Page 72 of My Wicked Earl
In no way did Miss Lainscott’s playing tonight resemble those tepid performances.
Miss Lainscott’s slight form bent back and forth wildly, as if caught in a torrid embrace with a lover, while her fingers, gloveless, flew over the keys. Lashes flickering against her cheeks, her mouth widened in a beckoning smile as a deep rose suffused her cheeks. Her feet moved in time to the music beneath the bench on which she sat, skirts flipping up to expose trim ankles. The raw sensuality with which Miss Lainscott played completely transformed her. No longer plain and ordinary, she’d transformed into a siren. A seducer of men.
LADYDOBSON,thin lips curled in disapproval, regarded her niece with something akin to distaste. Angrily fluttering her fan from one boney wrist, she narrowed her eyes at Miss Lainscott, no doubt already thinking how best to punish the girl.
Miranda really could not wait for Lady Dobson to depart the premises.
On the other side of the room, Lady Cottingham and her daughter stood guard over the Dowager, monopolizing her attention. Lady Helen wore a gown of pale lilac adorned with ornately tied bows around the skirt. In her hair she wore an enormous feather suffused with jewel tones. The feather wafted gracefully about her cheek as she spoke to Grandmother.
It looked suspiciously like a peacock feather. She should tell Zander to check tails of all of the peacocks that made Gray Covington their home.
Lady Helen appeared to be discussing something of great importance with Grandmother, although it did not appear that the Dowager felt the same. Grandmother’s eyes held a faraway look as if she wished she were somewhere else. She turned slightly trying to catch Miranda’s attention over Lady Helen’s shoulder, possibly to beg rescue from the ladies Cottingham.
Miranda ignored the plea in her grandmother’s eyes.
Mrs. Cottingham and her daughter seemed unaware of the Dowager’s lack of interest. Lady Helen in particular seemed very agitated, even moving her perfectly gloved hands in order to make some point. Birds, probably. The action caused the feather she wore to become unmoored. It was tilting, the nib began to point up as the plume turned to caress Lady Helen’s neck.
It would be kind of Miranda to inform Lady Helen that her headdress was coming undone. The girl looked ridiculous with her hair adornment listing across her face.
Just then, Lady Helen stopped speaking, her mouth curling into a seductive smile as her attention was taken by the Earl of Kilmaire making his way around the room.
Miranda’s thought to inform Lady Helen of her mounting disaster with the feather was immediately discarded. She was not feeling especially kind towards Lady Helen this evening.
Lord Ridley and Lord Hamill were circling around Miranda like sharks smelling blood in the water. Each man constantly espoused their individual virtues while she nodded and pretended to carefully consider their suit. Lady Helen stalked Colin about Gray Covington as if he were a rare species of bird, even going so far as to boldly brush her breasts against him repeatedly at the breakfast table yesterday morning. The only person whose company Miranda enjoyed was that of Miss Lainscott.
Every bit of this nightmare was Grandmother’s fault.
Miranda’s eyes rested on Colin as he wandered about the room, greeting first her brother, then Alex. Again, he wore not a bit of color, his formal attire all black except for the snowy white shirt and neckcloth he wore. The scar flashed across his cheek, peeking through the waves of his honey-colored hair. She watched as he dangled a glass of wine carelessly from one hand, laughing at something Alex said to him. He hated wine.
She looked away, not wishing to be caught ogling the Earl of Kilmaire.
After telling Colin the whole of her scandal and the death of Archie Runyon, Miranda felt immeasurably better. The burden of carrying the tale of that day within her took a toll Miranda hadn’t acknowledged until she was free of it. She’d never discussed that day with anyone. Not her brother, nor Alex. Not even Arabella, her dearest friend.
A wave of sadness washed through her. Colin had always been at the very center of her world. First, during her childhood at Gray Covington, then later, as the young woman she’d once been. His rejection pained her. Was he incapable of love? Did he only seduce her for sport? Last night, as they sat together in the library, Miranda had allowed herself to hope, only to have that hope thrown back in her face. The worst part was, she didn’t know why.
I may never understand. Perhaps I am better off not knowing.
Her eyes followed Colin’s form as he made his way through the room. Miranda inhaled, imagining she smelled cheroot and whiskey, two things she would always associate with the Earl of Kilmaire. The physical attraction between them had not dimmed with the passing of years. Even being in the same room with him caused a prickling of sexual awareness that frightened her. As it had in the library.
She’d been avoiding him ever since.
After herdiscussionwith Colin the night before, Miranda had gone down to breakfast in a rather poor mood. Lady Helen’s behavior that morning, practically throwing herself on Colin’s plate like a serving of kippers, only increased Miranda’s annoyance. She declined to join the other guests for a picnic near the ruins of the ancient Cambourne keep, insisting she needed to pay a call on the vicar’s wife, who was ailing.
Over her grandmother’s objections, she’d taken a basket of freshly baked bread and some cheese to Vicar Paulson’s wife. The simple task of visiting Mrs. Paulson and catching up on the village gossip had done Miranda a world of good. And Mrs. Paulson as well. The poor woman had been laid up for several weeks with a broken ankle after tripping over her dog.
Upon her return, citing exhaustion, Miranda took a tray in her room and did not go down for dinner, only joining the party to hear Miss Lainscott’s performance.
A crescendo of music echoed through the room as Miss Lainscott launched into another piece on the piano, a rather erotic and sensual sounding piece.
Lady Dobson snapped her fan loudly, clearly announcing her irritation to the room.
Lord and Lady Payne sat near Lady Dobson and her annoyed fan. Miranda had known the Earl of Payne for many years, as their land bordered Gray Covington to the east. Their daughter, Lady Barbara, had been a childhood friend of Miranda’s, though Miranda was several years older.
Lady Barbara’s copper hair caught the light as she leaned in to say something to her mother, her profile delicate and refined. Lady Barbara was slender, athletic and renowned for her horsemanship. Everything Miranda was not. Miranda was far from athletic, except for her excellent marksmanship, and she didn’t think that actually counted. She was also not “willowy” a description one often heard in conjunction with Lady Barbara.
She would at least be a better choice for Colin than Lady Helen.
Lord Payne was notoriously protective of his daughter ever since his son and heir, Lord Benjamin, disappeared in the wilds of America. Miranda’s father and Lord Payne had often shared a bottle of scotch together, each mourning the loss of their sons.
