Page 13 of My Wicked Earl
“Capt’n!” A shout came from the front of the ship. “It’s the Gorgon! She’s closing fast.”
Marcella wrenched herself away from Captain Mohab and ran to the railing. A ship was closing fast. The Gorgon. Lord Thurston’s ship.
“He’ll not save you.” Captain Mohab pressed his lips against her neck. “You’ll be mine.”
The crunch of wood splintering met her ears as the Gorgon scraped against Captain Mohab’s vessel. A cry reached her ear, the sound of men boarding the ship.
“I told you he would come for me.” She spat at Captain Mohab.
“Leave her!” A lusty roar echoed from the flapping sails as men scattered before the angry avenging angel who threw himself atop the deck.
“Marcella.” Lord Thurston, his features, grim with worry, searched her face for any sign of injury. A firm arm wound around her waist, pulling her behind Lord Thurston as he thrust out with his sword. She melted into him, overcome with relief and something else.
Miranda sighed and turned the page, relieved to hear the storm intensifying outside. Thank goodness for rainy days. The inclement weather would keep all but the most obstinate ladies from calling to pay homage to the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne.
If the day was relatively free of rain, a steady stream of fashionably garbed ladies, their bland daughters trailing them, would arrive to engage her grandmother in what passed for witty conversation. Grandmother would receive them all in the formal drawing room, a room whose furnishings were so rich as to leave no doubt as to the power of the Cambourne’s and the Dowager Marchioness. The visitors would be appropriately grateful the Dowager was home to receive them.
Most of the titled ladies wished to advance themselves by associating with the Dowager Marchioness or sought advice on how to find a suitable match for their dull daughters, for Grandmother was known to be an expert matchmaker. Some ladies, braver than the rest, fairly ran up the steps to call at Cambourne House hoping to catch a glimpse of Miranda’s brother, Sutton, a man whose very presence caused the ladies of thetonto swoon.
How her sister-in-law, Alex, tolerated such nonsense, Miranda would never understand.
Miranda, if forced, and she often was, would sit beside Grandmother, wearing her mask of carefully cultivated politeness. She would nod graciously, pretending to be enthralled by a discussion of what Lady Halstead wore to the opera, even though Lady Halstead could have arrived naked to her box and thrown herself at the stage and Miranda would still not be the least interested.
There were other callers, male and female alike, who came to gawk at Miranda, a woman who had once been the most sought after young lady in London during her first Season. A woman who now had one foot firmly on the shelf. A beautiful spinster with only a handful of suitors because of the scandal.
Lady Miranda, thetontwittered, hadshota man.
That last part, unproven, but scandalous in the extreme, was enough for Miranda to be considered,unsuitable.
So Miranda would sit, hands clasped and displaying perfect posture, on the edge of the couch and listen while theton’stitled ladies touted the many attributes of their insipid daughters while sipping their tea and stealing smug glances at Miranda.
The satisfaction displayed by these ladies was, Miranda admitted, probably justified, though not wholly directed at her. The superior attitudes displayed had much more to do with Miranda’s mother, a woman who had lorded over these very ladies as if she were a queen. How many young ladies had Mother ruined with just one cutting remark? One small bit of gossip? Many a young girl’s reputation had been questioned. Chances for a brilliant match ruined Invitations had beendenied.
It was only fair, Miranda supposed, that these fine ladies gloated a bit. Mother had been rather unkind.
At any rate, Miranda would much rather spend the afternoon with Lord Thurston. Books were so much easier than people, especially the people and circles within society whom Miranda was to embrace. Honestly, there were times she felt as if she were an oddity in a circus, a poor freak trapped in a cage while the world looked on her in muted, sympathetic horror.
Sutton did everything in his power to quell the talk regarding theincident, as the Cambourne family called it, but to no avail. If a young, unmarried woman possibly shot a man, even in defense of one’s brother, sooner or later the gossips of thetonwould find out. Young ladies of good breeding did not handle firearms, let alone shoot their mother’s cousin.
Even though Cousin Archie had been a horrible person and had certainly deserved shooting.
One of the retainers at Helmsby Abbey officially took the credit for Archie’s death, claiming he did so in defense of Lord and Lady Cambourne. But somehow the truth, in the form of innuendo, blazed like wildfire through theton. Lady Cambourne herself was likely the culprit, for upon learning of Archie’s death, Mother fell into a heap of silk skirts, screaming out her hatred for Miranda before collapsing like a wounded animal.
Until then, Miranda had thought her mother incapable of love, when in fact, it was only that the Marchioness was incapable of loving Miranda.
It no longer matteredwhorepeated the tale. The damage to Miranda’s reputation was swift and unrelenting. No matter that she was the granddaughter of one of the reigning matrons of theton, the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne. Not even Grandmother could fix society’s opinion of Miranda.
Miranda returned her attention to the page before her. Lord Thurston deserved better than to have her attention wander. Truthfully, her mood today was not due to her mother nor her decision to marry one of the two rather desperate gentlemen courting her.
No, it was the sudden appearance of one specific gentleman.
Colin Hartley, now the Earl of Kilmaire and the object of her ruination, had finally returned to London. How casually he’d greeted her weeks ago in the Duke of Dunbar’s drawing room as if they were nothing to each other but family friends. Frowning slightly as if her presence gave him a headache, he’d guided her from the room before dropping her arm as if the very touch of her disgusted him. Colin disappeared before she’d had an opportunity to speak to him, though he clearly had no desire to speak toher.
The page blurred before her for a moment and she angrily blinked back the tears starting to form.
The Earl of Kilmaire was obviously taking great pains to avoid Miranda at every turn, so she returned the favor, fleeing his sight whenever possible. She took comfort in assuring herself he wasn’t the same man. Not anymore..
Colin was still beautiful, a sleek, golden lion stalking about the salons and ballrooms of London. The scar, angrily bisecting the left side of his face, did not detract from his looks but only added to the aura of suppressed danger that surrounded him. He remained aloof. Cold. If youdidcatch the Earl of Kilmaire smiling, you would see that the smile did not extend to the deep velvet of his eyes. This Colin was not the one that Miranda had loved so fiercely.
