The Decadent Countess Page 4

  Miranda smoothed a truant lock of auburn hair back into the knot on her crown. If Belford found fault in her then it would not be because of her appearance.

  She met her own eyes in the glass, and a slow, guilty flush spread upwards from the muslin ruff. What did it matter what he thought of her? In fact, the worse he thought of her the better! Julian’s cousin had sullied her good name with his inferences and bullying behaviour. He had allowed his bias to blind him to the truth, when any other man would have seen at a glance that she was not Adela.

  He was deserving of the severest punishment and she would see that he received it.

  Miranda lifted her chin, straightened her already straight shoulders, and, with her reticule and her umbrella clasped firmly in her gloved hands, left her room to face her persecutor.

  Indignation carried her downstairs to the private parlour in question, but once she had opened the door, Miranda hesitated. The Duke of Belford was standing with his back half-turned to her, one hand resting on the mantelpiece, his dark head bowed. He did not look like a bully now. He looked pensive, almost…troubled. And very handsome.

  Miranda decided he could not have heard her enter, for he continued his silent examination of the small circle of flames in the fireplace. While knowing she should clear her throat to draw his attention, Miranda continued to remain silent, taking the opportunity to run her eyes over him. There was, she told herself firmly, nothing wrong in thoroughly scrutinising her opponent.

  He was dressed for riding in a dark blue coat and brown breeches, with top boots so shiny Miranda was sure she would see her face in them, if she cared to look. His neckcloth was clean and neat but not ostentatious, and certainly not foolish, as had been the one worn by a man in the dining room last evening. In fact, everything about him was quiet and understated. He seemed the perfect gentleman.

  Miranda struggled to dredge up her earlier anger, but for some reason all she could find was a ridiculous but no less painful longing that she and Julian’s cousin had met in other, more congenial, circumstances.

  ‘Do I pass muster, Countess?’

  At the sound of his voice, Miranda’s chin jerked up and she met the reflection of those deep blue eyes in the gilt-framed mirror above the mantel. He was smiling but there was no warmth in it, rather he looked smug and supercilious. A man who was used to women’s adulation, she told herself, and longed to set him down. She lifted her chin another notch as the anger she had been seeking in vain a moment ago surged through her.

  ‘You’re passable, your Grace, but I have seen better.’

  A reciprocal spark of anger flared briefly in his eyes. He veiled them with dark lashes. ‘Indeed,’ he replied smoothly, with a hint of cruelty. ‘But then, you draw from a vast experience.’

  Untrue though they were, his words stung. ‘Oh, vast!’ Miranda retorted, and smiled back with clenched teeth. ‘What do you want? I am just on my way out.’

  ‘So I see. Then I will delay you only a moment.’ He hesitated, coolly examining the impatient beauty before him. She was even more lovely this morning, despite the smudges of weariness beneath her magnificent eyes. Had he put them there? Reluctantly he dismissed the thought. She might disturb his sleep, but he very much doubted he disturbed hers. At least he was himself this morning. There would be no repeat of yesterday’s unforgivable clumsiness.

  ‘Will you not sit down, ma’am?’ Leo spoke now with a frigid politeness. ‘There are matters we must discuss and we may as well be comfortable while we do so.’

  Miranda’s stomach fluttered but she did not show it. Instead she replied with equal iciness, mixed with a fair dose of stubbornness, ‘Thank you, but I am very comfortable. I prefer to stand.’

  ‘As you wish. I understand you are calling yourself Mrs Fitzgibbon while you are staying here?’

  ‘It is my name.’

  ‘For the moment.’ That smug smile again.

  Miranda laughed in a manner completely alien to her. She felt reckless, slightly mad, capable of anything. Her family and friends would not have recognised her. Indeed, she felt like a stranger to herself, and yet at the same time it was a heady, liberating feeling.

  ‘I did not realise you were able to effect divorces, sir!’ She spoke with a degree of sarcasm she would never have believed she possessed.

  ‘I am capable of many things, Countess. You do not know me yet.’

