If the Duke Demands by Anna Harrington (10)

Miranda leaned over the railing and laughed joyfully at the jugglers performing on the alley in front of their box at Vauxhall Gardens.

“Don’t you dare ask if you can learn to juggle,” Sebastian warned in that same grumpy voice he’d used with her all evening. For the past two days, in fact. Since he kissed her backstage at the opera and she rejected him, apparently wounding his male pride.

And tonight was proving no different.

She gave an insulted sniff, irritated at him herself for kissing her so wonderfully when he knew nothing could come of it. Kissing? Oh, the aggravating devil had dared to do so much more! “I would never ask such a thing.” Then, because she couldn’t help tormenting him the way he’d tormented her for the past two days, she added, “But knife throwing! Now there’s a skill I’d lov—”

He shot her a murderous glare that silenced her in mid-word.

She swallowed, thinking better of finishing that sentence after all.

The man was incomprehensible. At one moment warning her not to do anything that would cause a scandal, and at the next kissing her in such a way as to ruin her reputation if anyone caught them. At one moment, treating her as if she were a child, then touching her until she moaned with the passion of a woman. First agreeing to help her with Robert, then behaving as if he were jealous. Jealous? Ha! Not when he had the lovely Lady Jane at his side tonight as his personal guest. Yet instead of paying attention to Jane and engaging her in the same rakish conversation he’d held with Miranda at the opera, he’d spent his evening grumping and growling over every move she made.

Good heavens. The conundrum that was Sebastian Carlisle could drive a woman mad.

With a heavy sigh, she rose from her chair. He grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

She arched a brow, daring him to challenge her, here amid all their family and friends. “I want a glass of punch.”

He released her arm. “Do not leave this box.”

“Your talents are being wasted as a duke.” As she slid past him, she lowered her head as close as possible to his ear without drawing attention. “You should have been a gaoler.”

He turned in his chair as if to make a second attempt to stop her, but she was already gone, slipping around the dining table where they’d taken supper as guests of the Earl of St James.

The countess had sent invitations to Audley House and Park Place for all of them to join the couple in a private box at Vauxhall for the season opening of the pleasure gardens. So the entire Carlisle family and their guests—minus Josie and Chesney, who preferred to enjoy a quiet evening at home—had piled into several carriages and made their way through the city and across the Thames to the gardens.

Oh, the place was simply magical! The gardens were awash in colored lanterns, cascading fountains, and illuminated transparencies and filled with people wearing all manner of costumes and dress. Performers paraded down the alley at the heart of the gardens, while acrobats performed on ropes and wires strung between the galleries where private supper parties were held by those lucky enough to rent boxes. Farther away, Chinese lanterns lit the way to the pagoda at the park’s center where a band was finishing its concert. Behind the pagoda lay a dark maze of narrow, winding paths through the trees where Sebastian forbade her to go the moment they’d arrived at the entrance gate.

Despite Sebastian’s grumpiness, Miranda was enjoying herself. In fact, she’d hoped to convince Quinn to take her up in the hot-air balloon, but he was having too much fun with his friends from Boodle’s and wouldn’t be pulled away. And then there was Robert, who sat in the back of the box and had no time for anyone but Diana Morgan, who sat next to him.

Tonight, Miranda wasn’t happy with any of the Carlisle men.

She smiled gratefully at the box attendant as the man handed her a glass of arrack punch from the tray, then grudgingly returned to her seat beside Sebastian. With all of them crowded into the box, the chair beside his was the only one available, unless she wanted to remain standing beside the attendant. Which was a surprisingly tempting idea.

Especially when Sebastian warned, “And don’t even think about tightrope walking.”

Men. She was beginning to think they were of no worth whatsoever except for reaching for items high on tall shelves and changing carriage wheels.

“If you must insist on being in a foul mood all evening,” she countered, reaching the limit of her patience, “then I wish you would find someone else to torment. I am not deserving of it.”

When she was answered only by his silence, she glanced sideways and caught him staring at her, an inscrutable expression on his face. His dark eyes studied her closely, contemplating her long enough that she fidgeted beneath his blue gaze.

