Chapter 17

M IRANDA WAS FEELING EXHILARATED . T HIS WAS TO BE HER FIRST large social function since her return to England. It almost seemed that she’d never been away. The coming-out ball of Lady Georgeanne Hampton, eldest daughter and heiress to the Duke of Northampton, was the first truly important affair of this season. It was to be held at the duke’s magnificent mansion, which was within shouting distance of the Prince Regent’s London residence.

Miranda welcomed this change, for she felt strong and whole once more. She had lived quietly at Swynford Hall for several months, basking in Jared’s love and the love of her family, and learning all about the small son of whose early life she had been so cruelly cheated. Whatever doubts Jared might have entertained about her suitability as a mother were obliterated forever on the day he saw them together in a chair, Tom showing Miranda a grubby treasure that he prized. Miranda, her whole face alight with her love, was wholly entranced.

How he wanted another child! But she wished to wait until she knew Tom better. Forcing little Tom to share her when she had barely returned seemed so unfair. Besides, she wanted time with her husband, too. Their third wedding anniversary was the first one they had actually celebrated together, and in general they had spent more of their marriage apart than together.

After Christmas had come the welcome news that on December 24, 1814, in the city of Ghent, Belgium, a treaty had been signed between England and America, ending the war. Come spring, they would be free to travel home.

“I want our next child born on Wyndsong,” Miranda declared, and Jared agreed.

The Treaty of Ghent had been a great disappointment to Jared Dunham, and only reaffirmed his belief that politics was a fool’s game. Never again, he vowed to himself, never again would he involve himself in that which he could not personally control.

Their lives had been almost destroyed by the war, and for what? None of the problems that had led to the war had been solved. The treaty merely provided the return of all captured territory to the power that had been in possession before the war.

Jared was very proud of his wife. Easily the most beautiful woman at the duke’s ball, she greeted old friends warmly with the dignity of an empress. Her ball gown with its bell-shaped skirt was a deep shade of green known as “Midnight in the Glen.” The neckline was low enough to have evoked a protest from him when he first saw it. It dipped down to barely cover the tops of her nipples, and in the back it was just below her shoulder blades. Laughingly she had instructed her dressmaker to add a bit of trim a dyed-to-match swansdown as a concession to husbandly outrage. His satisfaction had evaporated this evening when she put the dress on and he realized, to her mirth, that the swansdown only tempted the spectator to blow it aside to see what lay beneath.

The gown had no real waistline, the ankle-length skirt beginning beneath the bustline. There was a wide band of swansdown trimming the hem as well as the neckline. The little puffed sleeves were made of alternating stripes of velvet and silk gauze. Her dark green silk stockings had small gold stars embroidered upon them, as did her dark green kid slippers.

Miranda’s gown was deceptively plain. It actually served as a frame for her magnificent jewels. Her necklace was of round-cut emeralds, each stone surrounded by small diamonds and separated by gold links. It lay flat, glittering against the translucent skin of her chest. There were a matching bracelet and earrings. Her right hand bore a round diamond surrounded by emeralds, and her left an emerald surrounded by diamonds, as well as her wedding ring.

Miranda did not care for the curls and ringlets of current fashion. Neither did she care for the braided chignon which she felt was unhealthy for the hair. She wore her hair just as she had worn it two years before, parted in the middle and drawn lightly over her ears so as to leave bare the lobes and her earrings, and then gently affixed in a soft chignon at the nape of her neck. This was by far the most flattering hairstyle for her heavy, pale-gold hair.

Having greeted the duke, the duchess, and the blushing Georgeanne, Miranda and Jared moved into the ballroom to be scrutinized by many old friends. Lady Cowper came forward smiling, her hands outstretched to catch at Miranda’s. She kissed Lady Dunham warmly on both cheeks. “Miranda! Oh, my dear, it is miraculous to have you among us again. Welcome! Welcome back!”

“Thank you, Emily. I am quite happy to be here, especially so because this will be our last London season for some time.”

“Say it is not so!”

“Emily, we are Americans. Our home is in America, and we have been away for three years, far longer than we ever anticipated. We want to go home!”

“Jared, I appeal to you!” Emily Cowper turned her beautiful face up to Jared.

He laughed. “My dear, I confess to wanting to go home myself. Wyndsong is a magnificent little kingdom, and I had just been getting to know it when I came to England. I shall be glad to be back.”

Lady Cowper pouted. “It will be boring without you both.”