  Was that a threat? His tone had sounded very soft and very menacing.

  ‘Julian spoke of you often, so I feel as if I do,’ she replied airily, as if she had not a care in the world.

  At the mention of his cousin, Leo stilled, his gaze narrowing. ‘Oh? Julian spoke of me?’

  ‘Often. You were his hero. He—’ She choked back what she had been about to say. The realisation came to her that it was in her power to hurt him by withholding Julian’s regard for him. And yet, even as she determined to do just that, Miranda knew she couldn’t. Whatever Leo’s true character, Julian had believed him a generous and trustworthy man. She owed it to Julian to tell the truth.

  Miranda looked into Belford’s eyes and said simply, ‘Julian thought a great deal of you.’

  Leo appeared startled, and for a brief moment almost defenceless. And then his brows snapped down into a frown and Miranda knew she must have imagined it.

  But Leo was caught off guard. He had not expected such generosity. A moment ago, with her eyes wildly glittering, she had seemed more inclined to murder him than offer him compliments.

  Why then this sudden change of heart?

  Leo felt like a tiny boat on a stormy sea—off balance and dangerously adrift. It had not occurred to him that the wicked Countess would suddenly develop a heart. Mentally, he shook his head. If he allowed himself to be sidetracked he would never gain the upper hand. The only way to bring this matter to the desired conclusion was to stick to the point.

  ‘Have you reconsidered my offer, Countess?’

  Ah, that was better! Her eyes were glittering again, and she was clenching her fingers about the handle of her umbrella as if she would like to break it over his skull.

  ‘Your offer?’ she cried, tossing her head, pretending at a carelessness he now knew she didn’t feel. ‘No, I haven’t. Nor do I intend to. England will be my home from now on, and, whether you approve or not, here I will stay!’

  A curl of auburn hair fell incongruously over one eye and she made an impatient sound and tucked it behind her ear. Her cheek appeared soft, smooth and defenceless. Her slim fingers were trembling.

  Leo frowned.

  Again he had the distinct feeling that there was something wrong, something jarring in the scene before him. The Countess wasn’t being honest with him. He sensed it, and his instincts were rarely wrong. Determined to get to the bottom of the matter, one way or another, he closed the distance between them.

  Miranda stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated by his broader shoulders and bigger body. They faced each other, he still frowning and she attempting to act out the part of her stepmama while inside she was feeling increasingly wobbly.

  ‘Italy is your home, Countess,’ Leo said softly. ‘You would be far more comfortable there. And with fifteen thousand pounds, you could live very comfortably. If you were careful.’

  Miranda searched his expression with narrowed eyes. He had upped the price, and probably expected her to capitulate. He did not realise the money meant nothing whatsoever to her. She would not have accepted his bribe had it been a million pounds!

  ‘I am never careful,’ careful Miranda answered artlessly.

  She saw confusion gleam briefly through his cool mask, and then anger took its place. He stepped forward again, and now he was uncomfortably close.

  ‘I will pay you twenty thousand pounds, but that is my final offer. If you still refuse to leave London, it will be necessary for me to take measures you will find extremely unpleasant. Be warned, madam, I am not a man to trifle with!’

  No, she was sure he wasn’t. Miranda lick
ed her lips. The movement seemed to rivet his attention. His eyes slid to her mouth and fixed there. Suddenly Miranda was having difficulty breathing.

  Leo was having difficulty remembering why he had come here in the first place. He was close enough now to smell the scent of her soap—lilac—and see the faint trembling of her hands as she clasped and unclasped them around her reticule and umbrella, both objects large and practical rather than the froth and frivolity he’d normally associate with a Decadent Countess. But he was far beyond taking in such small discrepancies.

  Instead, Leo was thinking that she was only a few inches shorter than he. Perfect, an unfamiliar voice inside his head affirmed, when it came to kissing. A slight adjustment, a comfortable tilt of the head, and their lips would be joined. He wondered what she would taste like. Something sweet, yes, warm and sweet.

