Her Wicked Ways (29 page)

The woman’s breathing quickened as the man suckled first one breast and then the other. She thrust one hand into his crop of dark hair and held him close. He squeezed one of her nipples and she gasped, thrusting her chest forward in blatant offering.

Miranda pushed herself back against Fox more firmly. The steel of his arousal pressed against her lower back. Wicked thoughts came to her. How she could do to him what the woman on the bed had done to the man. Miranda need only turn and kneel…

The man on the bed spun the woman around, her back to his chest. Now their position nearly mimicked Fox and Miranda’s. But then the man pushed the woman down on all fours. Miranda’s eyes widened.

Fox teased her nipples through her gown, then dipped one hand into her bodice and dove beneath her chemise. His bare hand caressed her flesh and she moaned softly as his fingers closed over her breast. Miranda swiveled her hips, pressing back against his shaft. He sucked in his breath and tugged at her nipple.

On the bed, the man caressed the flesh of the woman’s behind, kneading her soft flesh. She whimpered softly as she pushed backward, seeking his touch. He ran his fingers along her inner thigh, and they disappeared inside her. She arched her neck and moaned loudly. She moved against his hand, slowly at first and then more quickly. Her breathing increased, as did her cries.

Fox continued to fondle Miranda’s breast while his other hand slid down over her belly. His fingers came to rest over the apex of her thighs, and Miranda jerked against him. She had learned to bring herself to release, but she’d never ached with such desperation. Instead of a tentative act born from curiosity and rebellion, this was a visceral need, a primal craving only he could satisfy.

The woman on the bed cried out, her fingers twined in the bedclothes as she pulled the sheets loose from the mattress. Then the man drove into her from behind.

Miranda pushed herself into Fox’s hand as he pressed his fingers between her thighs. His lips touched her neck and a small, simple word escaped her mouth, “Yes.”

Soft crying burst the cocoon of their lovemaking. “I want to go home.” Flora was in the corridor outside the door.

Fox’s hands froze, and Miranda turned, pressing her back to the window. Muted light filtered in from behind her and she could just make out Fox’s strained features. His breathing came fast, but deep. Her gaze dropped to the bulge in his pants and without thinking she reached out to touch it.

“Don’t.” He turned to the side, pushing himself against the wall so as not to touch her. He took several long breaths and after a moment, he opened the door.

Cool air rushed into the dark, overheated cabinet. Miranda’s cheeks were as enflamed as every other part of her. She fanned herself with her hand before stepping out. Fox was already halfway down the hall. She closed the door behind her, shutting out the passionate sounds of lovemaking from the couple on the bed.

Flora and Mrs. Danforth were turning to go downstairs as Fox ran to catch up with them. Miranda hurried to hear the conversation, embarrassed that in her lust she’d all but forgotten about Flora. She hoped the girl was all right.

“Miranda!” Flora launched herself forward and threw her arms around Miranda’s waist. She’d hugged more people tonight than in her entire adult life.

This did not include the embrace in the dark closet with Fox. God, she could
not
think about that right now.

Fox turned to look at Miranda. His eyes were flat, his features barren of emotion. “Take Flora back to Stipple’s End.”

Miranda nodded. “Yes, let’s go.” She took a step toward the stairs, keeping one arm around Flora.

Fox grabbed her arm and the contact nearly sent her to her knees. They might have walked away from the closet, but her body still reeled from the effects.

He dropped his hand and looked at Mrs. Danforth. “They need to leave by the back door.”

“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Danforth had the grace to look a bit ashen. Her lips were drawn. “Follow me.” She led them to the servant stairs and then descended into a small room seemingly used for storing linens. Mrs. Danforth opened the door and checked the corridor before gesturing for them to continue.

They followed the hallway to an exterior door, which Mrs. Danforth opened and guided Miranda and Flora through before stepping out after them. “Jenks! Fetch Fox’s—” She looked at Fox without completing the sentence.

