Page 75 of My Wicked Earl
Grandmother had rebuilt Gray Covington, and her first request, besides the completion of the gardens, was that as many rooms as possible have a view of the magnificent parkland surrounding the estate. A terrace had been constructed along the entire back of the house that overlooked a maze of paths all leading into the gardens. Each room that faced the gardens also contained large, floor to ceiling doors that opened to the grounds.
A footman immediately opened a pair of those doors and swung them wide, inviting the evening air to filter through the conservatory. The scent of moist earth and the delicate aroma of roses filled Miranda’s nostrils.
Peace.The gardens of Gray Covington offered sanctuary to Miranda, as they had when she was a child and sought to escape her nanny, or as she grew older, the constant scolding of her mother.
Laughter sounded from across the room, low and deep.
Colin, his hair shining like a beacon in the candlelight, tilted his large form over the arm of the couch on which Lady Barbara sat. He laughed again, his eyes crinkling at some joke the pair shared.
Lady Barbara lifted her chin and gave what looked to be a saucy reply.
Jealously Miranda decided, was an awful, dark emotion. It made one wish to stride across the room and punch her childhood friend right in her lovely face.
Almost as if she bade him, Colin turned.
Their eyes caught and held. His lips moved, speaking to Lady Barbara, though his gaze never left Miranda.
Miranda blinked and looked away.
She barely felt the touch of Lord Ridley at her elbow, agreeing to his suggestion of a walk in the garden without thinking.
Anything to get her out of this room and away from Colin.
COLIN SPENTthe better part of Miss Lainscott’s performance longing for Miranda. To be fair, he’d spent nearly every moment since coming to Gray Covington wanting her. But the passionate playing of Miss Lainscott seemed to enhance his desire. And her playing was quite passionate. He wondered that Miss Lainscott didn’t burst into flames before their eyes while at the piano.
Miranda seemed not to notice him, perched as she was upon a damask settee, her powder blue skirts draped provocatively about her generous curves. Curves he had felt through the thin protection of her dressing gown as she’d confessed her role in the death of Archie Runyon and the ensuing innuendo that followed. No one would ever be able to prove the truth, but the suggestion that Miranda had been involved was enough to tarnish her.
He’d awoken in the library as the sun was barely lighting the sky, his mouth dry as parchment and his head aching. As the sun rose higher and the sound of the maids making their rounds met his ears, Colin struggled to unwind his form from the leather chair, wincing at the slight twinge in his neck. Lavender and honey permeated his shirt, along with several, long inky black hairs. His heart ached for Miranda, along with the thought that had he not been holed up at Runshaw Park, he could have protected her somehow. Which was ridiculous.
I only wished to comfort her. I’d had too much whiskey.
He recognized the thought for the lie it was. Once Miranda sat in the circle of his arms, nothing else mattered to him. Not St. Remy, nor the damned letter with his ring rolling out. Certainly not the amount of whiskey he’d had. None of it.
Loss created a giant aching pit in his stomach, an abyss that widened and became more immense with each passing day. He sat for the longest time in the library, ignoring the maids, who in turn pretended that there wasn’t a large man with a scar looking as if he’d slept in a chair all night with a decanter of whiskey at his elbow.
The two maids dusted around him and carefully removed his empty glass.
As he sat thinking, the maids rubbed beeswax into the table next to him, Colin pondered the insanity of the situation he found himself in.
I am planning on marrying a woman I don’t want to restore an estate I don’t care about.
He was deeply conflicted where Miranda was concerned. Colin was not the most trusting of men to begin with and Miranda had betrayed that trust in the most terrible way possible. His mind insisted that she beg his forgiveness. Admit her mistake. Express her regret.
By the time he decided to find Miranda and speak to her, Colin was reminded, gently by Zander, of a planned excursion to view the Cambourne ruins. The Cottinghams swallowed him up as soon as he came down the stairs.
Miranda did not join the excursion, much to Colin’s disappointment.
Lady Cottingham and her daughter stuck to him like burrs. Clothed in some ridiculous pink confection, completely inappropriate for an exploratory walk through stone ruins, Lady Helen resembled an extravagant cake topper.
She immediately took Colin’s arm as they alit from the carriage in a death grip.
He resisted the urge to shake her free.
Miss Lainscott and her aunt settled themselves on a blanket, placed according to Lady Dobson’s instructions by one of the footmen.
Lady Dobson spent her time ignoring the repast of cold chicken, cheese and an assortment of fruit prepared by the Gray Covington cook in favor of shooting hot scathing looks at the Cottingham’s.
Miss Lainscott watched Lady Helen’s antics with laughter glinting in her eyes.
