As if sensing her gaze, Lucius turned his head and grinned at her. “Do you remember that time we all went to that house with the huge pond?”
She pulled a laughing face. “And you pushed me in.”
He nodded, but she saw the sudden sobering in his gaze as he recalled he’d also pushed her sister Rosalind in. Rosalind who was no more. His eyes met hers, and he tipped his head slightly, then glibly turned the talk to a silly memory of Roderick as a baby.
The front door knocker fell in a rigidly precise rat-tat. She heard it over the conversation and very nearly swore. She’d forgotten about Wraxby. “Excuse me.” She rose and went to greet him.
Hughes opened the drawing room door before she reached it. “Mr. Wraxby, miss.”
Wraxby walked past Hughes, his gaze raking the room.
She inwardly sighed. “Thank you, Hughes. Sir.” She offered Wraxby her hand.
With a swift assessing glance down the room, Wraxby bowed over her fingers. “Your servant, Miss Clifford. I hope I’m not intruding.”
She smiled politely; he’d told her he would call, so he knew he’d been expected. “An unexpected visit from a long-thought-lost relative.” An evil impulse prompted her to add, “But it’s an amazing tale, sir—you must come and hear it.” To Hughes, hovering by the door, she said, “Perhaps we might have the tea tray now.”
“Of course, miss.” Hughes bowed and departed.
Turning, she led Wraxby to the gathering before the fireplace. Lucius rose as they neared. Even as she performed the introductions, she sensed Wraxby’s suspicions, his immediate disapproval, nay dislike, of Lucius.
They shook hands, Lucius pleasantly urbane, Wraxby stiffly civil.
“Waterloo was eight years ago.” Wraxby’s eyes had narrowed. “That’s a long time to simply not remember.”
Smiling amiably, Lucius inclined his head. “Indeed. I assure you it was exceedingly wearying not knowing even my first name.”
The courtesies exchanged, they resumed their seats. Wraxby drew up a chair and set it by her elbow. He sat, all but hovering over her, and commenced a less than subtle interrogation. “What brigade were you in, sir?”
Lucius smiled easily and answered, that and all Wraxby’s questions.
Miranda’s temper simmered, then boiled. From his pointed comments in defense of Lucius, it was clear that Roderick’s temper was even further advanced. She shot her brother a warning glance and gave thanks when Hughes appeared with the tea tray and she could distract everyone with the cups and cakes.
She gulped her tea, waited only until Wraxby set his cup and saucer down to lay a hand on his sleeve. “If you would care for a turn in the garden, sir?”
Wraxby blinked; she got the distinct impression he’d only just remembered why he’d called. Once he had, however, his attention was all hers; inclining his head, he rose and nodded to the company. “If you’ll excuse us?”
That should have been her line, but she conjured a smile, swept it over the others, and, taking Wraxby’s arm, steered him out of the door, out of the house via the front door, and into the garden to one side of the front path.
As soon as they were sufficiently distant from the house to ensure privacy, she drew her hand from his sleeve and turned to face him. He halted, and waited, looking down at her.
“Mr. Wraxby, I have thought long and hard about all we’ve discussed.” She drew herself up, pressed her hands, palms together, before her. “I have weighed the pros and cons, sir, and have concluded that I cannot agree to accept your proposal.”
Wraxby blinked again. He looked as blankly stunned as she’d ever seen him. “But . . . you’re twenty-nine and unwed.”
“Indeed. But I am in control of my life and may pursue whatever path I wish.” She shut her lips and calmly held his gaze.
Incredulity flashed through his eyes, but was rapidly superseded by chagrin, and then by an emotion rather uglier. “I see it now.” He swung to look back at the house. “Your handsome relative appears and you imagine—”
“Mr. Wraxby!” Somewhat to her own surprise, her voice cracked like a whip and cut him off most effectively. Feeling increasingly belligerent, she trapped his gaze. “My cousin literally arrived back from the dead two hours ago. With respect to your proposal, proposition, however you wish to style it, my mind was largely made up days ago. I extended you the courtesy of giving your suggestion further consideration, but I found nothing, no reason, to alter my decision. In short, sir, the particulars of the position you are offering will not meet my requirements. By any definition we simply would not suit, and that has nothing whatever to do with my cousin’s reappearance.”
