CHAPTER 9
“My lord…my lord…” The soft repeated words finally brought Devin awake.
He opened one eye and looked up to see his butler looming over him, wringing his hands and frowning. Devin growled something unintelligible and sat up.
He realized two things simultaneously as he did so: one was that he was incredibly stiff, particularly his neck; and the other was that his head was pounding furiously. The reason for the latter, he knew without even having to think. His head felt as it always did when he had consumed an excessively large amount of alcohol the night before—swollen and tender and as if a thousand tiny elves were going at it with hammers from the inside.
It took a moment to realize the reason for his unusual stiffness. He was seated at his desk in his study, not lying in bed, and he had fallen asleep on the desk, his head cradled on one arm, with the result that his neck felt permanently crooked, and his hand and arm were numb and useless.
He blinked against the light and groaned, trying to remember what he had been doing in his study and why he had fallen asleep there.
“My lord,” his butler began again, but Devin raised an admonitory hand.
“No.”
The butler stopped, shifting nervously from one foot to another, looking at his employer, then at the door, then back at Devin.
“Give me a minute to make sure I’m alive,” Devin went on. “I think I may be in one of the circles of purgatory.”
“I beg your pardon?” The butler added confusion to his expression of anxiety. He was not the man who had buttled for Devin for years, that good chap having been offered better pay elsewhere. This man had worked in the Earl’s household for only two months, and he had found it both undemanding and unsettling. He still had not decided whether the easygoing manner of his employer was worth the strange hours he kept and the less than genteel folks who came and went there.
“Never mind. I need a glass of water. No, wait, coffee. Perhaps both.”
“Yes, my lord. But first, there is the matter—”
Devin let out a groan. His memory was coming back to him by degrees. He recalled the opera the night before and leaving Leona in a huff, then going to Richard’s house. They had played cards, finished off the bottle of port and opened another before he had finally left. It had been very early in the morning, he remembered, as he made his unsteady way home, for the sky had definitely shown signs of lightening in the east. A man of sense, he knew, would have gone straight to bed at that point, but he had not. He had been carrying their second bottle of port, which still contained some liquid, and he had taken the bottle into his study and continued to drink.
He had also, he regretted to remember, decided to try out his drawing skills. Richard’s words had somehow implanted in him an urge to draw, to see if he was still capable of rendering a human face on paper. It had been an utterly useless thing to do, of course, but then, he frequently embarked on utterly useless courses of action when he was in the grip of drink. So he had dug out paper and pencil and had wasted an hour or two trying to draw faces—well, one face in particular. He had been unable to get Miss Upshaw’s countenance out of his mind, and he had tried to exorcise it by recreating it. He had been singularly unsuccessful, a fact which was attested to by the number of balled-up sheets of paper in the waste bin and scattered around it. However hard he had tried, he had not been able to capture the exact look of penetrating intelligence and inner amusement that marked Miranda’s face.
Somewhere along the line, obviously, he had fallen asleep. He leaned back against his chair now and fixed his butler with a deadly gaze. “I said coffee. Forget everything else.”
“But it is the lady, sir—I don’t know what to do.”
“The lady?” Devin sank his fragile head onto his hands. “What lady?”
“The lady outside, my lord. She insists on seeing you, and she seems most determined. I told her you were unavailable, but she refused to believe me, sir. I—I didn’t know what to do.”
“Send the baggage packing.”
“I would have, sir, but she—well, I recognized the unmistakable lines of Madame Ferrier in her dress and pelisse, sir, and her speech, her manner, well—” He lowered his voice, almost as if he were revealing a secret. “She appears to be a lady.”
“You’re daft.”
“No, he’s not,” said a clear voice from the doorway.
Both Devin and the butler whipped around to look at the doorway, a movement that caused Devin’s stomach to lurch dangerously.
“Miss Upshaw!” the butler exclaimed, obviously shocked.
Devin groaned and let his head sink into his hands. “I should have known.”
“I am sorry,” Miranda said, addressing the butler rather than Devin. “But I was getting rather bored cooling my heels out in the entry, and frankly, I was afraid that you might not have the nerve to awaken Lord Ravenscar. I thought you might need my help.”