“Now, Emily, I am quite flattered,” said Miranda, “but the ton is never dull. Unpredictable, but never dull! What is this I hear about Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg?”

Emily Cowper lowered her voice confidentially. “Last summer little Charley had her heart set on Prince Augustus of Russia, but as there is no chance of that she has now decided on Leopold. My dear, the boy is so poor that last year he stayed in rooms over a greengrocer’s! What will actually happen one may only speculate upon.”

“She is wise to avoid the Russians,” Miranda said quietly. Hearing her name called, she turned to face the Duke of Whitley.

“My dear,” he said, his eyes mischievously dipping to her neckline, then returning quickly to meet hers, “how good to see you again.” He bowed low over her hand, his turquoise eyes openly admiring.

She colored becomingly, remembering their last meeting. Sneaking a peek at Jared, she instantly realized that Jonathan had told him of Whitley’s attempted seduction! Jared’s expression was quite icy.

“I thank you, Your Grace,” she replied prettily.

“May I present to you Lady Belinda de Winter,” said the duke.

Miranda’s sea-green eyes flicked to the petite brunette in the pale-yellow silk gown who was clinging to the duke’s arm. It was an appallingly awkward moment, and even Lady Cowper was somewhat taken aback by Darius Edmund’s lack of tact. Miranda smiled a very small smile. “How d’ye do, Lady de Winter,” she said.

Belinda de Winter looked boldly at her archrival. “Your husband was quite surprised by your survival, m’lady,” she said sweetly, deliberately implying a far greater intimacy between herself and Jared than actually existed.

Emily Cowper sucked in her breath. Dariya de Lieven had been right about the de Winter girl! What would Jared say? For dearest Miranda to suffer any further after all she had been through! Miranda, however, was quite capable of defending herself.

“Jared has spent every moment since my return reassuring me of his devotion,” she said as sweetly as she could, which was very sweetly. “I can only hope, Lady de Winter, that when you finally find a husband of your own he will prove as loving and as considerate as my husband is.”

The Dunhams bowed to the assembled company, and strolled away. Lady Emily Cowper turned on Belinda angrily.

“I shall be watching you, miss,” she said sharply. “You can be barred from Almack’s if I decide it. Your behavior toward Lady Dunham was improper, to say nothing of deliberately cruel. I hope you realize that your expectations in Lord Dunham’s direction are simply not valid now.” Lady Cowper turned away and stalked across the room to find her friend, Princess de Lieven.

“The old cow!” Belinda sniffed.

“She must be twenty-seven if she is a day,” murmured the duke, amused, “but you would not be wise to make an enemy of Emily Cowper, Belinda. Surely you do not continue to harbor hopes in Lord D’s direction? He is quite devoted to his wife, and she to him.”

“He was ready to propose marriage to me,” Belinda said low. “If she were not here I would be his wife!”

“But she is here, my dear,” he said quietly, “and in a few short months they will return to America. They will no longer be part of your life.”

Belinda de Winter did not respond because she was busy sorting out her impressions of Miranda Dunham. She was forced to admit that the lady was an incredible beauty. She and Jared made an extraordinarily handsome couple, both tall and elegant, his dark good looks complimenting her delicate fair coloring.

For some time Belinda was overcome by bleak despair. She wanted to be Jared Dunham’s wife, to be the mistress of his American manor, free of her father and brother.

The dancing could not begin until the Prince Regent and his daughter, Princess Charlotte, arrived. Clinging to Whitley’s arm, Belinda made the rounds of the ballroom, and was pleased to see that none of this year’s debutantes were as beautiful as she was. It was most reassuring.

In the hall below there was a sudden flurry of activity indicating a noteworthy arrival. “Ladies and gentlemen, my lords and my ladies,” the majordomo announced in stentorian tones, “His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, and Princess Charlotte.”

The band struck up the appropriate tune as George, one day to be the fourth of his line, and his pretty nineteen-year-old daughter entered the ballroom. The royal couple passed between the line of bowing couples, then suddenly stopped before Miranda Dunham. Gently the Prince Regent raised her to her feet, and smiled in his kindly way.

“My dear, we thank God that you have been restored to us.”

Miranda smiled at the rotund Prince Regent. “I thank his Royal Highness for his prayers. I am relieved that the hostilities between our countries are now over.”

He tipped her face up, and said, “So lovely! So very lovely!” Then, “Have you yet met my daughter, Lady Dunham?”

