This Rake of Mine (13 page)

His kiss had her hiding her light. And had been for all these years.

If Miranda thought she could rein in Felicity, Tally, and Pippin, she was very wrong. Despite the fact that she had told the girls,
in no uncertain terms
, that dinner was to be conducted with nothing but the finest example of their best manners, Lord John had undermined her ruling from the moment he entered the dining room.

He'd settled down in his chair, and then insisted they dispense with all the usual formalities.

"Call me Jack," he'd told the girls, and the threesome, so delighted at this change of events, introduced themselves by their nicknames. Within moments it was Jack, Tally, Pippin, and the Duchess chatting like old friends.

"Is it true, like Sir Norris claims," Tally asked, "that this house is cursed?"

"So you met Sir Norris, did you? Lurking about as usual," he said. "I'm sure he was quite eloquent on the subject."

Tally nodded her head. "Sir Norris warned us that if we stayed here too long we'd be as crazy as the rest of the—"

"Thalia! That is enough!" Miranda told her, using the sharp tones of a schoolteacher. "How many times do I have to remind you not to repeat gossip."

"Ah, but it is usually far more interesting than the truth," Jack said, winking at Tally. "Besides, this house is cursed."

"Really?" Pippin asked, while Felicity scoffed at such a notion.

Jack nodded. "As cursed as any house could be, but how can you expect otherwise when nearly every occupant has been tainted with the Tremont stain."

"The Tremont stain?" Felicity's eyes narrowed to a dubious squint. "I've never heard of it."

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "In every generation of Tremonts there is always one of us who ends up here, hidden away, and for good reason."

While Jack took a moment to refill his wineglass, Miranda thought of several points that qualified Lord John for his residency within these walls.

"You might say," he told them, "Thistleton Park was built as a means of hiding the family sins."

"Lord John," Miranda said. "Please do not fill the girls' heads with such scandalous nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense," he told her. "And I can prove it."

"How?" Felicity asked, still retaining her air of skepticism.

"With a tour of the house," he told her. "Thistleton Park is filled with some very dark secrets, and it is best to know where not to go traipsing about in the middle of the night lest you run into one of my forebears."

"Of all the ridiculous notions," Miranda said. She had to imagine the worst of the shades haunting this house was currently seated at the head of the table.

"You may come along as well, Miss Porter, and I daresay you'll not be so apt to scoff by the end." He waggled his brows at them and said, "But I will exact a payment for my services as guide."

Payment? She could just imagine what that would be.

"Do tell?" Tally was asking.

"Yes, anything," Pippin echoed.

He leaned back in his chair, his hands crossed over his chest, looking every bit the pirate described in Felicity's
Chronicles
. "To know what it is that the Duchess keeps in that precious journal of hers."

Felicity immediately slid her notebook into her lap and folded her hands over it.

" 'T'isn't a journal, my lord," Tally told him, "but a list of—"

"Tally!" Felicity chastened. "Don't you dare!"

Miranda found it a relief that apparently some things were out of bounds. Egads, she didn't even want to think of what he would say if he read the entry Felicity had written.

…
Miss Porter would be the perfect bride for a former rake of limited means like Lord John
.

She didn't even want to think of what he'd make of that little
on dit
. But to her amazement, it seemed that Jack possessed some scrap of scruples.

"Never mind, Duchess," he was telling the girl. "If the contents of your notebook are confidential, how can I do anything but respect your privacy?" Then the roguish devil winked at them. "That doesn't mean I can't speculate as to the topic of such devoted scribblings."

The girls giggled, and Miranda knew there was no taming the rake inside this momentary gentleman.

And so the meal continued, with Tally relating stories and quotes from their beloved nannies. Felicity shared her matrimonial strategies for securing the affections of a duke. Pippin spoke of books and horses, and all the while, Miranda listened and watched Jack.

She couldn't help but feel the pull of his natural charm. It was more than just the captivating twinkle in his blue eyes as he recounted one amusing story after another. Jack had a way of involving his audience in his stories that left one feeling as if they had been to Lady Dilling's soiree or the Pritchards' infamous costume ball along with him.