“Good God,” Devin groaned, “am I to be plagued by you everywhere, even in my own house?”
“Rough night, eh?” Miranda said, not without sympathy, coming farther into the room. She turned to the butler. “He needs coffee, I imagine, Mr…. what is your name?”
“Simmons, Miss. Just Simmons.”
“All right, Simmons. Bring a pot of coffee as quickly as you can, and I think it would benefit the man greatly if you would also make a glass of my remedy. It works like a charm. Mr. Hoskins, Papa’s trade representative in the Northwest Territory, used to swear by it. Poor man, he was given to drink, and whenever we arrived there, we were as likely as not to find him sunk in a hangover. It was the loneliness and snow, you know—drove him to drink. I always made him a glass of remedy, and it made him better in minutes. First you take a raw egg, then you add a pinch of crushed black pepper, a—”
Devin let out a pitiful moan. “No, please, I beg of you, no more description. I am sure that the cook would leave me if called upon to make such a concoction. Simmons, fetch the coffee. I shall deal with Miss Upshaw.”
Devin rose to his feet, using the desk as a brace, and faced Miranda. He smoothed back his hair and unrolled his shirtsleeves, only then realizing that he was without coat or even waistcoat, both of which he had thrown over one of the chairs early this morning. His ascot was with them, leaving him in a thoroughly disheveled and improper state—shirttails out, the top button undone—to be receiving a visitor, much less a female one.
“Miss Upshaw, I am afraid this is highly improper,” he began. “I don’t know what you do in America, but in London, a lady simply does not enter a bachelor’s quarters unescorted, unless she is a rel—” His voice died as his eyes fell on the pile of wadded-up papers beside the wastebin. Hastily, he kicked a number of them under his desk.
“It would be improper in the United States, as well, Lord Ravenscar,” Miranda assured him, her eyes following his to the balls of paper in and around the trash can. The nervous, almost guilty look on his face intrigued her, and she wondered what the papers contained. “However, I had something I needed to talk to you about, and I saw no sense in sitting around hoping you would show up at my doorstep again, or that I would run into you at the opera or the theater or some party.”
“You could have sent me a note requesting me to call on you.”
“And you would have come?” Miranda quirked one eyebrow in disbelief. “Anyway, I dislike waiting. I like to take charge of my own destiny, not put it in the hands of others. So I decided to call on you myself. I suspect it is a trifle early in the day for you, since it is only half-past noon, but I wanted to be sure to catch you before you left.”
“Left? For where?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere. Left for the day, I mean. Really, my lord, are you sure you don’t want me to pop into the kitchen and make you that remedy? You do seem to be having some difficulty keeping up with the conversation.”
Devin regarded her balefully.
Miranda gazed back at him, never changing her pleasant expression. The man looked like hell, she thought. It was almost enough to make one change one’s mind. But Miranda was not the sort who changed her mind easily. Once she had made a decision, as she had this morning after a nearly sleepless night of thinking about it, she was not likely to second-guess it. She was confident and ready to go forward. That was why she had decided to go directly to the Earl’s house and get the thing started.
She knew what she wanted, and why. The only problem now was bringing it about. But Miranda was confident that she would be able to turn Ravenscar around.
“Miss Upshaw, let me be as blunt as you seem to like to be.”
“Please do.”
“What are you doing here?”
“That is quite simple. I have come to tell you that I have decided to accept your proposal. I will marry you.”
Devin said nothing. He simply stood there staring at her. It occurred to him that perhaps his ears were playing tricks on him. He had, after all, had a great deal to drink the night before.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said that I have changed my mind about marrying you. I accept your proposal.”
“You can’t do that,” he protested. “I told you, I wouldn’t marry you even if it would save me from debtors’ prison.”
“You offered for me.”
“You refused my offer.”
“A woman has the prerogative of changing her mind,” Miranda pointed out. “Besides, you can’t take back your offer. It would be ungentlemanly in the extreme.”
“No, no, no,” Devin said, coming around the desk toward her. “One offer, one chance. That’s it. You refuse, and the offer is gone.”
