The Decadent Countess Page 17

  ‘No, Countess, I am not disappointed. It is always best to know where one stands.’

  She gave him one of her direct looks. ‘Of course.’

  But his voice was thoughtful as he went on, as if he had been giving the matter a great deal of contemplation.

  ‘One should never expect too much, that is the trick. If you do not expect too much, then you can never be disappointed. Those of us who are used to the ways of the world can shrug our shoulders when things do not go as we planned.’

  ‘And have things not gone as you planned, Duke? I am sorry to hear it. Perhaps I can help them take a more agreeable turn?’

  She sounded breathless, the words forced out of her. Miranda had never thought it would be so difficult to lead him on, to play the flirt. Even though he deserved everything that was coming to him, she felt soiled by her part in it.

  ‘Perhaps.’ He laughed, one of his abrupt laughs. ‘Do you know, Countess, sometimes I think you are a chameleon. You are one thing one moment, then another the next. How do you do it?’

  ‘Chameleons are very ugly creatures,’ Miranda replied airily. ‘I would hate to think I resembled anything with eyes that swivel all about. Surely you are more practised at compliments than that, Duke?’

  ‘Oh, I am practised at many things.’

  His voice was cold, but his eyes were bright with emotion. Was it anger? Just for a second, Miranda was fooled into thinking he really cared, and then she remembered his reputation and her broken heart, and put aside her doubt.

  She pouted like a spoiled child. ‘I did not think an evening with you would be so dull, Leo. You have not even kissed me yet. You always kiss me, every time we meet you kiss me. Why do you not kiss me now?’

  Leo smiled, looking even more like his ancestor. He reached out and caught her chin, turning her face this way and that, as though he were inspecting it for flaws.

  ‘You are very lovely,’ he said dispassionately.

  In a moment, she thought, he will make his move. In a moment the game will be over.

  ‘I wonder…is your hair really that colour?’

  Miranda froze. His intimation was clear, but still she questioned it, not quite believing she had heard him aright. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your hair, Countess. The colour. Is it your own?’

  He had done this to her before, turned the tables on her, caught her unawares. Her bewilderment was almost comical.

  ‘I ask,’ he went on smoothly, ‘because although I have a weakness for redheads, I am particular as to the colour.’

  ‘Particular?’ she repeated impatiently. ‘Does it make a difference?’

  ‘Very much so! I do not like cheap imitations.’

  Again there was danger in the smile he gave her.

  Miranda stilled, every particle of her being alert. She moved to pull away from his hand, which was still loosely holding her chin, but he prevented her by sliding his other arm about her waist. Their embrace was anything but amorous as they stood close, breathing fast, she glaring and he mocking.

  ‘Of course this is my natural colour,’ she said at last.

  He ran his fingers up into the gleaming mass, dislodging numerous hair pins, so that the heavy tresses came down about her shoulders. He bent closer and appeared to breathe in the scent of her hair.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked in astonishment.

  ‘I am testing the merchandise, Countess, and I can now say that, though you are many things, you are not a cheap imitation.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her voice shook only slightly as she tucked a tickling curl behind her ear. ‘I am glad I am up to your high standards. Now let me go.’

  Briefly she thought he would, as he ran his thumb back and forth across the shining strands he still held. And then she realised he was teasing her, for he laughed softly and repeated, ‘Let you go? No, Countess, I won’t let you go, not yet. You’ve asked me to kiss you, and I want to. I think, after all you’ve put me through, I deserve a kiss.’

  All she’d put him through!

  Now when his arms closed around her, all gentleness had gone. Her body felt moulded to his, a part of him, not separate at all. As his lips closed over hers she was aware of every hard, masculine inch of him. He kissed her with, if not quite brutality, then certainly a determined thoroughness.

  Tears filled Miranda’s eyes. This was different than before. She did not know how or why, but the tingling emotion that had always filled her previously when he kissed her was missing. What he was doing now was teaching her a lesson.

