The Wicked Marquess by Maggie MacKeever Page B

coin. She had been enjoying her adventure very well and now her pleasure was destroyed.
    He drew her aside. She awarded him a scowl. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Russell,” Benedict said, then lowered his voice. “I’ve not forgotten my promise. More opportunities will present themselves now that we’ve been properly introduced.”
     “I have not the least distant guess what you are talking about, my lord.” Miranda turned her shoulder on him and suggested to her companions that since the intermission was nearly over, they should resume their seats, because she was eager to observe the conjuring tricks.
    Definitely Miss Russell was an Original, mused Percy. Few young women would rather watch a conjurer than converse with Baird.
    Miranda reseated herself in her uncle’s box. No one, especially Benedict, must realize that she was upset. Miss Russell laughed, and chatted, and set out to charm, with the result that even her uncle, who should have known better, was disarmed.
    Nonie sat quietly apart from her companions. Miranda could hardly get into mischief in the midst of so many people – or if she could, probably she would not, since her guardian was present – and so Nonie might enjoy a brief respite from her responsibilities.
    That respite did not last long. Though the sight of a certain person and his companion quite revolted Miranda, she couldn’t prevent her gaze straying to the source of her distress.
    What had caught the girl’s attention? Nonie leaned forward so that she too might observe what was of such interest in the opposite box. Oh heaven, could the gentleman Miranda wanted to kiss her be Sinbad ?
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    The various members of Sir Kenrick’s household held strong opinions about Miranda’s tinctures and tisanes. Most popular among the footmen was the taking of two tablespoons of syrup of bugle to counteract the effects of strong drink, while the maidservants swore by viper’s herb as a precaution against spider bites. Cook frequently bound a potato poultice to her forehead to ease the headache. The butler, Higgins, was partial to a toothache remedy of wood barley, made with mead and a little pennyroyal, gargled with a considerable amount of wine.
    It was perhaps an after-effect of this decoction that caused Higgins to beam upon the gentleman who came calling this afternoon, and direct him to the garden, promising he would find both Miss Russell and Miss Blanchet. As it turned out, only Miss Russell was in the garden. Miss Blanchet had retired to her bedchamber, there to employ lettuce-water mixed with oil of roses in an attempt to soothe her over-stimulated nerves.
    Lord Baird strolled along a pebbled pathway. The garden was nicely laid out, trees and flowers and shrubs arranged in naturalistic groups. The heavy scent of cabbage roses filled the air.
    He found Miss Russell kneeling before a lovely old Damask rose. Her hair was untidy, her gown mussed, her left cheek smudged with dirt. On the ground beside her rested a copper watering pot. In one hand she grasped a pruning knife. She was removing dead blossoms from the rosebush with considerable savagery.
    Benedict did not immediately announce his presence, but simply stood and watched her. So intent was Miranda on her task that she had not heard his footsteps on the path.
    He had hurt the child, and was sorry for it. She was infatuated with her first kiss, or kisses, and the provider thereof. The infatuation would wear off, as infatuations always did. She would find soon enough that other kisses suited her as well as his.
    Appalling, the idea of other gentlemen kissing Miranda. Shocking, the intensity of these feelings for an untried miss. Or almost untried, and Benedict must try her no further, which would be much easier accomplished if he could maintain a prudent distance. Yet he dared not avoid her, lest she find someone less scrupulous to help her achieve her ends.
    Scrupulous? Sinbad? Benedict wavered