* * * * *
Miranda woke to the warmth of Simon's breath in her ear. "Wake up, Miss Fenster." She thought he would kiss her again, at last. She did not think she would have the strength to resist him and strangely, she had no regrets. Instead of his lips, his hand crushed her mouth in a warning for silence as his lips brushed her ear. A shiver ran down her spine. "Little Redcape's Mam is searching for her, and she apparently has half the village with her."
Miranda stilled, and he rose abruptly. By the light of the single candle he had lit, she could see that he was dressed as neatly as his wrinkled clothing allowed. Despite the state of his breeches and shirt, the villagers would know they dealt with no ordinary man.
"You must leave, Your Grace, or we will be compromised."
He turned toward her, his expression calm, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips that made her uneasy. "They are nearly upon us. Hide in the loft while I get rid of them."
The urgency in his voice, and the sound of approaching villagers quieted her urge to argue. Snatching up her clothing, Miranda quickly climbed into the loft. She lay still in the shadows, positioned by the large gap between the boards that gave clear view to the room below.
Hidden now, she spared a glance for the sleeping Betsy. Earlier, she had wondered what kind of woman would entertain strange men in her cottage, leaving a child like Betsy to wander away in her little patched dress that offered no shelter from the night chill. But any mother who would come searching in the dark and rain must care for her daughter greatly. The patches — and even the visitor — must be for want of funds, not want of love.
It was much too easy for Miranda to imagine her youngest sister Kate like this. She was barely older than Betsy, after all. Though they still had silver to sell, and there were investments that held hope for the future, putting bread on the table was difficult at the moment. Simon's intervention in Valentine's elopement was more unfortunate that she was prepared to let him know.
Simon's swift movements caught her attention. He plucked an apple from the floor where it had gone unnoticed earlier and tidied the pile of blankets to make two neat heaps: one for Betsy, she realized, and one for himself. Swiftly, he was hiding all evidence of her own presence.
"You should hide my boots," she said the third time he walked past them.
He looked up, and Miranda would have sworn he could see her, though she knew darkness made that an impossibility. "Miss Fenster, if you do not wish to suffer any embarrassment, may I suggest that you remain perfectly still —" his voice deepened — "and completely silent."
Still, he swept her boots under one of the piles before he slipped out the door.
Miranda heard the sound of a horse being brought up short, and a faint, desperate voice. Moments later Simon reentered the cottage with a young woman. She held her lantern high enough that the light bathed her face. Her resemblance to Betsy was slight, just the heart shape of her face, and a certain arch of her brows. Behind the two of them followed an older man, bent with years.
He, too, carried a lantern, as did the three or four others who crowded into the doorway. Suddenly the cottage was fully lit.
The woman's gaze flew to the mound of blankets where Betsy slept. With a cry of relief, she hurried across the room and flung herself on the sleeping bundle. "Bets! Bets, my love. What were you thinking, running off?"
Betsy woke, and her thin arms went readily around her mother's neck. "Got lost," she said sleepily.
Miranda recognized blazing anger and fear in the woman's gaze as she lifted it to Simon. "Didn't I tell you to stay near to home? What were you doing going off with a stranger?"
"Didn't go with 'im Mam, I was looking for the gold piece that fancy gentleman who came to see ye dropped on the road. Then I couldn't find home again."
Betsy continued her story, oblivious to her mother's sudden pallor. "I hid in the loft, but I wasn't quiet enough, so they found me, and the lady was so nice. She gave me something to eat and something to drink and told me the story of little redcoat. ... "
Miranda's stomach knotted as she realized that Betsy was about to unravel whatever careful fiction Simon had established. "She was purely kind, Mam ... " Betsy's tale broke off at this point as she searched the cottage with a puzzled frown.
Her bright eyes rested on Simon. "Where's your wife gone, Your Grace?" There was an audible intake of breath from the assembled villagers, accompanied by an embarrassed rustling of hasty curtsies and hats being removed.
"The little girl must still be dreaming," Simon said.
It was an absurd statement, but to Miranda's surprise, no one in the tiny room reacted to it as if it were anything but the honest truth.
"Of course, Your Grace." The older man spoke, his eyes narrowing and his lips thinning. "I've seen you riding this week past. You be up at the Camberleys', do you not?"
"Aye," Simon assented. "But I sheltered here from the rain and came upon the child doing the same. I would have returned her to Nevilshire in the morning."
"Thankee, sir." The old man answered before Betsy's mother could speak, but his eyes grew no less wary than they had been – nor did his daughter's.
Just then a man shouldered through the crowd in the doorway and entered, his face momentarily obscured by the shadow of one of the larger men in the search party. "See here young woman, if you have damaged Atlas, I shall see that you pay dearly …" The newcomer quickly regained his equilibrium and inclined his head to Simon. "Kerstone."
He stepped from the shadows, and Miranda blinked, at first feeling that the strain of peering through the floorboards had ruined her vision. Grimthorpe. The cause of her scandalous retirement from society stood in this very room, lamplight glinting from the carefully tended auburn curls.
She had thought she did not care. But anger shook her at the sight of him. His sneer was the same one that had burned through the shock Miranda had felt at being dragged from the dance floor into a secluded corner and kissed despite her protest. That sneer had been the reason she had gone beyond a gentle protest to give him, so Simon had told her, a black eye. In his eyes now was a look of gleeful malice that took her breath away. Quite obviously, he had never forgiven Simon for seconding Valentine – or had he other some other reason for disliking the duke?
"Kidnapping young girls now, Kerstone?" He spoke in the same half-amused, half- derisive voice that Miranda remembered.
Simon stood as still as stone. "Grimthorpe. What brings you out?"
With a sniff that made his ridiculous handlebar mustache twitch, the man grimaced and pointed to Betsy's mother. "The fool woman lost her wits when she found her urchin gone. Took Atlas. I've been following her afoot half the night just trying to get close enough to regain him."
The older man spoke deferentially, but Miranda could read the hostility readily apparent in the tense set of his shoulders and the clenched fist of his hands. "Your horse has come to no harm, my lord. My daughter was foolish to take him, but Betsy is her only child, and she was out of her head. Please forgive her."
"I shall hardly take your word for the matter, fellow. You should pray tonight that Atlas is not even sweated, or she shall pay a pretty price. Theft of a piece of horseflesh like that could get her hanged."
The old man lowered his gaze to the floor. "I beg you to consider her distress, sir." Miranda could guess at the sick fear that ate at him, but his face was so lined from a hard life that it did not show.
"I beg you to consider having her chained to her bed. Atlas has a sensitive mouth, and she could have ruined it with her clumsy panic."
"Perhaps you should see to Atlas's mouth before he wanders off." Simon had not moved, nor taken his eyes from Grimthorpe.
Miranda resisted the urge to sneeze, holding her breath against the hope that Grimthorpe would take Simon's suggestion. For the villagers to find her would be misfortune enough. That devil could attach a scandal to her name that no one could prevent.
Apparently, Atlas's welfare was no longer f
oremost in his mind, however. "Indeed." I shall, Kerstone, as soon as I find out why you are spending the night here, instead of your own most comfortable guest bed. Or were your accommodations less satisfactory than mine?"
"I am not here by design," Simon answered sharply and Miranda was flooded by guilt that her simple desire to help Valentine had caused the duke such difficulty.
Grimthorpe, however, was delighted. "No?" He paused, giving time for all to admire his infamous sneer. "You did not have an assignation, then?"
***