  Miranda struggled, pushing against his chest, but nothing seemed to do any good. And then, just when she thought she could bear it no more, he drew back a little and, breathing hard, stared down into her face.

  Her mouth was red and swollen, and there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. She looked young and angry and frightened. But, worse than that, she looked betrayed.

  Leo, whose intention, he supposed, had been to show her he cared no more for her than she did for him, was ashamed. Before he could remind himself that this emotion was all pretence on her part, he had bent and, with a groan, begun to kiss her salty eyelids.

  ‘Oh, Miranda,’ he breathed. She gave a little hiccup, and he followed the line of her tears, using his tongue to lap them up in a manner which made her feel quite giddy.

  Gasping, lips parted, Miranda waited. And was not disappointed. Leo’s mouth closed on hers once more, but although urgent, this was a far different kiss from the last one.

  This time her lips softened beneath his, responsively, eagerly, and her arms crept about his neck. Leo felt the ice inside him melting, a thaw of monumental proportions. And he knew that he had been wrong. Nothing had changed. She still held him in thrall and, no matter what she did or said, his heart was bound fast to hers.

  If she knew it, she would ruin him.

  He rested his cheek upon the top of her head and took a deep breath. ‘I hope that has made up for some of this evening’s disappointments.’

  ‘I believe it has,’ she murmured, equally breathless. Her arms were reluctant to let him go, the fingers of one hand playing with the silky hair at his nape.

  ‘Miranda?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Should he say it? Probably not. But he was going to. He couldn’t help himself. Possibly she knew it, too, for her voice had held all the reluctance of one about to be told something they did not wish to hear.

  ‘I have known Frederick Harmon for years. He’s a bad sort. Leave him.’

  She went rigid. ‘L-leave Mr Harmon?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t care what he’s been to you. I don’t want to know. I won’t ask. Just leave him, now, tonight.’

  Very calmly, she said, ‘Well, that is very tolerant of you, Duke. You are accusing me of being Mr Harmon’s…of monstrous things. I suppose now, to top it all off, you will offer me a carte blanche?’

  He tried to read her eyes but they were blazing with so many emotions he didn’t know where to start. Leo had wanted to see how far she would go in her quest to push him to the highest price. Now he thought he knew just how far that was. Something cold ran through his blood, something pitiless.

  ‘I want you, I won’t deny it. What price do you place upon yourself, Miranda? Remember, I may be a wealthy man, but I am not a fool. Yes, I will make an offer. Do you want it in writing, or will a handshake do?’

  She appeared to sway slightly, and then she had jerked free of his arms. ‘I know very well what you are!’ she cried, and stood facing him, panting slightly, her hair a halo about her, her face flushed and so angry that despite himself he was struck dumb with admiration.

  Why was she insulted? he wondered. How could one insult a woman such as the Decadent Countess? Had he not given her the answer she wanted? Was she not after his money after all?

  Miranda didn’t notice his confusion. She was blinded to everything by her hot mist of fury and triumph.

  ‘I knew it!’ she burst out. ‘It is true. Mr Har
mon told me, and yet I hoped… But you are the worst of men. Do you really think you can buy love with your money? Do you imagine you can blacken a good man’s character because you are a Duke? I hate and despise you. I would never stay with you, not for a year, not for a minute. Nothing you could say would tempt me. Nothing!’

  By now Leo had recovered himself. She had all but offered herself to him, and then, when he accepted that offer, turned around and humiliated him.

  She was even worse than he had imagined.

  ‘I wish to leave,’ Miranda announced in a choked voice. ‘I will walk if necessary, but I will not spend another moment in the same house with you.’

  He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. Suddenly his distaste for her, and himself, was more than he could bear. He wanted to get drunk…very drunk.

  ‘Yes, I quite agree,’ he murmured, and moved to ring for a servant. ‘But there is no need to walk, Countess. You shall leave as you came. I trust it is clear that I never wish to see you again?’

  ‘And I never wish to see you again!’

