Chapter 8

J ARED HAD AN INCREDIBLE PIECE OF LUCK OR, RATHER , Miranda did and it happened at the last ball of the season, at Almack’s. Jared and Miranda circulated together and separately, chattering among their friends. After several hours of gossiping and dancing and innumerable glasses of lukewarm lemonade, Miranda made a trip to the necessary room. Settling herself on the canned commode behind a silk screen, she suddenly heard the door open and then close again.

“I thought we’d never get away.” The voice was speaking in French.

“Neither did I,” came the voice of Gillian Abbott, also speaking French. “I have some very expensive information for you.”

“How expensive?”

“Double what you have paid me to date.”

“How do I know it’s worth it?”

“Surely I have proved reliable by now,” was Gillian’s exasperated reply.

“Why this sudden and urgent need?”

“Look,” snapped Gillian, “Abbott is on his last legs. When that nephew of his and his horse-faced wife come into the title, I’ll have nothing but a dower house in Northumberland to call my own. The whole damned estate is entailed, and I’m not to get a penny! Not a bloody penny! I can’t catch myself another rich title in Northumberland, and I don’t see the next Lord Abbott giving me living space in the town house. Well,” she amended, “he might, but his ugly wife wouldn’t, so I must provide my own living quarters. That costs a lot of money.”

“I don’t know,” her companion hesitated.

“I’ve got an impeccable source,” wheedled Gillian. “The American, Lord Dunham, is my lover. He and Henry Temple are very close.”

“Lord Dunham is your lover? Very well, madam. I’ll pay you double for your information. But if it proves incorrect or of little importance, then you will owe me.” There was a rustling noise, and then, the voice said, “ Mon Dieu , it’s not necessary to count it! When did I ever cheat you?”

“Oh, very well.”

Miranda leaned forward carefully, and peeped through the crack where the screen was hinged. She saw Gillian Abbott stuff a velvet bag into her cleavage. The other woman was young and pretty, a petite brunette in a fashionable red silk gown.

“Your information, madam?”

“America has declared war on England,” said Gillian calmly.

“The Emperor has been waiting for this!” gasped the Frenchwoman.

“I told you the information was valuable,” Gillian replied smugly. “You know, it has always amazed me that Napoleon uses a woman to spy.”

The Frenchwoman laughed. “There is nothing unusual in women spying. Catherine de’Medici, the wife of Henri II, had a group of women known as the ‘Flying Squadron’ who gathered information.”

“The English would never do such a thing,” remarked Gillian.

“No,” came the amused reply. “You spy only for others, and for personal gain! We had best go, madam, lest someone come upon us. Adieu.”

“Adieu,” said Gillian, and Miranda heard the door to the necessary room close. Peeping again through the crack in the screen, she saw that the room was empty.

As quickly as she could, Miranda hurried back to the ballroom to find Jared. He stood talking with Lord Palmerston, who smiled warmly at her.

“As usual, ma’am, your beauty eclipses everyone else’s,” Henry Temple declared gallantly.

“Even Lady Cowper?” teased Miranda mischievously, knowing that the beauteous Emily was Lord Palmerston’s mistress.

“Lord help me, I am Paris with his damned apple,” said Palmerston in mock dismay.

“I am the prettiest American in the room, sir, and Lady Cowper is the loveliest Englishwoman,” said Miranda.

“Ma’am, you are a born diplomat,” chuckled the Secretary of War.

“I am a better spy, sir. Who is the lady in red? The petite brunette dancing with Lord Alvanley?”

Lord Palmerston looked where she pointed. “That is the Comtesse Marianne de Bouche. She is married to the first secretary at the Swiss Embassy.”

“She is also the spy to whom Lady Abbott passed on her information. I was in the necessary room just now, and when they came in they believed themselves alone and spoke freely. I am quite fluent in French, my lord, and I understood it all.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!” said Lord Palmerston. “A woman! No wonder we could never catch our French spy. A woman! All along it was a woman! Cherchez la femme , indeed! By God, Lady Dunham, you have rendered us a great service! I shall not forget this, I promise you.”

“What will happen to them?”

“The comtesse will be sent home. She is a diplomat’s wife and we can do nothing about her except to inform the Swiss Ambassador of the lady’s activities.”

“And Gillian Abbott?”

“She will be transported.”

Miranda whitened. “What will you tell her husband?”

“Old Lord Abbott is dead. He passed away earlier this evening, shortly after his wife left him. After the funeral we will arrest her quietly. Her disappearance from society will be attributed to mourning. She’ll soon enough be forgotten. Her own family is dead and she has no children. Frankly, m’dear, the gentlemen who’ve been her lovers will not be sorry to see her go, and the ladies certainly won’t miss her. We will be discreet. No need to embarrass either the new Lord Abbott or the memory of the old Lord Abbott.”

“But to be transported!”

“It is either that or hanging, m’dear.”

“I should far rather be hanged. And so, I imagine, would Lady Abbott.

“Hanging would make the matter public,” replied Lord Palmerston, shaking his head, “and we don’t want to do that. No, Lady Abbott will be transported for life not to a penal colony but to the new Australia territories, where she’ll be sold as a bondwoman for seven years. After that, she’s on her own, but she’ll not be able to leave Australia.”

