Page 21 of The Lost Lord
“Aren’t you going to offer Miriam a carriage ride?” Livingston demanded. He tilted back his chair to rest on the rear legs. His jacket shifted, revealing a pistol at his side.
Richard’s pounding heart settled. He brushed one hand through his dark hair. It needed a cut. Miriam’s father had not read his mind, after all. Of course, he hadn’t. That was impossible. If he didn’t get a better handle on his guilt, he’d destroy his prospects with Miriam. Richard found that for his own half-understood reasons, he did not want to let her out of his sight. He couldn’t protect her from Lizzie if he wasn’t at Miriam’s side, after all.
“Does tomorrow afternoon suit?” he asked, cutting his gaze to Miriam’s serenely beautiful face.
“That would be delightful, Lord Northcote. I believe my father wishes to see you out.”
Richard followed the scuffling bootsteps over scarred wood floors as tension ratcheted his posture ramrod straight. Sure enough, as Livingston Walsh opened the door into the bright and dusty street, he paused. Richard clasped the shorter man’s proffered hand. It closed over his fingers in a hard pinch that made him wince.
“My daughter’s frail. Asthma.”
“I know,” Richard replied, straining not to shake his fingers.
“Take her uptown for your carriage ride. The dirt from the roads can set her off, so move slowly. If the slightest harm comes to my daughter, you’ll never see her again. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Richard wanted to feel affronted, but instead he felt relief. The slightest of accidents was all it would take to get him out of this confounded, duplicitous mess.
Thus, losing Miriam forever, and consigning him to another failure, that of fatherhood.
Damn. Richard kicked a rock and swung into a long, loping stride. Silently, he condemned the flash of selfishness in wanting to be with Miriam, no matter the origin of their meeting. He wished he could be the sort of man these harsh Americans admired. Strong. Hard-headed. Wealthy. Yet, weren’t these the same ambitions that had led him to commit the worst act of his entire life? It was the path that had brought him to Lizzie. Lost in his thoughts, Richard stumbled into the street where a horse nearly ran him over. Its rider cursed. Richard jerked his head up and realized he was bound to disappoint Miriam tomorrow, for he had no carriage and no means to procure one.
Chapter 11
“Idon’t trust him.”
Miriam had braced for her father’s disapproval. Scarcely a quarter hour had passed since Richard’s departure.
“Why should you?” she replied mildly. “You’ve scarcely met Lord Northcote. Trust usually takes time to establish.”
“Aye, that’s exactly why I don’t like him,” Livingston responded archly. “The man is too familiar with my girl. A few days spent at the seaside with Lizzie Van Buren and her clan, and Mr. Fancy-pants Londoner decides he’s keen on you? How much liberty did you allow the man to take?”
As though she’d answer that question. Warmth flamed in her cheeks. “He wishes to court me properly, papa. Lord Northcote finds you intimidating. I doubt he’ll attempt any liberties and risk of running afoul of your temper.”
It was Miriam’s turn to arch a brow. Her father chuckled.
“You may be twenty-three, but you are yet an innocent lass. Trust me when I say every young man tries to see how far he can get with a desirable woman. I should know. I was one, once.”
“Yes, I’m sure you left a string of broken hearts before mama brought you to the altar.” Miriam patted her father’s cheek. “Richard has been nothing but a gentleman with me.”
Her father scoffed. “Richard, is it now? Already on a first-name basis? I thought those poker-assed Brits used their formal titles. Lord So-and-So, Lady What’s-Her-Name.” Livingston crossed his legs and mimed a mincing Lord. Miriam laughed.
“Richard appreciates our American informality. There are times when his rank makes him a target.” Miriam thought of Spencer and his gang. Her insides went liquid at the memory of Richard tossing the boy on his rear. Not that she was about to mention the incident to her father. She wasn’t bloodthirsty as a general rule, but she couldn’t deny that her blood had pounded when he claimed a kiss from her at the end. “I believe he prefers to keep it quiet, honestly. Whenever I ask about it, he changes the topic.”
She did not mention Richard’s warning.I am a bad man.
“Considering I’ve been hearing his name for at least the past six months, I doubt you’re correct on that score, Miri. I confess his lordship’s humility was not what I anticipated. I’ll allow this only as long as his company is enlivening and does not provoke one of your attacks. If Richard Northcote hurts you in any way, I’ll hang him by his own guts.”
“Father.” Miriam glared sternly. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“I won’t see my little girl’s heart broken, nobleman or no.” Livingston patted her on the head.
Miriam sighed. This was the sort of over-protectiveness she didn’t want and certainly didn’t need from her father, nor from Mrs. Kent. It was the well-intentioned but misguided affection that made her dream of going abroad or out West. Not that her lungs would survive the long, dusty roads, but the dream of striking out into the world to find her place within it remained lodged in her heart like a burr in her stockings.
“I know as well as anyone sometimes these things don’t work out. I shall try to bear the loss in good cheer if that should come to pass,” she promised. Mrs. Kent banged a large wooden spoon against a pot of soup in the kitchen, which Miriam took as indication that she agreed.
Livingston pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I wish I believed that, sugar.”
“What’s that supposed mean?” Miriam grumbled.
