Chapter Three #3
“I’ll escort ye to the library, if ye dinna mind.”
She shrugged. “You are free to do as you wish.”
Bram wound up offering his arm as they strolled toward the inn’s library, because Miranda was stubborn and refused to admit that her ribs ached or that she needed to lean on him.
He was not going to belabor the point. Wordlessly, he wrapped her arm in his and remained by her side as she scanned the shelves and selected a book for herself.
“Ye’re joking,” he muttered when he saw the one she had decided upon, an instructional guide to knitting that would no doubt put her to sleep within minutes. He arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
She tipped her chin in the air. “And what is wrong with that? I can knit, you know.”
“I have no doubt ye are proficient in many things. Drawing, embroidery, playing the pianoforte.”
“In fact, I am quite good at the piano,” she said with obvious pride.
“Do ye sing like a sparrow, as well?”
She smiled. “Unfortunately, no. I sound more like a wild boar caught in a mud pit.”
Bram laughed. “I canno’ believe that. Ye have a nice speaking voice. It is gentle and melodic.”
“When I am not berating you,” she said with a slight blush.
“Ye haven’t berated me. Protecting yerself and defending yerself is no’ the same thing as being a shrew with a mean disposition. Come, settle yerself in this comfortable chair.”
She sighed as she sank into its cushioned depths.
Bram thought she looked quite a delicate thing in that big chair. She was not a tall woman. In fact, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders.
She was not small, either. Just feminine and impossibly appealing.
Despite her lack of height or muscles, she had the heart of a lion. She had more than held her own against Mongo and his companions.
Of course, the dolt had never meant to harm her. But she was brave nonetheless, ready to fight to the bitter end if it proved necessary.
Bram dragged over the ottoman that was intended to go with the chair. “Here, set yer feet up on this. Do ye need a pillow for yer back?”
Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him. “No, Solway, I am perfectly fine. Thank you for your consideration. But you needn’t trouble yourself. I have already told you I will not contact the magistrate. I am not going to change my mind.”
“Miranda, I do this because I worry for ye. Ye’ve got a broken rib and it is my responsibility to care for ye until I get ye home. Even then, please know ye can always ask for my assistance. I will be glad to offer it to ye wherever and whenever ye need it.”
“Will you carry me up to my room if I ask you?”
He knew it. Her ribs hurt and every slight movement was painful for her.
“Aye, gladly.”
In truth, he was no monk and ached to hold her in his arms, albeit not like this. He wanted her eager and willing.
Well, this was too much to ask of Miranda just now. She would turn stiff as a board and frown at him if he ever dared take her in his embrace.
“Do ye wish to go up now?” he asked.
“No, not yet. Maybe in a little while. I just wondered whether you would accommodate me if and when I made the request.”
“Always. Just let me know when ye’re ready.” He grabbed a couple of newspapers lying on a small desk and sank into another of the large chairs situated at the opposite side of the library. He could have settled closer to her, but felt she wanted some distance between them.
That was fine with him. All he needed to do was be there if she wished to retire to her quarters.
“Solway?” she called out softly as he opened up one of the newspapers. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “I’m here to help ye, Miranda. Please, dinna hesitate to ask if ye are in need of anything.”
“I will. I may be stubborn, but I am not completely foolish. I am in a bit of pain,” she admitted, surprising him.
He frowned. “Should I summon a doctor?”
“No, it is just an occasional twinge along my ribs. No doubt the three-hour journey we took this morning aggravated the injury. But you must not worry. Tilda did an excellent job of tending to me.” She opened her book and began to read.
Or pretended to read.
Not that it mattered. He just wanted her to be comfortable.
Bram looked forward to enjoying some quiet time himself. When was the last time he had nothing to do but sit and read for idle pleasure? Since he was not about to leave Miranda’s side, he had this next hour or so to lose himself in the news of the day.
In truth, he was not used to having any peaceful hours because his daily routine kept him far too busy. It was not only the Solway holdings that kept him occupied, but his government duties, as well.