“The poor woman,” said Miranda.

“Don’t feel sorry for her, m’dear. She really doesn’t deserve it. Gillian Abbott betrayed her country for money.”

“But she will be virtually a slave for seven years.” Miranda shuddered. “I do not approve of slavery.”

“Neither do I,” replied Lord Palmerston. “But in Lady Abbott’s case it is our only solution.”

Miranda’s fears for Lady Abbott proved unnecessary. Gillian learned of her impending arrest and fled England. It could only be assumed that one of her lovers had learned of the sentence to be imposed upon her, and felt sorry enough for her to warn her. The King’s officers had followed the black-clad Lady Abbott after the funeral, so as to arrest her quietly in her home. But beneath the mourning veils they found a young London actress, not Gillian Abbott. Horrified by the realization that she was involved in a crime, Miss Millicent Marlowe burst into tears, and told all.

She was a bit player with Mr. Kean’s company, and had been hired two days before by a gentleman she’d never seen before. As the poor, frightened girl was obviously telling the truth, she was released and sent on her way. Lady Abbott’s maid, Peters, was sent for, but she could not be found. A search revealed that Peters had also fled. The new Lord Abbott wanted an end to the situation. Afraid of a scandal, he gave out that the new dowager had returned to her dower house in Northumberland for a year’s mourning.

Jared and Miranda Dunham closed the house on Devon Square and departed for Swynford Hall, outside the town of Worcester.

The trip took several days. They traveled quite comfortably in a large coach made especially for long journeys. There were two extra horses who trotted along with the grooms when Jared and Miranda were not riding them. Roger Bramwell had arranged the stopovers at pleasant, well-run inns. It was a lovely trip, and Miranda enjoyed being with her husband for those few days in the English countryside. She enjoyed it all the more, knowing that they would soon leave England for Russia.

The countryside was lush with midsummer growth, a perfect frame for Swynford Hall, an E-shaped mansion that dated from early Elizabethan times. The bricks were a mellowed rose color, but most of the house was covered in shiny, dark green ivy. The carriage rumbled through gates of brick and iron as the smiling gatekeeper stood by. His plump wife bobbed a friendly curtsey from the gatehouse door as the carriage passed. The driveway was lined by rows of tall oaks, and there was an attractive dower house beyond the drive. Miranda chuckled.

“The dowager Lady Swynford is in residence, I see. I didn’t think Mandy could do it.”

“I did,” replied Jared. “She’s as stubborn as you are, my love, but her angelic appearance deceives everyone into believing she is a biddable female.”

“Why, sir, am I not the most agreeable of females?”

“Oh very agreeable,” he said smoothly, finishing, “when you get your own way!”

“Wretch!” she teased. “You are no better than I!”

“Exactly, m’lady, which is why we suit each other so damnably well!”

They were both still laughing when the carriage stopped in front of the entry to Swynford Hall, where host and hostess were waiting. The two sisters hugged each other warmly, and then Miranda stepped back to view her radiant twin. “You seem to be surviving marriage,” she smiled.

“I have simply followed your good example,” Amanda teased back.

It was the beginning of a wonderful week. They were housed in a beautiful corner apartment that overlooked the gentle hills of Wales to the west and the estate’s lake and gardens to the south. Amanda and Adrian were still honeymooning, and were the least demanding of hosts. The two couples met only in the evening for dinner. There were no other guests, and only on their first evening at Swynford Hall did Adrian’s mama join them. She left the following day to visit her dear old friend, Lady Tallboys, in Brighton. The simple country life was far too dull and confining for her, she declared.

At the end of a delightful week of riding and long walks in the woods, Miranda entered their apartment to find Mitchum packing her husband’s clothing. Startled, she asked what was going on.

“M’lord has said we must depart for Russia tonight, m’lady,” answered the tall, austere valet.

“Has Perky been informed? Why is she not packing my things?”

“I was not aware that you were coming with us, m’lady,” replied Mitchum, suddenly uncomfortable.

Miranda ran from the room and downstairs to the garden salon, where the others awaited her. Bursting into the room, she shouted at Jared, “When were you going to tell me? Or were you just going to leave me a note? I thought we were going together!”

“I must travel quickly, and it would be impossible for a woman.”

“Why?”

“Listen to me, wildcat. Napoleon is about to attack Russia. He believes that England and America are so involved with each other that they will not be able to aid the Tzar. I must get to St. Petersburg to get Alexander’s signature on a secret treaty of alliance between America, England, and Russia. We must break Napoleon!”

“But why may I not go?” she demanded.

“Because I must get there and be back before the Russian winter sets in, Miranda. Summer is half gone already and winter comes to the far north long before it comes to the rest of Europe and England. Dream Witch is anchored just off the coast. Mitchum and I ride out tonight. We can’t wait for a carriage and a lady’s maid.”

“I’ll ride with you! I don’t need Perky.”

“No, Miranda. You’ve never spent more than two or three hours in the saddle, and it will be a bone-shattering ride to the sea. You’re to stay here with your sister and Adrian until I return. If anyone decides to visit Swynford you can say I’m ill and keeping to my room. I need you here, wildcat. If we both disappear for several weeks it could cause talk.