“Landau.” The single word came clipped and hard.

“Landau, and have the coachman take these girls to the orphanage, please.”

Miranda spun on her heel in the damp earth. “Fox, aren’t you coming with us?” Even as she asked the question, she knew he wasn’t. He was going to stay here. With Polly Danforth. He and his lust were staying here.

His gaze threatened to freeze her to the very bone. He didn’t move from the doorway. “Go, Miranda.”

She clenched her teeth. At the sound of the wheels churning the ground behind her, she gave him a final glare and turned away. The coachman helped Flora and then her into the landau. Mrs. Danforth disappeared inside and the door closed before the vehicle pulled away.

Whereas on the journey from Stratham Hall, she’d been chilled, Miranda’s flesh burned, especially where Fox had touched her. She wiped a hand over her brow.

Flora fidgeted beside her. “I’m so sorry, Lady Miranda. Mrs. Danforth has always been so kind to us. And when you said a courtesan had a nice life, I just imagined—”

“What?” Miranda stared at the girl.

Flora blinked. “You said courtesans lived comfortable lives. I’m going to have to leave Stipple’s End next year. I’ve been thinking I could come to work here, like my friend Rose did.”

Miranda took the girl’s hands. “No! I didn’t mean it was a decent life, Flora. Not for you. Never for you.” Her heart raced. “Not for any of you girls.”

“But I’ll never be rich like you,” Flora said softly, her tears glistening in the meager light weaving through the windows from the swaying lanterns. “You live such a fairy tale.”

Miranda dropped her hands and sat back, at a complete loss for speech. This girl knew nothing about Miranda’s life. She’d told them about the things she did in London, but if her life were such a fairy tale, why was she nearly betrothed to a man she didn’t love while lusting after an impoverished gentleman who was even now making love to somebody else?

Her hands shook. She laid them palm down on her lap in an effort to keep them still. “Flora, a courtesan’s life is no fairy tale. Having nice things and attending parties and balls and such nonsense does not make one happy.” She said these things because she believed they were the right things to say to the girl, but there was a truth she couldn’t deny. Miranda had expected to be miserable in Wootton Bassett. Had counted on it, in fact. But when she’d tried to make the best of it, well, she’d made the best of it.

Until she’d rather liked it.

In fact, she’d gone back to her old life and couldn’t wait to return here. She’d come to finish the task she’d started with the benefit, to ensure her godfather and his friends had a good time. But she’d missed these people. And their silly little village.

Miranda closed her eyes. This was a disaster. Soon her parents would find a suitable lord, and she’d be forced to marry him. Even Jasper wouldn’t be able to help her.

Jasper!

Lord, where did he think she’d gone? Fox’s anger came back to her. She had been reckless. And stupid. And perhaps compromised herself.

With him
.

But no. No one had seen them together. Well, Flora and Mrs. Danforth had, but they didn’t signify.

It was just as well. Compromise meant she would have to marry him, and she simply couldn’t. She wouldn’t put it past her parents to try to cover it up in order to prevent her from making such a ghastly mistake as marrying so far beneath her station.

Flora began to cry again.

Miranda patted the girl’s hand. “Are you all right? Nothing happened to you there, did it?” She waited a breathless moment for the girl’s response, irritated with herself for not ensuring the girl’s welfare before wallowing in her own selfish thoughts.

She sniffled. “Nothing happened except that Mrs. Danforth didn’t want me to leave her house.”

“I’m certain she didn’t.” Miranda wished she’d pushed the woman down the stairs. Images of her making love to Fox like the couple on the bed scalded her brain. “How long has she known Fox?”

Flora shrugged. “She comes to the orphanage sometimes and gives us clothes or shoes. She was always so nice.” Her tears fell in earnest.

Miranda put her arm around Flora and drew her close. How could Fox befriend such a woman? Well, chances are he more than befriended her. The idea of him paying that woman to have sex with him made Miranda’s stomach pitch.