Scotland was always treated by the English as their impoverished spinster relation, a nuisance that they often tried to ignore.
There were perhaps a handful of Scottish dukes who wielded enough power to make those in Parliament sit up and listen.
He was one, and Cheyne Lyon, the Duke of Mar, was another—as well as Malcolm MacRae, the Duke of Camborne, now that he had settled down and appeared to be happily married.
Bram let out a breath, not wanting to think of his duties and responsibilities just now.
Indeed, it felt good to have this quiet time. Besides, his kinsmen knew where to find him if something serious arose.
The first newspaper he chose to read was known for its fine reporting on financial matters.
He reviewed it with interest, for he had some spare funds to invest and was always looking for interesting ideas.
The second was more of a gossip rag, but he perused it next with as much interest as he had the financial paper.
He would be spending several months in London and ought to know what was going on among Society’s elite.
After all, most of them were titled and sat with him in the House of Lords.
Should he not be aware who was cheating on their spouses? It could impact how their votes on various topics went, for an angry husband was never going to vote for anything proposed by the man who was bedding his wife and making a cuckold of him. This happened surprisingly often.
Just as often, there were husbands and wives who did not care at all what their spouses did.
This was quite sad, Bram thought. It was just his opinion, and not one widely held throughout the ton. Most people married for financial advantage or to forge useful alliances. This had never been his need or desire.
Suddenly feeling restless, he glanced over at Miranda and was not surprised to find the book having slipped from her hands, now precariously poised on her lap while she slept.
She looked quite lovely with her sooty lashes resting on her pale cheeks.
So lovely.
He was about to rise and stride to her side in order to take the book off her lap when a feminine giggle from the doorway caught his attention.
“Bram, darling. What brings you to Edinburgh?” the woman asked in a coquettish voice that nonetheless grated. “And how convenient, since I was feeling rather lonely.”
Oh, hell.
He rose with a forced smile to greet one of his former dalliances, Lady Wharton. “Brianna, how are ye? It’s been a while.”
No. No. No.
He did not need her making an appearance just when he thought Miranda might be softening toward him.
“It has been far too long,” the lovely brunette purred, gliding to his side. “I’ve missed you.”
He tossed aside his newspaper. “How is yer husband?”
She laughed and waved her hand airily. “I have no idea. He must be in London by now, probably ensconced with his latest mistress.”
“I’m sorry, indeed. He’s left ye behind, then?”
“At my request,” she said with a calculating look in her eyes and a smile that felt more predatory than sincere.
“There’s a rather charming young man who has been chasing after me.
Gorgeous fellow, but a bit dull. You’d be much more interesting in bed.
I’m staying here tonight. Room twenty-two.
I’ll send him away. Join me tonight, won’t you? ”
Miranda was in room twenty.
Blessed saints.
Could this get any worse?
Not that he would ever contemplate taking Brianna up on her offer under any circumstances. Whatever had existed between them was long since over—not that there ever had been anything more than mutually convenient sex.
It was bad enough Brianna was lodged right next door to Miranda. He could have finessed that unfortunate circumstance had he any desire to renew his acquaintance with Brianna. But he did not want anything to do with her.
Unfortunately, there was no finessing this encounter, since Miranda was in the library with them right now, hopefully asleep and oblivious to their conversation.
Lord, he hoped so.
“Come into the dining room and join me for a cup of tea,” he said, trying to guide the unwanted Brianna out of the library before Miranda awoke.
But Brianna was being stubborn and wouldn’t budge until she got her answer.
There was no way in blazes he was going to join her, not even if Miranda weren’t in her chair within arm’s length of them or staying in the room next door to Briana’s.
“Sorry, ye’d better no’ change yer plans for me. I am busy and canno’ join ye.”
She pouted. “You are a beast to force me to console myself with the young man.”
“Is that so terrible for ye? We haven’t seen each other in several years, and I dinna think ye missed me all that much.”
