“Because I am an excellent lover,” he whispered.
She trembled, knowing he spoke the truth. Then he straightened.
“All that balderdash about being one of the first and finest families! She pretends she’s waiting for an earl or a duke —ha!She was ready and willing to fling her skirts over her head for a baron,” he fumed.
Miranda took a step back.
“My apologies,” he said. “I am furious at how many people she has dragged into this, including you. And for what? Merely for pure spite because she could.”
“Because I let her,” Miranda said.
She lowered her head, noticing for the first time how ugly the parlor carpet was in her opinion. Surely that was why she felt tears well up and why her insides ached wretchedly.
She couldn’t imagine what would happen now. Philip would be forced to marry Miss Waltham or lose his brandy and his hope to rebuild his fortune. Her father would be apoplectic and probably banish her forever, maybe to live here with her cousins or with her sister, if she would have her.
With her thoughts running wildly and noisily in her head, Miranda barely heard his next words until they had hung in the air between them for a few moments.
“There is nothing else for it,” he declared, “but to get married!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Miranda lifted her gaze to meet his rich brown, serious stare.
“Married!”What was he saying?
“Yes, and immediately! Even as curious eyes are reading this frightful tome and my brandy casks are being rolled into the Channel.”
“Immediately!” she echoed.
“Stop repeating words. It’s getting on my nerves.”
“Who will you marry?” Miranda could only imagine it must be Miss Waltham. It would go a long way to soothing Lord Perrin and the lady’s uncle, not to mention lifting Philip from the dregs of hedonistic rakishness to the pinnacle of respectable society. He would do the right thing by a woman whom everyone thought he’d led down the garden path.
“Sometimes, Miss Bright, you seem so incredibly buffle-headed, I wonder how you get out of bed in the morning.”
Now that was cruel! And unnecessary. Miranda swallowed the lump of tears and fanned her face with her hands.
He continued to stare at her.
“I am warm,” she explained. At least she’d kept her tears at bay. “Despite my density of mind, I wish you a happy marriage. If you want to leave early, I shall say your goodbyes later to my family. Meanwhile, the servants are up and will help you prepare to depart.”
“We mustbothprepare to depart. I can’t very well get married by myself.”
Miranda blinked at him. The implications were starting to become clear, but she would hate to jump to any conclusion and thereby be labeled even more of a fool.
“Will you speak plainly, my lord?”
“I thought I was. You and I must marry as soon as possible. We’ll leave at once for Scotland.”
“Scotland!” She’d heard of such an adventure but never, ever considered she would be involved in the long carriage ride across the border to a hasty, pagan ceremony.
“There you go repeating things again. Do you know of any easier way to get married without waiting three weeks?”
“No, I don’t believe there is one,” she said. “Unless you have a close friendship with an archbishop.”
He smiled at her for the first time since he’d looked at her book. “Holy men and I don’t generally travel in the same circles.”
His gaze, still grave, held hers. “What do you say, Miss Bright? Shall we stop tongues wagging now and forever by marrying?”