No wonder he'd been considered such good company during his years in Town. The kind of guest who was guaranteed to liven up even the dullest gathering.

But there was more to a gentleman, Miranda reminded herself, than just charm.

Besides, she couldn't shake the notion that there was something more at work behind Lord John's jovial company. He was being too charming—even for his legendary reputation.

Why, just look at how he had the girls laughing uproariously with tales of his own beleaguered nanny.

"I can't believe you locked the poor woman in the cellar!" Felicity giggled. "You would never have managed such a trick with Nanny Gerta."

"That's because she wouldn't have fit," Tally pointed out.

They all laughed, and Miranda found herself smiling, despite her resolve to remain aloof and unaffected by Lord John.

Really, what did it hurt to enjoy an evening of laughter? For such company would be rare indeed in her new home, her new life. For all she'd professed to Miss Emery about wanting to spend her days in quiet toil, suddenly the solitary days before her appeared rather dull.

But that is exactly what you wanted
, she reminded herself. Wasn't it?

"I think I would have fared much better with one of your Tashas or Lucias or Martas," he was saying to the twins.

The girls laughed, while Miranda glanced heavenward. Given her suspicions about these so-called nannies of theirs, she could just imagine what lessons they would have had for a man as striking as Lord John.

She slanted a glance over at him and found the devilish fellow looking over at her with a sultry, inquiring gander that sent shivers down her limbs.

How improper
, she told herself, focusing on her plate and willing herself not to look at him.

For the rest of the meal.

But when she took another peek, just to assure herself that he wasn't looking at her, the man had the nerve to wink at her.

Why, of all the cheek!

Did he really think she could be seduced so easily?

Her heart fluttered slightly, and she faltered with her napkin to bring it to her now dry lips. Perhaps she had best not test his tempting charm.

T'was of no matter anyway, she decided, as Birdwell came in to see the plates cleared away and all that was left to do was thank their host for the excellent meal and then shoo the girls upstairs to their rooms.

Yes, everything was going almost according to her carefully wrought plans.

She wiped her lips with her napkin and placed it beside her plate, nodding at the girls to do the same. They were doing their best to dawdle, but Miranda could see through their intentions.

Then, to her horror, Tally piped up. "Jack, is it true you murdered your aunt to gain possession of Thistleton Park?"

Miranda choked, as did their host, who sputtered over the last sip of his wine.

But he recovered first, wiping his chin with his napkin, saying, "Ah, I see Sir Norris was in rare form today."

"He made some very ugly comments about your aunt's untimely end," Felicity said diplomatically. "But really, they weren't worth repeating." She shot her sister a hot glare.

For his part. Jack laughed. "I'm sure Sir Norris gave you an earful as to how I hastened my aunt onto her eternal reward in an unscrupulous effort to gain this house."

"Something like that," Pippin told him. "We told him that it couldn't be."

Miranda had recovered enough to rise to her feet. "Ladies! That is enough on this subject, which, dare I point out, is hardly proper conversation." She turned to their host, who had also risen from his chair. "Lord John, my apologies for their impertinent remarks. Now if you will excuse us—"

"Miss Porter, there is no need to apologize," he told her. "I have been accused of far worse. And Pippin," he said, turning to the girl. "I thank you for rising to my defense."

Pippin blushed. "It wasn't me. It was all Miss Porter's doing. She gave Sir Norris a regular wigging for saying you were a—"

"Pippin!" Miranda cringed, then dared a glance over at Jack, who was staring at her, a quizzical tip to his brow. "It isn't worth repeating," she told him, sitting back down, Jack and the girls following suit.

"A regular wigging, did you now, Miss Porter?" he said.

"I would hardly call it that," she told him. "Now if you will excuse us—"

Jack grinned and turned to Tally. "What did your illustrious Miss Porter tell that old fusspot?"

"She said—" Tally started to say.