“No, Your Royal Highness, I have not yet had the honor,” said Miranda.

The Prince Regent beamed on his only child, with whom he had only recently been reconciled. “Charlotte, my dearest, this is Lady Miranda Dunham of whom we have spoken.”

Miranda curtseyed. The princess smiled. “You have had a most fortunate escape, I am told, Lady Dunham. We are pleased to finally meet you.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Miranda said.

The Prince Regent beamed at the two women, and then the royal couple moved on. The band struck up a waltz, and the Prince Regent led the blushing Lady Georgeanne Hampton onto the floor while the duke, her father, partnered Princess Charlotte. After a respectable interval the other guests joined in the dance, and the ball was officially begun. As the evening wore on, several latecomers arrived, and were duly announced.

Jared was a little annoyed to find that his wife’s dance card was quickly filled, leaving only one dance left for him. On the whole, however, he found the situation satisfactory. Between Lady Cowper and the Prince Regent, Miranda’s credibility was assured, and her reputation totally restored. He was not in the mood to dance with anyone else, and so he stood on the sidelines indulgently watching as she was whirled about the floor.

Suddenly Belinda de Winter was standing next to him, asking, “Are you truly happy, my lord?”

“Indeed I am, Lady de Winter.”

“Oh, Jared, I love you!” she whispered.

He never even turned to look at her. “You imagine it, Belinda.”

“You love me, Jared! I know you do! You were going to propose marriage. Everyone expected it! You came to tell me that your wife had returned so that I should not be embarrassed.”

“I was, of course, aware of your expectation, Belinda, and that is why I did you the courtesy of personally informing you of Miranda’s return.”

“I mean to have you, m’lord Yankee,” she said vehemently.

“Good God, Belinda, that is the sort of bad line uttered by the villain in a ha’penny street play!” He turned and looked down at her, not sure whether he was annoyed or amused. “I love my wife, my dear. If she had died, I would have married again only to give my boy a mother. I am sorry to be so brutally frank, but apparently I must be if I am to convince you.”

“You lie!” she persisted.

“Belinda, you are going to make a fool of yourself if you continue, and I prefer not to be involved in even a minor scandal. Good evening, m’lady.”

“Prince Alexei Cherkessky,” announced the majordomo.

Jared whirled, not sure that he had heard correctly. He scanned the dancers, looking for his wife. Catching sight of her, he wove his way through the swaying couples and rudely cut in, good manners forcing the elegant guardsman whose dance it was to withdraw.

“Jared, what on earth is the matter?” She was looking puzzled.

“The Russian who kidnaped you. What was his name?”

“Alexei Cherkessky. Why?”

“He is, it seems, a guest at this ball. They have just announced his arrival.”

She faltered, then laughed shakily. “I imagine I shall give him a very bad turn,” she said.

His arm tightened about her, and she read the admiration in his eyes. “We don’t have to stay, Miranda.”

“What? And have people saying that I forced you home because I saw you talking with Lady de Winter? Never!”

“Could I not be taking you home because I want to make passionate love to you?” he demanded.

“What gentleman of breeding makes love to his own wife, sir?” she teased him. “Oh, no, m’lord! We stay. What did the petite Mistress de Winter want of you?”

“Chitchat,” he lied, “and to wish us happy.”

“How nice,” murmured Miranda, not believing him for a minute.

Across the room Alexei Cherkessky was forcing himself not to stare. He had asked his hostess, disbelieving his eyes, and she had said, “Oh yes, Your Highness, a most beautiful woman, and a most fortunate one! She is Lady Miranda Dunham, an American. Her husband is Lord Jared Dunham, of Wyndsong Island Manor, an American holding. She was swept off her yacht almost two years ago, and lost at sea. It was believed that she had drowned, but she turned up in Istanbul several months ago.

“She was, it seems, rescued by a passing ship bound for the Turkish capital. The shock of her accident wiped her memory away, and so the captain of the vessel who rescued her brought her to his home, and made a daughter of her.

“Then one day when she was out in the bazaars with the women of the family she saw an English friend, and it triggered the return of her memory. Believe me when I tell you that she arrived home in the nick of time. Her husband was about to offer for another lady. It is a miraculous story, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” the prince murmured. “How disappointing for the young woman who nearly married Lord Dunham.”

“Yes, it certainly was,” and then Sophia Hampton lowered her voice, and said in a confidential tone: “The poor girl is my own godchild, Lady Belinda de Winter. Oh well, she is a pretty child, and someone else will come along.”