Wraxby had paled; his lips were tightly compressed. After a moment, he nodded stiffly. “My apologies, Miss Clifford. You are correct—this has nothing to do with your cousin. If what we have discussed does not satisfy you, then I would not wish to further press my suit.” He nodded curtly.
She expected him to step back and walk away, but although poised to do so, he hesitated, his gaze on her face.
Again his lips tightened, then he said, “Despite your decision I feel compelled to sound a warning before I depart.” He tipped his head toward the house. “About your cousin. Waterloo was eight years ago, yet despite miraculously remembering who he is, your cousin hasn’t, as I understand it, sought to return home to his immediate family but has instead called on you and your brother. ’Ware, Miss Clifford. I’ve dealt with enough shady characters to recognize one when I meet him, but in deference to your loyalty toward your cousin, I will say no more.”
With that, Wraxby swept her a stiff, rigidly correct bow, straightened, turned on his heel, and strode down the path to the front gate.
Miranda stayed where she was and watched him go. Watched the gate close behind him.
Thought of what he’d said.
Now that she was no longer in Lucius’s charming presence—and, yes, he’d always been charming—she could view his arrival and the details of his story with greater distance, greater detachment.
Wraxby might be many things, but he wasn’t stupid.
Yet the man in the drawing room, chatting so easily with Roderick and Gladys, revisiting tales of their mutual past, was definitely Lucius Clifford. He’d given them an explanation for his sudden reappearance—an amazing and miraculous tale maybe, yet possible. Even, the way he’d told it, plausible.
Turning, she walked slowly back to the house. As children, she and Lucius hadn’t been particularly close. Indeed, as young girls, she and Rosalind had generally viewed him with suspicion; due suspicion—he’d often been up to no good. But many boys were similar and grew out of it, grew up.
Perhaps there was more to Lucius’s tale than he’d told them, perhaps something less savory, but unless and until he gave her cause to suspect him of any less-than-admirable behavior, he was her cousin, if distant, back from the dead, and that was surely a cause for celebration.
Resurrecting her smile, she climbed the front steps and walked briskly back into the house.
Chapter Nineteen
Over the next three days, Miranda wondered more than once whether, on her return to the drawing room after Wraxby had departed, Lucius had somehow divined her equivocation regarding him.
The following day, he’d arrived just after luncheon with three posies—one for her, one for Gladys, and one for Sarah, who had once again been spending the day in Claverton Street. With typically charming flair, Lucius had presented the posies as tokens of his gratitude for their hospitality of the previous evening. He’d spent half an hour talking, joking, and laughing with Roderick and Sarah, with Miranda and Gladys largely silent but appreciative observers, then he’d very correctly taken his leave.
Miranda had walked him out to the street, to the horse he’d had waiting, a good-looking bay gelding. After waving Lucius off and watching him ride away, she’d noticed a strangely intent-looking man lounging against the fence of a house across the street. He’d watched her, had been watch
ing her. With an inward humph, she’d turned and walked back through the front gate.
The day after that—yesterday—had been gloomy and drizzly. Lucius had arrived midmorning with a backgammon board tucked under his arm. Roderick had mentioned he was partial to the game; Lucius had issued a challenge, and the pair had spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon engaged in friendly battle, with Miranda and Sarah fondly looking on.
Instead of the dragging grind of a dismal day, the time had passed swiftly and pleasantly. But when she’d walked Lucius out to the street, she’d spied a street-sweeper swathed in a dripping cape leaning on his broom where no street-sweeper had previously bothered to dally.
This morning had dawned brittlely fine, a crisp autumn day with barely any wind, lit by sunshine too weak to warm the already cold ground but bright enough to make everyone eager to take advantage of what might well be the last gasp of fine weather before winter tightened her grip.
