The Emerald Swan by Jane Feather Page B

the street.
    “I give you good morrow, milord,” she called merrily,turning her body into a taut triangle, one hand clasping one ankle, the other hand and ankle raised way above her head.
    “Come in,” he said, still quietly, his heart throbbing thickly in his throat. She merely laughed and his fear gave way to a surge of black rage. “Come in this instant!”
    Miranda heard his tone but at first didn’t recognize it for what it was. It didn’t occur to her that he could be frightened for her. She had been performing such antics ever since she could remember and no one in the troupe would ever have considered them dangerous. The occasional sprain was a routine hazard, but that she might be endangering her life didn’t occur to her. So she ignored the earl’s instruction and continued her performance, which was as much for her own amusement as it was for the audience in the court below.
    Gareth withdrew from the window when he finally realized that she wasn’t going to take any notice of him and he could bear to watch no longer. Furiously, he snatched clean linen from his portmanteau and began to dress swiftly, only the roars of approval from the crowd reassuring him that Miranda was continuing to perform without mishap. And paradoxically with each reassuring burst of applause, his anger grew.
    He was buttoning his shirtsleeves when the applause ceased and Miranda jumped exuberantly through the window, landing on the floor on the far side of the window seat with a neat scissor kick of her leather-clad legs.
    “Just what in Lucifer’s name were you doing?” His voice was ominously quiet.
    “Practicing,” she informed him cheerfully. “I have to practice every day and the roof was a perfect place.”She dropped her palms flat on the floor as she continued her chatter, stretching out her calf muscles.
    “Chip needed to go out … he’s very well house-broken, you should know … and since I wasn’t sure what kind of reception we’d receive if we went downstairs, the roof seemed the only alternative. And while we were out there, it seemed sensible to kill two birds with one stone and get some practice in.”
    Gareth closed his eyes briefly. Miranda straightened and looked at his set face, the taut line of his mouth. “You’re vexed,” she said in astonishment.
    The astonishment was the last straw. “Of course I am! What do you expect when I wake up to discover you breaking your neck out of sheer reckless exhibitionism? Or were you intending to send that monkey round with the hat?”
    Miranda looked as confused as she felt. “No … I explained … I was just practicing. I have to practice every day. If people want to watch then I don’t mind.”
    He massaged the back of his neck, regarding her in frustration. “Didn’t it occur to you that you could have broken your neck?”
    Miranda looked even more bewildered. “You were afraid I might slip … and fall?”
    “Goddamn it! Of course I was!” he exclaimed.
    “But it’s not possible for me to make such a mistake.”
    Gareth stared at her, incredulous. She believed it. The conviction shone unshakable in her eyes, was carried in the firm line of her jaw. She believed that out there on that roof she had been utterly safe. And then he understood that the slightest hesitation, the faintest flicker of a doubt in her own ability, would be fatal. Of course she had to believe in her invulnerability, to perform as she did.
    He exhaled slowly. In a different tone, he said, “Would you pass me my boots? And you’d better finish getting dressed.”
    Miranda passed him his leather boots, her fingers unconsciously caressing the butter-soft cordovan leather. She had never touched anything quite so luxurious. She handed the boots to him and offered a tentative smile, aware of an odd feeling. He had been afraid for her.
    Miranda didn’t think anyone had ever been afraid for her before and she didn’t know quite what to make of it, or of the strange warmth it