This was met with a raised eyebrow.
“Do you fancy this cousin?” Lord Mercer asked bluntly.
She laughed. “Peter is as a sibling to me, and Helen and I used to tease him mercilessly like pesky young sisters.”
“Why aren’t they in London? And if he’s as brilliant as you say, where did he go to school? What is his surname? Mayhap I know him.”
“Garrard,” she told him, wondering at his surly tone.
“Never heard of this genius.”
“Peter hasn’t left their country house in years. And Helen, being a devoted sister, has remained with him.” She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to disclose, as it was a source of some embarrassment for her eldest cousin. She thought of Peter’s sharp brain and his extremely facile way of working out puzzles and everyday problems, even fixing things that broke, like a mantel clock. And then there was his aptitude for numbers and investing in the safe government funds, the “four percents,” as he called them, along with his riskier, more profitable subscription to the London Stock Exchange.
“I never said he was a genius,” she protested.
“Why are they hiding out?” Lord Mercer asked. “Is she hideously ugly and is he considered less desirable than a goat?”
Frowning, Miranda did not like this line of questioning. It was petty and unlike him.
“Helen is lovely,” she said truthfully. “And Peter is quite good-looking.”
When the baron’s brows drew together and his nostril’s flared, she realized her rake had a flaw running through him like a streak of sulphur in a coal mine. He was vain and thereby jealous of another male who might be smarter or better looking. It was an unexpected chink in his armor.How curious!
Not to soothe Lord Mercer’s vanity but to defend her cousins’ decision to remain in the country, she decided to tell him the truth.
“Peter was thrown from his horse when he was seventeen.” She paused, thinking back. “That was ... seven years ago. My sister and I were visiting. I can see it as if it were yesterday. Poor man.”
Although, he had been barely a man then, more a tall, gangly youth. Peter had deserved better than the broken bones which left him mostly homebound and confined to an awkward Bath-chair when he did leave their manor house.
After the initial shock and a year of brooding, Peter had bounced back to being more like his previously good-humored self except with an edge and a different goal in life than he’d had previously, which was to go to Cambridge. Miranda wasn’t sure what he’d intended to study. The only benefit to the accident, as her Auntie Lilah said, was that her only son couldn’t go to war on the Continent.
Before Miranda could explain further, the butler announced carriages were waiting for three among their party, including her. Rising, she let Lord Mercer take her hand.
“It was my pleasure to be your escort this evening,” he said.
“Truly?” And then before she could stop herself, she asked, “Wouldn’t you rather have had a different partner for the evening?” She couldn’t help thinking of Lady Penelope awaiting him in that room.
With that, she snatched her hand back and went to bid her hosts good evening.
As her father helped her into their carriage, Miranda wished she’d held her tongue and not sounded like a shrew.
“You’re sighing, dearest. Didn’t you have a good time?”
She thought of the two recitals, the delicious but long dinner, and then what came after in the darkened room. Her emotions had been up and down all night.
“Honestly, I cannot think why you consider events of the Season to be tedious, Papa.” Settling back on the squabs, she tried to quell her swirling sentiments that Lord Major Mercer had stirred.
In a perfectly ordinary tone, she added, “The conversation occasionally was dull, but the creamy pottage and the roast chicken were excellent, as was the fruit and cake trifle for dessert.”
No need to tell him of the eye-opening misbehavior she’d witnessed, not to mention her own impossibly improper actions. Either would put an end to any further outings with her handsome rake.
PHILIP HAD THE HELP of his skillful valet whenever he was leaving his home, but he had long hated to be fussed over upon his return. Thus, alone in his room, he began to shed his attire, tossing his cravat onto the dresser next to thebillet-douxfrom the raven-haired Lady Penelope.
Shaking his head at how that certain tryst had been thwarted by Miss Bright, he found he didn’t mind too much. Kissing the magistrate’s daughter had been as intensely satisfying as many couplings he’d had with a willing woman in a salon or dressing room.
She took his breath away and made his heart pound when all he was trying to do was show her how terribly dangerous was her careless behavior.
His lesson had become all too real the instant their lips touched.