“Oh, my love, I want to go home to Wyndsong! I want to raise our horses, and send my ships to the far corners of the earth in safety. I want to found a dynasty built on the love we have for each other. We can do none of these things while the damned world is upside down!”

“I hate you for this!” she said fiercely. After a moment, she asked, “How long?”

“I should be back by the end of October.”

“ Should be? ”

“I will be!”

“You had better be, m’lord, or I shall come looking for you!”

“You would too, wouldn’t you, wildcat?” He reached out and pulled her roughly against him. She looked up into his face, her sea-green eyes devouring his visage. “I will come home quickly, my love,” he said huskily and kissed her hungrily.

Watching them from a corner of the room, Lady Amanda Swynford reflected again that she far preferred the gentle love she had for her Adrian to this savage passion. Her sister and Jared were so intense, and when they became involved in each other the world about them ceased to exist. The blazing love that raged between her twin and Jared was somehow so … so primitive!

Reading her thoughts, Lord Swynford approached quietly and put a reassuring arm around his bride. “It is just that they are so very American and you and I are so very English.”

“Yes … I suppose that’s what it is,” answered Amanda slowly. “How strange that Miranda and I should be so different.”

“Yet so alike, for you are, you know. You both possess a strong sense of right and wrong, and a fierce loyalty to those you love.”

“Yes, we do,” replied Amanda, “and if I know my sister, she will be quite impossible once her husband has gone. You and I are going to have our hands full, Adrian. This is not exactly what I had in mind for my honeymoon summer.”

“No,” mused Adrian, “I don’t believe we will have any problem with Miranda.”

For several days after Jared’s departure, it appeared that he was right. Miranda kept to herself. Amanda had expected the Miranda of old, storming and raging. But her twin was quiet and thoughtful. Her emotions were kept private, and no one knew she wept wild tears into her pillow in the darkness of night.

August passed, and September. Stranded at the Russian court, Lord Jared Dunham, the Anglo-American envoy, had yet to see Tzar Alexander. Napoleon had declared war on Russia, and was marching on Moscow. The Tzar had not decided whether to side openly with Bonaparte’s avowed enemies. Too, he thought it odd that the English and Americans, officially at war with each other, should ask him to sign an alliance with them against the French. He decided to postpone making a decision. But he did not bother to inform Lord Dunham of that. So Jared waited, and worried that he might fail his mission. He fretted over his absence from England.

A message arrived from Lord Palmerston. The Americans and the English who sought to end the conflict between their countries had decided that Jared must remain in St. Petersburg until the Tzar made his decision to join the Anglo-American alliance against Bonaparte. Realizing, however, that his prolonged absence from London’s social scene would cause comment, his brother, Jonathan, was being smuggled through the British blockade of the American coast and brought to England to take Jared’s place. The difference in their appearance was so slight that no one was expected to notice.

Jared smiled ruefully and restlessly paced the small guest house, belonging to a great palace, that had been rented for him. It overlooked the Neva River, which cut through the heart of fashionable St. Petersburg, and was lined on both sides with the opulent homes of the very rich and powerful. The house, a small jewel of a building, had been set in a corner of the garden, and had a fine view of the river. There were only two servants, a cook and a maid. Both old women, their heavily accented French was barely understandable but Jared needed no one besides his own Mitchum. He was not here to socialize. He would not be entertaining.

Jared Dunham suddenly felt very alone, cut off entirely from his world. He wondered if he was not paying too high a price for his ideals. What the hell was he doing in Russia? Away from Miranda, away from Wyndsong. Napoleon was already in Moscow, a wide swath of burnt Russian fields marking his passage through the land, for the fiercely patriotic peasant Russians had fired their own fields rather than allow them to fall into French hands. It would mean famine for them this winter. Jared Dunham sighed, seeing the thin skim of ice on the Neva River glistening in the early-morning sunshine. It would be autumn in England, but here in St. Petersburg early winter was upon them. He shivered. He longed for his wife.

In the early dawn Miranda stood by her bed and looked at the man sleeping there. That it was not her husband she was absolutely positive. She was fairly certain it was her brother-in-law, Jonathan Dunham. Why was he in England? Why was he posing as Jared? A sudden shift in his breathing pattern told her that he was awake.

“Good morning, Jon,” she said calmly.

“How did you know?” he replied, not even bothering to open his gray-green eyes.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she laughed softly. “Jared has never been that tired,” she said. “Especially after being away from me. You’ve cut your hair.”

“The better to look like Jared Dunham, m’dear.”

“Were you planning to tell me, Jon? Or did the clever Lord Palmerston decide I shouldn’t know.”

“I was to tell you only if you recognized me.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

“Then I was to say nothing,” he replied quietly.

“Just how far were you planning to go, sir?” she demanded and because he knew her so little he didn’t recognize the dangerous edge in her voice.

“Frankly I hoped to find you with child,” he said. “It would have solved everything.”

“Indeed!” she snapped. “Where is Jared?”

“In St. Petersburg, stuck for the winter. The Tzar cannot make up his mind whether to sign the alliance or not. Jared’s mission must remain a secret because it hasn’t the official sanction of either government. But he is too well known to simply disappear from England and everyone assumes that until this damned war is over the Dunhams cannot leave England and return to Wyndsong. In other words, someone has to be Jared.”