The butler reentered the room at that moment and almost backed out again after one glance at the wild look on his employer’s face. But Miranda stopped him with a look and a gesture.
“Ah, the coffee. Set it on the desk, Simmons. Would you like for me to pour?”
“No!” Devin fixed the butler with a glare. “Put the tray on the table by the couch, Simmons. I’ll pour.”
“Yes, my lord.” Simmons quickly did as Devin directed and beat a hasty retreat, skillfully managing to leave the door open a crack when he closed it.
Miranda followed him to the door and closed it. Devin turned to the table and poured himself a cup of hot coffee. Miranda seized the opportunity to walk softly to his desk and reach under it with one toe, nudging out one of the balls of paper that Devin had been at such pains to hide. While his back was turned, she reached down quickly and picked it up, stuffing it into her pocket. When he turned back around, she was regarding him placidly, her hands folded together in front of her.
“May I offer you a cup of coffee, Miss Upshaw?”
“No, thank you. I am sure you will benefit from it far more than I.”
Devin took a sip of coffee and waited for a moment. When his stomach did not rebel, he took another drink. When he had downed the entire cup, he thought perhaps he was ready to deal with Miranda.
“Now…” Devin tried to fix a pleasant smile upon his face, despite the fact that his head was still pounding like thunder. “Miss Upshaw. I am not sure what has brought you to this turnaround, but if you think about it for a moment, you will realize that it is completely unworkable. You and I could never get along. We can’t stay in the same room longer than five minutes without getting into some sort of wrangle. We could not possibly be married.”
“You must know a very different sort of married couple to think that getting along is a requirement of marriage.”
“You despise me!”
“Now that is a trifle harsh. I never said that I despised you,” Miranda said thoughtfully. “I found you arrogant and rather unlikeable, I will admit, but it isn’t a prerequisite of marriage to actually like one’s spouse. I am sure that your feelings toward me are much the same as mine toward you.”
“If that is the case, then one or the other of us will probably be dead before the end of our honeymoon,” Devin commented dryly.
Miranda smiled faintly. “I assure you, my lord, that I am not homicidal. I am also well able to take care of myself.”
“This is absurd.” Devin set aside his empty coffee cup.
“No. I assure you it is not. It is well thought out. I spent all last night going over it. And I can tell you that I rarely come to the wrong conclusion.”
“Speaking of arrogance…” Devin murmured. He settled himself against the edge of his desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing his arms over his chest, and regarded Miranda with a patient, if somewhat bloodshot, gaze. “All right. Let me hear these well thought-out reasons.”
“As I told you the other night,” Miranda began, “I had begun to realize the advantages of the sort of arranged marriage you offered me. It was not what I had expected in life, so it took a bit to grow accustomed to it. For you, the choice is obvious, however much you may dislike it. I have seen your financial statements, you know, and it is quite clear that you are teetering on the edge of ruin.”
“You have seen my financial statements?” he asked, amazed.
“Your uncle was kind enough to send them to us.”
“How nice of him.”
“Yes, I thought so. At any rate, if you hope to survive, certainly if you want to save your family’s estate, you need to marry into money—and soon. I am your best opportunity. Even a colonial nobody is better than living out your days in debtors’ prison.”
“I won’t go to debtors’ prison.”
“Oh, no, that’s right. You have a sister and mother off whom you can leech.” Miranda ignored Ravenscar’s furious glare. “Still, I scarcely think they can give you the lifestyle you are accustomed to out of their clothes allowance. Do you?”
“There are other options.”
“What? Gambling? Or perhaps you intend to get paid for leading flats into gambling hells? No, I think marriage is the only way to gain the amount you will need. And you have burned your bridges here in England. A wealthy peer has no interest in allying himself to scandal. Isn’t that true? Do you have any other heiresses to choose from?”
“You know I do not.”
“I would say that makes me not only your best hope but your only one.”
“You have such a tactful way of expressing yourself.”
