Her Wicked Ways (6 page)

“How very noble of you, sir.” She turned her head to look toward Fox. For the first time in his entire existence, he was glad he’d put up with having his cravat tied into a neck-clenching monstrosity. Christ, her vanity was contagious.

Stratham put his cup on the table and casually dangled an arm over the side of his chair so his hand rested within a few inches of Miranda’s knee. “And how fortuitous you’re visiting our humble village this summer.”

Devil take it, the man was a menace to unmarried women everywhere. He’d used precisely the same tactics on Jane, not that she’d fallen prey. But her father had, and in the end Stratham had won her hand. Fox curbed his anger and tried to focus on soliciting money from the rest of this lot. There was an empty seat next to Mrs. Johnson, but he couldn’t force himself to move away.

Miranda glanced toward the bank of windows. “Is it summer? I can scarcely credit the change in season given the abysmal weather.”

Stratham waved his hand. “Oh, it’s atrocious, isn’t it? I daresay a trip to Brighton this year would be a waste of time. Better that you are here, Lady Miranda.”

Fox wanted to pound Stratham’s face. The two of them spoke as if Fox wasn’t standing right bloody next to them. “And when was the last time you were in Brighton, Stratham? I don’t seem to recall you ever visiting there.”

Stratham leveled a cool stare at Fox. “I’m not at all certain why you would presume to know my traveling habits, Foxcroft.” His eyes slitted briefly before he turned a carefully manufactured look of delight toward Miranda. “Allow me to escort you on a tour of our charming village tomorrow.”

She clapped her hands together. “I should like nothing more. It’s been ever so long since I enjoyed a proper outing.”

He leaned toward her, his fingers brushing the fabric of her blue dress. “Excellent. I shall call for you at two.”

Oh, this was too much. Fox plucked a teacup from the tray and “tripped” on his way toward Mrs. Johnson. Pity the tea cascaded into Stratham’s lap.

Stratham jumped to his feet, jostling the table and tea service with his movement. “Watch yourself, Foxcroft!”

“My sincerest apologies, Stratham. I do hope it doesn’t stain.” A dark spot spread over the front of his buff breeches.

Stratham dabbed at his clothing with a serviette. “I fear I must take my leave. Until tomorrow, Lady Miranda.” He glared at Fox. “Foxcroft.”

“Be sure and stop by the orphanage. It’s been an age since you donated.” Fox preferred highway robbery to asking Stratham for a handout, but the opportunity proved too ripe to ignore. Or, did he hope Stratham would show his true colors to Miranda and refuse?

Stratham’s lip curled, but he contorted his mouth into a pained smile. “I’m certain you are mistaken. I make quarterly donations to the orphanage. If the orphans are in need, it’s likely due to your management.”

Fox opened his mouth to call Stratham out, something he should have done when the rotter stole Jane away. But Miranda spoke. “Mr. Stratham, perhaps you aren’t aware the hall is leaking quite badly at the orphanage. Surely you don’t want the roof to collapse.” She swept her lashes in overt flirtation. Fox would have laughed out loud if he didn’t need her plea to work.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Stratham turned icy eyes on Fox. “I’ll send some money over.” The smug set of his mouth told Fox the orphanage could crumble to the ground before he did any such thing. Fox hadn’t expected his help anyway.

Stratham nodded at Miranda and took his leave. She turned her head toward Fox. “That wasn’t well done of you.”

Fox released the tension from his shoulders with a flick of his wrists. He contemplated responding to her indirect question, but he needed to gain favor and so far he’d done a pathetic job. “Did you survive the delousing?” He cringed.
That
was not an improvement.

She blinked up at him, tilting her head to the side. “Evidently, since I am here.”

He was a jackass. “Thank you for helping. Will you be coming again?”

She folded her hands demurely in her lap. “Yes.” He couldn’t tell if she looked forward to it or not. “I thought I might suggest augmenting the girls’ lessons with some feminine skills they likely haven’t developed. Penmanship, embroidery, dancing, that sort of thing.”