But she wasn’t naïve enough to believe he felt either remorse or guilt for the way he’d been treating her. Oh no—not the man who used her slippers for blackmail.

Then he stood. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll be gone only a moment.”

Miranda bit back the urge to tell him that there was no need to hurry back and returned her attention to the performers.

A new group had moved into the alley. A man dressed all in black and a woman in a red feather-covered gown stood atop a small wagon pulled by a team of donkeys. With them on the wagon was a large wooden box and a small table.

Catching the audience’s attention, the man performed a variety of magic tricks at the table with the assistance of the woman in red, including making a gold sovereign magically appear inside an unpeeled orange and pulling a dove from a hat that he released to fly over the crowd and disappear into the night. With each increasingly difficult trick, the audience cheered, and Miranda applauded right along with them. She knew the tricks were nothing but illusion and sleight of hand, yet she watched enthralled. Perhaps the night might still prove magical after all.

Mesmerized by the final trick, she sat at the edge of her seat and leaned forward against the railing to watch as the man prepared to place the woman inside the box and make her vanish.

“Stay away from magicians,” a deep voice warned at her ear. Which could only have been Sebastian, so she scowled, refusing to take her gaze away from the illusionist. He’d returned far faster than she’d hoped. “They should be avoided at all costs.”

“Why?” She rolled her eyes and braced herself for another one of his orders to behave herself.

“Because they’re the worst kind of scoundrels and cads,” he murmured gently.

Surprised by that, she turned to look at him. He reached up toward her hair, the strawberry-blond strands pulled into a simple knot tonight, and tugged gently at one of the loose tendrils curling down to frame her face. When he lowered his hand, a small paper rose dropped magically into his fingers.

Her lips parted, speechless, at his magic trick.

“You are right, Miranda. I had no business ruining your evening tonight or your night at the opera.” His blue eyes held hers in private communication as he presented the rose to her. “I fear that I behaved no better than a magician. My sincerest apologies.”

Her heart tugged as she looked down at the red papier-mâché flower cupped in his palm. She might never understand this man, but she couldn’t stay angry at him, either, not when he apologized like this. Her fingers trembled as she accepted the flower.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His eyes stared softly into hers. “You’re welcome.” After a short pause, he added, as if unable to help himself, “But do stay away from the tightropes, will you?”

She laughed and pressed the flower against her chest, her eyes tearing up at his apology. “I will, I promise.”

Of all the things for him to do tonight, she certainly hadn’t expected this! A flower as a peace offering. And most of all, an apology. Her chest lightened with relief. Now, they could be friends again, as they were meant to be, and he wouldn’t give what happened between them at the opera a second thought.

As if to prove her correct, Sebastian turned his attention immediately back to Lady Jane, who had tapped his shoulder to inquire about one of the other members of Parliament in attendance tonight. Jane smiled at him, that demure expression that came so easily for her. So urbane and beautiful. Even just sitting there, in her pale gray gown and white ermine stole, with strings of pearls woven through her dark hair, she was quietly graceful and refined. Exactly the sort of woman Sebastian wanted for his wife.

Miranda slumped back in her chair, her shoulders sagging. Which only made her feel even worse given how ramrod-straight Lady Jane sat on the other side of him. So she stiffened her spine, pulled back her shoulders, and once again missed the loose-fitting dresses she wore in the country.

“The more daring ladies wear them behind their ears,” Robert piped up as he leaned over her shoulder and saw the flower resting on her palm. Only a few weeks ago, she would have been all aflutter to have him speak into her ear like this. But now, oddly enough, she felt not a single butterfly rise in her belly.

But she didn’t let herself contemplate what that meant as she slipped the flower behind her ear. “Like this?”

“Beautiful.” He gave her a smile, then jerked his thumb toward the pagoda. “Diana and I are going for ices. Want to come along?”

What he meant was that they needed a chaperone. Her heart sank. A chaperone for another couple in love was the very last thing she wanted to be tonight.

But a glance at Sebastian told her that she couldn’t bear to stay behind with him and Lady Jane either.

She forced a smile. “Yes, I’ll come.”

As Robert and Diana slipped from the box, Miranda rose from her chair and caught Sebastian readying to give her one more warning. But she raised her brow in silent challenge and walked out the door.