The prince nodded, his face drawn into an expression of sympathy. “Of course, Your Grace.” He scanned the room. “I am looking forward to meeting your daughter,” he said. “The Tzar insisted that I come to England and enjoy myself, once I had come out of mourning.”

“How tragic to lose both your wife and child at the same time,” the duchess sighed. Tragic for you, but how marvelous for my Georgeanne, she thought. A handsome, wealthy Russian prince with huge estates in both the Crimea and the Baltic, who stood close to the Tzar. It would be the coup of the season, and it would be her coup! She was going to mark Alexei Cherkessky for her own Georgeanne tonight, and if any of the other old cows thought to snag him for their gawky daughters, they would quickly be disappointed.

“I am going to introduce you to my darling shortly, Your Highness, and I wonder if you would indulge me in just a small favor. It would be so thrilling for her if you took my little Georgeanne into supper.”

“It would be my pleasure, Your Grace,” murmured the prince. Damn! It was going to be easier than he had thought, snapping up a virginal English heiress for his next wife. Like a wolf contemplating a rabbit, he wondered about the size of her dowry. He also wondered if the exquisite Lady Dunham of the silver-gilt hair would betray him. Could she do so without betraying herself? That was the question. He didn’t think so, and yet … It was really quite a marvelous story that they had invented to cover her absence.

Dearest Sasha had been right. The lady had told the truth about herself. Alexei Cherkessky wondered how much her husband knew of her fate. He also wondered what had happened to the brat she had been carrying. If it lived it belonged to him, and God only knew he had precious little left anymore.

It had been a terrible year. His estates in the Crimea had been utterly destroyed. He had been at the end of his resources, and the spring slave sale was to have refilled his coffers for the next year. The Tatar raid had ruined him.

Soon after the raid, his meek little bride had walked in when he was with the charming boy he had recently taken. Tatiania had viewed the sexual scene and left without a word. He had thought little of it, assuming that she had accepted the revelation with good sense.

Ear-splitting screams had roused him several hours later. The cause of the household hysteria was his wife’s suicide. Tatiania Romanova had hanged herself with the sash of her silk dressing gown, killing not only herself, but her unborn infant, his heir .

He was financially ruined, widowed, without an heir. Because of his wife’s relationship with Tzar Alexander he had been forced to mourn a full year, and the only consolation was that he had not been held responsible for Tatiania’s death. No one knew what had really happened that afternoon. Their short marriage had been considered a successful one.

His elderly in-laws passed away shortly thereafter, and his luck seemed to be turning for the better at long last. They had left him all they had, modest in comparison with what he had once possessed, but it was a start. He needed a wife, but he needed a rich one, and Russia was not the place to find one. He had decided to try England first, for the English were particularly susceptible to princely titles.

Just as he was preparing to leave Russia, he had received another piece of lucky news. His prize stud, Lucas, had managed to survive the Tatar massacre! The prince intended breeding slaves again, but it would take time. This time, however, he would raise them on his Baltic estates, safely away from Tatars. The Turks, bless them, would never tire of blond women.

He had brought Lucas to England as his valet, and together they sought out blond beauties to restock his new farm. He valued the man’s judgement. Alexei Cherkessky pulled himself from his thoughts at the sound of the duchess’s insistent voice.

“Your Highness, may I present my daughter, Lady Georgeanne Marie.”

The prince focused his glance on the lovely, elegant girl who stood before him. Never letting his eyes leave hers, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he held it just long enough to bring a blush of color to her cheeks. “Lady Georgeanne,” he said, “my heart is already ravished by your beauty. I can only hope that you will spare me a dance.”

Georgeanne giggled self-consciously. “Oh, Your Highness,” she said in her high, nasal voice, “all my dances are taken.”

“Nonsense!” The duchess snatched her daughter’s dance card from her wrist, and quickly scanned it. “Here, child, is a free dance you can spare the prince. The supper dance is available.”

“And I can only hope you will allow me to escort you to supper,” the prince interjected smoothly, wondering what young swain had been exchanged for him.

“Of course she will allow you to escort her to supper,” said the duchess briskly, “won’t you, my love?”

“Yes, Mama,” came the dutiful reply as Georgeanne replaced the card on her wrist, thinking that Lord Thorpe of Thorpe Hall, the gentleman bumped to make way for the prince, wasn’t very interesting anyway. She would be the envy of every girl in the room tonight, taking supper with the prince.