“Embroidery?” Much as he wished things were different, these children would be servants. A lucky few would apprentice for a trade or make an advantageous marriage, as his steward’s wife had done.

“Some women find it very soothing, and why shouldn’t they have something to do in their spare time?” She elevated her chin, daring him to find fault with the plan.

Spare time? These girls weren’t going to spend what precious little time they might call their own practicing needlepoint. “You’ve discussed this folly with Mrs. Gates?”

Her eyes narrowed, their almond shape shrinking to a sliver. “You sound as if you don’t wish for my help. I believed the orphanage to be in need.”

“Of a new roof, not deportment!” Fox flexed his hands against his legs. This was
not
how to woo a lady. He took a deep breath and started anew. “I’m sure you and Mrs. Gates will agree on how you can best utilize your skills to help.” He leaned a bit closer and caught a waft of her unique spicy citrus scent. The memory of their kiss hit him, and he willed himself to remember they were in the vicar’s solar, not some moonlit lane. “Would you care to take a stroll in the garden?”

Her brow furrowed and she glanced outside. “Thank you, but I should decline. It’s rather cold today, isn’t it?”

Fox clenched his jaw. Not too cold to plan a drive with that jackanapes Stratham. “Just so.”

“Time to take our leave,” Carmody announced from behind the settee.

“I believe I’d like another cake.” Miranda reached for the tray on the table before her.

“Never mind that.” There was no mistaking the glower Carmody delivered to the top of Miranda’s gilded head.

“Actually, Lady Miranda just agreed to take a turn about the room with me, if you don’t mind, sir.” Fox held his hand out. She looked up at him, one brow arched high. He held his breath while he waited to see if she would go along with him.

“Indeed, I have. Would you mind sparing us a few minutes?” She took Fox’s hand, and he had a desperate desire to continue what she’d started when he’d robbed her carriage. She threw a look over her shoulder at Carmody, who continued to eye her with irritation.

“All right, then.” The older man waved them off.

Fox tucked Miranda’s hand under his arm and escorted her in the opposite direction. The solar was a large room and if they walked along the windows on the south side, they would be relatively removed.

“That was bold of you.” She kept her gaze forward as they walked.

“You didn’t appear to want to leave.” He kept glancing at her perfect profile as they strolled toward the windows. “As long as I’m being bold, might I suggest you and Mr. Carmody seem at odds?”

Her laugh brought a smile to Fox’s face. She turned to look at him, her lips parted in a most provocative manner. He feared his lungs might seize. Bloody hell, but he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.

“Very bold, but I like bold.” Her eyes twinkled with the first genuine merriment he’d seen in her.

He’d been about to say, “Yes, I remember,” but then he’d have to explain
how
he remembered and that wouldn’t do. He settled for, “Might I ask what brought you to our charming hamlet?”

“The Carmodys are cousins to my mother. My parents thought I might enjoy an invigorating visit to the country.”

“And how do you find it?”

“It’s very quiet. Indeed, it’s so quiet I have trouble sleeping.”

He strove not to think of her tossing sleeplessly in her bed lest he become fully aroused. “Mrs. Gates could recommend a sleeping tonic.”

She threw him a quick, appreciative glance. “Thank you. I usually go for a short walk in the Carmodys’ garden, though I’d enjoy that more if the weather were more temperate.” She paused in front of the windows. “Overall, I have to say your village is quite lovely.”

“Yes, it is.” Only he wasn’t looking outside, nor was he thinking of Wootton Bassett. The physical side of marriage to Lady Miranda Sinclair would not be a hardship. And he was fairly certain she was not already betrothed. He just had to get there before Stratham did.

She turned and her eyes widened slightly. He half-expected her to snatch her arm away. Pleasure warmed him from the inside out when she did not.

Beatrice approached them. Shamefully, Fox hadn’t noticed her presence before now. “Good afternoon, Miss Carmody.”

She inclined her head. “Good afternoon, Fox.” Her attention moved to Miranda. “Father says it’s time to leave.”

He regretfully pulled Miranda’s hand from his arm. Before he let go, he pressed an impulsive kiss to the flesh just above the glove.