Bustling with excitement and activity, the gardens were a wonderland of sights and sounds as she wandered into the busy alley after Robert and Diana. Within a matter of minutes, she’d lost sight of them in the crowd, but she wasn’t the least bit upset by that. Not when she had all of the pleasure gardens to explore, all the wonders to experience for herself now that she was freed from Sebastian’s leash. Besides, Diana and Robert were going for ices, which meant she’d eventually find them at the refreshments booths near the pagoda, at that point where the well-lit alleys gave way to the dark, close paths in the wooded acres away from the galleries and stages.

Around her, finely dressed men and women strolled past, along with more daring persons wearing fancy dress and covering their faces with masks. Harlequins danced by. So did a troupe of puppeteers, working life-size puppets in their hands. Two acrobats, holding on to each other’s ankles, rolled past like a human hoop. A juggler tossed flaming batons high into the air, and two men on stilts chased each other down the alley. Everywhere around her came strains of music, all being played by different quartets and bands. There would be fireworks later, but as far as she was concerned, the colorful crowd was enough fireworks for her.

As she approached the pagoda, she glimpsed Robert and Diana walking down one of the narrow paths leading into the dark trees. And decidedly not interested in fetching lemon ices. With a sigh, she hurried after them. If she was to be their chaperone, then she needed to stay with them whether they wanted her there or not. The last thing she needed was to give Sebastian any more ammunition to use against her.

The path grew narrower and darker as she went. Although lanterns had been strung from the trees, someone had extinguished them, leaving the path mostly in darkness, and she picked her way carefully, knowing Robert and Diana couldn’t be too far in front. Up ahead where the path curved, she saw their two dark figures step into the bushes toward a small folly made to look like the tumbled ruins of a Greek temple. She followed. As she rounded the end of the ruined wall, she started to call out—

Then Robert pulled Diana against him and kissed her. Not with the desperate urgency that Sebastian had kissed Miranda at the opera, but with such tenderness, such gentleness that her heart broke.

Rather, it should have broken. After all, Robert was the man she’d wanted for years. So why wasn’t she bothered as much as she should have been to see him kissing another woman? Was it possible that she didn’t love him anymore? Or that she’d never truly loved him at all?

Oh, it hurt, she couldn’t deny that. Letting go of a dream she’d chased for so many years was painful, but not the blinding pain she should have felt, the raging jealousy, the sorrow so fierce it should have buckled her knees and sent her to the ground. Wasn’t that what all the poets claimed a broken heart felt like? Utter desolation?

Instead, all she felt was grief at losing her dream, and a sense of finality. As if she’d known all along that this was how her pursuit of him would end.

And an odd blossoming of relief.

Needing time and space to think, she ducked behind the wall before they could see her. She paused, leaning against the cold stone to breathe deep and force down her utter shock at not being…well, utterly shocked.

Then she heard them, at first just low whispers as her ears took a moment to adjust to the quiet, sort through the sounds, and realize what they were talking about…Her.

“She fancies Trent,” Diana said, her quiet words making Miranda’s heart skip.

“Miranda?” Surprise rang through Robert’s voice, and for a moment, he forgot to speak quietly. “Impossible.”

“I just think, the way she looks at him sometimes…”

“Miranda’s like a little sister. All of us think of her that way. Especially Seb.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Miranda pressed her hand against her chest. Surprisingly, that did hurt. A great deal.

“Anyway, he’s set on Lady Jane,” Robert continued. “He needs a duchess. Miranda can never be that for him.”

And that was simply agonizing, even though she knew it was true.

“Trent doesn’t love Lady Jane,” Diana said softly. “There’s nothing in his eyes when he looks at her, and she can’t keep his attention. But when he looks at Miranda, there’s all kinds of fire.”

“Because he wants to throttle her,” Robert teased.

“No,” Diana chastised, one woman defending another, and a guilty pang struck Miranda that she had been resentful of Diana for stealing Robert’s attention. She’d never given the woman a chance, and now she regretted it. “He cares for her. He gave her that flower tonight.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips as Miranda reached up to touch the paper rose still tucked behind her ear. Yes, he had given her that rose, and the way he’d given it to her made it even more special. Oh, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Sebastian cared about her, not the way Diana meant. But he did care enough to apologize.

