If he closed his eyes, he could smell the sweet dessert’s precious aroma. The sound of a door being wrenched open interrupted his revelry.
“Ach, Miss Iris!”
Mrs. Keyes’s voice had Heathcliff opening his eyes from his reverent appreciation and regarding the reason for the interruption in his sensory delight.
Heathcliff looked at the woman pausing in the doorway of the green parlor, gripping the doorframe as if supporting herself from tumbling into the hall. Her green eyes flashed with mutiny, even as she straightened her shoulders and lifted her nose just slightly. “Forgive me, Mrs. Keyes,” she replied with a clipped tone, as if trying to be polite but finding it difficult.
“Well, now is as good a time as any.” Mrs. Keyes shrugged and turned to Heathcliff, pulling his attention from the young lady in the doorway. “My lord, may I introduce you to your ward, Miss Iris Grace Morgan.”
Heathcliff bowed smartly, confirming a few of his preconceived notions regarding his ward. The young lady’s fair skin paled further, and she dipped into a slightly awkward curtsey. “A pleasure, my lord,” she replied, her tone soft.
“Dancing again, Miss Iris?” Mrs. Keyes asked, a smile in her tone.
Heathcliff turned to the housekeeper, noting the familiar expression of amusement. How many times had he seen that same expression when inquiring about his activities as a lad?
His heart softened a bit toward Iris as he awaited her response.
Iris’s lips twitched as she cast a furtive glance to Heathcliff, then back to Mrs. Keyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ll catch on soon enough,” Mrs. Keyes encouraged. “But let’s take a short break for the moment. I’m assuming Miss Miranda is just behind you.”
Iris sighed and stepped from the doorway and glanced behind her. “No doubt awaiting to torture me further.”
“With dancing instructions?” Heathcliff couldn’t resist asking. Never before had he considered a lady might loathe dancing. Reasonably, he associated the two closely. It was intriguing.
“Indeed,” Iris replied simply, yet he sensed a simmering frustration below the surface. His attention was stolen by a movement just behind Miss Iris, and only years of self-discipline enabled him to hold his reaction in check.
In a word, the young woman was angelic. Beautiful in every sense, she was a feast for his gaze. Long, thick dark hair framed a delicate, heart-shaped face with wide, expressive brown eyes that seemed to radiate kindness. After performing a curtsey that would be welcome in Prinny’s court, she straightened and offered a reserved smile.
Mrs. Keyes coughed.
Heathcliff then realized he was expected to say something. He cast a quick glance to Mrs. Keyes, who was hiding a knowing grin. Bloody cheeky thing.
“Miss Miranda, I presume?” he inquired, offering a grin that surely bordered on the wolfish.
A leopard can’t change his spots; neither can a wolf tame his instincts.
“Yes, my lord,” she replied. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Forgive our interruption.” She gave an amused glance to Iris, then met his gaze once more. “Surely you just arrived?”
“Indeed. I’ve only just walked through the door.”
“You are certainly in need of refreshment, then. We apologize for detaining you.”
“Yes, pardon me,” Iris echoed.
Heathcliff noted the way she was quick to respond to her governess. It gave him hope that the impish streak could be tamed.
“It’s of no consequence,” he replied. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.” He bowed once again, and as he regarded Miss Miranda again, a vague familiarity teased the back of his mind.
He almost asked her if they had met before.
But he gave a quick shake of his head and started toward the kitchens once more.
Certainly he’d remember meeting an angel like Miss Miranda.
After all, darkness was always attracted to light.
And if one thing was certain, he was of the darker variety.
Which made Miss Miranda all too tempting.