“And what of your wife? Does she approve of this masquerade?” Miranda’s voice was sharp.

There was a deep silence, and then Jonathan said, “Charity is dead.”

“What?!” Her voice was raw with shock.

“My wife was drowned in a boating accident this summer. She was raised on Cape Cod, and adored the sea. It was an eccentricity of hers that she loved to sail her own small boat. She was a good sailor, but she was caught in a sudden violent squall. The boat was destroyed, and Charity’s body was washed up on a nearby beach several days later.” His voice was harsh.

“It is assumed that I have gone off whaling to ease my sorrow.”

“Your children?”

“With my parents.”

“Oh, Jon, I am so sorry!” said Miranda, the memory of her friendly sister-in-law filling her mind.

He reached out and took her hand. “The first shock is over, Miranda. I have faced the fact that Charity is gone. I am not sure yet if I can survive without her, but I suppose I must. The children need me.” He smiled wryly. “If I could have taken Jared’s place in St. Petersburg I would have done so, but I have always been the dutiful son who stayed home while my little brother was the adventurer. I have no experience in diplomacy. The best I can do is hope to fool the ton until my brother returns. You will have to help me.”

“You can do it, Jon. I will tell you what you need to know. We do not have to return to London until after the New Year, so you’ll be safe here.”

“What about your sister and her husband? We can tell them.”

“No. The fewer people who know you are taking Jared’s place, the safer he will be. Besides, if you can fool Amanda and Adrian, then you’ll know you can fool anyone.” She cocked her head to one side, then flung herself into his startled arms. “Kiss me! Quickly!” She yanked his dark head down to hers as the bedroom door swung open. Perkins stopped dead, her eyes wide at the intertwined bodies sprawled across the bed. “Oh!” she gasped. “Oh!” The two people moved apart and Perkins sighed with relief. “M’lord! You’re back!”

“Indeed, Perky,” he drawed lazily, “and I see you’ve forgotten how to knock. We’ll ring when we want you.” He turned back to Miranda, his lips taking fierce possession of hers. The door closed, but Jonathan Dunham did not release the woman in his arms. His mouth, gentle now, tasted deeply of hers, and only when he became aware that she was trembling and tasted the salty tears sliding down her cheeks, did he release her. “Dammit, Miranda, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

He saw the sadness in her face, and he gathered her tenderly in his arms. “I have been so wrapped up in my own grief I never stopped to think how terribly you must miss him.” He held her close and rocked her as if she were a child.

After a few minutes she said softly, “You kiss differently.” Jonathan laughed. “We’ve been told that before,” he said. Then, “This will not happen again, Miranda, I promise you. I apologize for losing my head and offending you. Will you forgive me, my dear?”

“You did not offend me, Jon. I am only sorry I am not Charity. You were not kissing me, but her, and I understand. Had she died of a lingering illness you might have had the opportunity to say goodbye. But she died suddenly, and you had no chance to bid her farewell. It hurts. I know it does.”

“You’re very wise for one so young. I begin to understand now why Jared loves you so much,” he replied.

“I think we should ring for Perky now, Jon. How did you know her nickname?”

“Lord Palmerston told me. Lord Palmerston is always most efficient. By the way, I’ve brought one of his men along as my valet. We’re going to say that Mitchum received a better offer from another gentleman, and that Connors is taking his place.”

“Very well.” She extricated herself from his arms and drew on the bellpull. “I’ll order another down quilt tonight. We’ll roll it up into a tube and place it between us for a bundling board.”

“I can sleep on your chaise,” he said.

“Your feet would hang over,” she said, “and the floor is too cold. Don’t be afraid, Jon,” she teased, “I’ll not seduce you.” She rose from the bed to sit down at her dressing table and brush her long hair.

There was a knock on the door, and Perkins entered the room again, her tray now set for two. “Good morning, m’lord, m’lady.” She set the tray down on the fireside table. “Connors wants to know if you’d like a bath, m’lord. I’m sorry to learn Mitchum has left us.”

“Tell Connors I’ll have my bath after breakfast.”

“Very good, sir.” Perkins curtseyed and left the room.

Jonathan went to the tray and began lifting lids from the dishes. “Good Lord, kippers!” he shuddered.

“Jared loves kippers,” she said.

“I detest them.”

“You’ll have to learn to eat them, Jon. Also, you’ve almost got Jared’s voice, but you do have a slight New England twang. Soften it.”

She offered him other bits of advice over the next few weeks, and soon he felt his own personality slipping into the background as he became more Jared and less himself.

Amanda and her husband never suspected the deception. Jonathan was uncomfortable with the role at first, but Miranda made it easy for him by treating him with the same mixture of easy affection and spunky independence with which she treated Jared. It was good for him. The pain of Charity’s loss began to ease a little. And as it did, the man in him began to awaken again.

Jonathan and Miranda enjoyed themselves. Miranda liked the outdoors, and rode daily except in the vilest weather. Away from Swynford Hall, free of listening ears, they were able to talk freely. Miranda learned about Jared’s unhappy childhood, and how the wisdom and generosity of his Grandmother Lightbody had freed him from their implacable Puritan father. “I have never seen him show any gentle emotion,” said Jon, “until her death. At her funeral, he wept like a child.”