  She had never seen him look so bleak. ‘I will, of course, pay for your passage home to Italy, and will deal with The Grange. Whatever else you may choose to think of me, you may trust me to send on any of your belongings which—’

  ‘You are mistaken.’ Her tone was icy. ‘I am not leaving The Grange. Be quite sure that I will remain there until my dying day. Please remove your servants from my home, I neither need them nor wish to be further beholden to you. In fact, render me an account of their wages, and I will settle it as soon as possible!’

  He laughed.

  God rot him, he laughed.

  Miranda walked past him, her head held high. She told herself that, although it had not quite worked out as she had planned, she had more or less achieved what she set out to. He had made his offer, and she had refused him. There was an end to it.

  Why then did she feel no exhilaration, why did she feel no self-congratulation on her success? In short, why did she want to sink down and cry?

  Above her, the painted birds silently fluttered. Miranda did not notice them. She did not notice the pink marble. She passed a footman in a smart blue uniform as if he did not exist, and descended towards the smart carriage, which was waiting at the bottom of the steps.

  Lonely darkness encircled her, and the vehicle lurched into motion, turning to make its stately way down the drive.

  Yes, she would rejoice in this moment all her life. She would remember again and again the look in his eyes when she told him what she thought of him.

  With a heart-wrenching sob, Miranda buried her face in her gloved hands.

  Leo stood at the window and watched her go. He had never felt so wretched before in all of his life. The knowledge that she had played him for a fool was bad enough, but worse even than that was knowing that, in the end, he’d forgotten his pride, his position, everything, and been willing to sacrifice it all to her.

  And she hadn’t wanted it.

  He turned away and reached for the brandy.

  ‘Do you think that will help, Leo?’

  Tina stood in the shadows, watching him. She was still dressed in her red velvet gown, although she had let her hair down. It lay in a gleaming dark cloak about her shoulders. She looked like the little sister he remembered. Perhaps that was why he spoke to her so patiently.

  ‘If I drink enough of it, I should think it will help. Go to bed, my dear, and let me get on with it.’

  ‘Leo, what is the matter? You were so happy yesterday, and I thought that… What has gone wrong? And don’t try to flummox me, for I am wise to your ways!’

  He moved to pour a glass and, lifting the cut crystal, swirled the brandy against the light of the tall candles.

  ‘I was duped, Tina. Your wise and clever brother was duped. That is all. Now, if you will leave me—’

  But instead of leaving him, Tina took several steps into the room. ‘Oh, Leo, how could you? It was nothing…a little subterfuge. You could have overlooked it, surely? The fault was as much yours as hers!’

  Leo turned to stare at her.

  Tina hesitated, trying to read the expression on his face. ‘Leo? What did you say to her? Perhaps I can mend it—’

  ‘Mend it!’ he cried, clenching his fingers about the glass until his knuckles turned white. ‘How can you mend it? The woman is every bit as bad as she has been portrayed. Worse! Jack came to me this morning with the news that a certain gentleman has arrived in the village, and that gentleman is a particular friend of the Countess. They were together in London, and now they are together here. What is there in such a tale not to understand?’

  Tina frowned and shook her head. ‘But I don’t understand. Miranda would not… You are mistaken, Leo.’

  Leo sighed and came to take her hand. ‘I know it is painful to learn one has been lied to, Tina. Believe me, I know. Forget Miranda. Go home to your family. I will deal with my problems in my own way.’

  ‘Oh, Leo!’ Tina snapped, and pulled her hand away. ‘I know you mean well. Only… What has that silly girl done!’ She hesitated, glanced at his puzzled, ravaged face, and then seemed to make up her mind.

  ‘There is something I am going to tell you. Brace yourself, Leo, for if you are feeling foolish now, you will feel much worse presently!’

  Chapter Eleven

  Miranda had not slept well. Most of the night, she had lain with her eyes open and staring into the darkness, wishing she had never met Leo Fitzgibbon, Duke of Belford. The few times she had managed to fall into a restless slumber, she had dreamed in lurid colours and twisted shapes, and had been glad to wake again.