“I thought that you would appreciate blunt speaking. We are, after all, discussing a business arrangement. Isn’t that right? Papa and I would settle a lump sum of money on you—not too great a one, I’m afraid, because of your well-known propensities to, well, spend it quickly. We will pay your outstanding debts, and, of course, you will also have a generous monthly allowance. I will pay for the upkeep of the houses, and Papa and I will take care of the restoration of Darkwater. I understand that the estate is in poor shape, also, and I will, of course, undertake to bring that back into some semblance of repair. I would not be surprised if it actually began to make a profit before too long. I am rather good at that sort of thing, you know.”
“Miss Upshaw.” Devin rose, his eyes narrowed. “While you are making plans for my future, might I remind you that you will not be in control of all this once we are married? When we marry, all your money will be mine. You will not even have the right to hold property. I will be the one to decide about allowances and lump sums. You, my dear, will be in my power.” He moved closer, looming over her, his face grim. “The husband rules in England, and you will do as I say. Had you thought of that in all your little plans? I could lock you up in Darkwater and take off for London to enjoy spending your money.”
His eyes were fierce, his posture menacing, but Miranda held her ground. “Lord Ravenscar, I must tell you that once when I was with Papa buying furs in the wilds, I was face-to-face with a rather large black bear. Your attempt at intimidation pales by comparison.” She sidestepped him and moved away.
“Whatever you may think,” she said calmly, turning around to face him from several feet away, “I am not stupid. Nor is my father. First of all, the bulk of the family fortune belongs to my father. He will pay for what he sees fit as he sees fit. He will pay your debts and restore Darkwater. I can assure you that he will do exactly as he pleases in that regard. You seem to have a misconception that Americans are stupid. Or perhaps it is his friendly manner that fools you. But, believe me, you will never get a penny out of my father other than what he wants to give you. As for my personal fortune, if you think that I would give up the money I have worked to accumulate over the past ten years just for the pleasure of marrying you, you are very much mistaken. Before I marry, my money will be placed in a trust, the trustees of which will be my father, my attorney and Hiram Baldwin. As you might suppose, they will invest it as I order and distribute it as I order. Should you be so foolish as to try to lock me up anywhere—or so lucky as to be able to do so—I think you would shortly find yourself without funds.”
Ravenscar’s eyes flashed, and his body went rigid with fury. “Do you think that you can control me this way? That you can make me dance to your tune because you have money?”
He crossed the space separating them in two quick strides, and his hands clamped around her arms. His eyes blazed down into hers, and he was so close she could feel the heat of his body. His breath rasped in his throat. His intensity and fury were like a tangible force. “No one owns me, least of all you.”
A thrill ran down through Miranda. The truth was, she generally frightened men; there was something exhilarating about facing a man who had no fear of her. She returned his gaze, glare for glare, her body taut.
“You think you are safe because you can set up trusts?” he went on. “Because your father and every other man you know jumps to do as you say? I am not one of them. Perhaps no one bothered to mention that, amid all my faults, there are a few things at which I am skilled. I am a crack shot, Miss Upshaw.”
Miranda gazed back at him levelly. “Are you threatening me, Lord Ravenscar? Perhaps someday we should have a contest. When I accompanied my father on trading expeditions, we went to some of the wildest places on the continent of North America, places where there was no law and never had been. I learned how to use a gun at an early age. In fact, I was taught by one of the best backwoodsmen in the country.”
Devin stared at her, then, unexpectedly, began to laugh. He dropped her arms and moved away, saying, “I am sure you were, Miss Upshaw. Anything else would be uncharacteristic. Next you will tell me that you know the art of fisticuffs, as well.”
“No. That I do not. My size and strength generally kept me at a handicap. However, I was taught by trappers how to use a knife to slice and skin and kill, as well.” She gazed back at him blandly.
“Touché.” He shook his head. “You are without a doubt the most unusual woman I have ever known.”
“I shall take that as a compliment,” Miranda said briskly. Her breathing was still a little uneven. It unnerved her that he could affect her so, but she was not about to let him see that. “I think perhaps you misunderstand me. The truth is, I have no wish to control you. My only limit is on your spending my money, and I think you will find that limit not an onerous one. I do not force people to do what I want. I generally find I am able to accomplish that with reasoning.”