The landau stopped in the drive of Stipple’s End and Miranda helped Flora from the coach. Mrs. Gates met them at the door. “I’ve just arrived, dearie.” She wrapped her arms around Flora who now sobbed against Mrs. Gates’s chest. “There, there, my girl. It’s all right now.” Mrs. Gates raised her gaze to Miranda. “I’ve some tea started in the kitchen, but I’m going to take Flora upstairs to my bedchamber. She doesn’t need to sleep in the dormitory tonight.”

The headmistress and Flora left as one, leaving Miranda alone in the great hall. The air seemed nearly as frigid as outside owing to the lack of a fire and the draft caused by the poorly patched hole in the corner.

She could have Fox’s landau take her to Birch House. Or, she could go to the library where a fire usually burned. Her feet carried her toward the latter, despite the fact her mind continued to mull her options. Why stay? Fox likely wouldn’t return. He’d be spending the night with that harlot.

Reason told her to go back to Birch House. But since reason had never been her forte, Miranda curled up in a chair by the fire and waited.

FOX leaned against the wall in Polly Danforth’s corridor while he waited for his landau to leave and Polly to come back inside. Cold rage such as he’d never felt before threatened to consume him.

Finally, Polly’s ebony head appeared in the doorway and she closed the door behind her, shutting them into the flickering half-light.

He cleared his throat. “Tell me you did not cultivate a relationship with me to recruit the girls at Stipple’s End.”

Her hand fluttered to her ruby-clad neck. Despite the dimness of the hallway, he could see the apprehension in her eyes. “
Relationship
is a rather strong word.”

Fox slammed his fist against the wall. “Dammit, Polly! We were friends!” He couldn’t bring himself to catalogue the history because he was afraid to look too closely. “Or was your kindness after Jane married Stratham a lie too?”

She stepped toward him, but he backed away. Anguish lined her tired face. A face he’d found pretty until tonight. “I’d like to think we’re
still
friends.”

His skin felt dirty. “And Rose coming to work for you was a coincidence?”

She flinched and then looked away, unable apparently to withstand his glare any longer. “When I visited you one day at Stipple’s End, she talked to me. She knew who I was and—”

“And
what
you are.” He let the insult hang between them.

Her eyes flashed. “Yes. I have no shame about that, Fox. I’ve done what I had to in order to survive. You do the same for your precious orphans.”

Fury crested in his chest, made his lungs ache. “I don’t prostitute myself.”

Polly moved toward him, her hand set provocatively on her hip. “Can you honestly say you never slept with me hoping I might leave a donation?”

Her question stabbed straight into his gut. She’d befriended him after Jane had married Stratham, and a physical relationship had naturally bloomed. He’d never paid her for her favors. She’d given money and goods to the orphanage. He’d judged her a kind and caring woman. But at some level, had he expected her to repay his physical attention with charity for Stipple’s End? As if
he
was the whore?

Refusing to answer that question, even in the darkness of his own mind, Fox pushed past her toward the door, intent on leaving. Mrs. Gates had been right about Polly all along. “I can see now our objectives were completely different.” He put his hand on the knob, then spun on his heel to face her. “Your money—or anything else—is no longer needed at Stipple’s End. You will cease all interaction with me or any of my charges.”

Her lips quirked up. “You can’t stop them from coming here.”

He squeezed the doorknob as though he might tear it from the wood. “I just did.”

“If she wants to badly enough, she’ll come back.”

Fox shook his head. “She won’t. Want to, that is. Miranda will see to it.”

Polly tapped a painted fingernail against her chin. “‘Miranda’? What makes you so certain?” Her voice dipped. “Or is she your lover now?”

Fox released the door. “Certainly not, she’s a lady.” His body quickened. Miranda might not be his lover, but God, how he wanted her to be. “She cares for those girls. Genuinely cares.”