“Means nothing,” Robert assured her. “They’re a ha’penny each from the beggar woman who sells them behind the galleries as souvenirs.”

With her heart tearing, Miranda slowly pulled down the flower and stared at it. In the dim shadows, the red paper petals showed black. She didn’t care that it was only a cheap souvenir; it was the thought that was important, and Sebastian had made a special trip out of the box to buy it for her.

“That doesn’t matter,” Diana protested softly. “He still gave it to her. It was romantic.”

“That wasn’t romance,” Robert corrected. “That was bribery because he needs her to behave around Lady Jane.”

A painful stab sliced through her. Bribery…not an apology after all. The realization burned as if her heart had been ripped from her chest, replaced by a hollow of hot humiliation and anger. All she could do was lean against the stone to keep her knees from giving out beneath her and remember to breathe.

Oh God, how it hurt! She pressed her hand hard against her chest to fight back the rising anguish flooding through her, but it was no use. Her entire season had been nothing but one mistake after another, and the biggest mistake of all…

Miranda stared down at the dark flower. A drop of water fell onto one of the petals, soaking into the paper and running the dye. Only then did she realize that she was crying.

“Robert, I’m serious. I truly think your brother is attracted to her.”

“Miranda Hodgkins is nothing more than a family friend. She’s the last person my brother would want.”

Her hand folded around the paper rose, crushing it against her palm. She shoved the unwanted flower into her pocket as she turned and walked away.

Sebastian frowned as he glanced down the alley toward the pagoda. He hadn’t realized that fetching ices could take so long.

After being gone nearly half an hour, the others hadn’t yet returned, and he was beginning to worry. Although Miranda was with Robert and Miss Morgan, he knew Miranda well enough to know that she could find trouble locked up alone in an empty room. Letting her run loose at Vauxhall was deadly. Pandora’s curiosity got her into less trouble than what Miranda could be capable of committing here.

At least he’d made good use of their absence to speak with Lady Jane. But frustratingly, the conversation with Jane was not nearly as interesting as the ones he’d shared with Miranda. When he’d attempted a decidedly flirtatious one, Jane didn’t notice any of the entendres and sexual undercurrents. Or if she had, she hadn’t dared seize on any of them.

A new worry blossomed inside him that he didn’t find Lady Jane alluring. Sophisticated, yes. Beautiful and refined, certainly. But inspiring…not at all. And doubly unfortunate, he realized as he exhaled a long breath, neither inspiring sexually nor intellectually. He doubted that she would ever offer an unguarded opinion or argue with him about anything, especially Milton or Shakespeare.

Perhaps, though, his lack of interest was because they hadn’t had the chance to be alone. Surely, if he were conscious of the eyes watching the two of them, then so was she, and as a well-mannered society daughter, she knew to conduct herself with reserve when in the public eye.

The answer was simple. He needed time with her in private.

“Would you care to join me for a stroll through the garden?” He extended his hand as he stood. “Perhaps we’ll find the others.”

“A lovely idea, Trent.” With a pleased smile, she put her hand into his and rose gracefully to her feet. Everything Jane did was graceful. And proper. Which was why she motioned for the woman who’d accompanied her this evening to serve as chaperone. The dour woman, dressed in brown worsted wool, rose from her chair in the corner of the box and followed them out into the night.

The woman was certainly a good ladies’ companion, Sebastian noted, because less than ten minutes later and just as they were reaching the close paths in the woods, she was gone from sight, separated from them in the crowd. So good, in fact, that he knew she would be gone as long as they were, only to be waiting near the box door when they returned.

A very convenient separation, and one Jane must have arranged with the woman prior to setting out for the evening in hopes of time alone with him. Exactly what he wanted as well, and relief warmed inside him at the similarity of their thoughts. More—being willing to be alone with him also meant she was amenable to marriage.

Jane didn’t protest as he guided her into the wilderness of the close paths, where the lanterns had been extinguished—if ever lit in the first place. The darkness gave privacy for the pleasures that had earned Vauxhall’s woods its sordid reputation.

