The Decadent Countess Read online

  ‘Not even from the Duke?’ Miranda asked.

  ‘Oh, Leo is not so high in the instep as he pretends. If I begin to feel nervous of him, I remember him as a boy, when he fell ill with measles. Quite covered in spots, he was. They do say they were everywhere!’

  ‘Sophie! I quite despair of you ever learning to behave!’

  The voice was deep and full of exasperated humour. Surprised, Miranda turned to face the fair-haired man who had just entered the room. He was clearly Sophie’s father, and she would have known it even if Sophie had not gabbled an introduction, for there was a strong resemblance. A small man with a lined face, he appeared stern until one noticed the twinkle in his faded green eyes.

  Miranda, recalling that she had imagined Sophie’s parent to be a harsh and unfeeling gentleman who had kept his daughter at home rather than give her another chance upon the Marriage Mart, quickly revised her opinion. If Sir Marcus kept Sophie from repeating her disastrous season in London, it was only because he cared for her and meant to protect her.

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Fitzgibbon?’ His hand was firm, his smile inquisitive. ‘Sophie has spoken much of you since her visit.’

  ‘Her visit was much appreciated, sir. The only bright spark in a dark day.’

  The smile turned sympathetic. ‘I heard you had routed the Bennetts. Was that wise, Mrs Fitzgibbon? They are a large family. One never knows when one of them might pop up.’

  ‘Oh, Papa, there is no harm in them! Nancy is a little wicked, I know, but she has such a droll way with her. And her father—’

  ‘A detestable old reprobate,’ Sir Marcus retorted. ‘On second thoughts, you are well rid of them!’

  ‘I believe so. Or I did until Pendle came.’

  ‘Pendle has been with the Fitzgibbons since time began,’ said Sir Marcus. ‘Even Leo is afraid of him.’

  ‘Oh, pooh!’ Sophie declared. ‘Leo is afraid of nothing. Papa, I have told Miranda that Jack is coming down from London and that we are to have a party.’

  ‘You will come, Mrs Fitzgibbon? You can meet my son and heir, Jack.’

  ‘Yes, you must meet Jack!’ Sophie cried.

  ‘But do not expect him to speak much sense,’ Sir Marcus added. ‘He never does.’

  ‘You are wrong, Father,’ Sophie reproved him, a naughty twinkle in her eye. ‘Jack knows a great deal about horses and cards and what is good ton.’

  ‘You are right, my dear. I stand corrected. Jack knows all that is necessary to a young man of good breeding and comfortable situation!’

  The Lethbridge household, Miranda decided upon leaving, was one of the happiest she had ever visited. It made her own difficult circumstances appear all the more stark.

  Miranda prevailed upon the driver of the carriage to leave her in the village, saying she would prefer to walk the remaining three miles to The Grange, for it was a fine day and she had some business there. He did as she asked, though clearly reluctantly.

  Miranda did indeed have some business to attend. She had not forgotten Thorne, her appropriately named estate manager, and hoped to run him to earth at his home. The Grange tenants had visited her again to remind her of their leaking roofs and damp floors. The running of the house might have been taken away from her for the present, but Miranda could still do something about Thorne.

  His house was on the edge of St Mary Mere village, set apart in its own garden with a high wall surrounding the whole. The gate was locked, and though Miranda rattled it and peered through it to the front door, no one looked out at her from the narrow windows or came to see what she wanted.

  Frustrated, she had no choice but to relinquish her plan, and at last turned to go.

  Nancy Bennett was standing directly behind her.

  Miranda started, not frightened but, firstly, rather surprised the woman could have crept up on her without a sound, and secondly, that she should want to. If Miranda had been Nancy, she would have been too ashamed to come within miles of her former mistress.

  ‘You are bold to show your face to me, Nancy,’ she said, following on from her own thoughts.

  Nancy showed her teeth, but the smile did not reach her eyes. ‘Well, here’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black, mistress! Me, bold? I think ’tis the other way around. You owe me and my family wages. We weren’t paid in months, and then you turned us out without a farthing.’

  ‘Turned you out?’ repeated Miranda in amazement. ‘You stole my belongings!’