The dowager Lady Swynford returned from Brighton, and was totally taken in by Jonathan Dunham. “Your husband,” she told Miranda, “has the most exquisite manners! But then I’ve always said so. He’s a charming devil, my dear. Simply charming!”

Though the weather was unseasonably mild, Christmas was coming, and Amanda and Adrian had been married nearly six months. On December 6, Lord and Lady Swynford held a dinner in honor of Lord and Lady Dunham’s first anniversary. It was the first time they had entertained since their marriage, and there was to be dancing afterward. The premier guest was to be Amanda’s rejected suitor, the Duke of Whitley.

Darius Edmund was close to forty. He was tall, with ash-brown hair, fair skin, and bright turquoise eyes. His dress and manner were elegantly subdued. The Duke of Whitley had been quite taken with Amanda, for Darius Edmund collected beautiful things. He had been married twice previously. Both wives, although exquisitely lovely and of flawless lineage, had been fragile and both had died miscarrying his children.

Amanda had taken his fancy, and he had done her the honor of offering for her despite her unfortunate nationality. To his intense mortification, he had been rejected in favor of a minor baronet. He had swallowed his bitter disappointment with as good a grace as he could muster, relieved that no one outside his own family knew of his offer to the little Yankee. Her family was, he sighed with relief, extremely discreet, and had not trumpeted about his acute embarrassment. It was therefore possible for Darius to accept the Swynfords’ invitation. This pleased him, for he was frankly curious to see Lady Swynford’s twin. For the life of him, he could not remember her, but she had sent his younger brother, Kit, into rhapsodies. “A rare beauty,” Kit had said, “and intelligent too!”

As Darius Edmund stood in the receiving line waiting to greet his host and hostess, and their guests of honor, his eyes swept over the lady in question. Why had he not noticed her before? She was absolutely magnificent, and he didn’t try to hide his admiration when he raised her gloved hand to his lips. “Lady Dunham,” he murmured, “I am devastated to find what a fool I’ve been. You will, of course, promise me a dance, and be my supper partner.”

“You honor me, my lord duke,” she said coolly. “A dance, of course, but as for supper, I cannot promise. I have the third waltz free.”

“I must be satisfied with that, m’lady, but be warned that I shall try and convince you to sup with me,” he replied.

“I shall certainly be on my guard,” she smiled.

Darius Edmund took himself off to a corner where he could gaze at Lady Dunham. Her gown had a violet silk underlining, overlaid with sheer lavender shot silk. The hem and the edge of the puffed sleeves were embroidered in a gold classic Greek scroll design. The neckline was quite fashionably low, and the Duke of Whitley admired Lady Dunham’s lovely bosom. Fastened around her neck was an ornate necklace of amethysts interspersed with perfect Indian Ocean pearls, all in yellow gold. The stones were oval except for the center one, which was shaped like a star. There were matching earrings and a bracelet and star-shaped ring. The most delightful touch, however, was the two purple amethyst stars in her hair.

Her hair. The duke sighed with pleasure. The pale silver-gilt cap was parted in the center and knotted into a chignon at the nape of her graceful neck. He wondered what it would look like loose and flowing. A woman’s hair was indeed her crowning glory, and the duke did not like the short styles currently in vogue.

“Darius, dear boy!”

Annoyed, he turned to face the plump, beaming, turbaned Lady Grantham, a friend of his mother’s. He smiled and raised her hand to his lips, murmuring a greeting.

“How fortunate to find you alone,” chortled Lady Grantham. “Come along now, dear boy. I want you to meet my niece who’s visiting me before her first season in London.”

Good God, he thought irritably, a chit from the schoolroom. But there was no help for it. The third waltz could not come quickly enough for him. When it did, he eagerly swept Lady Dunham into his arms and out onto the floor.

Miranda laughed breathlessly. “Heavens, Your Grace! Is such obvious relief polite?”

“I don’t have to be polite,” he said. “I am Whitley, one of the oldest titles in England. God, madam, but you’re ravishing! Why did I not offer for you last year?”

“Probably because you didn’t see me,” she replied gaily.

“I must have been blind,” he said, shaking his head.

They chatted easily and soon, thinking of the man who ought to be dancing with her, self-pity welled up in Miranda. It gave way seconds later to anger. This was her first wedding anniversary, and instead of being at home on Wyndsong celebrating with the man she loved, she was dancing in an English ballroom with an amorous duke while her brother-in-law played her husband. Suddenly she felt wickedly reckless. If Jared felt the damned Anglo-American alliance was more important than their marriage, then why should she be a prim and proper wife? Who knew what Jared was doing at the Russian court?

The dance came to an end and, tucking her hand through the duke’s arm, she said, “I have decided to allow you to be my supper partner, Your Grace.”

“I am honored,” he murmured, kissing her lavender-gloved hand before turning her over to her next partner.

As Miranda’s anger increased she became gaily flirtatious. She danced the last dance before supper with Jonathan, and was amused to find him disapproving. “You have practically every young man, married or not, panting after you, madam!”

“You are not my husband,” she said low. “What difference should it make to you?”