He chuckled. “Still, you get your way.”
“I often do,” Miranda admitted. “I do not insist upon it, however, certainly not in a marriage. However, I have as little desire as you to be ruled by another, so I have taken steps to prevent it. That is all.”
“I see.” Devin nodded.
“Does that offend you?”
“Of course.” A glint of humor flashed in his eyes. “Actually, once the slap in the face is over, I think I feel…relieved. I am, as you may have guessed, terrible with money. Witness my present predicament.”
“That is understandable. You are an artist.”
Devin let out a derisive snort. “Hardly that. No, I fear that I am just a gentleman of leisure, and I am not terribly good at anything except a number of ‘gentlemanly’ pursuits. Riding, hunting, card playing.”
“Oh, there are places where you might find those things would stand you in good stead,” Miranda remarked. “So, my lord Ravenscar, do you wish to rescind your offer? Or will you accept this marriage ‘contract’?”
He thought with amusement of what Leona would think once she found out what her ‘mouse of an heiress’ was really like.
“No domination by either of us, eh?” he said thoughtfully.
“That is correct.”
“I think I would be agreeable to that.” It was, he told himself, the only sensible thing to do. His reluctance stemmed from nothing but a pride that was, frankly, too large for his present circumstances. He had to marry, and irritating as Miss Upshaw was, well, as Richard had pointed out, at least life with her would not be dull. And getting an heir with her would be anything but an onerous duty.
“Good. I would hate to have to make another search for a suitable spouse,” Miranda said.
“That won’t be necessary,” Devin replied curtly, a little surprised to find how much the idea of her marrying someone else displeased him. “My offer still stands. Will you marry me, Miss Upshaw?”
“Yes, my lord, I will,” Miranda replied promptly, then went on, “I think we should do it quickly, don’t you? There is little point in waiting. We need to start clearing up the debts and restoring the estate. I think a short engagement is preferable.”
“That’s fine.” He felt a trifle dazed by her brisk, businesslike manner. It seemed that an engagement should entail something more—some celebration, a kiss, at least….
He reached for her, but Miranda neatly turned and walked away, saying, “Now, as to the details…I think a wedding away from London, don’t you? There will doubtless be enough gossip as it is, without giving them weeks and weeks to build it up.”
Devin resumed his position at the desk and watched her thoughtfully. Had she seen the kiss coming and skillfully eluded it, or had she not realized what he was about to do? “You know, Miss Upshaw,” he began, “one has to wonder. This is all very well for me. The advantages of marrying you are clear. But why do you wish to marry me? Given the fact, after all, that you find me arrogant and—what was the other quality? Unlikeable?”
“It is more the idea of an arranged marriage that appeals,” Miranda explained calmly, sitting down in a chair facing him. “At first I did not like the idea, as you know. But then, as I began to think about it, I could see the wisdom of marrying not for love or passion, but for practical reasons. As I mentioned the other night, I would like to restore your estate. The house and the lands. I enjoy dealing in real estate. There’s nothing quite as much fun as taking a piece of land and making it turn a profit.”
“Indeed?” He looked doubtful.
Miranda chuckled. “It appeals to me. I would like to restore Darkwater to its former beauty. And I would like to see what can be done to turn your estate around, modernize it, whatever it takes to make it begin to produce again.”
“Odd reasons to marry. One would suppose you could simply buy an old house and restore it.”
“Ah, but then it would not be one’s own. I would have no real, personal connection to it. That makes it much more special. Besides, there is the allure of your social standing. My stepmother would greatly enjoy seeing Veronica have her debut here in London. It would be nice to be able to do that for her. Veronica will enjoy that kind of thing.”
“So you are marrying in order to bring out your sister in a few years, thereby making your stepmother happy, and to restore Darkwater.”
“Partly. But as I told you before, those things were not enough to make me willing to marry you. But as I thought about it, I realized how freeing the whole arrangement is.”
“Freeing?” He looked puzzled.
“Yes. You see, I have been plagued by fortune hunters, both here and at home. I never know whether a man truly likes me or just wants to get his hands on my money. With an arranged marriage, there is no uncertainty. I know you do not care for me—indeed, I think we have established that you find me odd and off-putting. That makes it much easier than hearing honeysweet words and wondering constantly if they are false. I much prefer plain dealing.”
