Thunder rumbled through the silence of his room, and Sebastian stirred from sleep. His eyes opened slowly to the gray darkness of a morning rainstorm striking at the windows, the coals in the fireplace now completely cold. But the bed was warm. He smiled as he languidly stretched. He’d awoken happier than he had in years, and his body ached pleasantly in places where it hadn’t ached in far too long. All because of Miranda.
“Rose,” he whispered blissfully as he rolled over, “are you—”
The bed was empty. He flung back the coverlet and bolted to his feet to search for her. She wasn’t in the adjoining sitting room nor in the connecting bedchamber after that. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water.
She was gone.
He scrambled into a pair of trousers and yanked a shirt over his head, then charged from his room to search the house for her. But the town house was quiet, and there was no sign that she’d been there at all last night, except for the small stain of blood on his sheet where he’d taken her innocence and the scent of rosewater, which still clung to his skin.
He charged downstairs. The frustrating woman had left him in the middle of the night, without a chance to say good-bye or explain to her the way things had to be between them going forward. She’d left, damn it! When she should have stayed all night, when she should have been emotional and clingy like any other woman would have been. Oh no, not her—she never did as expected, not even in intimacy. She’d sneaked out under the cover of darkness as if she’d never been there at all. As if last night meant nothing to her.
And that bothered him most of all.
He flung open the breakfast room door and caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. “Miranda!”
Quinn turned away from the buffet, his heaping plate in his hand, and popped a sweet roll into his mouth. “Why would Miranda be here?” he mumbled around the roll.
Why, indeed? Sebastian’s shoulders sagged with more disappointment than he wanted to admit. He’d been looking forward to spending the morning with her, to prolonging their night together. He’d felt more relaxed and at peace last night with Miranda than he had in the company of any other woman in his entire life. And he felt more alive than he had in years. For a few hours, she’d lifted the weight from his shoulders, and he’d wanted that lightness and sense of freedom to last as long as possible before the burden settled back onto him. Even now he felt his back growing tighter.
But Quinton was still staring at him in bewilderment, still waiting for an answer.
He forced a casual shrug. “Mother mentioned something last night about Miranda bringing something over this morning sometime,” he muttered as he slumped down into his chair. Well, that was certainly vague. But the answer seemed to satisfy Quinn, whose attention had already returned to the kippers piled on his plate. “I thought I heard the front door.”
“Must have been Saunders fetching the post.” Quinn sat at the table and snatched up the morning Times, which the butler had already ironed and left at Sebastian’s place. Then he glanced up and frowned with concern. “You look like hell this morning.”
“Thanks,” he grumbled, stealing a slice of bacon from his brother’s plate and taking a bite. He felt like hell this morning.
“So…you had a woman in your room last night.”
Sebastian choked.
Quinn slapped him hard on the back with an appreciative grin. “Sowing wild oats before you’re leg-shackled, then?”
He rolled his eyes. Leave it to Quinn to bring up his search for a wife, something he hadn’t thought about since he parted from Lady Jane at Vauxhall. That moment now seemed like years ago rather than less than one day, and something that felt as if it had happened to someone other than him.
Quinton arched a brow, his eyes shining mischievously. “And how is Lady Jane this morning?”
“It wasn’t Jane Sheridan,” he corrected in a growl, despite knowing that Quinn was simply baiting him. Then he came as close as he could without openly lying— “It was a woman from Vauxhall.” There was no point in denying he had company last night. He should have known he would never be able to keep Miranda quiet, not with all that eager passion bubbling inside her. Nor had he wanted to. One of the things he liked best about her was her exuberance. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a long swallow of the black liquid, letting it burn down his throat. “Jane Sheridan isn’t the kind of woman who has trysts in a gentleman’s bedroom.”
“Pity.” Quinn sighed in exaggerated disappointment and returned his attention to the newspaper. He asked with mock solemnity, “Still set on marrying her anyway?”
Instead of laughing at his brother’s teasing—or even scowling at him—Sebastian stared down into his coffee as fresh guilt rose inside him. What happened last night with Miranda was special and amazing, a wonderful gift he wasn’t certain he deserved. Yet it didn’t change the fact that he’d promised his father to find a proper duchess to represent the title and his family’s legacy. Or that Miranda, with her pirate plays and boisterous laughter, was not that woman.
But the events of last night had proven one very important point to him with complete certainty—Lady Jane Sheridan would never be his wife.
“No,” he said somberly, raking his fingers through his bed-mussed hair. “I’m not marrying Jane.”
Quinn froze in mid-chew, his eyes darting to his brother. “Are you certain? She seems perfect.”
“She is.” Jane was perfect in every way—perfect for some other man.
