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She shook her head. The sooner she was back home, the ring safely stowed, or tossed, or whatever seemed the best fate for something of such intrinsic value and inestimable trouble, the better she’d be. Mr. Bothwell was a good man, and she was lucky to have attracted him. Maybe he reserved real kisses for the marriage bed, and he would put all thought of jewel thieves out of her wayward mind.
She could only hope.
12
When Miranda awoke it was bright daylight and she was blessedly alone. Lucien hadn’t rejoined the carriage after the last change. They had driven on into what appeared to be a dark, mountainous landscape, and she racked her brain, trying to remember what she knew of England’s geography. They hadn’t traveled far enough to reach Scotland, but these might be the fells of Yorkshire, or the brooding mountains of Northern Wales. She knew for certain they had headed north; to the south there was only the sea. She wished she could reason how far they’d traveled, but Lucien’s coach moved so smoothly, so swiftly, that she really had no idea.
The sun was out only fitfully, peeping from behind dark, ominous clouds. The Scorpion had ordered the weather to fit with his evil plans. And the question was, exactly how evil was this man? What was he capable of?
He’d forced her to come with him. Brandon had warned her he was ca
pable of evil things, and she hadn’t believed him. He’d threatened to kill her brother in cold blood, and she had no choice but to believe him. She couldn’t risk Brandon’s life on the chance that Lucien was merely bluffing. And in truth, she didn’t think he was. He was determined to gain revenge for his sister’s death, of that there was no doubt.
But what was he planning for her? Not rape, not murder, not a vicious beating. His brutal plan was to marry her. Hardly the stuff of epic villainy.
No, he was no Richard the Third, no matter how much he wished to be. And he had her pegged right. She was a woman who’d dress in men’s clothes and take off into the forest to find her future. She wasn’t one to curl up in the corner of the carriage and weep.
Though she was ready to weep from sheer achiness. Her family tended to travel at a more leisurely pace, with lengthy stops for meals and walks to work out the kinks in one’s muscles, and they tended to spend the night at a comfortable inn or with friends along the way, rather than risk the danger of driving in the dark. Right now Miranda felt as if she’d been locked inside a box for days, and every muscle, every joint hurt.
The last of the sun disappeared, and a soft mist enveloped the coach, making the intimidating landscape even gloomier. There was a basket of food on the opposite bench, something she’d steadfastly ignored, but hunger finally got the best of her, and she opened it, discovering fresh bread and cheese, a tart of dried apples, and even a bottle of wine.
She devoured everything, washing it down with the wine. It was much more than she usually drank, and she knew she was probably a bit tipsy, but it would help her sleep during this interminable journey and—
The coach came to a stop again, and she sighed. This time she was going to leave the carriage whether he liked it or not. Assuming she could walk without wobbling.
The door opened, and Lucien stood there in the light rain, looking none the worse for it. “We’ve arrived,” he said. “Welcome to your new home. ”
He would have expected anger and despair. She could play this game as well, and the last thing she intended to do was what he expected. She gave him a dazzling smile, taking his hand, and his ironic expression faltered for a moment. “How delightful. I’m afraid I drank a bit too much wine—I didn’t realize we were so close to our destination. ” She managed to climb down the steps well enough with the support of his arm, and she looked up at the grim edifice that was to be her home. And wished she’d had a second bottle of wine.
Author: Anne Stuart
It was huge, dark and dismal. No light shone from the myriad of windows that looked out over the overgrown driveway, and there was a sharp chill in the air. “Am I allowed to know where we are?”
“Of course, my love. This is Pawlfrey House. It’s been in my family for generations, and indeed, it’s the only place left from our original estate. The rest were sold to pay my grandfather’s and father’s gaming debts, but apparently no one was interested in buying this, so it remained in the family. ”
“I wonder why,” Miranda said in an undertone. It looked truly dreadful—a pile of dark, wet stones that no one, not even money-lenders and creditors, wanted. And this was where he intended to keep her. “And where are we?”
“In the Lake District. A particularly remote part of it, I’m afraid. We’re tucked in a valley with mountains all around, and the house is extremely difficult to find. ”
“Lovely!” she said with breathless delight. “And such a very large house! I know I’m going to enjoy it tremendously. ”
“Exactly how much wine did you drink?” Lucien asked suspiciously.
“Enough,” she said sweetly. “Shall we stand in the rain or will you show me my new home?”
Indeed, the rain was coming down more heavily now, soaking through Miranda’s pelisse, and she only hoped there was at least a fire laid in the mausoleum that confronted her.
“Of course,” he said immediately, taking her arm and leading her up the front steps. “Mind your step. Some of the stones are broken. ”
The front door opened, and Miranda felt a surge of relief. A woman was standing there, a branch of candles in her hand, and she could see light coming from behind her. “Welcome home, Master Lucien. ” The woman cast her eyes over Miranda with clear disapproval.
“Thank you, Mrs. Humber. And this is my new bride. Or shall be, as soon as the vicar can be found. ” He glanced down at Miranda, and she tried to control the chill that had sunk into her body, from the cold, damp air, the gloomy household, and the decidedly unfriendly housekeeper. Not to mention her future husband, assuming she couldn’t change his mind.
“Oh, it all looks lovely!” she said in breathless accents. “But, darling, I could do with a nice warm fire and a cup of tea. ” She started forward but Lucien caught her arm, halting her.
“This is a bit precipitate, but we may as well follow custom,” he said, and before she realized what he was going to do he’d scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the threshold of the old mansion, setting her down inside a cavernous and chilly hallway.
He easily read the surprise she couldn’t hide. “My leg is really quite strong, my love. I’ve adapted very well to its limitations. ”
