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Author: Anne Stuart 1
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” the honorable Jane Pagett said, wringing her hands. “Mr. St. John isn’t very good ton. I don’t trust him. ”
Lady Miranda Rohan looked at her dearest friend with a wicked grin. They were sitting in Miranda’s bedroom in the Rohan townhouse on Clarges Street as the young lady of the house prepared for a clandestine night out. “Oh, I don’t trust him, either,” she said cheerfully. “That’s half the fun. Don’t lecture me, darling. I’ve been a very good girl for three seasons now, and this is the first time I’ve done anything even remotely naughty. They want me to find someone to marry, and I’m just … experimenting. ”
“I don’t think your parents are going to let you marry Christopher St. John,” Jane said tartly.
“No, I don’t expect they will,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t think it’s fair, though. They’d probably reject him because he has no money, but I have more than enough for both of us. We could live very well on my income. ”
Jane looked at her strangely. “Would you really want to marry Mr. St. John?”
Miranda shrugged. “He’s as good as anyone, I suppose. It’s not as if I were a great beauty and could take my pick. Certainly there are a number of men who’d have me, and I expect I’ll end up with one of them, but in the meantime I just want to indulge in a tiny bit of wicked flirtation. ”
“You’re very pretty, Miranda!” Jane protested.
“Well, I’m not a complete antidote,” Miranda admitted. “I’m just ordinary. I’m neither tall nor short, plump nor thin, my eyes and my hair are a nice boring brown. My face is inoffensive. Nothing for anyone to take a disgust of. But nothing to induce a wild passion, though Christopher St. John seems quite enthusiastic. Though I expect he’s probably more enthusiastic about my money than my person,” she added in a practical voice.
“Then why risk your reputation by going to Vauxhall with him? Alone!” Jane cried. “I’d be happy to come with you, or you could take your maid …”
“Absolutely not,” Miranda said briskly, tying her domino at her neck and pulling it around her. Her clothes were far too discreet and modest for a raucous night at the pleasure gardens, but the domino would be adequate disguise. “I want to dance wildly and drink wine and play cards for high stakes and laugh too loudly. I want to kiss and be kissed until I get tired of it, and I want to do it with the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. You have to admit Christopher is beautiful. ”
“His chin is too weak,” Jane said in a grumpy voice.
“Not as far as I’m concerned,” Miranda said. “I’m only sorry this just came up, though I doubt I could have made my escape if you weren’t here. My sister-in-law takes her duties very seriously since my parents have gone up to Scotland, and she’s always asking me what I’m doing. The thing is, I don’t want you to have to lie for me if anyone notices I’m gone. ”
“Well, I’m not going to lie for you,” Jane said. “I’ll tell them exactly where you went and with who. ”
“With whom,” Miranda corrected absently. “And it won’t be a problem. It’ll be too late to find me, and my family knows I’m not an idiot. I’ll be home around midnight, uncompromised, and no one need ever know. I just want a taste of freedom before I agree to marry one of those boring young men my brothers keep bringing home. Just a few stolen kisses while we watch the fireworks at midnight, and then I’ll be safely back and chances are no one will even notice that I went out. And what can they do to me if they find out—beat me?”
“You know you’ll manage to charm your entire family out of being angry with you,” Jane said. “You’ll even manage to charm me. ”
Miranda pulled the hood over her boring brown hair and reached for her loo mask. “That’s because I’m adorable,” she said pertly. “Don’t worry about me, love. I’ll be back before you know it. ”
Jane looked at her, worried. “I wish you wouldn’t go. I don’t think Mr. St. John is trustworthy. ”
“We’ve already gone over that. I’ll marry someone trustworthy. I’ll be just a tiny bit wicked with someone beautiful beforehand. ” She leaned over and planted a kiss on Jane’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. ” And a moment later she was gone.
There were times, looking back on that night, when Lady Miranda Rohan couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been. How gullible, how certain of her own invulnerability that she never considered the danger. Christopher St. John was charming, rakish, ever so slightly dissolute, and spending a few unchaperoned hours with him should have been perfectly safe. He’d been so handsome. Penniless, but that hadn’t bothered her. She would inherit more than enough for both of them. And after three years on the marriage mart there’d been no one she’d even considered as a possible husband, until Christopher had glided into her life, with his perfect face and tall, straight body, his white teeth and his charming smile.
She’d laughed when he’d suggested she elope with him. It took her far too long to realize that the closed carriage he was using to return her home was taking too much time, that while Christopher was dozing on the seat opposite her the road was becoming rougher. And when she pushed up the blind she saw only pitch-black night, not the lights of London.
She hadn’t succumbed to hysterics, though she’d been tempted. She’d been firm, angry, determined. And in the long run, helpless. He’d maintained his charm throughout her protests. He loved her, he adored her, he couldn’t live without her. And yes, without her substantial fortune.
“I won’t marry you,” she’d said firmly. “You can drag me in front of a minister at Gretna Green and I’ll still say no. ”
“First off, Miranda darling,” he’d said in the smooth voice she’d once found enchanting and now found irritating. “Ministers don’t have to do the marrying in Scotland. Anyone is qualified. Secondly, you’ll say yes, once you realize you have no other choice. ”
“I’ll always have another choice. ”
“Not once you’re ruined. Now, stop fussing. You’ve been spoiled and willful and now you’re going to have to pay the price. We’ll deal well enough together. I won’t be a demanding husband. ”
“You won’t be my husband at all,” she’d said darkly.
“Now that’s where you’re wrong. ”
She’d hoped he’d take her to an inn where she could throw herself on the mercy of the innkeeper. Instead he brought her to a small cottage in the country, miles away from anyone else, with one sullen servant who’d ignored her.
It had been her own fault, Miranda told herself, refusing to cry. And St. John was right about one thing: it was up to her to pay the price. Just not the price he thought he’d guaranteed.