He frowned, puzzled. “I thought she was at the top of your list.”
“She was. But not any longer.” He gulped down half a cup of coffee, wishing Quinton would talk about something other than his hunt for a wife. He couldn’t even entertain the thought this morning of courting anyone, not when his skin still smelled of Miranda. Not when his chest continued to ache with disappointment that she wasn’t here with him.
“But you’re still planning on finding a wife this season, then?” Quinn pressed.
“Yes,” he grumbled into his coffee cup. Although he had no idea how he’d manage to do it when the only woman occupying his mind was Miranda.
“And this woman from last night—”
“Is not the sort of woman Father had in mind to be Duchess of Trent,” he interrupted firmly to put an end to the conversation before Quinton could question him further. The very last person he wanted to discuss with his brother was Miranda Hodgkins, especially when he had no idea how he felt about her himself. Except that she confused the hell out of him. The thunder rolling overhead and the rain beating at the windows only dampened his spirits more to realize how right she was for him when they were alone, how wrong in every other way.
And if he held a riot of emotions inside him at the memory of last night, then God only knew what confusion Miranda felt. Because while he’d never experienced a woman like her before, she’d never experienced any other man.
Quinn returned his attention to the paper and scanned the land listings as he did every morning, hunting for possible properties he could purchase and turn into an estate of his own. Sebastian knew that his brother had chafed under the limitations of the work he’d done for the dukedom during the past two years, despite being brilliantly successful at managing the estate’s operations, and that he wanted to forge his own path away from the influence of the Carlisle family. Sebastian certainly understood that. He suspected that by the end of the season Quinn would have made up his mind where that path would take him, and that possibility both pleased Sebastian and spiraled hot jealousy through him.
“Just keep in mind that you can have a mistress once you’re married,” Quinn threw out helpfully as he simultaneously popped a strawberry into his mouth and traced a forefinger down the listings as he read them. “Most every peer does. It’s nearly expected of a duke.”
A mistress…He stared at his coffee as a dark, desperate thought surged through him of the only way he could have both his respectable duchess and his passionate lover. The lady he needed as a duke and the woman he wanted as a man. Perhaps Quinn was right for once. Perhaps he could make Miranda his mistress and—
No.
A wave of self-loathing surged through him. She deserved better than being his mistress, and he would never use her like that. Just as he knew that once he married, he would never go outside his marriage, for either pleasure or companionship. He wanted the same kind of marriage his parents had, one of friendship, support, and love. A mistress? Christ, what was he thinking?
He wasn’t, that was the problem. When it came to Miranda, all rational thought ceased. Even now she bothered him to distraction, creating more questions than answers. She’d come to London in pursuit of Robert, but last night, she’d come to him. She knew he couldn’t offer her a future, yet she’d surrendered her innocence anyway, asking for nothing in return. She’d admitted to having an affection for him, yet she’d vanished in the night without a word.
His male pride wanted explanations.
But his heart simply wanted to see her again.
He set the coffee aside and asked as casually as possible as a plan began to form in his mind, “What do the ladies have scheduled for this evening, do you know?”
“They’re attending a museum lecture with Emily Grey.” Quinn turned the page. “And Robert and I are planning on heading to St James’s Street.”
Sebastian bit back the urge to ask if that was wise, given how many nights his brothers had spent in the clubs recently. But he didn’t have time to worry over them. Not when he had to deal with the oncoming storm that was Miranda.
“Robert and I will most likely be at Boodle’s all night,” Quinn said pointedly, then glanced up from the paper and sent Sebastian a crooked grin. A not-so-subtle signal that he’d have the house to himself if he wanted to invite back the woman from last night. “All night.”
He grimaced into his coffee. He should have been glad that his brothers were willing to help cover his tracks, just as they’d done for one another all their lives, no matter what kind of trouble they’d gotten themselves into. But this time, it grated, reminding him of the very last time he’d secreted a woman away in order to be with her. He’d sworn to himself that he would never do that again, that he would never darken his father’s memory by placing a woman before his family. But that was exactly what he’d done last night with Miranda; he’d been unable to deny himself a night of happiness with her, and this morning, he despised himself for it.
She deserved better from him. For Christ’s sake, he deserved better from himself.
Yet it didn’t stop him from wanting to be with her again.
“We’ll probably be out until dawn,” Quinn added, pretending he was still interested in the newspaper listings.
“Then I’ll most likely join you,” Sebastian answered dryly, wanting to put an end to any of his brother’s suspicions.
“Of course you won’t,” Quinn replied with a knowing wink and raised the newspaper between them.
