Page 22 of So Wild A Heart

Miranda smoothed down her dress and reached up to push a strand of disheveled hair back into place. “Really, Lord Ravenscar,” she said, forcing all the cool calm she could muster into her voice. She must not let him see how easily he could shake her; it would be too humiliating. “This is scarcely the time or place. Anyone could come upon us at any moment.”

“They won’t.” His voice was low and, it startled him to find, almost shaking with the intensity of his desire. “We can go farther back. I know a place—” Devin stopped abruptly, realizing with horror that he was almost begging.

A saving anger pierced Miranda at the thought that he knew the best place to seduce a woman in his sister’s garden. “Yes,” she said icily, “I am sure that you have had ample experience there. However, I do not intend to be one of your doxies.”

She turned to face him, her gray eyes shining silver with anger. “There really is no need for this charade, my lord. We both know what you want of me, and it is silly to pretend to a passion that neither one of us feels.” Her smile was chilly. “You will not seduce me into marriage.”

Her words were like salt on the raw sore of his sexual frustration. He had damn well felt passion—an alarming amount of it, in fact—in obvious contrast to her icy lack of it. It irritated him profoundly that he, who had set out to seduce her, had been the one to succumb to desire, while she stood there, cool and contemptuous.

“I do not intend to marry you. I never did, even before your tasteless proposal,” Miranda went on, feeling once again in control. It was frightening how easily she had almost lost that control. To think she had come so close to falling like a naive girl for this cad’s false seduction! “I am not interested in an arranged marriage—although, of course, I can see the advantages of one.”

“Indeed.” Devin folded his arms across his chest, regarding Miranda sourly.

“Oh, yes, indeed. For you, of course, there is my money. For me, well…I would be able to introduce my sister Veronica into London society in the way that my stepmother wishes. That would please both Veronica and my stepmother, who are both quite dear to me. And your name, of course, is an old and respected one, despite the fact that you have tarnished it with your dissipated ways.”

“What!” His eyes widened, and his hands dropped to his sides, balling into fists. “How dare you?”

Miranda looked back at him innocently. “I beg your pardon. Is that not true? It is what I have heard. But perhaps you have been wronged by the gossips. Have you not wasted all your fortune? Do you not keep loose company and spend your time in gambling hells and houses of ill repute?”

He pressed his lips together tightly, a flush rising along his stark cheekbones.

“Well?” Miranda prodded. “Is it a false rumor?”

“You should not even know of such things, let alone speak of them,” he snapped. “It’s unseemly.”

“Unseemly for me to speak of them but not for you to do them? Really, Lord Ravenscar, I am not a fool, whatever you may think of those of us who live beyond the hallowed shores of England. Nor am I deaf. Did you not think that I would hear the rumors? Why, just tonight as I walked around the hall, I heard that you had shamed your father, wasted—”

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I am afraid I do. Promiscuity, profligacy, drunkenness—these are the sorts of things that are always grist for the rumor mill. Everyone talks about them. I’m sure that none of the people inside care if a paltry American woman should have the bad fortune to marry a man with your reputation. But it is definitely a point against you as far as I am concerned. And obviously none of your peers are going to let you marry one of their daughters. Aside, of course, from the natural affection that they feel for their daughters, none of them would wish to align their name with one so besmirched by scandal. That is why you must settle for an heiress who isn’t of the nobility—even one who is not British. Your reputation must be very low indeed.”

His face was stony as he looked at her, his eyes cold, hard marbles. She knew that he would have liked to rage at her but was hampered by the fact that everything she had said had been the truth.

“Of course, the blot on your name would not bother us Americans as much. My fellow countrymen seem to be oddly enamored of titles. I suppose it is because we got rid of such meaningless things long ago. It has created a definite void for those who are very proud, you know. So I know some wealthy Americans have bought aristocratic husbands for their daughters so that they can have a title in the family. I, however, have little longing to be ‘Lady’ Ravenscar. It seems an empty title, and I rather like my own name, frankly. Although,” she added, looking thoughtful, “the idea of restoring your estate does have a certain appeal. I do like to put things into good running order, and I am sure it has been sorely neglected. I am quite attracted to old houses, and Elizabethan architecture is one of my favorites, as it is Papa’s. I understand that Darkwater is an outstanding example of an early Elizabethan mansion. And, of course, the history of it is intriguing. The curse and all that. Is it true that Darkwater was built of stones taken—”

“Bugger Darkwater!” Ravenscar exploded. “The damned place can rot for all I care. This is one English peer who is not for sale to you or any other rich American. I would rather the whole house crumble about my ears. I’d rather die in poverty than marry a common, bloodless witch like you! Good night, Miss Upshaw. And goodbye.”

Devin shouldered past her and strode off.

6

“Well!” Miranda watched Ravenscar’s figure disappear down one of the garden paths. “That was interesting.”

She had intended to provoke a response in the man, but his explosion had been something different from what she had expected. Irritation, swallowed bile, frustration and dislike—those had been what she hoped to engender in the earl. But the hot fury and wounded pride that had glittered in his eyes had been more than she had bargained for. So had the blunt pronouncement that he was not for sale. It was enough to make one think that perhaps there was more to the man, after all.

Miranda walked over to a stone bench, placed to admire a plot of flowers, and sat down on it. Her knees, frankly, were feeling a trifle watery. The evening had been…well, tumultuous. Devin Aincourt had surprised her more than once this evening, and that intrigued her. His kisses had melted her. She was too honest to try to pretend otherwise. No other man had ever sparked such feelings in her, and—to continue in the same honest vein—she would like to experience them again. Why did the one man who had ever made her feel this delightful, tingly, slightly scary way have to be a man of so little character? Why couldn’t it have been someone forthright and honest? Why was it this man whose kisses were so sweet, whose lips could make her feel as if the world had dropped away, whose eyes were as green as a new leaf and whose hands were…

Miranda shook her head to clear it. It was foolish to sit here thinking about someone as clearly unsuitable as the Earl of Ravenscar. And yet…had it not said something about the man that he had so forcefully rejected the idea of selling himself as a husband? Ravenscar had pride—and not just the vain pride of many aristocrats, but a deeper belief in himself. She had seen it in his eyes as he had lashed out at her. There had been hurt there and a certain disgust with himself. He had been angry, not just at her, but at himself for doing what he felt he must. Money had not been worth giving up his pride, and she liked that. Perhaps, she thought, she just might want to see the Earl of Ravenscar again.

She rose and strolled back to the terrace, her head bowed in thought.

“Miss Upshaw?”

Miranda raised her head to see Lady Westhampton standing on the terrace, her hands knotted around the ends of the shawl that she had wrapped around her shoulders, her face creased with anxiety.

Miranda smiled. “Hello, Lady Westhampton.”

Rachel visibly relaxed at Miranda’s easy greeting. She had seen her brother storm through the ballroom a few minutes earlier, and she had been worried that something bad had happened between him and Miranda. But Miranda clearly looked as if nothing were bothering her. Rachel wondered if it was only her brother who was upset, or if Miss Upshaw was simply better at hiding it.