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“Pray excuse me, Lady Miranda. If I had had the least suspicion you were here, I shouldn't have dreamt of disturbing you.”
He made to leave, and she surged forward. “Please, Dr. Astor, do not leave. This is your home, and I am the intruder."
He turned back to her. “You are my guest,” he said with a warm smile. “Not an intruder.”
His smile was a
sensual assault on her senses. And alarmingly the irresistible beauty of his curved lips made her heart flutter madly. Her reaction last evening had not been an aberration. How ridiculous you are being, Miranda! She fiercely berated herself, yet she couldn’t help returning his smile.
The doctor ambled over to a large oak desk and chair by the windows and picked up a heavy leather-bound book. A quick glance showed it was a medical journal. Then he selected another from the shelf.
"I shall leave you to the serenity of the library, Lady Miranda." Then with a short bow, he walked toward the door.
She stepped forward. “I wondered, Dr. Astor, how is Tommy this morning?”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob and stared at her in an unflinching, ungentlemanly manner, but what thoughts were running in his head? It would have been impossible for Miranda to guess.
“He is awake with a fierce headache which is to be expected. He is very lucid, and there does not seem to be any swelling around his brain. I have asked his mother to remain my guest for the next few days so I might observe him, then they may continue on their journey.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “And I do hope for a full recovery soon.”
“Mrs. Denniston will be heartened to know you asked. I shall convey your kind wishes.” He continued staring at her, and she flushed under his prolonged regard.
“Is there something else, Doctor?” Why does my heart beat so?
“I wonder if you might oblige my patients with a spot of reading?”
“And which patients are those?”
“There are five children here. Tommy, William, Little Emma, Lydia, Jasmine, and Serena. I normally read to them, but I have been told recently I would win no accolades in the playhouse.”
Miranda laughed lightly. “I would be happy to read to them. Tomorrow as well if they should believe I am up to the task."
“You do not mind? There is a local society here that would be thrilled to have you at their various entertainments.”
“I daresay I’ve had enough parties! I was uncertain what to do with my days while Mamma recovers, and this seems like it would be fun.”
“Very well,” he murmured, and the appreciative glint in his eyes made her belly flutter in all sorts of odd but thrilling ways. "If you'll follow me, my lady."
He opened the door and sauntered away, and with a smile, Miranda hurried after him, unable to explain her reaction to a man she had no business feeling anything for, even if it was a passing fancy.
Lady Miranda’s closeness had a powerful response on Simon's heart. And quite unexplained too. For he’d never had such a reaction to anyone before. Her slender and quite elegant curves were draped in a pale blue cinched-waist gown with a close-fitting bodice trimmed with white lace. She was the possessor of a delicate, heart-shaped face, a pert nose, sharp yet feminine cheekbones, and very sensual lips. Thick lashes framed her extraordinary green eyes, which glowed with bold curiosity whenever she peered at him.
The lady was ravishing, one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. She appeared nothing like the beleaguered miss he’d rescued last evening. Simon felt an unwilling attraction pulse through him as his body reacted with painful immediacy to her lush, sensual beauty. But he ruthlessly denied the attraction, for he’d had intimate pain at the hand of a woman who was beautiful but hid a black, greedy, heart. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe all women of such ravishing beauty also held a fickle soul, he however would never allow himself to fall into thrall with a woman because of her physicality. At least not since he was a green lad of one and twenty. It was her character which mattered to him most, though he would allow the kindness he’d seen her display was refreshingly genuine.
“Do the children like music?”
He glanced down at her. “I’ve never had reason to ask. But I do have a pianoforte. Do you play?”
Her lips curved in a smile and drove the breath from his lungs.
“Superbly,” she murmured.
He smiled, noting there was a sadness in her eyes which dimmed her radiance, and he wondered what had put such unhappiness on such a fair countenance. He opened the door to the drawing room, and the children who were on a large carpeted area playing cribbage jerked around and waved wildly.
She touched the sleeve of his jacket, halting him. “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality, Dr. Astor, and for ignoring Mamma’s querulousness. I fear whenever in pain, mamma is not as wonderful as I know her to be,” she said warmly,
He arched a brow. He mingled enough with those of elevated society to know they did not proffer apologies. How rare and interesting. “I shall bear it in mind.”