* * *
Miranda took a deep breath and tried to focus on the museum’s evening speaker. She’d been looking forward all week to hearing Georgiana Bradford talk about her most recent African adventures and to meeting the famous adventuress in person, but now, she couldn’t remember a word of what was being said. Something about crocodiles and rapids, pyramids and…Oh, concentrating was impossible!
Her eyes pressed closed in misery. She’d lost her innocence. To Sebastian Carlisle, of all men. It was all she could do to bite back the groan at her lips and not interrupt the lecture as she once more thought about last night.
She didn’t regret being with him. How could she? The night was simply magical. He was tender and caring with her, even laughing with her to put her at ease, and in those precious few hours together, he’d been more relaxed than she’d seen him in years. If ever. Yet it wasn’t only being intimate itself that was wonderful but also afterward when he held her in his arms, the deep rumble of his voice when he told her she was beautiful, and how happy she was to simply lie next to him. Being with him proved more special and thrilling than she could ever have imagined being with a man would be. Precisely because that man was Sebastian.
But it was Sebastian she cared about, not the Duke of Trent. It was as if she’d left Vauxhall in the carriage with one man, then left the arms of another three hours later. Two men, indeed—the Duke of Trent, who wanted a society lady with good breeding and sophisticated manners for his wife, and Sebastian, who wanted her, a woman who was the exact opposite of all that. The Duke of Trent, who frustrated her with his obsession with propriety and station, and Sebastian, who she loved. No matter that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Sebastian, the Duke of Trent made that impossible.
Oh, she was a fool! Even though she knew she had no future with him, she couldn’t help replaying in her mind all the wonderful moments they’d spent together, all the soft touches and affectionate kisses, all the happiness and laughter. She desperately wanted to be with him again, and not only for the scintillating pleasures of the night. She wanted the chance at a life with him, to create a home together in which there was love, comfort, laughter, children…oh, lots and lots of children!
She wanted nothing less than his love. But he would never let himself give it.
Dear God—what was she thinking? And this time she did hang her head in her hands and groan.
Sitting next her, Lady Emily Grey whispered with concern, “Are you all right?”
She nodded at Josie’s sister-in-law, who had accompanied her to the lecture. Although Miranda had sneaked through the streets of Mayfair last night on her own, twice, she didn’t dare venture out to a society event without a proper chaperone. So when the other ladies had begged off, Miranda had practically dragged Emily out with her tonight because she didn’t want to miss the lecture…and because spending a quiet evening at home, surrounded by Sebastian’s family, would have been pure torture.
So now she sat in a gallery at the British Museum, refused to let her eyes stray to Lady Jane Sheridan sitting in the front row with her mother and sister, and tried to concentrate on the lecture without hearing a single word.
Lady Emily frowned. “You look rather ill.”
“Only a headache,” she assured her. Sebastian was that, all right. Her own personal trouble-rousing, heartbreaking headache.
Emily squeezed her hand. “We can leave, if you’d like.”
“No, I’d like to stay.” She forced a smile. “I’m finding the lecture fascinating. Truly.”
The look that Emily gave Miranda told her that she didn’t believe her. But her friend knew not to press. “All right. But if your headache grows worse, we will leave.” Emily was only a few years older than Miranda, but she had the demeanor of a well-seasoned mother and the regimented authority of a colonel’s wife.
With a smile of genuine warmth at the woman’s concern, Miranda nodded. “Agreed.”
Emily released her hand and glanced past her down the row of chairs. “Oh—there’s Olivia Sinclair. I promised to help her plan her upcoming garden party. Would you mind if I excused myself for a few minutes to speak with her?”
“Not at all.” And Miranda might be able to use the time to actually hear what new knowledge Miss Bradford had to share about the ancient Egyptians. After all, that was the point of being here. Not to wallow in her own misery.
Emily rose and made her way to the Countess of St James. The two women were quickly ensconced in a private discussion, their heads bowed together to catch each other’s low whispers.
Miranda turned her attention back to the young woman standing at the front of the room, holding a large crocodile skull in her hands. Georgiana Bradford was a wonder. One of the foremost adventurers of the day, with her exploits rivaling that of any man, she was brave enough to travel the world, face down natives in jungles and sandstorms in the deserts…while Miranda couldn’t seem to survive a season in London. Or find a way to save her heart.
A prickle stirred at the back of her neck, sensing him before she saw him—
Sebastian.
She allowed herself one glance over her shoulder to be certain and instantly regretted it, unprepared for the shock of electricity that jolted through her upon seeing him. Standing just inside the gallery hall, he looked magnificent in his evening clothes of a maroon brocade waistcoat and a black jacket of superfine, with a sapphire cravat pin the same deep blue as his eyes that offset the golden highlights in his hair. He was dressed elegantly enough for an evening on the town…or one of slow seduction in his own bedchamber.
