Page 40 of The Major's Mistake
With all the thought she had given to dissecting the marquess’s true feelings, she had studiously avoided probing her own.
A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips at the irony of it. Perhaps it was because she was afraid of what she might discover. And perhaps that was part of what her aunt had meant by?—
“—isn’t that so, Miranda?”
Her eyes came up from where they had been locked, unseeing, on the glass of claret by her fingertips and a tinge of color rose to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I fear I haven’t been attending to you, Aunt Sophia,” she apologized.
Lady Thornton repeated the question, and as Miranda struggled to overcome her embarrassment, she noted that the marquess’s expression was not one of rebuke but rather one of gentle amusement.
“I hope that we are not proving to be such sad company that you wish yourself elsewhere.” The tone indicated that he meant exactly what he said—there was no trace of sarcasm or barbed teasing.
She colored even more. “Not at all, sir.”
There it was—that smile again.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said in return.
Somehow, Miranda managed to make a coherent answer to her aunt’s question. Then to her relief, Lady Thornton launched into an long, amusing anecdote that allowed her a chance to recover some measure of composure.
The marquess seemed to be engrossed in the story, which involved a hard-of-hearing Scottish shepherd trying to make sense of Lady Thornton’s London accent. Yet every so often, his gaze would cross with Miranda’s and the smile playing on his lips would soften even more.
She looked away, trying to suppress the little lurch she felt inside. Why, if she didn’t know better she would think he was … enjoying her company.
As the two elderly servants cleared the soup plates and brought out the simple roast fowl and accompanying side dishes, there a lull in the conversation. It was the marquess who steered the talk in a new direction. To Miranda’s surprise, he asked her opinion as to the work of a poet much lauded in Town. In the past, they had much enjoyed discussing the merits of various verses. That he remembered—or cared—of her interest in such things took her aback.
Miranda hesitated, wondering if perhaps he meant to make sport of her feelings. But when she ventured a tentative replyhe only nodded in friendly encouragement and voiced a similar sentiment. Lady Thornton was quick to join in and soon a lively discussion was under way, all lingering reserve brushed aside by the exchange of opinions.
Julian drewin his breath at the sparkle in Miranda’s eyes as she laughed softly at the pithy observation just expressed by her aunt.
Good Lord, he thought, had she any idea how danmably attractive she was, despite the sack of a gown? He longed to see the arch of her neck, the creamy expanse of skin that he could picture so clearly when his lids pressed closed, and the graceful curve of her shoulders. It was only through rigid self control that he repressed an audible sigh. No amount of discipline could cool the heat running through his veins.
As Miranda listened to another of Lady Thornton’s observations, he couldn’t help but wonder what she had been of thinking earlier, what had caused the quicksilver changes of expression to pass across her lovely features. Was she thinking of … him? He wished he could believe it so, for he had to admit he was finding it difficult to force his mind to attend to anything other than her.
His throat went dry as it slowly dawned on him what was happening. Here he was, with his choice of nearly any lady in the realm, and the one he was slowly falling in love with all over again was … his erstwhile wife.
The one person he could not have.
He supposed it would have been amusing if it didn’t hurt so much.
Wrenching his attention back to the conversation, Julian forced himself to join in, as if nothing untoward had occurred. Yet the realization had left him rather shaken. Lady Thorntonlifted one eyebrow in slight question as he reached for his glass of wine with a fumbling hand, then just as discreetly turned away, as if she hadn’t caught the awkward moment.
As he took a long swallow of the rich claret, he realized the meal was over. He didn’t remember having eaten a bite.
“We should leave you to your port, Julian,” said Lady Thornton with a twinkle in her eye. “But I fear it would be sadly dull for you to sit here alone. Would you care to take it in the sitting room with us?”
“By all means, Aunt Sophia.” He rose with alacrity and came around to offer her his arm. Impulsively, he held out his other one to Miranda. There was the barest of hesitations before her lips quirked upward and she laid her hand on his sleeve.
The talk shifted to latest gothic novel, which all of them confessed to having read. With more than an occasional laugh, they skewered the actions of the widget of a heroine and her equally flighty hero, even while admitting that their candles burned long into the night ere any of them could lay the volume aside.
Julian chuckled over his spirits while the ladies sipped their coffee. Much too soon for his taste, the clock on the mantle chimed the hour.”
“Good heavens,” remarked Lady Thornton with a start. “I hadn’t realized it was so late.”
Julian rose reluctantly. “Forgive me for keeping you up, Aunt Sophia. I shall take myself home, but thank you for a most pleasant evening.”
“You must come again soon,” she replied as he bent over her hand.
“I should like that very much,” he murmured.