"Nothing of consequence," Miranda interjected. "Suffice it to say that I didn't think it appropriate to stand by and allow one's host to be maligned."

"You thought I was being maligned?" Jack asked. "You have your work cut out for you, Miss Porter. Most of the
ton
shares Sir Norris's opinion of me." He studied her a little more closely, more so than she felt comfortable with, before he asked, "How is it that you don't share their sentiments, especially considering my boorish behavior this morning?"

"I… I…" She closed her mouth and drew a deep breath, trying to think of something to say. She
did
think him a wretched bounder, but giving voice to such a condemnation was another matter.

Having spent the evening with him, looking now into his dark eyes and remembering the man who had kissed her with so much passion, left her at odds with her convictions.

"Miss Porter doesn't give much credence to gossip and idle speculations," Felicity told him in an aside. "She says one must use common sense and good judgment when determining a person's character."

"She does?" Jack leaned back in his chair again. "And what does your common sense and good judgment tell you about my character, Miss Porter?"

The room fell silent, and Miranda cursed herself for letting the evening get out of hand. She should have kept the girls in their room and dined from a tray… she should have…

What she should never have done at that instant was look up at Jack and into his mesmerizing blue gaze.

What she saw there defied good judgment, made common sense flee in the face of such perplexing mystery.

"You are a man not easily understood," she said with all honesty.

Jack studied her for a moment longer than was proper, as if he too was trying to use common sense and good judgment to gauge the woman before him. "Nicely put, Miss Porter. But don't we all have our mysteries? I would venture you have a few of your own." That handsome brow cocked again, while his fingers plucked at the top button of his jacket. She could all but hear him silently finishing his insinuation.

Like your silver button.

"Me?" She managed a short, unconvincing laugh. "I think not."

Oh, bother! She should have thrown out that button years ago. For that matter, she should have married the Hibberts' diminutive vicar or the bushy-browed widower with fourteen children.

Really, what should Lord John care if she kept a man's button? It was none of his business. None of his concern.

If he were a gentleman…

Then again, if he'd been a gentleman, he wouldn't have kissed her all those years ago, lifted the veil on her innocence, shown her the delirious power of a kiss, and left her with a button that had become nothing but a millstone around her common sense. A little token that weighed her down with ridiculous dreams of a heroic, dark-haired knight riding up to the Hibberts' lonely cottage and carrying her off with a breathless kiss and his ardent pleas for a Gretna wedding.

But instead, the Fates had left her to her lonely dreams and then mocked her by dropping that wretched button back into his hand.

Well, the Fates may be getting a good, chuckle at her expense, but she still had the last laugh.

Lord John recognized neither his button nor her.

She rose anew. "And now, Lord John, it is time for us to excuse ourselves."

There was a general round of protests.

"Miss Porter, Jack promised us a tour of the house," Felicity complained.

"That I did," he agreed, getting to his feet. "And I would be remiss as a host not to keep my word." He slanted a glance at Miranda. "It is only good manners, is it not, Miss Porter?"

"I think dinner was more than adequate," she told him, despite the rising chorus of objections from the girls. She shot the trio her most quelling glance.

Had they completely forgotten her plan?

Dinner. Then they would excuse themselves. And nothing more.

Looking at the sparkling light in their eyes, she realized forgotten rules were not the problem. Ignored was probably a better word.

"Lord John, we've imposed on you long enough," she said. "I think our time would be more properly employed packing for our departure tomorrow morning and—"

"Packing? If that is all that awaits you upstairs, I daresay we have time for a tour," he said, cutting her off and directing his next statement to the girls. "A tour it is."

"No," Miranda said, "I don't think—"

"Come now, Miss Porter," he said, sounding more like the teacher than she. "A tour of the house is expected, isn't it? And I would hate to be anything other than the perfect host. But if you would like to go pack, I'll take the girls around myself and send them up later."

Miranda nearly swallowed her tongue. Then to her horror, he started from the dining room, the girls following in his wake without so much as a "by-your-leave."