Page 15 of My Wicked Earl
“No. I find the word onyourlips amusing.”
Any hint of humor disappeared as his mouth drew tight. It was as if a someone opened the door on a cold winter day, blowing away any hint of the hunger displayed before. The Earl of Kilmaire fairly vibrated with anger. At her.
Whatever didhehave to be angry about?I am the injured party. I was the one who was ruined and abandoned as if I were some lightskirt.Perhaps it wasn’t anger but only concern that she would bring their past association to light? Miranda declined to respond.
The room grew silent except for the occasional burst of thunder and the rattling of the glass in the windows that followed.
Finally, Colin spoke. “I’m here at the invitation of the Dowager Marchioness. I would ask for refreshment, but it appears,” his eyes fell on the spilled tray, “that I’m late for tea. Or raisin cakes.”
“You never cared for them anyway as I recall,” Miranda snapped back, watching the way the scar pulled at his upper lip as he spoke. A week after he’d left her, no,abandonedher, Father relayed the information of Colin’s brother’s death and the attack by the Mad Countess. She’d written of course, even though she’d not heard from him. All she received was a short, curt note, telling Miranda to stay away. Then nothing for six long years.
“It is impolite to stare, Lady Miranda. If you care for the details, I’ll be happy to go over them with you,” he spat. “You see, we were having goose and—”
“I was wondering,” she interrupted, nodding to the expertly tailored charcoal coat and gray trousers, “what you could possibly have to discuss with Grandmother. Perhaps she is recommending a new wardrobe? You resemble an undertaker. Not a splash of color to be found anywhere. Not even your neckcloth, which, I might add, looks so tightly wound I wonder that you aren’t choking.” She smiled politely as if to say that shewishedit were choking him.
“I prefer not to be considered a dandy.” His tone was acid.
“Oh surely, Lord Kilmaire,” Miranda allowed a small laugh to accompany her words, “none woulddarefind you as such. Well, they do say a man’s clothing reflects his personality.”
“Do they?”
“Austere.Severe.You are the very furthest thing from a dandy. No one would dare accuse you of merriment, I assure you. Why, there’s probably a bet in the book at White’s on whether you will ever crack a smile, or God forbid, burst into laughter.”
The dark eyes narrowed on her. “What would a younglady, like yourself, know about betting books and White’s? Has one of your many suitors filled your head with such? I should speak to your brother. I’m sure he wouldn’t be pleased.”
She did not care for the way he said ‘lady’ as if she weren’t one. If her morals had been loosened it was due tohim. Her many suitors? That was rather deliberate andunkindconsidering she was certain Colin knew of theincident.Doubtless he knew the reason why the drawing room wasn’t packed with young gentlemen regardless of the storm outside.
“I find the weather is inhospitable to those wishing to pay calls,” she answered pointedly. “It keeps away those we would rather not have visit Cambourne House.” She lifted a brow. “Imagine my surprise that you found your way here.”
“I amhereat your grandmother’s request. The Dowager and I have business to discuss.” The words left his mouth in a slight hiss even as the velvet of his eyes hardened on her.
‘You taste delicious, Miranda. A banquet for a starving man.’
Colin had once whispered those words against her neck and just the memory of them caused warmth to creep over the tops of her breasts. Even now, as he stood glowering at her, no hint of caring in his dark eyes, Miranda allowed desire to wash over her. Desire Colin taught her.
Mother once told Miranda that if a man wished to bed a woman, he would pretend any amount of affection or pretty speeches to get what he wanted.
How disappointing that Mother had been right.
“Why in the world would Grandmother request you to call on her during a thunderstorm?” She’d often thought of what she would say to Colin, were they ever to be alone together again, but found she couldn’t quite form her questions. An ache started in her temple, a symptom of verbally sparring with Colin.
Colin begin to stride back and forth across the carpet, a big, golden cat, trapped by the rain in grandmother’s private drawing room. Even agitated as he was, Colin moved gracefully. If he’d ever deign to dance, he would dance beautifully.
“Lady Cambourne is assisting me in a personal matter.”
Miranda nearly choked. There was only one thing Grandmother could be helping him with.
Colin was looking for a wife. How foolish to think Colin came to Cambourne House forher. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach even as she grew angry with her grandmother. Which was ridiculous given that Grandmother had no idea that Miranda and Colin were once…something. Or that the Earl of Kilmaire had taken her virtue. No one knew.
Colin stopped pacing and settled himself with a jerking motion into the chair across from her. Muscles rippled beneath the smooth dark trousers as he stretched out the length of his legs and crossed them at the ankle. His mouth tightened as he looked at her, almost daring her to say more.
His tailor should be fired. The fit of his trousers wasindecent.Miranda knew the warm skin that lay beneath the fabric. She had traced her fingers down the curve of his thighs to brush against the thatch of golden hair that lay between them. Her entire body flamed even as she pressed her fingers firmly into the leather binding of Lord Thurston. No amount of time would erase the memory of this man, unclothed before her, in the light of the fire.
She allowed it. All of it. There had been no hesitation in giving herself to Colin. It had been the most beautiful night of her life.
And now, he’d caused her to regret it.
Her fingers tightened along the edge of the book. She longed to toss the tome squarely at his golden head. She had a good arm for throwing, she mused, and was very good at skipping rocks and such. And she’d proven herself a crack shot as well though that’s not at all the same as throwing a book. But still, she thought she could hit his temple and—