“You’re distracted this evening, Trent,” she commented softly.

Sebastian bit back the fierce urge to disagree, offering instead, “My apologies.” Because the truth was that he was distracted this evening.

This evening? He almost laughed. He’d been distracted since the night of his mother’s birthday party at Chestnut Hill. And that distraction took the form of a petite strawberry blonde who always seemed to pop up in places she shouldn’t, arousing him to madness. In the two days since Miranda made her operatic debut, the attention she’d garnered had only intensified. Men of all social ranks were calling on her. She’d become the talk of the season. He couldn’t walk into White’s without someone asking about her, and invitations from the ladies of the ton were arriving in a stream for her. So were the gentlemen callers.

While his mother assured him that the sudden attention was harmless, the truth was that Sebastian didn’t like it. Not at all.

But what could he do except follow his mother’s wishes and allow gentlemen to call on her? He had no claim to her, nor ever would. That fit of madness that had him nearly seducing Miranda backstage at the opera was only that—madness to think that he could be with a woman because of the way she made him feel about himself. Because she made him laugh and challenged him intellectually. Because when he was with her he forgot about all the pressures of the dukedom resting on his shoulders and could simply be himself.

But being himself was being the duke, at every moment. The sooner he resigned himself to that fate, the better. And he’d never again be bothered with the madness of wanting to be someone he could no longer be.

“It’s been a bit of a trying season,” he explained, although downright frustrating was more accurate. In everything, he tried to remember the promise he made to his father to always put the dukedom first, especially with the women he associated with. But Miranda had completely turned his world on end. When he wasn’t longing to spend time with her, he was riddled with guilt about the way he behaved whenever he was with her. What would Father have thought of him that every time they were alone together he nearly ruined her? That certainly wasn’t the duke his father expected him to be.

“I’m certain it has been difficult for you,” she agreed. Then, after a pause, “Miss Hodgkins is the talk of the ton. I can understand how she could be distracting.”

“Oh?” He shot her a sideways glance. What the hell did Jane mean by that? Was she insulting Miranda?

But she smiled at him with patient understanding for his situation, not a drop of animosity visible in her. “You’re so busy this season—Parliament, your duties to your mother and sister, trying to keep your brothers in line…and now Miss Hodgkins. It’s a wonder you’ve got time for me at all.” She touched his arm in a sympathetic gesture. “So I certainly don’t fault you for being distracted with all that you have to manage, and I hope you don’t think that I do.”

The tension eased from his shoulders. Thank God Jane understood all his responsibilities. Another reason that she was a good choice to be his duchess. “Thank you.”

She pulled at her long gloves. Every inch of her was fashion plate perfection, right down to the bows on her satin shoes. “Yet she’s become the favorite subject of this season’s on dit. It seems that her…exuberance is all anyone wants to talk about.”

He bristled in Miranda’s defense. “She’s simply enjoying herself, that’s all. Her parents both died when she was a little girl, and her aunt and uncle who raised her had no children of their own.” So they’d had no idea what to do with her, between overly strict tutors and letting her run wild with the Carlisles, and neither extreme was good for her. But during this season, so far she’d managed herself quite well. “She’s just trying to find her way.”

“I hope for your sake that she finds it soon.”

Something about her tone struck him as icy. So did her lack of sympathetic comment on Miranda’s past. “She will,” he assured her, attributing her tone to not yet knowing Miranda well. “And I’m grateful you haven’t let the gossip chase you away.”

She smiled up at him. “I would never let another woman decide my suitors for me.”

Her suitor. He wanted to be just that, so why didn’t he feel especially thrilled when she said it? In fact, after spending the evening at her side, he felt nothing for Jane beyond pleasant companionship. And that had to change if he was going to make her his wife.

When they reached a spot along the path where a vine-covered bower sat secluded amid the shadows, he led her beneath its arch.

“Will this do?” he asked.