“As far as everyone is concerned, I am Jared,” he hissed at her.

“Go to Hell, darling!”

“By God, Miranda, now I know why Jared calls you wildcat. Behave yourself, or I shall make your excuses.”

She glared at him, infuriated, and his arm tightened around her waist. “I hate you!” she said through clenched teeth. “I hate you for not being Jared! Jared should be here with me now, but he is in St. Petersburg.”

“Don’t,” he said, understanding her anger. “Don’t, my dear. It cannot be helped, and I know my brother. He is as lonely as you are right now.”

The dance ended, and the duke was instantly there to claim her for supper. The two men bowed to one another.

“Your Grace.”

“M’lord, I am delighted to have your beautiful wife’s company for supper. If only I might find such a lovely lady to make my duchess. Beauty, intelligence, and wit are a rare combination.”

“Indeed, Your grace. I am most fortunate,” said Jon, bowing again and walking away.

The Swynford dining room was a temple of gluttony that evening. The long mahogany table was covered by a white Irish damask cloth with a floral basket design. Marching down the table in a neat row were six six-armed silver candelabra with cream-colored beeswax candles. Between the candelabra were five floral arrangements of pink, red, and white hothouse roses with greenery and holly. The center arrangement was a large silver basket. The vast buffet consisted of two great sides of beef roasted in rock salt to keep in all the juices. They were placed at either end of the table. There were four whole legs of lamb stuck with sprigs of rosemary all over, two whole suckling pigs with apples in their mouths, clove-studded pink hams, roast geese stuffed with fruit, huge Scots salmon en gelée , sturgeon, oysters, lobsters, and platters of fried sole. There were side dishes of jugged hare, stewed eels, stewed carp, pigeon paté, oval Wedgwood plates of partridges and quail, marrow pudding, Brussels sprouts, miniature potato soufflés, apple and apricot fritters, and several large silver bowls of lettuce, scallions, and radishes.

On the long, mahogany sideboard were the desserts, footed silver plates of almond cheesecakes, tortes, fruit tarts, great bowls of custard, fruitcakes; pears covered in meringue, baked apples, and layer cakes filled with mocha cream. Tiered silver cake trays held petits fours covered with pink, green, and white sugar icing.

Miranda ate just a slice of rare beef, some salad, and two miniature potato soufflés, but Darius’s plate was piled high with beef, suckling pig, a quail, marrow pudding, Brussels sprouts, apricot fritters, and a small lobster. She watched, amazed, as he ate it all, and then sampled three of the desserts to her one. He also drank a great deal of champagne, but here she kept pace with him, for her anger had not abated one whit. The champagne went to her head, and she giggled tipsily as the duke flirted with her. Desire began to inflame him. If he could not have her to wife, what an exquisite mistress she would make!

“Let us walk in the conservatory, my dear,” he murmured to her. “I hear your brother-in-law’s rose trees are without peer.”

“So I am told,” she said, rising unsteadily. “Ohh, I’m afraid, sir that I am somewhat tipsy from the champagne.”

He bent to kiss her bare shoulder. “Only a little, my angel. Come now, a walk will do you good.”

They moved from the dining salon through the grand salon and into the glassed-in conservatory. Miranda’s legs were leaden, her head whirling. The warm, humid atmosphere of the conservatory weakened her, but she liked the feel of his arm around her. It had been so long since Jared had left her. Here it was her first wedding anniversary and she had no one!

Darius Edmund led Miranda deep into the miniature jungle, seating her on a delicate white wrought-iron bench. The still air was heavy with the scent of roses, gardenias, and lilies, and she was beginning to feel quite faint.

“I am totally enchanted by you,” Darius Edmund said in a deep, intense voice. “You are exquisite, lovelier than any woman I have ever known. I will be frank with you, Miranda, for I understand that Americans prefer directness. I want you to be my mistress.” Even before she comprehended, the Duke of Whitley was kissing her. Drawing her lavender silk gown down over her shoulders, his lips eagerly sought her young breasts. “Ah, my darling, I adore you!”

“How unfortunate for you, my lord, since the lady is my wife.”

Darius Edmund leaped to his feet. The tall, elegant Lord Dunham faced him imperturbably.

“You will wish satisfaction, of course,” said the duke stiffly.

Miranda, half conscious, lolled against the iron bench, her eyes closed. The duke had been holding her, kissing her, and then Jon had spoiled it all. She was sleepy now, and barely aware of the two men.

“I have no wish to involve my good name, nor that of Lord Swynford, in a scandal, Your Grace. Since no one else saw this incident, we will consider the matter closed. However, I would advise you to keep away from my wife in future.”

Darius Edmund clicked his heels and, nodding curtly to the American, turned and left the conservatory. Jonathan Dunham looked down on Miranda, aching with need for her. He drew her gown back up, covering her lovely bosom, smelling the champagne on her breath. Shaking his head, he grinned ruefully at the thought of the headache she was going to have in the morning. She protested only slightly when he gently picked her up and carried her swiftly from the conservatory, through the house, and upstairs to their bedroom. Because the guests were involved in dancing and gaming, he encountered no one.

“Gawd, m’lord! Is she all right?” Perkins leaped to her feet as he came through the door.