She liked the way he looked at her, coolly assessing her, his eyes clinging to her well-filled bodice. Still she kept her eyes modestly lowered, for she knew that men, especially the experienced ones like Prince Cherkessky, liked innocence in young girls.

“Lord Dunham!” the duchess called out as Jared and Miranda danced by. They were forced to stop. “Your Highness, may I present Lord and Lady Dunham, of whom I spoke earlier. This is Prince Cherkessky of St. Petersburg, and, of course, my daughter, Lady Georgeanne.”

Jared bowed politely to Georgeanne, coldly to the prince. Miranda swept the group a graceful curtsey, every nerve raw, desperate to scream as Alexei Cherkessky took her hand and slowly kissed it.

“I have heard of your miraculous escape, m’lady.”

“I escaped nothing, Your Highness,” was the calm reply. “I was merely fortunate enough to be rescued from the sea.”

“I meant your escape from the cold arms of Hades,” he fenced with her.

“My wife was incredibly fortunate,” Jared said. “I don’t intend ever to let her out of my sight again. We are soon returning home to America.”

“If Lady Dunham were my wife I should certainly not let her out of my sight, either,” was the prince’s mocking reply.

The two men locked eyes for a moment. Alexei Cherkessky wasn’t surprised by the blazing hatred he saw in Jared Dunham. So Dunham did know! But he loved his wife and would protect her. So, concluded the prince, I am safe. They won’t say anything.

“I only wish I could kill him,” Jared muttered as they danced away.

“I wonder what he’s doing here,” Miranda said softly.

“Emily Cowper or Dariya Lieven is sure to know. Ask them. I will find a moment to check with Palmerston to see if it is anything official, although I doubt it.”

“My lord?” An elegant dandy was at his elbow. “I believe this is my dance with Lady Dunham, sir.”

“Of course.” He stepped aside, and Miranda was whirled away.

Actually it was Amanda, even more horrified than her sister at Alexei Cherkessky’s appearance, who found out why the prince was in England. They had all arranged to have supper together, and she was bursting with information.

“His pregnant wife committed suicide,” Amanda said dramatically, her cornflower-blue eyes wide. “Now what made her do that, I wonder?”

“Was there any scandal attached to it?” asked Jared.

“None that anyone’s heard, but one cannot help but consider it. At any rate he is here in England looking for a new wife, and rumor has it that he’s singled out Georgeanne Hampton. And , her parents approve!”

“My God,” said Miranda, “the man is a sodomite, a murderer, and a debaucher of women. That poor, poor child! Jared, is there nothing we can do to prevent such a match? The duke and duchess cannot know of his reputation or else he wouldn’t even be here. He is a devil!”

Adrian Swynford shook his head. “It is impossible, Miranda, for us to expose Cherkessky for the villain he is without exposing you. It will embarrass not only you, but my family as well. I will not do that. Amanda and I now have a daughter to consider as well as little Edward. If I were now in Northampton’s position, seeking a good husband for our Arabella, I would damn well check him thoroughly princely title or not. If the duke doesn’t get stampeded by his silly wife he will delve a bit into Cherkessky’s background. Georgeanne will be looked after. I’m not worried.”

They were sitting at one of many little round tables that had been set up informally in the supper room to accommodate the buffet. The tables were backed by a screen of green potted palms in large yellow and white Wedgwood cachepots. Behind those benign plants Lady Belinda de Winter had heard all she needed to know.

Belinda’s eyes secretly caressed the man she desired so desperately, lingering on the superb fit of his trousers. How often her eyes sought out that part of him. He was such a magnificent animal! She longed to reach out and run her fingers down the outline of his manhood, fondling him until he burst through the constrictions of his marvelous tailoring and, maddened by desire, took her there on the ballroom floor. She sighed, nearly swooning at the thought.

She shook herself. Dreaming would not bring Jared back to her. And he must come back. No one had ever denied Belinda, and no one ever would.

The following day Belinda sent a note to Prince Cherkessky, who was staying at Pultney’s Hotel, one of London’s most elegant and discreet establishments. The note was quite to the point. It read:

If you are serious in your quest of Georgeanne, then I can assure your success if you will but give me a few minutes of your time .

She boldly signed her name, sealed the missive, and, handing it to her personal maid, told her to await a reply. She had no intention of being fobbed off. Not with victory so near!