Free Miranda's Dilemma by Natasha Blackthorne Page B

merely pointing out the hypocrisy in your reasoning.”
    His jaw tensed and leaned down toward her, lowering his voice. “Miss Jones, do you realize that I could have you ejected from this gathering at any time?”
    He had spoken tersely, more so than he liked.
    She glared up at him, eyes flashing with heated anger.
    He caught his breath. He had never seen anything so lovely as that heated anger, that flash of fire. “I mean it.”
    She rolled one half-bared shoulder. “Do as you please. You noblemen always do.”
    Something in her eyes, in her tone, the barest hint of vulnerability, made him pause. Made him soften, just a fraction. “Go on your way,” he said, far more gently. “Enjoy yourself.”
    “Thank you, my lord, I shall leave you to your own enjoyments.” She cut a glance at his side. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Miss Garret, hugging her shoulders and looking confused.
    When he turned back, he saw Miss Jones walking away.
    He had an urge to lunge after her, to grasp her arm, to detain her. He resisted it. He forced himself to remain standing there, watching her leave the card room, his gaze drawn helplessly to the sway of her skirts.
    When she had exited the doorway and was out of sight, he turned.
    Miss Garret’s mouth was slightly parted, and her bottom lip quivered. Her eyes were huge, suspiciously glossy.
    He reached out a hand. What he intended to do with it, he didn’t yet know. “Miss Garret…”
    “Y-you…” She choked back a sob.
    He took two steps forward and tried to take her hand.
    She jerked it back to herself. “You-you— Oh, God! ”
    He frowned. “Miss Garret?”
    “I have tried so hard…I really have. Since your wife… you have been so alone and I have wanted to…to… comfort you.”
    “Oh, Miss Garret.” An odd sense of regret squeezed at his gut.
    A fat tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with a swipe of her hand that struck him as achingly, pathetically vulnerable.
    He tried again to take her hand.
    “You never notice me!”
    “That’s not…”
    “Oh!” She put a hand to her mouth then turned and ran.
    He didn’t know if he ought to run after her.
    Or let things be.
    Miss Caster, who had been occupied with another gentleman, suddenly came rushing towards him. She stopped just short of him. Her normally mild hazel eyes burned into him.
    He raised his brows. “Yes, Miss Caster?”
    “For a grand nobleman and all your fancy Oxford education and your travels…” Her voice cracked, as though with nervousness.  She stood there, breathing quickly, her small breasts heaving, two bright spots of color on her cheeks.
    “Yes?” He prompted.
    “She is my dearest friend.”
    “And?” he asked, trying not to show his growing impatience. Well, actually, he was surprised at his tolerance for this bit of dramatic nonsense.
    But then again, he’d been acting out of character all evening.
    “Well, she loves you.”
    “ Loves me?” he said, shocked.
    “Yes, can’t you see it?”
    “For a nobleman, you’re not…not…”
    “Not what?”
    “Not very wise.” Then her eyes went wider than ever, and she clamped her hand to her mouth, as though appalled to have so boldly confronted a mighty earl.
    “Ah.” He replied for lack of any other ready reply.
    “That’s all you have to say on the matter?” Miss Caster asked.
    Flustered beyond his ability to respond, he jerked his body ramrod straight and hardened his expression, seeking refuge behind his aristocratic façade. He clasped his hands behind his back and strode towards the exit to the card room.
    Tonight, he had misled Miss Garret about his interest in her. That deception, however spontaneous and unintentional, suddenly seemed a heinous act. He wished he could go to her and say…say what?
    Something to smooth things over.
    Something.
    Yet, he knew enough of women to know that nothing he could say would ease this.
    A gift.
    Yes, definitely. Something expensive but not too expensive, he didn’t