  ‘They were Master Julian’s belongings, and he gave them to us. He appreciated us even if you didn’t.’

  There was a great deal of aggrievement in her tone, and Miranda wondered again if Nancy believed in her own lies. That would certainly justify her appalling behaviour. Perhaps humouring her delusions made more sense than arguing against them.

  ‘I will give the matter some thought,’ Miranda said, in what she hoped was an authoritative voice.

  ‘You tossed us out without our wages, and now you’ve got the old house full of strangers!’

  ‘They are the Duke of Belford’s servants.’

  ‘That were our home!’

  Nancy’s face had grown hard with resentment. For the first time Miranda felt uneasy. She glanced quickly down the lane and saw only a lone horseman.

  Nancy noticed her glance and sneered, ‘You don’t belong here, you’re a foreigner.’

  ‘I am Master Julian’s widow.’

  ‘We don’t take to foreigners.’

  ‘I have as much right as you to be here, Nancy.’

  ‘I’ve lived here all my life, I have. Come to The Grange when I were a girl. My family’s been there since King Henry’s time. The Grange belongs to Bennetts more than it does Fitzgibbons!’

  ‘If you will move aside, I must get on.’

  ‘Not till I’m paid!’

  Nancy reached out as if to take her arm, but in that moment another voice, deep and familiar, interrupted them.

  ‘Go home, Nancy. Mrs Fitzgibbon has done you no harm. You have brought your present situation upon yourself.’

  Nancy’s lips whitened, and she swung around to look up at Belford, her bearing taut with fury. Briefly it seemed as if she might continue to argue her case, but then she evidently thought better of it, for she marched off.

  Miranda took a breath, and then another. She felt oddly shaky, could almost have described herself as all a-tremble, but whether that was from the confrontation with Nancy or her timely rescue by Leo Fitzgibbon she was uncertain.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I do not know if I would have escaped her if you had not come.’

  He was frowning down at her. ‘You should never have come to the village alone, Countess.’

  ‘I did not realise she would have the effrontery to—to accost me like that. Horrid woman!’

  The tremble in her voice seemed to stir him from his anger. Leo dismounted, reaching to take her arm in his strong, steady grip. ‘You are shaken, ma’am. Come, let me walk with you back to the village and I will arrange for a conveyance.’

  ‘Oh, no, no.’ Miranda managed a laugh as she shook her head. ‘I am unharmed, only a little…surprised by her—her belief in what she was saying. Truly, she does not think she was in the wrong, rather that I am. She cannot see that stealing my belongings and refusing to obey my instructions was in any way deceitful or outrageous.’

  Leo was gazing into her face, watching the colour come and go, watching the quick, nervous rise and fall of her breasts. His voice, when he replied, was mild and sensible. It did not betray the turmoil he himself had felt when he turned into the lane and saw the two women. He had instantly recognised one of them as Miranda Fitzgibbon and the other as the decidedly dangerous Nancy Bennett, and had thought only of rescue. If Nancy had lifted a hand, had struck at her, before he had reached them…

  ‘Then I will throw you up upon my horse,’ he said, blotting out such dark thoughts. ‘You cannot walk in your state.’

  ‘No, no, I am able to walk, sir.’

&nbs
p; He gave her a hard, disbelieving look, but Miranda did not mind his superior manner today. Everything about him seemed comfortingly familiar and reassuring.

  ‘What did you think you were doing, Mrs Fitzgibbon? I came upon Sophie Lethbridge’s driver on his way back to Oak House, and he told me he had set you down in the village. He would not have told me that, but he was very concerned. He has, he said, heard tales of Nancy’s rantings against you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Miranda was beginning to regain her composure. She put up a hand to brush back an escaping auburn curl, securing it beneath her hat. ‘I had only seen the village once before, when I arrived, and I thought I would like to know it better.’

  He looked at her as if she had run mad. “‘Know it better”? What is there to know?’

  ‘Well, it is very pretty. Have you never noticed? Having lived in Italy so long, I am unaccustomed to English villages, and this one is very fine. I am a—a great lover of the countryside, you know.’

  He stared at her a moment more, and then he burst out laughing. Miranda eyed him coldly until he had finished.