“You prefer to be without love?”
“I prefer to know where I stand. I despise lies. I hate people trying to fool me, deceive me. An honest emotion is always better than deception, I think, even if the emotion itself is not the most pleasant. At least one knows how to deal with it, how to act. And one doesn’t feel a fool afterward when one learns the truth. Besides, I have no intention of being without love. It is simply that in such circumstances, love, if one finds it, comes outside of marriage.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said that love is separate from marriage when the marriage is an arranged one, and that is really much easier, don’t you think? Once I thought about it, I saw that the European way is much more practical. You and I marry for our own practical reasons, and then, in our daily lives, we simply go our separate ways. You will do what you want, live as you want, and so shall I. Then you have none of the jealousy and petty feelings that can infect a marriage made for love. You will have your lovers, I will have mine. You will—”
“What!” Devin bounded up from his easy, relaxed pose, his face drawn into a scowl. “What do you mean, you will have lovers?”
“Why, simply what I said. Is something the matter? I was talking about the business sort of marriage that we are entering into. Isn’t that what you had planned? That you would marry me for money but keep a mistress for pleasure? Or love?”
“Well, yes, I would,” he retorted, then stopped short, realizing how his statement sounded.
Miranda raised one eyebrow. “You expect different behavior from me than from yourself?”
“Well, yes,” he admitted, looking a little uncomfortable. “It’s one thing for a man, but for a woman—”
“Yes?”
“Well, women just don’t go around having affairs outside of their marriages.”
“They do not? But I had heard that Lady Vesey was married.”
“Leona? Leona has nothing to do with this.”
“But I understood that she was your mistress.”
“What?” He looked stunned. “How do you—Where did you hear that?”
“From Lady Westhampton.”
“Rachel?” He gaped at her. “My sister? What possessed her to tell you—”
“Oh, she didn’t volunteer the information. I asked. When I saw you together with Lady Vesey, I suspected that was the case, so I asked your sister. She could scarcely deny it.”
“I don’t see why not!” Devin retorted. “Rachel should know how to act in polite circles.”
Miranda’s brows rose again. “Meaning that I do not?”
“No, not if you go about asking people such questions. Particularly of a chap’s own sister. My Lord, you shouldn’t be talking about such things with me, let alone Rachel.”
“Why not?”
“It simply isn’t done.”
“Oh, pooh.” Miranda waved away his objection. “What nonsense. I thought we were to be open and honest with each other. Partners in a business, so to speak. Surely we are above pretending that what everyone knows to be true is not.”
“That is not the point,” Devin growled.
“Then what is the point?” Miranda asked calmly.
“You cannot go about having affairs! I will not have the Aincourt name besmirched,” Devin snapped. “Lady Ravenscar does not engage in affairs. My wife’s name will not be bandied about by every gossip in London.”
“I meant that I would be discreet, of course,” Miranda assured him. “I would not do anything that might hurt the Aincourt name, which you have guarded so carefully these many years.”
“All right, sneer if you like. I admit that I have not been a model of propriety. I have hurt my family’s name and reputation. But it is different!”
“Because it’s you?”
“Because I am a man,” he said through clenched teeth. “It is an entirely different matter for a woman.”
“Why?”
“Why? How can you even ask? Everyone knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That women are—that they—”
“Are more moral than men? Have a higher standard?”
He pressed his lips together for a moment, frustrated, then finally burst out, “No one cares if a man has a by-blow or two, but a woman’s unfaithfulness jeopardizes the succession.”
“The succession?” Miranda giggled. “You sound as if you are talking about the kingdom.”
“You know what I mean. One could never be certain if an heir were truly an heir if—”
“I told you I would be perfectly discreet. I would be careful, as well. You would not have to worry.”
“I would worry a great deal if I had to be calling men out to save your honor!”
“What nonsense. There would be no reason to call anyone out. I cannot imagine why you are making a fuss about it. I mean, it isn’t as if you cared about me.”
