The Fairy Tale Bride Page 7

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  Simon could not fault the child for her wish. Miranda had treated her with kindness and it was natural to want to say goodbye. Still, as the room fell silent, every eye upon him, the quiet hope that, for once, Fate would be thwarted, died. He wished he had thought to stuff an apple slice in the child's mouth, while he was hiding all other evidence of Miranda's presence. But, truly, what could he have expected? He had heard Fate laughing.

  Grimthorpe's eyebrow raised. "Have you married since I saw you this afternoon, Kerstone?"

  Simon tensed. Under no circumstance would he allow Miranda and Grimthorpe to meet. Not here. Not like this. "No."

  Not content with his answer, Grimthorpe turned to Betsy and asked with a charming mockery of a smile, "Just what does the Duchess of Kerstone look like, child?"

  "She's beautiful and kind," Betsy said with a hint of belligerence.

  "Of course. But I must know if she's fair or dark." Betsy remained obstinately mute, for which Simon blessed her. He would need to marry Miranda, now, of course. But he would prefer that no one know for a certainty that she was with him tonight. Inexplicably, even as he focused on protecting her from humiliation, his thoughts raced ahead to marrying her. There was not a trace of regret, despite the shambles it made of his careful plans.

  Grimthorpe coaxed with false sweetness, his gaze trained on Simon. "Perhaps I know her — the lovely new Duchess of Kerstone that we knew nothing about ...." His glance slid to Betsy, who was saying nothing further. Giving up on the child, he turned his attention back to Simon.

  "How long were you planning to keep this marvelous news a secret? How interesting the ton will find this, Kerstone."

  All Simon's concentration focused on removing this man from the cottage so that he could be alone with Miranda. Her naïveté was such that he could not be sure she understood the implication of their predicament. "The child needs to go home. She is tired."

  As if set in motion by his words, the villagers quickly nodded respectfully to Simon and filed out of the cottage. Grimthorpe did not.

  The cottage was eerily silent with just the three them. Poking idly at the basket of food, at the blankets, Grimthorpe suddenly bent over and plucked up Miranda's boots. "Care to tell me whose feet these boots might grace?"

  Simon said nothing, his jaw tensed with anger. For a moment he considered simply confessing all — he was going to marry her, after all — though his preference was to tear Grimthorpe's head from his shoulders.

  Miranda lay frozen in the loft, realizing that she could be discovered at any moment. The thought of the consequences of discovery for her did not distress her as much as she knew they should — it was Simon whose reputation she feared tarnishing.

  "Well, since they're certainly not yours, and there is no one about ..." Grimthorpe pointedly stared at the loft. With a triumphant glance at Simon's booted feet, he tucked Miranda's boots under his arm. "I expect these were left by some previous occupant?"

  Simon shrugged in response to the other man's inquiring glance, and reached out for the boots.

  Grimthorpe smiled, bringing them more tightly into his grasp. "Never mind, old man. I found them. I shall make it my business to return them forthwith as soon as I locate the owner."

  Before Simon could react, Grimthorpe was gone. Even though he left without checking the loft, even though the sound of Atlas's hooves was clear as he rode away, Miranda hesitated to move.

  Simon said, with — unbelievably — the faintest of laughter, "Come down Miss Fenster. He is gone with your boots, I'm afraid. I suppose this might well teach me not to dare Fate." He sighed. "Oddly enough, I am pleased you will be my Duchess." As she scrambled down from the loft, ready to protest, she thought that he added, faintly, "for as long as I live." Miranda was too disturbed by the beginning of his sentence to worry about the oddity of the latter half.