“I’m afraid your mistress has had an excess of champagne, Perky, and she’s not used to it. She’ll have quite a head in the morning. Come on, I’ll help you get her undressed.”

Together they managed to get Miranda undressed, and while Perkins hurried to get Miranda’s nightgown, Jonathan sat next to the unconscious woman who was on the bed. He had never seen her nude. In fact, he had never seen any woman totally nude. Charity had always insisted on their making love in total darkness, and she had always clothed herself in the privacy of her dressing room.

His gray-green eyes caressed Miranda. Then his hand reached out to touch her, and he shivered at the contact with her warm silken skin. Night after night in the same bed with her, and he was supposed to remain cool! What was he, a saint?

Realizing suddenly that his hand was resting on her bare thigh, he snatched it away as if the surface of her skin were burning hot. Damnation, he thought. I cannot go on like this. God, what perfect little breasts she has. He wanted to bury his face in their warmth.

Perky came back with one of Miranda’s gossamer nightgowns and they pulled Miranda up and put the silken garment on her. Jonathan picked her up as Perky drew back the covers. After he had her tucked into bed, he stood for a moment gazing down on her and then turned abruptly and left the room as quickly as he could.

Back downstairs in the ballroom, he tried to lose himself in the festivities. He was surrounded by temptation, and the room seemed full of beautiful women with daring décolletage. He was assailed by bosoms. His nostrils were assailed by perfumes of every sort fresh lavender and spicy gillyflower, exotic rose and tuberrose, elusive moss and fern, heavy musk. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of dimpled arms, bouncing curls, sparking eyes, lush, ripe mouths.

After an hour of torment, his eye caught a movement by the potted palms near the entry. It was Amanda and Adrian welded together in a torrid embrace. He watched as young Lord Swynford ran his hands down his wife’s back to cup her buttocks and draw her closer to him. Tearing his gaze away, Jon flung himself upstairs.

There was no refuge there, however. Miranda lay curled in the very center of the bed, her silken nightgown about her waist, her adorable round bottom bared to him. He fled to the dressing room, disrobed, and lay down on the chaise to doze fitfully for a while. He heard the patter of rain against the leaded windowpanes and the slate roof, beginning softly at first and growing louder. There was a faint rumble of thunder in the distance. Thunder in winter is the Devil’s thunder, he thought, remembering an old saying his Grandmother Dunham liked to quote. The thunder boomed nearer now, and the lightning flashed.

“ Jared! ”

He heard her cry, a cry of stark terror.

“ Jared! Jared! ” The voice was desperate now.

He rose from the chaise, and went to her, shocked to see her sitting up, her arms outstretched, her eyes tightly closed, tears pouring down her pale cheeks. More thunder elicited another pitiful cry. “ Jared! Where are you? Oh, please come to me!”

Jonathan sat down on the bed and gathered her into his arms. “I’m here, wildcat. I’m here,” he soothed. “Don’t cry, my darling. Jared is here.”

Wimpering, she pressed her face to his chest. Automatically his hand went to her silvery gold hair, smoothing it. He ached with wanting her. Her voice, softly urgent, said, “Love me, Jared! Oh, God, it’s been so long since you’ve loved me, my darling!” She nuzzled at his nipples, and he shuddered.

“Miranda!” His voice was ragged. The flashing lightning gave the room an eerie gray-blue glow. He could see that her eyes were still closed. The thunder boomed closer this time, peal after peal of it, and she clung to him desperately.

“Oh, Jared! I promise I’ll be the kind of wife you want! Don’t leave me again! Please love me, Jared. Please!”

She fell back, drawing him with her, and Jonathan Dunham knew that he was going to make love to his brother’s wife. Everything fell away except his deep desire for this silvery-gilt-haired nymph. He could no longer fight the hunger within him. He no longer wanted to fight it.

He found her eager mouth and drank from it, tasting the sweetness of her petal-soft lips. He kissed each part of her heart-shaped face, the adorable cleft in her chin, her small, straight nose, the shadowed eyelids, their dark lashes quivering against her pale cheeks like small, black butterflies.

His hands roamed across her beautiful body and he heard her sigh contentedly as bare skin touched bare skin. He wanted time to explore this lovely new land, but she would give him no time. She moved frantically beneath him, and soon her slender fingers sought his sex, touching him with hot little hands that caressed and stroked until he thought he’d burst with passion. He jammed a knee between her soft thighs, parted them, and thrust deeply into her willing body.

“Oh, Jared!” she cried softly. “Oh, my darling, yes!”

About them the thunder crashed and rolled and the lightning crackled violently, illuminating and darkening the room in rapid succession. She was wildfire in his arms. She gave herself to him totally, but of course it was not Jonathan to whom she gave herself, it was Jared.

Jonathan knew that. She had not opened her eyes once and he suddenly realized that she had never been conscious of him at all. Her desperate need for Jared, her fear of the storm, and too much champagne had been responsible. He had taken his brother’s wife in adultery, and Jonathan soon felt as low with remorse as he had been giddy with lust.

