the spectacle of Roger Thornton kissing the widow, Lady Hughes.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, feeling as if the wind had been knocked from him.
“What?” Miranda asked. “What is it?”
He could only stand there and stare back at those who had witnessed their tête-à-tête, his sister and Lord Lovett at the forefront with their faces fixed in expressions of dismay. His heart dropped into his gut as Miranda slowly turned to discover what Roger already knew.
They’d been caught … and now everything was ruined.
Chapter 10
Miranda stared at the wall, tracing the patterns of the floral paper and trying to figure out where she had gone wrong. At what point had she forgotten herself so completely? She’d allowed herself to be publicly compromised. Taking a courtesan as a lover was supposed to have been a discreet diversion for her to enjoy, but it had now become a liability for not only herself, but Ursula. Her daughter would carry the stain of her indiscretion, and Miranda didn’t think she could ever forgive herself for that.
And what of Roger and his family? Poor Emily’s expected marriage proposal might be withheld now that her brother had been caught in a scandalous position.
Burying her face in her hands, Miranda groaned and chastised herself for a fool. There had been no way around it—at least half the guests had seen her kissing Roger on the terrace. Upon looking into a mirror, she had discovered the mussed state of her chignon and a few hedgerow leaves tangled with the strands. It wouldn’t have been difficult for anyone to guess where they had gone and what they’d been up to.
The door to the parlor she had hidden herself away in swung open, and Mary, Maud, and Joan filed in. Tense silence filled the room as Miranda came to her feet to face her friends. Mary and Joan seemed sympathetic, while Maud’s knowing gaze clearly said ‘I told you so.’
“Mary, I am so sorry,” she said, unable to raise her voice above a hoarse whisper. “I have embarrassed you in your own home and—”
“Stop it this instant!” Mary insisted. “I am certainly not embarrassed and will toss every single person in this house out on their ear if they speak ill of you.”
Shoulders slumping, Miranda looked to Joan. “Where is Roger?”
“Returned to his chambers, I suppose. He wanted to speak with you, but we insisted you be given time to think.”
“What are you going to do?” Maud blurted before Miranda could respond. “The word will have spread to the rest of the party by breakfast, and it won’t be long before the entire ton hears of this.”
“She knows that,” Joan snapped, leveling a glare at Maud. “For goodness’ sake, Maud, she’s had a difficult enough evening without you browbeating her.”
“I was simply asking—”
“I don’t know what I will do,” Miranda interjected before the two women began bickering. “I only know … I must speak with Roger. I need to know what he thinks … how he feels.”
Mary raised her eyebrows. “Do you think he would marry you? It’s the most efficient way to put an end to the talk.”
“You could tell everyone you were secretly engaged and merely sneaked out to the terrace for a private moment,” Joan offered. “You are a widow, so such intimacies will be forgiven.”
“She barely knows him,” Maud argues. “And he’s a … a courtesan.”
Miranda wanted to argue that she knew Roger far better than she ever had Lord Hughes, but knew it would be wasted on Maud.
“Talk of marriage is premature,” she replied. “Besides, I do think this is a conversation better had between Roger and I.”
At the firmness of her tone, Maud clamped her mouth closed and Joan nodded in agreement.
Mary took her hand. “Come. I will walk you to his chambers. Everyone should be abed by now, but just in case …”
Miranda allowed herself to be led along, understanding the wisdom in not going alone. If anyone saw her, it would only add fuel to the fire. With Mary at her side, she would appear as respectable as possible given the circumstances.
They managed to reach Roger’s door without incident, Mary lightly knocking before retreating down the corridor. Roger appeared on the threshold within seconds, stripped to his breeches and shirt, hair standing on end as if he’d been worrying it with his fingers.
“Miranda,” he said, taking her arm and pulling her inside. “Thank God.”
He turned to lean against the door as she paced to the center of the room and turned to face him. “Are you all right? There wasn’t time for us to … and Emily?”
She winced at the disarray of her thoughts spoken aloud. There was so much to consider, to say, and Miranda had no idea where to begin.
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Emily is … shocked, but understanding. Lovett seemed more sympathetic toward her than anything else, so there’s hope for them. But … we should talk about us.”
“Yes,” she agreed, wringing her hands and trying to ignore the sound of her own heart pounding like a drum. “I suppose everything has changed now. We were to speak of our feelings, but now there’s more to consider.”
“Nothing has changed for me,” Roger said, suddenly pushing away from the door and coming toward her. He took her hands, and only when she registered how warm his were did she realize her fingers were like blocks of ice. “The way I feel about you … I kn-know there hasn’t been m-much time for us t-to become acquainted, but … I think we have g-gotten on w-well together.”
Slipping one of her hands free, Miranda raised it to cup his cheek. “We have. Extraordinarily so, I think.”
“I d-don’t have much t-to offer you by way of m-material things.”
Miranda shook her head. “I have everything material I could ever need. That doesn’t matter to me.”
“Let me say this,” he said, giving her hands a squeeze. Then, he paused, took a deep breath, and when he began speaking again, he’d slowed the cadence of his speech to repress his stammer. “I want to give you the things you wish for … the things you told me you desired that day in the snow. I want to know you, and for you to know me. I will give you passion, and fire, and affection. I will cherish you, and I would hope you could cherish me. I will do my utmost not to die so that we can grow old together. And I … I think we could come to love each other. I think, perhaps, even given the short duration of our acquaintance, I already do love you, Miranda.”