Unraveled (30 page)

He’d not realized then how bad it was going to be. When Miranda left, he would be alone. He had known this was coming. He hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

“He needs to know that I’m not leaving him,” Miranda said. “He’s been left so many times. I’ve never been a parent to him, but I’m all that he has.”

“He’ll know,” Smite said. “He’ll know because you’ll tell him. And then you’ll write to him, and when it’s safe, you’ll come and get him.”

Smite felt a tug of wistful envy. She’d come back to Bristol to see Robbie; of course she would. Maybe he could get Robbie to tell him how she fared over the years.
Years.
Robbie would meet her husband. Her children.

His fist clenched around the coverlet.

“Will you take me to visit him?” Miranda asked. “While he’s there.”

It took Smite a moment to realize that she was still talking about Robbie. His fist clenched even further and he looked away. “No.”

Her breath rushed in.

“I don’t go to Shepton Mallet,” he finally offered.

“You’re going tomorrow, are you not?”

He shut his eyes. He hadn’t been back to Shepton Mallet since he and Mark had escaped, all those years ago. It had been decades, now, and still he felt that cold chill creep over him.

“Tomorrow,” he said more to himself than to her, “it can’t be helped. What can’t be helped must be tolerated.”

He didn’t know whether seeing Miranda in his childhood home would make the place bearable, or if it would taint his memories of her forever.

“That hardly sounds auspicious,” she said. “And you’re doing it for me. I might almost think that you tolerated me, too.” She was looking directly in his eyes as she spoke.

“Would you know,” he finally said, “I’ve hit the end of my sentimentality quota for the day.”

“How can that be? That’s the first remotely sentimental thing I’ve said tonight.”

“Yes, but…” But he’d been wallowing in sentiment all evening. “I’ve spent the last minutes memorizing you,” he finally said. He didn’t think that memory could capture the bright color of her hair, though, or the intelligent light in her eyes. Memory would never quite capture the luminous look she’d given him on the carriage ride home after the opera. Even a memory as clear as his couldn’t call back the precise feel of her seated next to him, or the texture of her fingers against his. And he never could recall scents once they’d gone.

He folded his arms and set aside the inevitability of the future. There was only the present. In the present, Miranda was here. Solid. Touchable. He held her close, breathing her in. She smelled like mint tea—sweet and cool. Calming.

He wouldn’t be able to hold the feel of her in his memory after she’d gone. Still, he could try.

S
MITE HADN’T THOUGHT THROUGH
what would happen when he arrived on his brother’s doorstep after a lengthy journey. His brother must have seen him arrive from the upstairs window, because instead of waiting for him to be announced like a rational human being, Mark crashed through the door, his face utterly white. He grabbed hold of Smite’s arms before he’d had a chance to properly step down from the phaeton.

“Oh, God,” Mark said in urgent tones. “It’s Ash, isn’t it?”

“What about Ash?”

Mark shook him. “What’s wrong with Ash? Why are you here?”

Smite stared at his brother in confusion. His brother’s fingers gripped his arms all the more tightly. His blond hair seemed wild on the top of his head. His bare hands were stained in ink.

In fact, he’d smeared ink on Smite’s cuff.

It was easier to concentrate on his younger brother than to pay attention to his surroundings. Behind him, he could see the entryway of his childhood home. The door was clean and new, painted a bright blue in color. Mark had replaced the older front windows with clear, smooth glass, so that the entry shone with sunlight. It wasn’t the same house, he told himself.

But beneath the fading scent of the lavender that had been planted by the front entry, the house smelled the same. There was something about that peculiar combination of wood and stone that brought to mind old memories—as if the unquiet ghost of his mother still lingered.

“What the devil are you talking about?” he finally asked. “Nothing’s wrong with Ash. He was the picture of health, last I saw him.”

Mark let out a deep breath. He let go of Smite, but only long enough to punch his shoulder. “What were you thinking, scaring me like that? You
never
come here. Why else would you come, except to bear—oh.”

His gaze shifted behind Smite, landing on Robbie, who had climbed out of the hired phaeton.

“Oh,” he repeated, more stupidly this time. “I’d best get Jessica.”

Smite reached out and grabbed Mark’s cuff. “Wait.”

Miranda followed Robbie out of the conveyance. She adjusted the dark brown fabric of her traveling gown, and then glanced at Mark.

“You’ll never understand this,” Smite said his voice low, pitched for Mark’s ears only. “And you’ll never see the two of us together again. I want to introduce you.”

Mark gave Smite a long, measuring look, and then walked forward to greet his guests.

“Robbie Barnstable,” Smite said. “This is Sir Mark Turner.”

Robbie looked up at Mark. “He didn’t say you were a sir.”

“Just call me Mark. I was knighted a handful of years past. I keep hoping everyone will forget it, but alas.”

Smite drew a deep breath. “And Miss Miranda Darling. This is my brother. Mark, this is…” He paused, not knowing how to go forward. He didn’t think Mark would be shocked if he introduced her as his mistress. Still…

Mark solved the dilemma of his introduction by taking Miranda’s hand and shaking it. “I’m delighted to meet you,” he said.

“Miranda has been caring for Robbie,” Smite said. “But he’ll need somewhere safe to stay temporarily. I thought of you.”

“Welcome,” Mark said simply, and that was that. He glanced at Smite. “Are you coming in? Jessica will be furious if I let you run off without saying a word to her.” He glanced around. “But it’s a fine day. We could stay outside.”