  ‘You came to see that rascal Thorne, Miranda! Admit it and have done.’

  Miranda’s mouth dropped open. ‘I will not! And I did not give you leave to call me by my first name.’

  ‘Miranda,’ he retorted, ‘Miranda, Miranda. It is a very pretty name, far prettier than this village. And as for Thorne, he has been sent packing.’

  She was speechless. He had sent Thorne packing? How very high-handed of him! And what a relief. After a time, she flicked him a glance up under her lashes. ‘You knew, then?’ she said bleakly.

  ‘That you were prevaricating just now, or that Thorne was avoiding you?’

  ‘About my problems with Mr Thorne,’ she answered primly.

  ‘Yes, I guessed. I doubt Julian himself saw the man above once a year, and then it was only by waiting for him outside the Rose, which you could scarcely do, Miranda.’

  The Rose would not have stopped Adela, thought Miranda, but before she could remind him of that another thought popped into her head. ‘But, sir, if Thorne is gone what will become of my poor tenants?’

  He gave her a look which was a strange mixture of impatience and indulgence. ‘You had only to come to me, Miranda, and I would have seen to them.’

  Miranda’s back stiffened. ‘You are very high-handed, sir! They are my tenants, and Thorne was my man. It was for me to deal with them, and him.’

  ‘Miranda—’

  ‘I have asked you not to call me that, sir!’

  He stared at her in exasperation and then, before she could utter more than a squeak of protest, lifted her bodily and placed her upon his horse. Miranda, finding herself in such a position, had no time to do more than gasp before Leo swung himself up behind her.

  ‘Say nothing,’ he advised her, and proceeded to settle her more comfortably. His arms were ranged either side of her as he gripped the reins. Caging her in, she thought indignantly.

  ‘Do not argue,’ he went on, ‘do not demand to be set down and do not call me any names—I imagine you know a great many. In short, I intend carrying you back to The Grange and nothing you do or say will prevent me.’

  Miranda sat rigidly, furious with such insolent behaviour. Her blood felt as if it was literally boiling in her veins. She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him, and so did not see the little smile that curled up the corners of his handsome mouth, or the softening in his eyes when he glanced at her. They rode for at least a mile in silence, stony on Miranda’s part, amused on Leo’s.

  ‘I think you have forgotten we are enemies,’ Miranda said at last in the airy voice which no longer deceived him.

  ‘Perhaps I prefer to forget it.’

  His voice was close to her ear. His warm breath stirred wisps of her hair and raised gooseflesh on her nape. His voice was doing other things to her, too, but these she did not dare examine. When she had stopped thinking about the timbre of his voice, his actual words registered. She turned to look at him in surprise, and then wished she had not. He was very close. Too close, his eyes so dark a blue that the pupil was barely distinguishable from the iris.

  ‘I cannot forget it,’ she informed him coolly, forcing herself to remember his insults and his bribes, not to mention his shocking behaviour.

  ‘No, I can see that. You are ready to accept my proposal then, Countess?’

  His voice had changed, lost the human quality it had held only a moment before. He was the Duke again, distant, untouchable. Miranda told herself she welcomed the change. This was the man she preferred, this was the man with whom she chose to deal.

  ‘No, I am not ready to accept it.’

  ‘Perhaps you wish to thank me for coming to your rescue? Coming to your rescue not once, but twice!’

  ‘I had thought I had sent you a note on that head, sir.’

  ‘Pendle does not feel you deserve him, Countess.’

  Her eyes narrowed, her slim body vibrating with an anger she struggled to conceal.

  ‘Is Pendle your spy then, your Grace? Does he send you hourly reports? Perhaps that is how it should be. We are engaged in a war, after all, you and I.’

  ‘A war?’ he scoffed. ‘If it were so, I would have won already. I am a gentleman, Miranda, and I will continue to behave as if you were a lady.’

  A fierce hurt burned within Miranda, while on the outside she was working hard to give the impression she did not care.

  ‘I am a man of the world,’ he went on. ‘I understand you have only the nature you were born with, and are therefore more to be pitied than reviled.’