Turning away before he saw her and she melted completely into a puddle, she fixed her gaze on Miss Bradford even as her heart slid down to her knees. What on earth was he doing here? A museum lecture was certainly not the type of event that a Carlisle brother would attend, and the duke’s unexpected appearance was stirring more interest throughout the curious audience than the lecture.
But Lady Jane was in attendance, Miranda realized, her heart sinking further. So were the rest of the ladies on his list. So of course he was here. Nothing about last night had changed his pursuit of a proper duchess, which only increased the jealousy Miranda already felt. And her heart slid right through the floor.
But Sebastian didn’t head for Lady Jane. As whispers and hushed greetings rose in his wake, Miranda realized that he was walking in a different direction…toward her. Each step that brought him closer worked to tighten the knot of nervousness in her stomach. She sighed in relief when he turned down a different row from hers, only to feel a wave of dread sweep over her as he settled into the chair directly behind hers.
When the whispers at his arrival settled down and the room returned its attention to Miss Bradford, he leaned forward and spoke low at her ear. “You weren’t at breakfast this morning.”
Her belly fluttered achingly, and a low heat simmered inside her at the innuendo whispered in their private language, one that the women sitting around them would never have understood. Or even suspected. After all, everyone knew the Duchess of Trent was her sponsor for the season, just as everyone knew Sebastian was hunting a wife—in fact, multiple bets had already been placed in the book at White’s for when he would make an engagement announcement and to whom, most of them waged by Robert and Quinton. So no one would have given a second thought that he sought her out, likely believing he was simply checking up on her tonight in his mother’s absence before heading out to the clubs.
Carefully keeping her emotions from her face, she whispered over her shoulder, “I wasn’t hungry.”
“You were hungry enough last night.”
Ignoring that innuendo, if not the cascade of heat it shivered down her spine at the memory of exactly how ravenous both of them had been for the other, she kept her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t dare to look at him for fear of the blush that would color her cheeks and give them away. Or the regret she might see in his eyes.
“I was concerned,” he pressed in the same low voice. “Are you not feeling well?”
There was no point in dissembling. She’d enjoyed herself a great deal, and he knew it, having felt her body’s reaction to his, if still completely unaware of her affection for him. “I’m feeling very well, thank you,” she returned in a voice far huskier than she’d intended.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a self-pleased grin pull at his lips, and then the telltale blush did heat at the back of her neck after all. Oh, the devil take him!
“So am I,” he admitted in a sultry whisper that made her breath hitch.
“Shh!” The matron to Miranda’s right turned in her chair to scold them for making noise, her narrowed eyes swinging between the two of them in a chastising glower.
Miranda couldn’t see Sebastian’s response, but the older woman stiffened suddenly, then smiled like a schoolgirl as a faint blush touched her cheeks. She fanned herself rapidly and turned back to the lecture.
Miranda rolled her eyes. Leave it to Sebastian to charm his way into the hearts of even the most overbearing matrons with just a smile. More proof that the man was a force of nature.
She frowned, turning in her chair to finally look at him. “Why are you here?”
“My brothers are at Boodle’s for the night,” he informed her.
Her heart skittered as a pang of longing pulsed through her. She knew what he meant—that they would have Park Place all to themselves for the night, and that he had come for her. All she had to do was whisper yes, and she’d spend another magical night with him. He probably had the carriage waiting out front for them right now and a ready excuse for Lady Emily so he could spirit her away.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she shook her head, at both his invitation and at her own foolish temptation to accept. What good could come of it? Another wonderful night of being in his arms, of feeling beautiful and special in that way only he could make her feel, simply to be reminded again at dawn that he could never be hers for more than a few fleeting hours secreted away during the night…and then not at all once he decided on a wife.
“Lady Jane Sheridan is also in attendance this evening,” she informed him as evenly as possible, not wanting him to notice the unbearable jealousy swelling inside her and mock her for it, for daring to be jealous of a woman so far beyond her social rank that the two of them weren’t even comparable. “I’m certain you’ll want to pay your regards to her.”
Cold silence answered her. As she held her breath, fearing his biting reply, she knew she hit the arrow home and that he was seething behind her. In the few weeks since they’d arrived in London, she’d come to know him so well that she could sense his moods even without seeing him.
The lecture ended. Everyone stood to applaud as Miss Bradford took her bows.
But when Miranda started to rise, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently kept her in her chair as he murmured, “But roses are my favorite evening flower.”
