He cocked his head a little, something that might have been disappointment crossing his gaze, but so swiftly that she couldn’t be certain she hadn’t imagined it. “Are ye certain of that? It doesnae appeal to ye that ye could be the one to decide which rules ye want to follow, and that it’s nae but yer own wits that might win or lose the night for ye? Do ye reckon that your polite rules are keeping Vale awake at might?”
Miranda hadn’t looked at her dilemma that way before. Matthew, and Uncle John—could it be that they simply hadn’t understood the rules? That didn’t explain everything, and it seemed like something a gambler would say, but at the same time she had to acknowledge that Vale played by his own set of rules, and she’d been playing by Society’s. Rules she hadn’t made for herself. Of course that gave the captain the advantage. What did it mean,though, playing by her own rules? She still had to function within Society—or she would if she meant for her life to resume as it had previously once they’d dealt with the awful man in the naval uniform.
“Why wouldn’t I wish to follow Society’s rules and principles?” she asked, half hoping he had an answer for that question. “This is where I live.”
“First of all, Society’s rules say yer brother lost fifty thousand pounds, so ye’re to abide by whatever terms he and Vale settled on. It says yer parents arenae to be distressed, and there cannae be a scandal, so ye’re to marry the bastard and pretend to be happy for the rest of yer life.”
That was a bit simplistic, but it also felt… true. She’d seen her share of unhappy marriages where the couple clearly detested each other but stayed together because of convention or because one side or the other had a benefit in doing so.
“I can’t run away.”
“Lass, I’m nae suggesting ye go anywhere. I’m wondering whether ye’re willing to get a wee bit muddy—dirty—to rid yerself of Robert Vale.” He shrugged, his gaze lowering to her mouth in a way that made her insides heat all over again. “What I’m suggesting is that ye might find ye like doing things yer own way.”
She knew he wasn’t just talking about her dilemma with Vale. Miranda swallowed. “And you would be willing to show me this… dark side? To be my guide, as it were?”
That smile touched his mouth again. “Aye. I’d be willing to be yer guide through the darkness. And ye can guide me through the light. Mayhap we’ll each of us learn something of value.”
Oh, just thinking about this conversation was going to keep her awake for the next hundred nights. “I still don’tthink that makes this an equal partnership. And I can’t pay you, but when Matthew and Eloise marry, we will be brother and sister of a sort. If—”
“I will end this partnership if ye ever call me yer brother ever again,” he interrupted, scowling. “Ye ken I want ye. Say someaught about that before we take one more step.”
For a Highlander barbarian gambler, Aden MacTaggert seemed to have quite a wide streak of… honor running through him. “If I asked you to stop kissing and flirting with me, you would do so?”
He drew himself up a bit straighter, seeming to retreat from her in more than just physical distance. “Aye,” he said, his voice flat and toneless.
“And you would continue to aid me?”
“I gave ye my damned word, Miranda. I couldnae call myself a man if I didnae keep it.”
“Let’s go join our families then, shall we?” She willed herself to release her grip on him and turned up the hallway.
His hand closed on her shoulder, stopping her forward progress as effectively as a wall. “Are ye asking me, then? To stop?”
Blowing out her breath, trying to appear more courageous than she felt, Miranda faced him. “I believe I’ve made it clear that I am proficient at saying what I mean. Oh, and if anyone asks what we were discussing, my mother is mortified that we owned a copy ofTom Jonesfor you to borrow, and I’ve secretly given it to you and told you never to mention that it came from the Harris household.”
His fingers tightened momentarily on her shoulder, and then his warm mouth brushed against the nape of her neck. “Ye may just undo me, lass. I look forward to that.”
In a breathless, terrifyingly giddy sort of way, so did she.
Something over the past hour had tilted sideways. Perhaps Miranda’s kiss, when she’d stomped up and put her mouth on his just to make a point to her brother, had addled his brain. Because she hadn’t said she liked him, and she hadn’t said that she didn’t, and yet if he’d been a man who sang a tune, he would have been singing. Aden kept up his light banter with Mrs. Harris while the conundrum of the woman’s daughter continued slowly to drive him mad.
He did feel like he’d been unleashed to a degree. Miranda understood that appealing to Vale’s honor, or relying on hope that the captain would act counter to his own self-interest, was as useful as a cat herding sheep. Her sense of propriety had all but assured Vale of a victory. She couldn’t do anything with the confines of polite Society to stop him.
Now, though, she’d realized that they might well have to resort to doing something—several somethings—that Society would consider underhanded. And in theory, at least, she seemed willing to step out of her rosy, comfortable, proper life and help do what needed to be done. Whatever that happened to be.
That meant he needed a plan now other than simply being visible to Vale and perhaps sparking a few questions. He needed to be a threat. A large one. Luckily, he came by that fairly naturally. When the conversation in the room dropped for a moment, he sat forward. “Mr. Harris, Coll says ye offered to sponsor him at Boodle’s. I wonder if ye might do that for me, since Coll willnae ever be civilized enough to walk through the doors of a gentlemen’s club.”
“I’ve nae reason to dispute that,” Coll stated.
Aden had asked a favor of Harris, a marquis’s grandson, in a way no true Sassenach gentleman would do, but being presumed to be a Scottish clod with no sense of propriety had served him well on several occasions now. Sometimes being precisely what other people expected was the most useful thing a lad could do. If Miranda wished to instruct him on proper etiquette later, well, he had no objection to that.
Albert Harris took a drink of brandy and smiled. “I would be honored. I’m meeting some friends there for luncheon tomorrow, in fact. You’re welcome to join us.”
And that was how a blackguard used other people’s good manners to get what he wanted. Except that in this instance he was working toward being heroic, for the sake of a sharp-tongued damsel in distress who had just more or less intimated that he was welcome to continue paying her attentions. Ones that at the very least included kissing.
Aden nodded. “Thank ye. What time shall I come by?”
“Ah. I’ll come by Oswell House with my coach at one o’clock, shall I? And… dress is proper daytime attire.”