  Miranda forgot to play her part. She was too angry now to be Adela. How dare this creature speak so of her stepmama? What did he know of her, what right had he to judge her?

  ‘If anyone is to be pitied,’ she said, ‘it is you! I have heard it said you have no heart. Now I have seen the evidence of it for myself. There is no heart in you, sir, none at all.’

  He was silent, although he seemed to be having difficulty breathing evenly. ‘I act for the good of my family,’ he replied at last in a voice completely unlike his usual, calm tones.

  ‘And, I suppose, you are the judge of what is “good” for them?’

  Miranda could not know how angry she had in turn made him. How she had stirred that mad recklessness within him, setting free the very emotions he had been trying so hard to subdue since the moment he met her.

  ‘I am aware of what is said of me,’ he said. ‘That I am lacking that passion attributed to other men. I am not ashamed of my good sense, but neither am I quite as dead to all feeling as you believe me. Perhaps it will surprise you to know, Countess, that from the moment I saw you I have wanted nothing more than to kiss you.’

  Miranda’s head jerked up. She stared into those remarkable eyes and read the truth in them. He wanted to kiss her. But he also thought she was Adela and assumed that she would therefore welcome such advances.

  ‘No,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, yes, Miranda. Most definitely, yes.’

  He swooped down on her before she had a chance to twist her face and escape him. His mouth closed on hers, slightly off-centre at first, so that his lips slid across hers, settling more comfortably. He made a sound very like a man in deep pain, and his arms closed around her, holding her so firmly she could not move.

  And oddly, considering what had just passed between them, Miranda had no desire to move.

  His mouth on hers was warm, demanding a response she was as yet too innocent to give, although she did her best. What was more shocking to her even than his kiss were the feelings it engendered. She experienced a sense of abandon, of the world well lost, a hot rushing madness.

  And more than that.

  A sense of rightness.

  ‘Countess,’ he whispered.

  His lips trailed along her jaw, nibbling at the sensitive flesh near her ear. It was all very pleasant and exciting, but Miranda’s joy in it had gone. His single utterance had
snapped her back to cold, harsh reality.

  Leo thought her Adela, he believed he was kissing Adela. Not Miranda. Not capable, practical, innocent Miranda.

  Leo must have felt her withdrawal. He leaned back, his laugh rough and self-conscious.

  ‘Good God, I appear to have forgotten myself again! It is a hazard of being in your presence, ma’am.’

  She heard the apologetic amusement in his voice, but missed the uncertainty. Miranda found herself strangely close to tears.

  ‘I apologise again, and ask that you put my hasty actions down to the temptation set before me.’

  ‘Please…put me down, sir.’

  He took a breath to argue, but must have realised the futility of it. Dismounting, he helped Miranda to the ground. As soon as her feet touched earth, she stepped away, face turned from him, hands clasped rigidly before her.

  ‘I will walk with you.’ He spoke gently.

  ‘You will not,’ she gasped. ‘Please go now, sir. I do not need your sort of help.’

  ‘You needed it a moment ago,’ he replied, stung.

  ‘Yes.’ Now she did look at him and her face was pale, her dark eyes enormous. She seemed young and vulnerable, and Leo felt slightly sick at the memory of what he had done. ‘Goodbye, Duke.’

  Leo watched her walk away, head high, shoulders and back straight. His loathing of himself filled him. He had behaved like an unprincipled cad, a libertine, a loose fish. Jack Lethbridge had warned him that he was ripe for a fall, but even so Jack would be amazed and disgusted to hear of his friend’s behaviour since the Decadent Countess arrived on his doorstep.

  Leo was himself all of those things.

  He shuddered.

  But as he rode slowly home to Ormiston, his disgust with himself gradually took second place to his confusion over Miranda’s character. Anomalies he had disregarded at the time now returned forcefully to torment him. When he had met her outside Thorne’s gate she had been frightened, yes, but she had seemed…different. Lacking in the pretensions she had previously assumed whenever in his presence. No, she had been different, natural and, not to put too finer point on it, sweet as honey. Then, as they had journeyed towards The Grange, she had changed. She had laughed differently, spoken in the manner of a much more worldly woman…