  God, he wanted to kiss her! More than he had ever wanted anything in his entire life. And for the first time in that life, Leo bent his head and gave full vent to his urges. A moment of pure paradise. Her lips were as soft and sweet as he had imagined, but, oh, so much warmer. His arm curved into the indentation of her waist, and her body leaned to his. Trustingly. Meant to be there.

  Leo deepened the kiss.

  With a cry, Miranda pushed him away.

  She had to exert no little pressure to make him stop. Leo blinked, dazed, and stepped back. He took in her flushed and furious face. Reason returned full force, like the slam of a door in his face.

  ‘Your Grace,’ Miranda managed, her voice a breathless squeak. ‘Whatever you may think of me, I never kiss strange men in hotel parlours.’

  He laughed. Despite everything, he laughed. When do you kiss them? he wanted to ask, but knew that would be unforgivable. As unforgivable as that which he had just done. And then all humour left him.

  Miranda’s shock and indignation was excessive for a woman of such dubious reputation, but Leo did not think of that. He was too mortified by his actions. How could he, the most reasonable of men, have so completely lost his reason? How could he have been knocked off his calm and steady axis, and by the very woman he had come to send packing?

  Leo bowed, his movements a stiff caricature of his usual self-possession. ‘Madam, I beg your pardon.’ His eyes were full of the truth of his words, startling Miranda with their clear honesty. ‘Whatever ill feeling there may be between us, there was no excuse for my presumption.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Will you accept my apology?’

  Miranda hesitated, gazing into his eyes. Somewhere deep inside her was the naughty, hoydenish acknowledgment that she had enjoyed his brief kiss very much, and that it had felt inexplicably right, but it was buried beneath an avalanche of confusion. And now he looked so very…sorry. She had meant to tear strips off him, or burst into tears. Instead Miranda found herself saying, ‘I will accept your apology, sir. It will be as if it never happened.’

  Their eyes met and slid away uncomfortably.

  Leo cleared his throat. ‘And you will accept my offer of twenty thousand pounds?’

  He waited while she seemed to take an inordinate length of time to consider his question. There was a churning sensation in his stomach, but he told himself it was because he so wanted her to say ‘yes’.

  ‘No, Duke, I will not accept your offer.’

  There was no readable expression on his face—he had himself well under control again. Instead he turned aside to stare into the flames.

  ‘And may I ask why not?’ Even his voice was blank.

  Miranda matched him as well as she was able, though her heart was still beating uncomfortably hard and her breath was shaky. ‘No, sir, you may not. But never fear, you will not have to endure the contamination of my company much longer. I am removing to The Grange as soon as I am able. I am sure you will agree that will be a relief to us both.’

  He turned to stare at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears. The words burst out of him before he could stop them. ‘The Grange? You cannot mean to live there?’

  Miranda was equally taken aback by the shocked disbelief in his face and voice, but she hid it with a brittle laugh. ‘Of course I mean to live there. It is my home now, sir.’

  ‘The Grange has been—’

  ‘In the Fitzgibbon family for centuries, yes, Julian told me. But I am also a Fitzgibbon…now.’

  Leo smiled grimly at her droll reminder. The momentary loss of the cool mask which he had worn for most of his life would not be repeated. ‘As a matter of interest, do you know where The Grange is situated, Countess?’

  Miranda watched nervously as he collected his hat and whip from a small side table. ‘In Somerset, sir, near the village of St Mary Mere. Is that far enough away for you?’

  He did not immediately answer, instead striding to the door. Once there he hesitated, before turning back to face her. She braced herself for she knew not what.

  ‘You will regret your refusal to deal with me, Countess,’ he told her quietly. Again that quick, searching look. He bowed again. ‘Good day.’

  The door closed behind him.

  Astonished, incapable of any reply, Miranda stared after him. She was awash with a dozen emotions. She had no doubt he had meant exactly what he said. He wanted to be rid of her, and he would not rest until he was. Did he loathe her so much? Miranda, who had wanted him to loathe her, now took exception to that. How dare he speak so to her? And yet, on another level, Miranda tingled with an attraction so potent, she hardly knew how to explain or manage it. He had kissed her! And she had not been repulsed, not at all. She had not wanted him to kiss her, not expected it, but when he did…oh! What bliss.

