Page 16 of My Wicked Earl
“That would be unwise, Miranda,” Colin growled, guessed at the train of her thoughts while dropping all pretense of formality.
She still adored the way he said her name.Damn him.
“Do you really think I would risk damaging my new Lord Thurston novel by tossing it atyourhead? I wouldn’t wish to damage the spine. It was quite expensive. A first edition.”
"Yes, I recallwellyour reluctance to risk anything, especially where the finer things are concerned. You do so adore all that society offers as well as your place in it.”
It sounded like an accusation, but what, exactly, was he accusing her of?
“Is there something you wish to discuss with me, Lord Kilmaire? For I would have you speak plainly instead of with innuendo I cannot make sense of.”
“We have nothing to discuss, not now or ever.” The scar darkened until it resembled a crimson bolt of lightning shooting across his cheek. A hint of Irish had entered his words, a sure sign that Lord Kilmaire did not have a firm grip on his emotions.
‘You belong to me, Colin Hartley.’
‘Yes. All of my days.”
Miranda felt as if she were suffocating under the force of her emotions. How could that have been a lie? In addition to lovers, Colin had been Miranda’s best friend. The person she was closest to in the world. They’d gone to museums and lectures. Bookstores. Walks in the park. And now he wanted nothing to do with her. Perhaps he feared that Miranda would suddenly cry ruination to her brother, though it was a bit late for that.
Miranda was appalled to realize she was close to tears.
“In case you are concerned, I would never remotely insinuate that we once bore each other any affection, especially to Sutton. It is not something I wish to admit to.”
Looking into her lap, she blinked rapidly to stay the tears that threatened to spill. She was clutching Lord Thurston so tightly she was likely damaging the leather. Anger at his rejection warred with the pain she felt. He wished never to discuss the past, so be it.
“Miranda.”
Did she imagine the longing with which he whispered her name?
Whatever he had been about to say was cut short by the appearance of a lanky, ginger-haired lad, dressed in the Cambourne livery, swinging open the drawing room door.
“Lady Cambourne,” Harry, her grandmother’s personal footman announced as he made a short bow. Turning slightly, he held out his arm to lend his assistance to the elderly woman behind him, her cane thumping as she made her way into the room.
4
Well, it appears I’ve interrupted something.
Donata Reynolds, Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, held tightly to young Harry’s arm, her other hand firmly grasping the head of her cane as she moved forward. A burst of impulsiveness led her to instruct Bevins to put Lord Kilmaire in her private sitting room instead of the more formal drawing room. Miranda often hid herself here on rainy days to read.
Inspiration had a way of striking when least expected.
Only someone who was completely obtuse, and Donata was far from obtuse, would miss the tightly controlled manner in which Lord Kilmaire treated her granddaughter. It had not always been so. Colin Hartley was nearly a member of the Cambourne family, having spent many summers at Gray Covington. Miranda had lavished her childhood affection on Colin, calling him her prince and stating rather firmly that she would marry him one day. The two had been close. The older Colin growing ever more protective of the much younger Miranda, whom he viewed as a younger sibling. Many years later, when Colin visited the Cambourne family in London during the time of Miranda’s debut, Colin squired Miranda about and the two formed a friendship of sorts.
Well, perhaps more than a friendship, she suspected.
Lord Kilmaire’s arrival over a month ago was very welcome by the Cambourne family, with one exception. Miranda. Now the two kept their distance from one another. No one seemed to notice. Except Donata.
Odd. Colin and Miranda had suddenly becomeaverseto each other.
Curious.
Add to that the fact that Miranda had never looked at Colin with anything but adoration since she was eight years old, and the whole of it was quite mysterious.
Or was it?
The air in the drawing room fairly crackled with tension between the two. Good Lord if she lit a match the entire room might burst into flames.
Lord Kilmaire, coldly polite and distant, so different from the Colin that Donata once doted upon, viewed her granddaughter with longing in the depth of his eyes. He was angry as well. Pained. The scar, that horrible reminder of his Mother’s hatred, shone dark pink across the left side of his face.