Her eyes stung that he could say such things yet still not want a future with her. That he could plan a night alone with her when the woman he wanted to marry sat at the front of the room. “A pity then,” she muttered as she shrugged off his hand and rose to her feet, no longer caring if he thought her jealous, “that dukes prefer primroses.”
She moved to walk away, but he took her arm and stopped her.
“Please let go,” she demanded gently, unable to jerk her arm away for all the pairs of eyes around them. Then she seized on a feeble excuse. “I want to meet Miss Bradford. Your mother generously gave me one of her books, and I wanted to tell her how much I enjoyed reading it.”
His gaze flicked to the front of the hall and to the crowd already gathering to meet the daring adventuress. “It’s your debut season,” he reminded her pointedly, as if she needed a reminder of that! “Discussing a book in front of these people will make you look like a bluestocking.”
“Good, because that’s exactly what I am. And it’s time everyone realized that.” She choked out, unable to stop herself, “Especially you.”
He arched a puzzled brow. “I know who you are, Miranda.”
Oh, that was a lie! He only thought he knew because he’d seen her naked and exposed. But even then, when his hands and mouth had been on her, with the weight of his body pressing deliciously down on her, he saw the woman he wanted to see. Not the woman she truly was. One capable of being just as fine and proper as the society ladies standing around her. One who would make him as equally as good a wife—better, in fact. While these ladies saw only his title when they looked at him, Miranda saw the man beneath. While they wanted his title and fortune, Miranda only wanted to make him happy.
Suddenly aware of everyone around them, and desperate to flee before he saw her distress, she pleaded, “Please let—”
“Spend the night with me,” he countered, briefly lowering his mouth as close to her ear as he dared. “We won’t make love if you don’t want to. We’ll simply sit together and talk.” His eyes softened on her. “I just want to be with you tonight, however I can.”
She stared at him, her lips parting, so stunned at his unexpected words that her heart stuttered with anguish. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
God help her, even now with her heart breaking because she knew she could never truly be his, she still wanted him. She still wanted to yield to that velvet voice and the strength of his body, to the happiness and peace she felt when she was alone with him, to the laughter and joy he gave her.
She glanced toward the front of the room, where Lady Jane now stood watching them, patiently smiling at Sebastian as she waited for him to approach. As was her right. And of course, he would. After all, he belonged at Jane’s side, not here in the back of the room with her.
She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I do. A remarkably fine one.”
“Sebastian,” she whispered, pleading for his mercy yet unable to help the pained longing in her voice. She wanted to be with him in the wonderful way he was offering, held safe and warm in his strong arms all night, talking and revealing themselves. But would one more night of happiness ever be enough recompense for the heartache she knew would follow?
Turning her face away so he couldn’t see the raw emotion flashing over her, she choked out, “I cannot.”
“Yes, you can,” he insisted.
“No—I want to be with you, Sebastian.” Sadness pained mercilessly inside her chest. “Not the duke.”
“I am Trent,” he bit out in frustration.
With a slow shake of her head, she lifted her gaze, and a dark flicker of surprise crossed his face when he saw the glistening in her eyes. “When you’re with me, when you’re laughing and smiling and free…who are you then?” With every ounce of her being, she desperately willed back the hot tears blurring his handsome face. “Because that’s the man I want to be with, the man I want to see happy, now and for the rest of his life. And the pity is that he doesn’t want that enough for himself to claim it.”
She pulled her arm away and shifted past him quickly enough that he couldn’t make a second grab for her without causing a scene, right in the middle of the quality’s most staid and respectable ladies.
She blinked rapidly, forcing back tears as she weaved through the chairs to put as much distance between them in the crowded gallery as she could. Even now as she made her way to the front of the room, she felt the heat of his gaze on her back, with the same burning intensity as if his hands were touching her. She shivered and squeezed her eyes shut.
She’d been such a fool! For antagonizing him last night in the carriage and then going to his room…for dressing up in the masquerade that started it all…for wanting him to accept her just as she was. And after last night, a not-so-tiny part of her had also idiotically hoped he would forget his plans to marry a society daughter and consider her instead. But nothing had changed, except that she was now hopelessly in love with a man who was impossible for her.
She glanced around the gallery at all the young ladies and their marriage-minded mamas who protected their virtues like bulldogs. Miranda wanted to laugh at them. She could have told them the real truth about sex, that its dangers lay not in falling to ruin but in falling in love.
She and Sebastian had to end all this foolishness in which they’d entangled themselves. There was no other choice. They would be as they were before, only friends and neighbors and nothing more. It would be difficult—sweet heavens, it would be heartrending!—but it had to be done. Starting right now.
But when she drew a deep breath and turned around, Sebastian was gone.