  Realising the ridiculous direction her thoughts were taking, Miranda put a stop to them. Whether she had enjoyed it or not was beside the point. No gentleman should make unwelcome advances towards a lady.

  And what if he did not think her a lady?

  Miranda groaned. Of course! He thought she was Adela, an experienced woman of the world. He thought she would welcome such advances, or at least know how to deal with them. And she had allowed him, even encouraged him, to think it!

  So did that mean she had only herself to blame? Miranda did not think so. If this was anyone’s fault, it was his. He was the one who had jumped to conclusions in the first place, and it was he who had insulted her and infuriated her to the point where she had had no choice but to punish him.

  Miranda touched her lips and remembered the warm wave of pleasure which washed over her when he kissed her. And something else…a sense of belonging. Leo Fitzgibbon, the Duke of Belford, was evidently even more dangerous than she had thought.

  Just as well she was retiring to The Grange. There she could live in quiet solitude. Indeed, she thought wryly, with so few funds she had little choice. And she did not resent it, no, indeed! Although Miranda had enjoyed Adela’s soirees, she had never sought excitement in her life. Since childhood, she had led an uncertain existence. It was certainty she craved, and a sense of security. The Grange would give her that.

  The memory of Leo Fitzgibbon’s eyes intruded on her comfortable picture. It could not be that she would miss that hateful man? she thought, appalled. He had done nothing but insult her since the moment she met him. No, she disliked him intensely, and if she never saw him again—which she certainty would not!—it would be too soon.

  Chapter Three

  Leo itched to gallop his chestnut stallion. Send it careering recklessly along the quiet paths of the Park, frightening ladies and gentlemen as they strolled beneath the leafy trees.

  Of course he did no such thing.

  To do so would be completely, entirely out of character. And yet Leo was beginning to wonder just what was in character for him.

  He was still reeling from his complete loss of control in the parlour of Armstrong’s Hotel. If he had thought his handling of the situation yesterday was bad, this was far worse. And, try as he might, he could not understand why he would want to kiss a woman who was like a thorn in the side of the Fitzgibbon family.
A woman who was, to be blunt, blackmailing him into paying her far more money than he cared to.

  What was wrong with him?

  All these years, Leo had prided himself on his restraint. He was a man to be relied on in a crisis, known for his good manners and cool control. He had even heard himself described as the perfect gentleman. Well, this morning had put an end to that!

  Leo twitched uncomfortably in his saddle. It was now more imperative than ever that the Countess agree to his terms and return to Italy. His life would not be the same again if she did not. Obviously he could not trust himself in her presence, ergo her presence must be removed.

  And now she was threatening to take up residence at The Grange! Could it be she was not aware of the upset her plans would cause him and his family? Did she not know that The Grange was on the opposite side of the village to Ormiston, the Fitzgibbon family estate? And yet she had indeed seemed unaware of this fact. One moment she was one thing, and then she was another. Just when he had decided she was the very antithesis of the wicked schemer she had appeared five minutes before, she would do or say something to throw him once more into confusion.

  Leo cursed softly.

  There was an empty stretch of path ahead. His restlessness could no longer be contained. Leo spurred the chestnut into a gallop. By the time he pulled up again he was feeling a little calmer, and was able to make polite bows to a number of his acquaintances. They did not, he told himself with relief, seem to notice any alteration in him. He was himself again.

  The season was in full swing, and a number of mothers and marriageable daughters were to be seen in their carriages, taking the air. The knowledge that he was once more a prime target caused a flicker of irritation to crease his brow. Had he ever really entertained the thought of marrying a Miss just out of the schoolroom? They all seemed so insipid. More so, he admitted uneasily, since he had met the Decadent Countess.

  Leo found himself wondering idly what it would be like to be married to Julian’s widow. Certainly he would never be bored. Probably he would be distracted within a day and mad within a week.