land.”
“You have a month to find a new home for her, Miranda.”
Miranda couldn’t believe this was happening. Yes, she had known he was a danger to her. But somehow, she just hadn’t imagined him coming after her in such a very private , painful way.
But she had been deluding herself.
She had been craving peace. Safety.
What a fool she had been.
He shifted his weight, as he leaned on his walking stick. “You always could pay me the balance, along with a little profit to make it worth my while.”
“How much?” she demanded.
He named his price, thrice what the whole estate upon which the cottage was located would cost, including the vast expanse of land and the old dilapidated manor house. She felt the blood drain from her face. “That property is not worth that much.”
“It is to me.” He chuckled with steely softness. “Now you tell me, is it worth that much to you?”
She gaped at him, feeling powerless. Mama loved her house by the sea. Mama’s nerves had only just stabilized. She deserved some peace.
Miranda had vowed to provide it for her.
“It hurts to lose, does it not, Miranda?”
She compressed her lips, enraged that she had allowed him to see her weakness.
“You’ll never know when or from where I will strike.” Again, he shifted his grip on his brass-handled walking stick. “But I will ruin all your chances. I will destroy you.” He paused, briefly. “That’s a promise, Miranda Jones.”
She watched him walk away, strangely dignified despite his marked limp.
****
Waning rays of afternoon sun filtered through sheer, pale yellow curtains and brightened the dark wood furnishings and wainscoting. Miranda blinked, unable for a moment to fathom that she was actually sitting in the Earl of Danvers’ spacious withdrawing chamber at his country estate called Applewaite.
Somehow Aunt Cassandra and her friends had convinced Danvers to relent. At least they had taken credit for the fact that Danvers had relented and allowed Miranda to accompany Aunt Cassandra here to his luxurious hunting lodge near Cambridge for the days’ long party.
Miranda had been feeling so fragile all week since her distressing friction with Danvers and then the encounter with Winterton. She’d had moments of feeling lost and hopeless.
But now she felt as though she might just be able to survive.
Well, with a little help from Aunt Cassandra…
A little excited yelp drew her attention to where a blanket had been spread upon the floor. A mother dog lay on her side, her sleepy eyes half closed as six puppies frolicked about her.
“What a good boy you are,” Froster said, his eyes were alight with happiness as he knelt near her chair, holding a liver and white-spotted puppy in each hand. One of the pups gnawed at his fingers and he laughed, such a carefree, boyish sound.
Miranda stared into Froster’s pleasant, open face.
I could care for him. Given time, I could learn to care for this man.
“Danvers has not yet given anyone leave to select from this litter. But I have more than a passing fondness for these two fine fellows.” His eyes were so warm. Honest. As pure as innocence itself.
She smiled. “What would you name them?”
“Charlie and George.” He lifted one of the squirming animals to his cheek and nuzzled it. His face softened with affection.
Miranda felt her heart squeeze.
Yes, I could care deeply for this man.
At the thought, warmth spread through her, strengthening her. A surge of hope and renewed purpose flowed through her. For the first time since Carrville’s death, she believed that things just might be alright. Suddenly, the last brittle edge from the prior week left her nerves. She longed to feel their fur against her own cheek. She slid down from the chair to kneel beside Froster.
His eyes shone brighter, and he leaned over and brought the puppy to her face. The stroke of soft fur sent a shiver of pleasure through her.
She then reached for the animal and,
“You have a month to find a new home for her, Miranda.”
Miranda couldn’t believe this was happening. Yes, she had known he was a danger to her. But somehow, she just hadn’t imagined him coming after her in such a very private , painful way.
But she had been deluding herself.
She had been craving peace. Safety.
What a fool she had been.
He shifted his weight, as he leaned on his walking stick. “You always could pay me the balance, along with a little profit to make it worth my while.”
“How much?” she demanded.
He named his price, thrice what the whole estate upon which the cottage was located would cost, including the vast expanse of land and the old dilapidated manor house. She felt the blood drain from her face. “That property is not worth that much.”
“It is to me.” He chuckled with steely softness. “Now you tell me, is it worth that much to you?”
She gaped at him, feeling powerless. Mama loved her house by the sea. Mama’s nerves had only just stabilized. She deserved some peace.
Miranda had vowed to provide it for her.
“It hurts to lose, does it not, Miranda?”
She compressed her lips, enraged that she had allowed him to see her weakness.
“You’ll never know when or from where I will strike.” Again, he shifted his grip on his brass-handled walking stick. “But I will ruin all your chances. I will destroy you.” He paused, briefly. “That’s a promise, Miranda Jones.”
She watched him walk away, strangely dignified despite his marked limp.
****
Waning rays of afternoon sun filtered through sheer, pale yellow curtains and brightened the dark wood furnishings and wainscoting. Miranda blinked, unable for a moment to fathom that she was actually sitting in the Earl of Danvers’ spacious withdrawing chamber at his country estate called Applewaite.
Somehow Aunt Cassandra and her friends had convinced Danvers to relent. At least they had taken credit for the fact that Danvers had relented and allowed Miranda to accompany Aunt Cassandra here to his luxurious hunting lodge near Cambridge for the days’ long party.
Miranda had been feeling so fragile all week since her distressing friction with Danvers and then the encounter with Winterton. She’d had moments of feeling lost and hopeless.
But now she felt as though she might just be able to survive.
Well, with a little help from Aunt Cassandra…
A little excited yelp drew her attention to where a blanket had been spread upon the floor. A mother dog lay on her side, her sleepy eyes half closed as six puppies frolicked about her.
“What a good boy you are,” Froster said, his eyes were alight with happiness as he knelt near her chair, holding a liver and white-spotted puppy in each hand. One of the pups gnawed at his fingers and he laughed, such a carefree, boyish sound.
Miranda stared into Froster’s pleasant, open face.
I could care for him. Given time, I could learn to care for this man.
“Danvers has not yet given anyone leave to select from this litter. But I have more than a passing fondness for these two fine fellows.” His eyes were so warm. Honest. As pure as innocence itself.
She smiled. “What would you name them?”
“Charlie and George.” He lifted one of the squirming animals to his cheek and nuzzled it. His face softened with affection.
Miranda felt her heart squeeze.
Yes, I could care deeply for this man.
At the thought, warmth spread through her, strengthening her. A surge of hope and renewed purpose flowed through her. For the first time since Carrville’s death, she believed that things just might be alright. Suddenly, the last brittle edge from the prior week left her nerves. She longed to feel their fur against her own cheek. She slid down from the chair to kneel beside Froster.
His eyes shone brighter, and he leaned over and brought the puppy to her face. The stroke of soft fur sent a shiver of pleasure through her.
She then reached for the animal and,
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