She parted her lips. God, what he wouldn’t give to taste them again.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Foxcroft. I’m sure I will see you at the orphanage.”

He offered a bow and the women left. Fox then bade goodbye to the vicar and his wife. The afternoon hadn’t been a complete failure. True, he had no more money than when he’d arrived, but he had perhaps made progress with his heiress. It had been worth being in the same room with Stratham for the better part of an hour.

Almost.

THE following afternoon, Miranda viewed her reflection in the too-small glass positioned above the chest in her too-small bedroom. The dark green bonnet made her eyes shine. The ivory ribbon set off her skin perfectly. She’d nearly fifteen minutes to spare before Mr. Stratham was due to call, but she refused to loiter in the inadequate entrance hall awaiting his arrival, despite her excitement to depart Birch House.

Beatrice pushed open the door. “I’m ready.”

Was knocking not required in the country? Miranda turned to greet her, but stopped short upon seeing Beatrice’s driving costume. “You can’t think you’re coming with us?” She flinched at how that sounded and smiled apologetically. “I don’t mean to be uninviting, but I believe Mr. Stratham’s invitation was for me alone.”

Beatrice clasped her hands in a vee at her waist, her face completely placid. “I know. Father has bidden me to act as chaperone.”

This wouldn’t do. In London, one could ride in an open vehicle with a man without a chaperone. Was it too much to want to pretend she was back in London, if only for the afternoon? She brushed past Beatrice into the hallway. “Where is your father?”

“In his study, I imagine.” Beatrice’s footfalls sounded behind Miranda as they descended the stairs.

Miranda burst into Mr. Carmody’s office without knocking, since that was apparently the norm. “I don’t need Beatrice to chaperone. In London, I am allowed to drive with a gentleman provided we are in an open carriage. Mr. Stratham is driving an open carriage.”

Mr. Carmody raised his thin face and arched a brow. “I’m fairly certain you aren’t
allowed
to do anything in London at present. And since you are here, you will abide by my rules. You’ll drive with Beatrice or you’ll not drive at all.”

Miranda clenched her hands at her sides. “Beatrice is young and unmarried. What kind of chaperone is she supposed to be?”

“As you so aptly pointed out, a chaperone isn’t necessary. However, in your case, an additional person is warranted to ensure your good behavior.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you. Further argument will result in your staying here for the remainder of the afternoon and perhaps until next week.”

Miranda opened her mouth, ready to deliver a scathing retort, when Fitchley stepped across the threshold. “Mr. Foxcroft is here for Lady Miranda.”

She swung around. “Mr. Foxcroft, you say?”

“Indeed, my lady.” Fitchley stared straight ahead. She had to admit he was a fairly accomplished servant for such a modest house.

Without giving Mr. Carmody the courtesy of a departing word, she swept from the room. Beatrice had remained in the hall, and Mr. Foxcroft stood just inside the door, hat in hand.

Before she could ask about his visit, he stepped forward. “I ran into Mr. Stratham in town, and unfortunately he has been detained. I should be delighted if you would allow me to escort you this afternoon.”

Miranda would have gone for a drive with Satan if it got her out of Birch House. “Thank you.” She gestured toward Beatrice without looking at her. “She has to come with us.”

Mr. Foxcroft smiled. “Certainly, provided she doesn’t mind riding on one of the back seats. I’m afraid I’m driving my cart.”

At one time—say a fortnight ago—Miranda might have been deterred by his inferior vehicle, but her desire to get away from her jail exceeded her need for a landau, a carriage, or even a phaeton. “It sounds lovely.” She turned to regard Beatrice. “Are you ready?”

Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits of displeasure. “Of course.”

Miranda studied Mr. Foxcroft as they made their way outside. Though not as traditionally handsome as Mr. Stratham or the gentlemen back in London, something about his features made him more real. Especially the lines bracketing his mouth, which, like the tiny crinkles near his eyes, indicated he smiled often. He wore the buff breeches and dark brown coat he’d worn at the vicarage yesterday—a much better costume than he’d sported when she’d first met him at Stipple’s End.