Sarah had arrived immediately after breakfast, as was becoming her habit. They’d barely exchanged greetings and had only just broached the notion of taking advantage of the day and allowing Roderick to get some fresh air, when Lucius had arrived with a carriage, his stated intention to inveigle Miranda, Roderick, and Sarah to join him in an excursion to Richmond.
They’d accepted with alacrity. With Lucius’s help, Roderick had managed to climb into the open carriage, and they’d set off with Miranda and Sarah rugged up in their pelisses and scarves facing forward, with the two men swathed in their greatcoats sitting with their backs to the driver, Roderick’s crutch on the floor between them. The drive had been pleasant, the air fresh and clear, the world washed clean by the previous day’s rain. They’d reached the park in good time and had spent an hour ambling down the paths and under the huge oak trees, pausing every now and then to watch the fallow deer and let Roderick rest. Sarah had walked with Roderick, leaving Miranda to stroll on Lucius’s arm. She’d been curious as to how he would behave, but while he’d been charming and witty, at no point had he stepped over any line. But then he knew about Rosalind and was clever enough to have guessed her likely stance on propriety; nothing he’d said or done had ruffled her sensibilities in any way.
He’d even been patient and unquestioningly understanding over the slow pace Roderick and Sarah had set.
All in all, Roderick had managed well enough, eventually confiding to her that his leg felt stronger and better for the exercise. They’d been a highly satisfied company when they’d retreated to the Star and Garter for a late lunch, then, after another short walk, they’d turned homeward.
Trailing up the front path in Roderick and Sarah’s wake, her hand resting on Lucius’s sleeve, Miranda reevaluated the nebulous concern that still lingered regarding him. Thinking back, she could no longer be sure whether it had been there before her last discussion with Wraxby. Was her . . . not exactly distrust but lack of absolute faith in Lucius a lingering echo of past history, a caution shaped by her own assessment, or was it simply a weed grown from the seed Wraxby, her discarded suitor, had sown?
She couldn’t be sure, but as she climbed the steps by Lucius’s side, she was aware she was still watching him as if expecting to see something in him she hadn’t yet glimpsed, as if she’d yet to make up her mind about him.
Regardless, he was family; while she might still harbor some unspecific uncertainty, she didn’t imagine him to be any threat, not to her and hers.
Gladys was waiting, eager to hear of their day and prepared to be approving. Although Lucius was a Clifford and, as such, not up to Gladys’s social mark, he’d been quick to deploy his native charm to good effect; that had always been his way. Miranda wasn’t the least surprised to hear Gladys insist that after Lucius’s sterling efforts to keep them all, Roderick especially, amused, he should stay to dine. When Lucius glanced Miranda’s way, she smiled and added her voice to the chorus, and he accepted with easy grace.
It had already been arranged that Sarah would remain in Claverton Street for dinner, so they were five about the table, and a comfortable, relaxed ambience prevailed. With Lucius having spent so much time in their company, it was easy to find topics on which to converse, and his family connection lowered the social barriers further.
Later, once tea had been consumed and it was time for Roderick to see Sarah home, Lucius also rose and took his leave. He bowed over Gladys’s hand and murmured something that made her chortle. Gladys tapped him on the arm and waved him away. Waiting to see him out, Miranda watched the byplay; such little touches had always come easily to Lucius.
He joined her and, her hand on his sleeve, she walked with him in Roderick and Sarah’s wake down the steps, through the shadows along the path, and out into the street to where the two carriages—Roderick’s and Lucius’s—stood waiting. Increasingly Roderick was managing, albeit awkwardly, on his own, but everyone was grateful when Lucius stepped up to lend his support as Roderick negotiated the climb into the carriage.
Once he was inside, Miranda and Sarah touched cheeks, then Sarah smiled sweetly at Lucius, who, with an answering smile and a gallant bow, handed her up. After shutting the carriage door, Lucius stood beside Miranda as she waved the pair off, then he turned to her.
She smiled and gave him her hands. “Thank you for the day.”