She was sharp when it came to the sexual politics of the ton. There was no point in dissembling with her over why he’d led her here, just far enough down the path to give them seclusion yet not so far as to put her reputation in jeopardy. There would certainly be no seduction tonight, but enough intimacies could be shared to put to rest the unease in his mind about whether he and Jane suited. They had to. Not only did he need an heir, but he had no plans to ever go outside his marriage. The woman he married had to be everything to him…companion, counselor, lover. He would settle for nothing less.

“Perfectly,” she murmured. Lifting her arms to encircle his neck, she gave that same demure smile she’d worn all night.

Suddenly, he was struck by an urge to put another expression on her face, one of passion and arousal. That same foggy-confused look of pleasure and need that came over Miranda’s features whenever he kissed her. He cupped Jane’s face between his hands and lowered his mouth to kiss her. He hoped to taste on her lips that vanilla-sweet flavor he’d recently come to crave, to tease the same eager response from her that flamed from Miranda every time he touched her.

With a sigh, she softened her mouth and returned the kiss, her lips meeting his with a well-practiced technique that told him she’d kissed many men in dark gardens before him. But as he kissed her, waiting for the passion to spark between them, he felt nothing. That same pulsing desire he experienced whenever he caught a whiff of rosewater, that familiar tightening low in his gut…all that was missing. He’d felt it with Miranda, for God’s sake, so surely he should feel it with Jane.

But nothing. No passion, no fire. No desperate, nearly overwhelming desire to lose himself, body and soul, inside her.

Nothing.

Oh, her kiss was nice. She had a soft, kissable mouth, and she made no move to stop him as he coaxed apart her lips with his tongue and slipped inside, attempting to draw from her a moan of pleasure or a whimper of need. Any kind of reaction that showed she enjoyed being in his arms or that would heighten his arousal for her the way Miranda’s soft mewlings sent his blood boiling. Although she returned the kiss, her mouth tasted nothing of the greedy hunger he wanted from her, her body not melting into his. The experience was not unpleasant, just…empty.

He pulled back and looked down at her. Except for her kiss-reddened mouth, her face appeared just as serene as before he’d begun to kiss her. He saw no signs at all of whether she’d enjoyed it, whether she wanted him to keep kissing her or to do more and dare to touch her the way he had Miranda, who’d made no attempt to hide what she felt. Even alone with him in the darkness, Jane was refined enough to not give over to unrestrained passions.

But she was what he needed, wasn’t she? A respected and proper woman to be his duchess. One his father would have approved of, no matter that his heart wanted fire and passion.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him that same damnable smile as before. The only difference was that this time, she ran her gloved fingers through the hair at his nape.

“That was nice,” she whispered.

Nice? He bit back a laugh. Nice was the last thing he wanted.

She said softly, “I think we should return to the box now before anyone notices we’re missing.” As if sensing the emotions warring inside him, she rested her hand possessively on his arm. “Please understand. I have to guard my virtue, especially with you, Trent.”

“Especially with me?” What the hell did she mean by that?

“You and your brothers have a certain reputation, you know.”

Her eyes shined, as if she liked the idea of capturing one of the Carlisles, as if believing that silly bit of nonsense that reformed rakes made for the best husbands. They didn’t. They simply made for reformed rakes.

The best husbands were men like his father. Those common, unassuming men with solid characters and generous souls, who provided well for their families and kept them safe, who were kind to those around them and demanding of themselves, who simply loved—

Sebastian drew a deep, pain-filled breath…Who simply loved their wives.

Her hand trailed over his chest to play flirtatiously with the buttons on his waistcoat, but his body didn’t react, not even a quickening of his heartbeat. Being alone with her tonight hadn’t aroused him one bit. It had only frustrated the hell out of him. “I’ll go on ahead, while you wait fifteen minutes before trailing after. We’ll say we were separated in the crowd.”

“Of course.” Apparently, she had planned out quite a good deal in anticipation of being alone with him. He gave her a final parting kiss, hoping he’d missed something from the earlier embrace, but his reaction to her was just as lackluster as before.

Then she was gone, slipping out from beneath the bower and heading back toward the alley, where her companion would be waiting for her behind the gallery with some ready excuse for how they’d all gotten separated.