“You’re wrong. I missed you terribly,” she said with that annoying purr, for she was no sweet kitten, and her voice was not soft. Brianna was better described as a ravenous jungle cat. “No one compares to you, Solway. Are you certain you cannot sneak away and join me?”
“Quite certain.” He gave a dismissive nod. “Well, it was nice to see ye again, Brianna. Enjoy yer evening with yer young man.”
She tipped her chin into the air and glowered at him. “You are casting me off?”
The thing about Brianna was that she was not nice.
She expected men to fall at her feet and do whatever she demanded of them, but he was never one to take orders from anyone.
Their assignations had been hot and wildly passionate, but that was years ago, when he had been thinking with a body part other than his brain.
But a man mellowed with age, did he not? And gained sense.
He certainly had, and now valued a peaceful home life and good companionship over momentary, lustful gratification.
Other than being a hellion in bed, Brianna had no attractive qualities. Even that had grown tiresome, because it was difficult to arouse lust for someone he liked less and less with every encounter.
“Brianna, it is no’ a question of casting anyone off. I am otherwise engaged.”
“Change your plans.”
“No, I am no’ going to indulge yer wishes just because ye are bored.”
She looked angry.
But this was Brianna, was it not? Demanding.
Unforgiving. Not to mention unkind to her staff.
In fact, this rankled him more than any of her other unattractive qualities.
He did not like the way she treated those in her employ, as though they were no better than dirt beneath her feet.
She took pleasure in abusing them, and this disgusted him.
She had laughed and dismissed his concerns when he had chided her about it. He chose not to belabor the point because she was just the sort to take it out worse on her already-beleaguered staff.
Since he had already been losing interest in her, he quickly resolved to disentangle himself from her as fast as possible. He had done so and never regretted it.
“I hope your evening is miserable,” she said with her typical petulance, and stormed away.
“Dear heaven,” Bram muttered, raking a hand through his hair.
He was not one to pray, but he did so now, silently hoping Miranda had slept through this embarrassing moment.
Would this not set her off for certain?
He could not have her believing Brianna and he were currently dallying when their affair had ended years ago and would never be revived.
Nor had he thought of Brianna from the moment they had parted ways. She was volatile, unfaithful, and completely absorbed in herself.
The notion that she wanted him was laughable. What she desired was the bragging rights to being bedded by a duke.
Miranda stirred.
He held his breath.
Had she heard Brianna? If so, he would lose all chance of wooing Miranda.
Again, not that Miranda wanted him, either. She had no feelings for him, just as Brianna had never seriously cared for him.
“A friend of yours, Solway?”
“No friend of mine,” he muttered, coming to Miranda’s side and settling his large frame on the ottoman beside her. “What did ye hear?”
“All of it.”
Of course. Just my luck.
“I’m sorry, lass. I won’t pretend to have been a saint, but neither was I ever a wastrel. Lady Wharton and her husband detest each other.”
“So that makes what the pair of you did all right?”
“I am no’ suggesting it was right or wrong, just that no hearts were hurt. Wharton and his wife were both unfaithful to each other long before I ever caught her eye.”
She set her book on a small table beside her chair. “You owe me no explanations, Solway.”
“Aye, I do.”
“No, actually, you don’t. We are not courting and shall likely never see each other again once we reach London.
I would not dream of interfering with your nightly activities.
You are a bachelor. I assume you have the occasional manly urges.
Perhaps more frequently than on mere occasion.
It is none of my business what you do with your women. ”
My women?
Och, she was angry.
“All ye say is true, but yer opinion of me still matters, Miranda. All I am pointing out to ye is that I was no’ the one who cheated on his spouse. I would never look at another woman if ye and I were courting.”
She gave a mirthless laugh and shook her head. “You need have no concern about that. I had my hand at marriage and it was a complete failure. I have no intention of giving my heart to any man ever again.”
He inhaled sharply. “Ye were married?”
She stared at him long and hard, and then tears streamed down her cheeks.
Oh, bollocks.
Did this mean she loved her husband? Or did she detest him?
And what did her tears mean for his own hopes?