He would have left the bed, but she curled up next to him, her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her protectively and drew the quilts over them. Hollow-eyed, he lay and listened to the rain. The thunder had died and with it the lightning. The wind rose, and he knew morning would find the last of the leaves gone. She murmured against him, and his arm tightened around her. Dear heaven, Miranda, Jonathan thought, What have I done? He consoled himself with the thought that she probably wouldn’t remember this, as she had really been unconscious. The minutes crawled by making an hour, then two. His shoulder was growing stiff, and despite the quilts he was cold. The room began to grow gray with the advent of day, and soon the sparrows set up a mad chattering.

“It was you, not Jared, wasn’t it?” Her soft voice cut through his soul.

“Miranda …” He didn’t know whether he should lie or admit his crime.

“Thank you, Jon!”

He was astounded. This was hardly what he had expected. Tears, yes! Recriminations, yes! But thanks?

“Yes, Jon, thank you.”

“I d-don’t understand,” he stammered.

“Thank you for making love to me.”

“My God, Miranda, what kind of woman are you?!”

“Not really as awful as you are now thinking,” she answered softly. “I don’t know if this will reassure you or not,” she continued, “but I did not know last night. When I awoke this morning in your arms, without my gown, I knew that that marvelous dream I had had was not a dream at all.”

He shuddered. “Miranda … dear heaven! How can I ask your pardon? I took advantage of your terror and the fact that you had had too much champagne. I allowed my ungovernable lust to gain the upper hand!”

“Yes, you certainly did,” she replied, and he thought there was a hint of laughter in her voice. “You don’t make love at all like your brother does, Jon,” she continued, to his acute embarrassment. “Jared is far more skilled and much more patient.”

“Dammit, Miranda, this is hardly a thing for us to discuss!”

“Fiddlesticks!” she shot back. “We had best discuss it if we are to continue this masquerade. We can hardly carry on normally if you cannot even look at me. Oh, Jon! Last night was partly my fault, too. I indulged myself in a terrible fit of self-pity, but dear God, I miss Jared so! I drank much too much and I’ve never had a strong head for champagne. I flirted with Darius Edmund because you were being overbearing with me. I was coiled up tighter than an overwound watch spring.”

“Why?” he demanded. “You have everything.”

“Not quite everything, Jon, my darling,” she laughed softly.

“Miranda!” He was shocked.

“Didn’t Charity ever get grumpy when you neglected her? Or perhaps you’re not a man to neglect his wife.”

“Dammit, Miranda, such talk is unseemly in a woman!”

“We were not married a year when your brother left me!” she snapped angrily. “I care very little for wars or politics or Bonaparte! I want my husband! I want to go home to Wyndsong!”

“If you had not disobeyed Jared by sailing for England without him, he would not have come to England and been forced to take Palmerston’s mission.”

“He could have said no! I need him, Jon, and last night I needed to be loved.”

“What if I have gotten you with child?” he demanded.

“You have not gotten me with child, Jon.”

“You cannot be sure, Miranda!”

“I most certainly can. I am already with child.”

“What?!”

“I believe it happened our last night together before he left for St. Petersburg,” she said. “My baby will be born in the spring. I only hope his father is at home to welcome him to this world. Bonaparte or no Bonaparte, the child will come.”

“Dear Lord, this makes it worse,” he said hoarsely. “Not only have I forced myself on my brother’s wife, I have forced myself on my brother’s pregnant wife!”

She laughed outright. “You are a strange man, Jon,” she teased him. “First you fear you’ve gotten me pregnant, and now you’re upset because you haven’t.” Understanding his genuine distress, she sobered. “Dearest Jonathan, listen to me. If I was a watch spring ready to snap last night, then so were you. Charity has been dead five months. If I needed to be loved, then so did you. I am not saying that what we did was right, and it will most certainly not happen again, but we needed each other, Jon.” She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you realize what this means, Jon? You have stopped mourning your wife. You are ready to live again.”

“But Jared …” he said.

“Jared will never know. Telling him might make us feel better, but would it be fair to Jared? What happened last night will never happen again, will it, Jon?”

“No.”

“Then there is no need for Jared to know that the two people he loves best in this world have proved themselves only too human.” She took his hand in hers. “You must take a mistress, Jon. No one will think badly of you for it. I shall announce my condition shortly. All gentlemen of fashion keep ladies of the Cyprian persuasion.”

“Good Lord, Miranda, do you speak with my brother in such a forward fashion?”

“Yes,” she answered, “but I have, of course, never advised him to take a mistress. Should I find he has, I shall cut his heart out.”

“I cannot imagine he’ll ever find the need for outside entertainments.” Mischievously he ran a finger down her bare shoulder.

“I think, Jon, you had best find yourself a companion soon. It is easier to maintain a casual attitude when you do not smolder at me so. No, do not glower at me. Women have their needs, also.”

“Close your eyes,” he commanded.

“Why?”

“Because I wish to get up and get my clothes.”

“You have nothing I haven’t seen,” she said sweetly.

“Miranda!” he growled.

“Oh, very well,” she answered demurely, and he chuckled as he hurried to the dressing room.

Suddenly he realized how much he liked her. For one so young she was amazingly sensible, and he understood how fortunate Jared was. He also felt acute relief over her feelings about last night. Reflecting on her uninhibited passion, he shook his head. It was definitely time that he found a mistress.