Without any light, Miranda couldn’t see him, but she could hear his breathing as ragged as her own. She affected this experienced man.
It should not please her, but it did.
“Youare one of the wolves,” she guessed.
“I am.” His tone was husky. “But it’s not I you need fear. At least, I did not think it was.”
“I’ve been out of the parlor a long time,” she said. “Someone may come looking for me.”
He swore softly, and a sliver of anxiousness pierced her. This was no game. If she left this room and was confronted by her hostess...
“Go,” he said. “And don’t forget this lesson.”
Saying nothing, she found the handle and cracked open the door. Seeing no one, she slipped out into the hall and hurried to the parlor.
Upon entering, she noticed Lady Penelope had not returned, and Miranda wondered if Lord Mercer would now go to that other room. Perhaps he’d had a pressing engagement for another assignation and such was the reason he had dismissed her so quickly.
Realizing many gazes had turned her way, Miranda made the mistake of putting her hand to her hair to discern its state. At once, she knew it was a telltale sign of guilt.
Their hostess’s eyes widened as her face paled.
“Miss Bright,” Lady Hartwell said like the sternest governess, “won’t you take a seat?”
The blond-haired Lady Sarah had taken Miranda’s place on the sofa next to Lady Harriet, who was looking at her with pursed lips and more than a hint of disapproval.
When she found another place on the edge of the gathering, Miranda hoped the evening was nearly finished as she now felt she’d overstayed her welcome. A few minutes later, when Lady Penelope strolled in, head high, looking at ease with every hair in place, their group was once more complete.
Not long after, Lord Hartwell and the other gentlemen came in. Miranda was fascinated to see Lord Mercer’s expression.Would he appear different? Perhaps ashamed?
Not in the least. He glanced toward Lady Penelope, and Miranda thought a look passed between them. But he came directly over to her with a warm smile.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Bright?” The banal question served to dissuade any gossip, she assumed.
“Yes, my lord. Thank you for asking. Although perhaps not as much as you.”
He frowned slightly. “What have you ladies been talking about? Probably going over the foibles of menfolk.”
“Gladly, the discussion hasn’t once sunk to the level of discussing any of you. Do you think my father has arrived to retrieve me?”
“I am surprised at your lack of fortitude,” he said a little stiffly. “I thought you would wish to remain to the bitter end so you can put it all in your letters to those country cousins of yours.”
She glanced over at Lady Harriet, who was in turn watching them.
“I have witnessed plenty for my letters,” Miranda promised.
His gaze flickered slightly. “Have you?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Lord Mercer grimaced, and from a plate of sundries on a side table, he popped a sultana into his mouth.
When she said nothing more, he asked, “Very well, tell me. What are these cousins of yours like?”
She nearly told him how she’d halted her extensive epistles in favor of a tale of a single young woman entering the elite world of a small group of Londoners — fictional yet using all the real people and situations she herself had encountered. However, that seemed a larger conversation for another time.
Instead, she answered his question.
“My cousins and my aunt and uncle have a darling house in Northampton. I am sure you would think it inferior to your own country manor, but I have always loved its comfort and charm. My sweet Helen, born a month after me, is closer to me than my own sister. She’s a year and a half younger than her brother, Peter. He has a superior mind to most anyone else I have ever known.”