  No, it had not been a good night for Miranda, and the day to come didn’t promise to be any better.

  The letter to Mr Ealing remained to be written, but the urgency had gone. What did it matter if she had to live on burnt toast and break the ice on her washing water every morning? Who would care? Certainly not Leo. He had made that plain last night.

  He had not even cared when she abused him, not really. All he had wanted was for her to be gone from his house. Probably he already had another victim lined up. Well, she could comfort herself with the thought that, although they may never again meet face to face, Miranda would always be a presence here at The Grange, a reminder of his one failure.

  Each time his eyes strayed in this direction he would remember, perhaps feel a sting of regret, wonder if maybe he allowed his one chance of happiness to slip by. He would—

  Miranda stopped herself.

  Considering the way in which things were presently going, she did not even know whether or not she’d have a home next week, let alone grow old and grey here. Leo, the new Leo she had so recently unmasked, would seek revenge. And what better way to revenge himself than to destroy her one chance of a settled, happy, safe life?

  She didn’t believe it.

  Not in her heart. That was the trouble. Whatever her mind told her, she just couldn’t believe that he would ever hurt her. The conflict was tearing her in two.

  Pendle tapped politely on the door. ‘You sent Esme to fetch me, madam?’

  ‘Yes, Pendle, come in.’

  His entry into the parlour was almost tentative. He did not look at all intimidating this morning, his usual sour expression twisted into something almost, but not quite, resembling a smile.

  Now that Miranda paused to deliberate, she realised Pendle’s behaviour had changed. It was as if her laughing at him had reversed their roles in some way. Instead of treating her with his usual disdain he seemed almost in awe of her.

  Well, that aside, she had a speech prepared and it must be said.

  ‘I did want to speak to you, Pendle. I have decided I can manage quite well now without your help. Assemble the Duke’s other servants and prepare to leave.’

  Pendle blinked. ‘I beg your pardon, madam, but I fear you grossly overestimate Esme’s abilities. You must realise that—’

  ‘I am not in a state to argue
with you.’

  ‘I can see that, madam,’ he replied with some of his old panache.

  Despite her present grim situation, laughter bubbled in her throat. Good God, was she going mad? The thought sobered her.

  ‘Do as I have asked, Pendle. The time has come for you to return to Ormiston where you belong. The matter is out of your hands. No arguments, Pendle.’

  ‘No, madam.’

  ‘Well—’ she smiled her relief ‘—it is for the best, you know, and—’

  ‘I mean, “no, madam”, I will not go.’

  ‘Pendle, please—’

  The sound of a horse outside caused her to stop abruptly. Miranda clicked her tongue in annoyance. She did not want to see anyone; she was not up to seeing anyone. She only hoped it was not Tina come to plead her brother’s case, or heap more abuse on her.

  Pendle peered towards the window and then said in a smug voice, ‘We will be able to ask the Duke himself to decide on the matter, madam. I believe he has just arrived.’

  All her thoughts spiralled down to one, single word.

  No!

  Miranda sprang from her chair in a singularly unladylike manner, startling Pendle into scuttling to safety behind a spindly-legged table. She went to the window and leaned close to the numerous small panes, her breath clouding the glass. Was she dreaming? But no, while she might be capable of hallucinating, Pendle was not. It was definitely Leo.

  Gripping the sill, she stared wide-eyed. His face was set and grim beneath his top hat, and pale from lack of sleep. The fact that he was perfectly turned out in a dark blue riding jacket and fawn breeches, with Hessian boots polished to a mirror-like gleam, seemed suddenly and terribly incongruous. He should be wearing black armour and waving a sword!

  Perhaps she made some movement for, as he dismounted, Leo looked in her direction.

  Miranda jumped back. Memories of last night, the current expression of tired fury in his face, her pain and humiliation, everything swooped down on her. As far as she could see there was only one option.

  Flight.

  She spun around, and almost knocked Pendle over, who had followed her to the window.