Pounding his fist against the tree, he grunted, frustrated and at his wit’s end. All his notes to Miranda had gone unanswered, and his hostess had made it clear she would not assist him further. He couldn’t blame Lady Rodingham, who knew only what her friend believed.
What was he to do now? He didn’t want to believe he had lost his chance with Miranda. If he could only gain a moment alone with her, he could plead his case and explain that this was all nothing more than a misunderstanding. But Miranda would have to be willing to speak to him, and that seemed unlikely just now.
Footsteps crunched over the foliage nearby, and Roger opened his eyes, straightening to face whoever had come upon him. The other guests were excited for the festivities of Twelfth Night, and their cheeriness only annoyed him. There was nothing to celebrate, no reason to force himself to interact with those who were happy and had the things he wanted but had been denied.
He straightened at the sight of Miranda, coming toward him wearing a forest green travel ensemble and gloves. She walked hurriedly, her rough breaths white and misty on the air as if she’d come this way at a run. Apparently, she was in a hurry, for she wore no hat.
“Miranda,” he choked out, uncertain whether his eyes were playing tricks on him.
But then, she was before him, her scent invading his nostrils, and her warmth kissing his skin. Her hands were on his arms, soft and tangible.
Sucking in deep breaths, she stared up at him, eyes wide and probing. “I’m sorry.”
Roger raised his eyebrows, taken aback. “You’re sorry? Miranda, the person who deserves an apology is you.”
Shaking her head, she clung tighter to him. “No. The things I overheard were damning, but I owed you the chance to explain. You deserved the benefit of the doubt.”
Roger bowed his head, relief stealing over him in the face of what felt like a second chance. “Angus was mistaken and made an assumption. He and my sister know nothing of our arrangement, and he thought the worst.”
“I know that now. If I’d been thinking clearly that night, I might have realized I already knew the truth. Our time together has been short, but I already feel as if I know you better than I ever did Lord Hughes. It would have occurred to me that if you and your brother really had concocted such a scheme, Lord Thornton would have been the better bait. Logically, it made no sense for you to trick me into marriage.”
Roger wrapped his arms around her waist, and was elated when she leaned into him instead of retreating. He was suddenly overflowing with energy and life, the sadness and exhaustion of the past few days forgotten.
“Angus is quite a catch. If you would prefer someone like him—”
“I know what I want,” she protested. “I mean no offense to your brother, but I have no desire to wed a man like him—I don’t care what his title might be. I want all the things you promised me last night. I want the passion and the fire. I want us to spend the rest of our lives learning everything there is to know about one another. I want to wake beside you each morning. I want you to be a father to Ursula and to any children my body can bear you. If your offer still stands, I’d very much like to become your wife.”
He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, soaking in this moment of triumph and new beginnings. All the things that had seemed impossible for Roger had just been dropped into his lap, and he couldn’t be more grateful.
“The offer most certainly still stands,” he replied between soft, sweet kisses against her plush mouth. “I … I love you. It is mad, and it makes no sense, but it’s the truth. It is real.”
Miranda cupped his face, and Roger opened his mouth just in time to see her smile. “Yes, it is real. And … I love you, too.”
He pressed her flush against him, lifting her off her feet to claim her mouth in a deeper kiss. Miranda wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, giggling and smiling against his lips with the same joyful hysteria that now welled up in him.
“I can hardly believe this is happening,” she said with a disbelieving huff of laughter. “I wanted a courtesan for Christmas but ended up with a fiancé instead.”
Roger set her back on her feet and winced. “I suppose explanations must be made to Mr. Sterling. The avoidance of complication was laid out as one of the rules of being a Gentleman Courtesan.”
“There is nothing complicated about it,” she argued. “We love each other and are getting married. Your time as a courtesan is over.”
“Thank God for that. I don’t think I could have gone through with it for any woman but you. In that regard, I suppose I owe Mr. Sterling a debt of gratitude for pushing us together.”
“I owe him a debt as well, though there is also the contract to consider. I am still obligated to pay the other half of your fee.”
“I don’t want it,” he insisted. “The first half was a tidy enough sum. I will come up with a way to replace the rest of Emily’s dowry.”
“No, you will not. I want her to have every cent, minus Mr. Sterling’s commission. Your sister is responsible for helping me see the truth, and I am grateful to her for that.”
Taking her hand, he began leading her back toward the house. The weather was milder than it had been in days, but her nose and cheeks had begun to flush pink from the chill.
“I don’t want you to feel as if my family’s problems are now your own,” he said. “Once Emily marries her husband will care for her, but Angus is not our responsibility.”
“What belongs to me will belong to you,” Miranda argued. “I trust you to act as you see fit concerning your brother.”
Pulling her up short before they reached the entrance, Roger kissed her brow and smiled. “And will you trust me with your heart?”
Her smile took his breath away as she stroked his cheek. “I trust you with that most of all.”
Epilogue
Christmas Day, 1 year later…
Miranda slowly pushed open the nursery door, her lips curving into a smile as the deep, masculine voice reached out to her from the other side. The warm glow of the hearth cast its light over the father and children seated in the rocking chair, the heartwarming scene making pangs of adoration resound from within her chest.
Roger’s legs bent and straightened as he slowly and gently rocked the chair, each large hand braced on the back of a sleeping child. Ursula sat on his knee with her thumb in her mouth, eyes closed and the hem of her nightgown tangled around her knees. Their son, born only two months ago, lay in the crook of Roger’s arm, cherubic cheeks pink with youth and good health.
Love overflowed in her as she gazed upon her family, and contentment was like a warm blanket wrapped around her.
Malcolm Oswyn Thorton was made in his father’s image, though he had inherited the obscure blond hair shared by his Aunt Emily. His eyes were Roger’s dark brown, and his features would develop over time to mimic his father’s stark, angular jaw, straight nose, and slashing cheekbones. Roger had taken to fatherhood as naturally as Miranda had known he would. After years of caring for his sister and months of heaping adoration and attention upon Ursula, he was a father in his heart long before Malcolm birth.