Biting out a frustrated curse, he paced the tiny space beneath the bower. He’d never considered passion to be a priority when deciding upon a wife. Of course, he’d always assumed that the woman he selected would be just as amenable to bed sport as he was. But now, with his cold reaction to Jane, he began to doubt if the woman he married would share even that. He’d have to teach her how to take pleasure in intimacy, he supposed, how to enjoy herself, so he could enjoy himself with her.

Lord knew he certainly didn’t have to teach that to Miranda.

He scowled. What on earth was wrong with him? Good God, why was he thinking of Miranda, of all women? When all she did was make him feel like a damn fool, a woman he should never want doing just that and leaving him frustrated and angry—

A commotion sounded from nearby in the dark gardens. Sebastian ducked out from beneath the cover of the ivy-laden bower and watched down the narrow path at the heavy shadows where the lanterns had been extinguished. A man’s and woman’s voices, heated in argument, grew nearer. He smiled with grim satisfaction. Well, it was good to know that some other gentleman was having just as rotten a time as he was this evening. Most likely, the two fought because one of them had caught the other in the bushes with someone else. A nightly occurrence at Vauxhall.

They drew nearer, nothing more than dark, bodiless arguing in the shadows. Then the woman’s voice came through clearly—

“Just go away!”

Miranda.

She stormed out of the black shadows, her pace so fast that she was nearly running. And beside her, easily matching her strides, walked Burton Williams, Viscount Houghton’s youngest son.

“Please,” she pleaded, “leave me be. I don’t need an escort to…” The rest of the sentence was lost as the two reached the start of the stone wall that cut through the bushes and added a layer of privacy to those wishing to hide among the shadows.

Sebastian started forward, anger rising inside him.

Williams said something to her, but she shook her head forcefully and kept walking. Without warning, the man grabbed her arm and yanked her against him. She pushed against him to break free as his mouth came down on hers.

Her hand cracked across his cheek.

Williams pulled back only far enough to snarl at her, “Like it rough, do you?” Then he shoved her back against the wall.

Sebastian grabbed him by the shoulder and pivoted him around as his clenched fist plowed into the man’s jaw. The force of the surprise blow dropped Williams to the ground.

“Apologize,” Sebastian demanded through gritted teeth as he towered over Williams at his feet, forcing out each word in a barely contained growl as red fury flashed through him.

Williams shot out, “The hell I will!”

“It’s all right,” Miranda assured him as she placed her hand on Sebastian’s right arm to keep him from punching the bastard a second time. “It was only a misunderstanding.”

He didn’t believe that for a moment. And tonight, he was feeling just keyed up enough to engage in a full-out brawl to burn off the frustration and swirling energy inside him that he couldn’t put to rest. The same frustration that had burned inside him since the masquerade.

“Apologize,” he repeated.

Williams touched the trickle of blood seeping from his cut lip and bit out, “My apologies.”

“Accepted,” Miranda quickly answered and tugged on Sebastian’s hand to lead him away. But he wasn’t about to move before he was ready.

“Don’t ever touch her again,” he threatened as Williams climbed unsteadily to his feet. “And not one ill word about her to anyone unless you want a duel.”

Williams laughed at that and sent a scathing look of contempt at her. “That poplolly isn’t worth the waste of a bullet.”

With Miranda still clinging to his right arm, Sebastian swung with his left. He caught Williams hard in the other jaw. This time when the man crumpled to the ground, he knew enough to remain down.

Anger coursed wildly through him, pulsing with each pounding beat of his heart as he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her behind him down the path. He refused to let her go even as she called for him to stop, not looking back and forcing her to practically run to keep up with his long strides. No one in the crowd around them paid the slightest bit of attention. A woman being hauled physically from the gardens by an angry man was also a nightly occurrence.

“We’re leaving!” he shouted at Quinn as he passed their box, his brother sitting on the front railing, surrounded by his friends. Thankfully, Lady Jane and his mother were nowhere in sight. “I’m taking Miranda home.”

“Why?” Quinn yelled back through the noise as the first fireworks streamed into the air and burst overhead in a shower of brilliant reds and blues. Around them the crowd cheered.

“Headache,” Sebastian snarled.

Quinn frowned with concern. “Miranda has a headache?”

“No,” he muttered beneath his breath, “I do.”