It wasn’t. It was gray and cloudy. “It looks about to drizzle,” Smite said. “I won’t perish if I enter. Besides, I would hate to interfere with your marital tranquility. We can come in for a short space of time.”

“Ha!” Mark said. “She’d be angry at
you,
not me, for dashing off. First order of business.” Mark took Robbie by the arm. “I’ll take you upstairs and introduce you to my wife. Lady Turner is a lovely woman, and she’ll get the servants started on obtaining you a bath.”

“A bath?” Robbie said scornfully. “I just fell in the Floating Harbour yesterday. I don’t need a bath.”

Mark wrinkled his nose. “Ah, so that smell is algae.” He turned to go in the house.

“I’ll—I’ll just stay out here, then,” Miranda said.

Mark swiveled back and took Miranda’s arm. “No,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll come inside. Jessica would have my head if I left Smite’s…” He paused and glanced at Smite—just long enough for Smite to know that he’d heard every word that he hadn’t said. “Smite’s friend outside. Come, now, Smite. Did you not prepare her for anything?”

Smite shook his head and watched his brother bend his blond head close to Miranda’s fire-orange hair. He whispered something; she laughed in response.

In the end, it was Smite who held back, watching from a distance as his brother introduced Jessica to Miranda. It was Smite who concentrated on his breathing. He’d wanted Mark to know Miranda, if only for a few seconds. Mark knew everything important to him, even if he never spoke of it. But this house…it overwhelmed him. He focused on the window to the yard outside, ignoring the cellar that lurked beneath.

The two women exchanged greetings and then took Robbie upstairs, leaving Mark and Smite alone. The smile slowly slid off Mark’s face, and he turned to his brother. “Come,” Mark said. “Let’s go for a walk in the back garden before you cast up your accounts in the house.”

Chapter Eighteen

M
IRANDA WATCHED
R
OBBIE DISAPPEAR
behind a door, half-dragged by an upstairs maid.

“There,” Lady Turner said beside her, brushing her hands. “The servants will see to his bath.” She sighed. “I have to admit, I have always hoped that Smite would fall in love, but you are not what I expected.”

Miranda choked. “Pardon?”

“I’ve never been certain he would marry. He’s rather odd,” Lady Turner was saying. “Once you get past his frightening exterior, he’s actually quite kind. But I suspect you know that.”

“He feeds stray cats in Bristol,” Miranda heard herself offering.

“Of course he does.” Lady Turner pinched her lips together. “He’s very sweet, no matter how he tries to hide it. He never doubted me—not once—and I daresay my past is more checkered than yours.” She looked down and drew in a deep breath. “They’ve managed to obscure the matter quite a bit, but I was a courtesan for years before I met Sir Mark. The Turners are something out of the ordinary. All of them. It has taken me some time to grow accustomed to the fact that I am not the oddest one in the room when they’re around. You’ll begin to understand, eventually.”

“You shouldn’t imagine this is anything other than temporary.”

Lady Turner’s eyes met hers. “Nonsense. Smite hasn’t been back to Shepton Mallet in twenty years. Mark goes to Bristol to see him because he won’t come here. Smite knows perfectly well that bringing you here is tantamount to a declaration.”

“No.” Miranda stared at the wallpaper. “He’s quite precise in everything he does. I have no doubt that he cares for me. He may even love me. But he sees what is between us as fleeting.”

“I’ve never known him to be fickle.”

Miranda shook her head. “It’s not that. I know when a man is saying good-bye.” She thought of the way he’d held her last night, and the dire look in his eyes in the phaeton this morning. “Even if he doesn’t say it directly, Smite is most assuredly telling me farewell.”

Lady Turner gave her a long, level look. “That, I can believe. He scarcely lets Mark close. I was so hoping…”

“What? That he’d fall in love and turn into an ordinary man?” Miranda choked on the words. “Anyone who loved him would never want that. It would be like loving the ocean, but wishing it would change into a glass of water.”

“No. I rather think it would be like loving the ocean and wishing it could feel a little sunlight.” Lady Turner adjusted a vase on a shelf. “When I first met Mark, he told me that I reminded him of his brother. At the time, I didn’t realize what a compliment he was paying me. He was saying I was difficult, but worth the trouble.”

It had never occurred to Miranda that Smite was on good terms with anyone in his family. He was so extraordinarily solitary, and he’d argued so ferociously with his brother, the duke. She’d supposed that his relationship with his siblings was as fraught as his time with his mother. But that wasn’t so. He was loved.

It made his solitary life seem all the starker.

“Come,” Lady Turner said. “They’ll be in the garden. Let’s go find them.” She led Miranda downstairs and out the front. But Smite and his brother were nowhere to be seen; Lady Turner frowned and then took Miranda along a path of slate stones along the side of the house. Miranda heard male voices before Smite came into view.

“Aren’t you going to lecture me?” Smite was saying.

“What about?”

“Chastity.” Leaves rustled. “Miss Darling. I know what you must be thinking.”

“I’m thinking that there’s no need for me to lecture you, as you appear to be lecturing yourself quite effectively.” Smite’s younger brother spoke with an easy air.

“Did you know she was a virgin when I met her?” Smite threw out. Miranda knew that tone of voice; he was daring his brother to quarrel with him.

“Tsk, tsk.” Sir Mark didn’t sound disappointed in the least. “You terrible man, seducing an innocent young lady. Is that what you want me to say?”

“Say something. Say anything. I can’t argue with you if you won’t even put up a good show.”

“I refuse to quarrel with someone who wins arguments by profession. It seems rather imprudent.”

“Ha,” Smite replied grimly. “It’s never stopped you before.”