“I certainly do not.”
“Then why should it matter what I do? I know you are too fair a man to expect me to live differently than you or Lady Vesey.”
“Would you stop throwing her name into this?”
Miranda shrugged and plowed ahead. “And surely you do not expect us to remain celibate after we marry.”
“Celibate! God, no. Where did you get that idea?”
“Well, I mean, in a marriage such as ours, where there is no conjugal love—no real liking, actually, when you come right down to it—if we did not seek pleasure elsewhere, then we would have to be celibate. I know you don’t intend that.”
“Of course I don’t intend that. I haven’t intended anything yet. I have no earthly idea how you have come up with any of what you are saying.” Devin shoved his fingers back through his hair, disarranging it even further, and looked at her wildly.
“No doubt you need some time to think about it,” Miranda told him kindly.
“It will take more than time. Are you saying that you and I are not—that we will not—”
“Share a marital bed?” Miranda offered. “That’s right. That is part of the appeal of this sort of marriage. We do not have to consummate it. If you had to pretend to love me and woo me, then you would have to follow through, and that must be a very difficult thing when one does not love a person, I would think. But this way, when you go into it honestly, without all the trappings and lies, when it is merely a business arrangement, pure and simple, neither of us will have to pretend that we want to consummate the marriage. I am sure the thought of that appeals as little to you as it does to me.”
He looked at her, dazed, and finally murmured, “Yes, of course.”
“There you are. That is one of the reasons why I realized what an excellent arrangement this is. We will have separate beds, separate lives.”
“But—but what about heirs?” Devin brightened. “After all, that is one of my primary duties as the Earl of Ravenscar, making sure that the title has an heir.”
“Well, in time, I suppose, if that is so important, then we will have to deal with it,” Miranda said, considering the idea. “We will make some sort of arrangement. But that is a long way away. There is no need to worry about it now.”
“Of course not.” Devin walked around his desk and sank down in the chair behind it. He felt rather as though he had just been through a whirlwind. No, it was more the feeling that he had been swindled by some mountebank, but so skillfully that he could not even put his finger on exactly when and how it had occurred.
“Good, then it’s all settled,” Miranda said briskly, rising to her feet. “My father will be delighted, as will your mother, I am sure. We shall set the proceedings into motion. You will find them quite painless and quick. Now perhaps you ought to lie down with a rag soaked in lavender on your forehead. You look a trifle under the weather.”
Miranda swept out of the room, leaving Devin behind her, looking faintly stunned. She walked out of the house and down the steps to her waiting carriage, and only after she had climbed up into it and settled down in the plush seat did she allow a grin to break across her face.
She had told a tremendous pack of lies back there, she thought, but the idea seemed to cause her little remorse. Last night, as she had lain awake, thinking, she had come to an important conclusion: against all reason and logic, Devin Aincourt was the man she wanted. Once she was certain of that, everything else had fallen naturally into place. Miranda was not one to distrust her instincts. She would marry him, and she had no intention of sharing him with Lady Vesey or anyone else. She knew that he wanted her; she had felt it in his kisses, his embrace. She was also sure that he would marry her. Beyond that, it would be up to her to bring him to love her.
It was to that end that she had spent the rest of the night planning her campaign. So far, everything had gone exactly according to plan. She had left Devin confused, vaguely jealous and definitely frustrated. It was, she thought, a good beginning. The next step would be whisking him off to Darkwater for the wedding, away from London and the clutches of Lady Vesey. She knew she could rely on her father and the eager Lady Ravenscar to make that happen as soon as possible.
Reaching into her pocket, she brought out the crumpled piece of paper that Devin had been at such pains to hide under the desk when she walked in. She had been curious about it the entire time they had been talking. Now she took it out and opened it, carefully smoothing out the wrinkled page. It was, she saw, a drawing of her face, only half-done, but easily recognizable.
She looked at it for a long moment. Devin had fallen asleep at his desk last night because he had been trying to draw her face. She remembered the pile of crumpled papers he had kicked under the desk. The waste bin had been full of them, as well. She smiled with satisfaction and leaned her head back against the cushion. It was all going even better than planned.