Page 17 of My Wicked Earl
Miranda resembled a wounded doe. Defiant, she clutched a book to her stomach so forcefully Donata worried she would tear the leather.
“Lord Kilmaire,” Donata smiled in greeting as Colin stood and bowed over her proffered hand.
“Lady Cambourne.” The ends of his hair brushed pleasurably against Donata’s arm.
What a beautiful man Colin was. He’d always been handsome, of course, even as a lad he’d turned a lady’s head. Unfortunately, she sensed that there was nothing left of the boy he’d once been, nor the earnest young man who’d visited her son, Robert, in this very house.
Easy to blame the scar, of course. The wound was dreadful, there was no getting around it, but it did not detract from Colin’s masculine beauty. She rather thought it kept him from being too beautiful. Women still admired him. The tragedy of his family would certainly lend one to be rather dour, but Donata sensed that was not the reason for his manner, though she did wish he would stop dressing as if he were in mourning. Thomas, his final family member, had been dead for nearly two years. Although, Donata had to admit, the dark colors accentuated his coloring and gave Colin an air of melancholy that few women could resist.
“It is a pleasure to see you.” A hint of Irish graced Colin’s words. Purposefully, she thought. While he normally sought to suppress the accent, he’d learned early on that women in particular, adored the sound of it.
So, the scamp seeks to charm me.
And Colin wasexceedinglycharming when hewishedto be. Had he wished to charm the ladies of theton, he certainly could. He just didn’t wish to.
“I did wonder, Lord Kilmaire, when you would decide to grace me with your presence.”
“I received your note only this morning, Lady Cambourne. I came as soon as I was bid.”
Donata raised a brow. She disliked having to summon people. They should anticipate that she requested their presence.
“Poor of you to make me chase you down, Lord Kilmaire. You asked for my assistance at His Grace’s wedding. I would have thought the request would have prompted you to call on me much earlier. After all, His Grace has been married for some time now.”
A lazy smile crossed Colin’s lips. “I have been trying to reacquaint myself with society, as you suggested. It has been a challenging adjustment.”
Donata pursed her lips in rebuke. “Doubtful. I know you’ve been invited to any number of homes and balls, and are now a member atWhite’s. At any rate, I spent last night considering your choices. We have much work to do.”
And, indeed Donatahadbeen thinking of Colin last night.
One of the curses of old age was not sleeping well, or in her case, sometimes not at all. Last night, even after reading a particularly boring treatise on Greek architecture borrowed from Sutton, Donata found sleep eluded her. Believing a glass of sherry would help, Donata decided to rise and fetch herself one. No reason to summon the maid at such an unreasonable hour. She slowly made her way to her grandson’s study, once her son’s study. The room comforted her and so she thought to take her repast there.
Unfortunately, there was not a drop of sherry in her grandson’s study, so instead Donata opted for a small snifter of brandy.
Lord Kilmaire, approaching her just after the Duke of Dunbar’s wedding, had tasked Donata with finding him a wealthy, suitable bride. There was little time left in the Season, and Lord Kilmaire wished to marry as soon as possible. The wealthier the better.
Donata did not judge him for his haste. She knew what a muck of things his parents made of Runshaw Park. So, as she sipped her brandy, Donata pondered potential brides for Lord Kilmaire. Her mind drifted to the lackluster pair of men who were pursuing Miranda. She’d always found it strange that Miranda had not married after her first Season, after all she’d been most sought after. Even stranger that Robert, Donata’s son, had not insisted his daughter marry. Miranda was rather a bookish sort and still was, which put many gentlemen off, no matter her beauty or her dowry. She was always asking to be taken to the museum, or a lecture, rather than the opera. With Robert often busy and Sutton having run off to Macao, Miranda had been escorted to various intellectual offerings by her brother’s dear friend, Colin Hartley, who had been visiting London at the time. Colin dined so often at Cambourne House that Donata joked it was as if he lived there.
The truth struck her so forcefully at that moment that she dribbled brandy down the front of her dressing gown.Right in front of me, and I couldn’t see it.
The press of Colin’s hand on her arm as he assisted her to the couch brought Donata’s mind back from the previous night’s discovery. “I was concerned, Lord Kilmaire, that the poor weather would dissuade you from calling upon me, no matter my summons.” She watched in appreciation as his large form slid into a nearby chair.
“Perish the thought, Lady Cambourne. A bit of rain would never keep me away from your company.”
Again, the lilt came up in his words and Donata allowed herself to enjoy his gentle flirtatious manner. She didadoreColin. Her eyes lingered over the scar on the left side of his face. How could such a thing have occurred? To be attacked by one’s own mother? Lady Rose Kilmaire had been an unbalanced woman, prone to flights of fancy. She’d once been found wading about in a fountain during Lady Meuring’s garden party. At the time, Lady Kilmaire claimed her feet were too warm in her shoes and the goldfish darting around the fountain wished to play with her toes.
The woman was completely mad, though Donata never thought she would injure her own child.Never.
It was one of the rare times Donata had misjudged someone.
“Good afternoon Granddaughter. The day is so lacking light I didn’t see you lolling about my favorite couch.”
“Good afternoon, Grandmother.” Miranda appeared ready to flee at any moment, her distress evident, reminding one of a trapped bird waiting rather impatiently for a cat to pass by.
Donata raised a brow at the tea stains on Miranda’s bodice, the overturned tray, and the spilled bits of raisin cake on the floor. A crumb was caught in the dark locks of Miranda’s hair. “It appears that you’ve had an accident of sorts. I do hope you didn’t stain my couch, though happily it appears most of the tea landed on you.”
“I was startled and—”
Donata turned from her, giving Miranda no time to excuse herself from the room.
