Page 88 of My Wicked Earl
“You’ve believed the worst,” Alex snapped, “and not trusted the one person you should have, leaving you both miserable. That’s what you’ve done.”
“Alex.” Donata nodded her head to stop.
“I was lying in bed when the letter came,” Colin said in a low voice, perhaps more to himself that either Donata or Alex. “The surgeon was sewing up what remained of my cheek and I read her letter and…” A choking sound came from him.
“And you assumed the worst,” Donata added unnecessarily. “Had you been in your right mind, Colin, perhaps you would not have jumped to such a conclusion.”
“I have something I need to do.” His face offered no insight to his thoughts or emotions, for his features had become as smooth as glass, though Donata sensed the effort it took to hide his pain.
Making a short bow to both of them, and ignoring Alex’s poof of outrage at his dismissal, Colin stalked out of the room.
“I do not care for the Earl of Kilmaire just now, Grandmother. If I were Miranda, I’m not certain I’d forgive him. I’m not even certain he isgoingto Miranda. How can one know? What if he still marries Lady Helen?” Alex bit her lip. “What if it is too late? Miranda may have already betrothed herself to Ridley.”
“It is never too late, Alex.”
Donata prayed that it wasn’t.
21
Miranda sat before the fire, her much abused copy of Lord Thurston discarded on her lap. She’d tortured the poor book, tossing it across the room several times in her frustration and anger. A page was torn, and the fine leather scratched.
“He truly means to marry Lady Helen.” Staring at the bottle of whiskey stolen from Sutton’s study, she wondered if Sutton noticed her theft of his liquor yet. Even if he did notice that a bottle of his very finest whiskey had disappeared, Sutton would likely blame Ridley. Her future husband possessed not an ounce of decorum, assuming everything in Gray Covington belonged to him. Including Miranda.
I haven’t married him yet.
She’d almost taken some sherry but that seemed rather staid. Boring. Sherry was something the perfect Lady Helen would drink. Miranda equated whiskey with power. After all, her brother and his friends drank the amber liquid. So, had her father. Especially when faced with an unpleasant situation. Whiskeyfortifiedyou.
“God knows if anyone at Gray Covington deserves to get properly foxed it’s me. Trapped at this hideous house party, watching Lady Helen flutter her eyelashes and wear atrocious feathers in her hair. Panting after Colin in her breathless forward way. I am forced to watch this terrible play unfold while politely escaping the roving hands of Lord Hamill. I cannot believe I considered the old goat as a potential husband. In comparison Ridley comes out ahead, if one isn’t first greeted by one of his garishly designed waistcoats. Or minds that he makes no effort to hide the fact that he has a mistress. Well, I suppose he does, it’s not as if he’s brought her to Gray Covington. Lady Dobson just delights in informing me of such things for my own good.” Miranda ended her tirade with a large swallow of whiskey that left her coughing.
“I don’t care if Grandmother’s guests find me rude for staying in my rooms. Lady Dobson is already very clear in her opinion of the entire Cambourne family. The Cottinghams are barely presentable. Lord Cottingham addresses my breasts when he greets me, and Lady Cottingham is too busy being in awe of the great Satan Reynolds to watch her daughter launch herself at any man who will allow it.”
Miranda took a deep heaving breath, pausing for a moment to take another sip of whiskey. It felt good to unburden herself. Even if it was to an empty room.
“Lady Helen is a tart. Colin deserves to be burdened with her. She’ll probably decorate him with feathers.”
Just the thought of Lady Helen made her stomach roil.
After Miranda’s rather pathetic loss of control in the garden the other night, she’d hidden in her room. Ashamed and heartbroken, Miranda didn’t feel she was quite up to facing the house party again. Nor did she want to pretend false happiness when Colin’s betrothal to that twit was announced. She would tell her brother as soon as the guests left Gray Covington that Ridley would be her husband.
Miranda took another sip of whiskey and sighed. “I can’t come down for dinner because the thought of marrying Ridley makes my stomach hurt. Oh, dear, how shall I ever bed him?” She took another healthy swallow.
Ridley was really her only option. After witnessing Hamill’s drunken lechery, she found him a less than desirable candidate.
Sutton would not be pleased. His opinion of Ridley was no secret, especially not to Ridley.
“I don’t bloody give a fig whether Sutton’s nose is out of joint or not. I’ve got to marry Ridley, not my brother. Besides, had Sutton not been Colin’s friend none of this would have happened. A toast,” she raised the glass of whiskey and noticed how little of the liquid remained.
“Oh dear, this will never do.” Pouring another finger of whiskey into the glass she held it up again. “A toast, to Edmund Ralst, Viscount Ridley and my future husband.” She frowned. “Goodness, it’sEdwin, isn’t it?”
Edward – noEdwin, she corrected herself, wasn’t really a terrible sort. True, he was mainly after her dowry, but that could work to her advantage. He’d probably allow her to retire to the country after they wed. She was reasonably sure he found her attractive and would give her children.
“I’ll raise them away from London, in a place where we can chase butterflies and catch frogs. Ridley is welcome to pursue his life uninterrupted. I shan’t bother him.” There was a certain amount of freedom in that.
She shook her head and looked down at Lord Thurston, noticing with dismay that a page was torn. Looking at the page the nameMarcellastood out. There was something important about Marcella, but she couldn’t quite remember. Lord Thurston and Colin. Colin would make an excellent pirate.
“Damn.Why can’t I accept that we are not meant to be together?” She sipped her whiskey. “I was so sure, you see. Positive, in fact. I’ve been waiting all these years.” She took a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. “It’s all rather tragic, if I must say so.”
Miranda slung one leg over the side of her chair, shivering slightly. The room was cold, even though a fired blazed cheerfully in the hearth. Probably because she was wearing only a robe and nothing else. Proper ladies didn’t lounge about in a silk robe with one thigh exposed, and no undergarments. But Miranda wasn’t feeling especially proper. She’d brushed aside her maid, Clara, earlier that morning stating she’d spend the day in her robe.
