before we could be chained to our beds after a day at the docks, a fight broke out between several of the other convicts. In the pandemonium I managed to jump overboard, and by some miracle no one noticed me go over. I was too weak to even swim to shore; I simply clung to a piece of wood and let the current sweep me down river. The next morning, a man saw me and jumped in to save me.”
“Who was he?”
“Oliver Harvey, actually. He brought me home, and his wife nursed me for a month until I was strong enough to find work on the docks. But the work was sparse, so I went to the gambling hells to earn money. One night, I sat across from a bored young marquess who had been seeking some entertainment in the stews. By morning I had won a hundred thousand pounds from him at hazard.”
Miranda was nearly speechless. “You won a hundred thousand pounds in a single night?”
He shrugged lightly. “Great quantities of money often change hands at a gambling table,” he said. “That’s when I first decided to start a club of my own.”
“I can’t imagine the marquess was very pleased with you.”
“He thought it was highly amusing, actually, and became one of the first patrons of the club,” said Jason.
They were silent for a long moment. Then Miranda turned her head and kissed his shoulder softly.
“I’m very proud of all you have accomplished,” she whispered.
He did not respond. Instead, he lifted himself so that he was once again on top of her, and kissed her long and deep. His hands moved slowly, leisurely down her body, lingering at the sensitive peaks of her breasts, the flare of her hips. She arched into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, but he pushed her hands away, his lips moving lazily down her throat, to her collarbone, and then lower, until he could nip at the curve of her breasts. When he pressed himself into her again, there was no pain and no resistance, only a tender, precious sense of familiarity.
Afterwards, he held her close, and she slept dreamlessly in his arms. But when she woke again in the morning, he was gone.
Chapter Four
As the elegant traveling carriage drew down the wide, tree-lined boulevard leading to Thornwood Hall, Miranda studied Jason’s face. His only reaction was a faint tightening of the jaw, but otherwise, he remained as impassive and silent as he had been the entire drive from London to Hertfordshire.
After giving her a succinct summary of his meeting with Laurence—which, what with one thing and another, he had not actually told her all of the previous night—he had spent most of the thirty-five mile drive absorbed in his papers and ignoring her utterly. As she watched him, she fought down a burgeoning sense of despondency. I want you too , she had told him, but he had given her no indication he wanted anything more than to exorcise a demon that had haunted him for the last ten years.
She wondered now if he felt any apprehension at returning to Thornwood. He had been born here, raised by the various old retainers of the estate, coddled and cosseted by the housekeeper Mrs. Andrewes, the house maids and kitchen maids, and even Miranda’s own nurse Hannah. She closed her eyes as she thought of their childhood, spent roaming free and wild through the gentle rolling hills of Hertfordshire together. Even after they had reached their teens, the democracy of childhood behind them, they had found every opportunity to be together. But because of her, her father had banished him from his home and the companions of a lifetime.
And she had failed him, in a way, she thought. She had been unable to save his home and his friends. All the old retainers were gone now, dismissed for insolence or disobedience when they had tried to protect her, and her uncle and aunt were bleeding the estate dry.
The irony was not lost on her. The boy who had not been good enough for her was now the only man she knew who could save Thornwood for William. She wondered if her father was
“Who was he?”
“Oliver Harvey, actually. He brought me home, and his wife nursed me for a month until I was strong enough to find work on the docks. But the work was sparse, so I went to the gambling hells to earn money. One night, I sat across from a bored young marquess who had been seeking some entertainment in the stews. By morning I had won a hundred thousand pounds from him at hazard.”
Miranda was nearly speechless. “You won a hundred thousand pounds in a single night?”
He shrugged lightly. “Great quantities of money often change hands at a gambling table,” he said. “That’s when I first decided to start a club of my own.”
“I can’t imagine the marquess was very pleased with you.”
“He thought it was highly amusing, actually, and became one of the first patrons of the club,” said Jason.
They were silent for a long moment. Then Miranda turned her head and kissed his shoulder softly.
“I’m very proud of all you have accomplished,” she whispered.
He did not respond. Instead, he lifted himself so that he was once again on top of her, and kissed her long and deep. His hands moved slowly, leisurely down her body, lingering at the sensitive peaks of her breasts, the flare of her hips. She arched into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, but he pushed her hands away, his lips moving lazily down her throat, to her collarbone, and then lower, until he could nip at the curve of her breasts. When he pressed himself into her again, there was no pain and no resistance, only a tender, precious sense of familiarity.
Afterwards, he held her close, and she slept dreamlessly in his arms. But when she woke again in the morning, he was gone.
Chapter Four
As the elegant traveling carriage drew down the wide, tree-lined boulevard leading to Thornwood Hall, Miranda studied Jason’s face. His only reaction was a faint tightening of the jaw, but otherwise, he remained as impassive and silent as he had been the entire drive from London to Hertfordshire.
After giving her a succinct summary of his meeting with Laurence—which, what with one thing and another, he had not actually told her all of the previous night—he had spent most of the thirty-five mile drive absorbed in his papers and ignoring her utterly. As she watched him, she fought down a burgeoning sense of despondency. I want you too , she had told him, but he had given her no indication he wanted anything more than to exorcise a demon that had haunted him for the last ten years.
She wondered now if he felt any apprehension at returning to Thornwood. He had been born here, raised by the various old retainers of the estate, coddled and cosseted by the housekeeper Mrs. Andrewes, the house maids and kitchen maids, and even Miranda’s own nurse Hannah. She closed her eyes as she thought of their childhood, spent roaming free and wild through the gentle rolling hills of Hertfordshire together. Even after they had reached their teens, the democracy of childhood behind them, they had found every opportunity to be together. But because of her, her father had banished him from his home and the companions of a lifetime.
And she had failed him, in a way, she thought. She had been unable to save his home and his friends. All the old retainers were gone now, dismissed for insolence or disobedience when they had tried to protect her, and her uncle and aunt were bleeding the estate dry.
The irony was not lost on her. The boy who had not been good enough for her was now the only man she knew who could save Thornwood for William. She wondered if her father was
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