“The pleasure has been all mine, fair cuz.” Lucius brushed his lips over the knuckles of one hand, squeezed her fingers lightly, and released them. He stepped toward his carriage, then paused. “I haven’t yet heard from the family’s solicitor, so I may have another day or so in town. Would it be imposing too much if I call again tomorrow afternoon?”
“No, of course not. You’ve been a godsend in helping to keep Roderick amused. If our company entertains you in return, please do call.”
He grinned, saluted her, and climbed into the carriage, now with its hood up. She could only see his profile as he spoke with the driver, then the carriage lurched and rumbled off.
She stood on the pavement watching it roll up the street; when it was far enough away that Lucius was unlikely to glance back, she looked around. Drawing her shawl more tightly about her, she scanned the shadows for Roscoe’s watchers, but no one was there, at least not that she could see, and thus far his men had been hiding in plain sight.
After searching up and down the street, she humphed and turned back to the house. “At last,” she muttered, “he’s called off his hounds.”
Passing through the gate, she turned and shut it, then swung back toward the house—and walked into a wall.
A solid, warm, muscular wall.
Her heart leapt, but she felt no need to scream. He didn’t move, and for a finite instant, she didn’t either. She hadn’t been walking fast enough to stagger or stumble, so he had no excuse to put his hands on her, yet she sensed the instinctive tensing of his arms, the flexing of his hands as if they wanted to seize her, his arms to close around her, but he held them by his sides.
Sadly, she couldn’t simply stay where she was, pressed to him just enough to feel his warmth insidiously sinking into her, to smell the subtle scent of pine soap, leather, and male that burst upon her starving senses.
Drawing in a breath, one tighter, shallower, than she wished, she clung to calm and eased back, breaking the contact. Raising her head, she found his eyes, held his gaze. His expression was its usual implacably impassive mask, yet beneath it she sensed tightly reined aggravation. Slowly, haughtily, still holding his gaze, she arched both brows.
“What happened to Wraxby?”
She inched one brow higher. Considered, then said, “If you must know, I gave him his congé. Several days ago.”
Lips compressing, he seemed to fight to hold words back, but his attempt at rectitude failed. “While I can only applaud your success in coming to the correct decision over Wraxby, who the devil is his replacement?”
She frowned. “What replacement? There is no replacement.”
His lips thinned; his jaw clenched. His eye
s were dark menace in the night.
“Ah.” She realized. “If you’re referring to the gentleman who just left, he’s Lucius Clifford, a distant cousin recently returned from the dead. He’s not a replacement for Wraxby.”
He looked at her, faintly nonplussed. “He thinks he is.”
Not so, but she wasn’t about to argue the point, not with him. “Our thoughts don’t run in that direction.”
He searched her eyes, her face. They were standing on the path, not under overhanging trees, so the moonlight was sufficient to make out each other’s expressions. She got the distinct impression he debated arguing, but then he nodded curtly. “Good to know.”
Why? Puzzled, off-balance, and increasingly feeling this was an inappropriate conversation to be having with her ex-lover—he who had ended their liaison—she stepped around him and continued down the path.
Only to sense him swing around and follow, prowling intently at her heels. “What did you mean by ‘recently returned from the dead’?”
She could stand on her dignity and tell him it was no business of his, but instinct warned her he would refuse to go, not without learning what he wanted to know. And he was, after all, watching over the household and Roderick. She slowed her pace; the path wasn’t that long. “Lucius was reported as having died at Waterloo—the whole family has thought him dead since then. But, clearly, he wasn’t dead, only very badly wounded, including a heavy knock to his head, which took away his memories. He didn’t know who he was or anything about himself, and had remained on the Continent, until a more recent injury returned his memories to him and he came back to England.”
Reaching the porch steps, she halted and swung to face him.
He stopped two feet away and frowned down at her. Again she sensed him debating; again he still asked, “Are you sure he really is your cousin?”
She nodded once, decisively. “Quite sure. We met often enough as children, and although his face has changed with the years, I recognized him before he said who he was. And he knows all the family tales, and things we did—me, him, and Rosalind, and sometimes our other cousins, when we were young. He remembers things about Roderick as a baby. No one else could have those memories. It’s definitely him.”