Taking Miranda around the waist, he lifted her to sit on the edge of the breakfast table. She’d told someone else—three someones, actually—about her troubles, and while the idiot white-knight part of him wanted to be the only one to know, the only one who could save her, the more sane and logical bits of his brain realized quite well that she’d be better off if at least one other person had an inkling about her troubles. He’d been gone from London for nearly a day, after all, and if something had gone wrong, only her brother would have known to step in, if he’d had the spleen to do so.
Now that she had more support, however, he wasn’t entirely certain where he stood. Aye, she kissed with enough passion to arouse even a jaded cynic like himself, but everything she did aroused him. Her appearance, her voice, the biting, direct things she said, the swish of her skirts when she turned, the violet scent of her hair.
He wanted to ask her if she’d told her friends about Vale because she was bloody brilliant, or if it had been because she still didn’t entirely trust him. And however much he could tell himself that it didn’t matter, that he’d resolved to aid her whether she proved to be using him or not, he knew the truth. Itdidmatter, and she mattered, and the way she felt about him mattered.
“Where did you go?” she asked, when he lifted his head to take a ragged breath. “You took your brother, and you’ve been riding for fourteen hours, you said. That does not sound like an excursion to go wagering at Jezebel’s or Boodle’s.”
“First tell me ye’re still unmarried and unbetrothed, lass.”
“I am still unspoken for,” she returned. “Your suggestions for conversation and the strawberries nearly gave Captain Vale an apoplexy last night, though.”
“Damned shame that they didnae. That would’ve solved some problems.”
“I would have to agree with you.”
Aden looked down into her chocolate-colored eyes, and time simply… stopped.Sweet Saint Andrew.It would be wiser to keep his thoughts to himself, to do what he’d sworn and just wait. And yet he was always wise and logical, and this time it was tearing at his insides like an angry wildcat. “I promised myself I’d nae put any more weight on yer shoulders, Miranda Grace,” he murmured.
Her brows furrowed. “Where in the world were you? Is something amiss? Something more, I mean?”
“Nae for me. For ye, well, it could be. I meant to wait until ye had yer life free from Vale, until ye had choices, real choices, in front of ye again. But I love ye, and I have for some time now. If I dunnae tell ye how I feel right now, then I’m liable to shout it out loud the next time I set eyes on ye.”
Miranda’s sweet mouth opened and then closed again. “You—”
“I dunnae expect ye to say anything in return,boireannach gaisgeil. And I’ll help ye whether ye want me about or nae. I just realized that yer being in trouble or nae has naught to do with how I feel about ye.”
“Say it again, Aden,” she whispered after a too-long moment.
“All of that?”
“I will punch you, you know.”
That made him grin. Remarkable, this lass. “I love ye, Miranda. I like ye, I admire ye, and I love ye.”
She looked down at her hand as she tugged on the top button of his waistcoat. And aye, he wanted to hear her say the words back to him. But then he’d just told her that she didn’t need to do any such thing. And he’d made it clear that her feelings wouldn’t affect whether he continued to aid her or not—though he would have liked to know whether he was risking ruining his own life for more than a passing smile. If he was a fool, at least he was aware of that fact.
“I went to Portsmouth,” he said, trying to give her room to maneuver if she wanted it. “I decided that short of sailing to India, finding a sailor or two who served with Vale would give me the best chance at getting some answers about his character.”
No response. Just more carnage to his waistcoat buttons.
“We had the right of it. He’s lied and cheated and manipulated his betters at every corner. He especially liked bleeding the sons of admirals dry, and then asking their das for medals and assignments and promotions. I doubt he’s ever had a man challenge him to his face, and I reckon he’s nae lost a wager he wanted to win.”
“I insulted you the first moment we met,” she stated.
“So ye did.”
“The first words I spoke to you.”
Deep down he’d hoped for a slightly more romantic exchange. But then, conventional, sugary-sweet romance was damned dull. “Ye spoke yer piece. I’ve nae had any trouble figuring out where ye stand.”
“Don’t make excuses for me,” Miranda retorted. “I was rude, when I’m almost never rude to anyone. And I kept asking myself why I said what I did.”
“Ye thought me a gambler, and ye’d at least two good reasons to nae like wagering. Ye still do.”
Miranda put a hand over his mouth, and he just barely resisted the temptation to kiss her palm. “Yes, I still have several good reasons to dislike wagering. Even more now than I did then. I thought… You’re a striking man, Aden. You walked into that room with a dog you’d just rescued and your shirt dirty and wet and… clinging to your muscles, and a kilt and boots and your poetical hair, and… my mouth went dry.”
“‘Poetical hair’?” he repeated behind her hand, lifting an eyebrow. She’d get around to making her point when she was good and ready to do so, but thus far it all seemed to be shifting in his direction—which lent him a touch more patience.
With her free fingers she tugged a lock of his so-called poetical hair down over one of his eyes. “Oh, please. I think you know exactly the effect you have on women. Half of them at luncheon were practically drooling over you.” She freed his mouth. “You made me angry, strolling in there and being so grimy and not even caring. And yes, I do have reason to dislike wagering. And wagerers.”
