“He’s not a human being, he’s the Scorpion. ”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, why is he called that?” she said, annoyed.
“Because he’s elegant, slithery and lethal. He stings without warning and his stings can kill you. ”
Miranda made a rude noise. “Someone’s been reading too many Gothic stories. What evil thing did he ever do to our family that makes him so dangerous?”
For a moment Brandon looked blank. “I told you, I don’t exactly know details. I do know he’s reputed to be hand in hand with King Donnelly. ”
“Who’s King Donnelly?” At least the tea was soothing her. She added more sugar for sustenance.
“Jacob Donnelly is the king of the London underworld. He rules the thieves and the fences, the smugglers and the pickpockets. He can arrange a murder at the drop of a hat, steal a diamond ring off your finger, all with a smile and an ‘if you please. ’ Rochdale has a hand in his criminal activities, so they say, and that’s part of how he’s built his family fortune back up. ”
Jane had turned an alarming shade of white, but Brandon hadn’t noticed, still intent on his sister. Miranda rose, ostensibly heading for more food, and put a reassuring hand on Jane’s shoulder as she passed her. “Well, Lucien would hardly bring such a man into society, now would he?”
“There’s nothing he wouldn’t dare. ”
“I don’t care, Brandon. He could be running prostitutes from out of his house and it wouldn’t matter to me. I find him a pleasant, charming companion who certainly means me no ill, and I intend to keep seeing him. ”
“If you do, I’ll be forced to call him out. ”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed, a blow to Brandon’s somewhat shaky amour-propre. “You can’t,” she said. “He has a bad leg. ”
Brandon immediately retreated into sulks. “He’s a c
ripple? No one told me that. ”
“I don’t know that I’d call him a cripple, exactly,” Miranda said. She turned to Jane. “Do you know anything about our family and the earl?”
“Of course not,” Jane said as she nervously tore her bread into tiny pieces that fluttered down onto her untouched plate like snowflakes. The immovable diamond ring flashed on her hand. “If I had I certainly would have told you. I tell you everything. I trust you. ” There was no missing the subtext in her pleading eyes.
“True, we would never betray each other,” Miranda assured her. She glanced across at her brother. “Then clearly there’s only one answer for it. I’ll have to ask him myself. ”
Brandon was in the midst of taking a sip of coffee and proceeded to choke on it. She rose to her feet, determination washing away her doubts. “I’m certain you’re making a great deal of fuss over nothing, and I despise seeing someone else treated as I have been, for an error in judgment. If you could simply tell me what Lucien de Malheur had ever done to harm our family then perhaps I might be willing to listen. ”
“He hasn’t,” Brandon said.
She froze on her way out the door. “He hasn’t done anything to harm our family?” she repeated in a dangerous voice.
“The fear is that he might. ”
She allowed her disgust to show on her face. “I would have thought better of you, Brandon,” she said in stern accents and swept from the room.
The day was overcast and chilly, but Miranda was in a white-hot rage, with no patience to wait for either a horse or a carriage to be summoned. It took her but a moment to acquire a pale gray pelisse and bonnet, and she was out on Half Moon Street, striding forward with determination, her footman valiantly trying to keep up with her.
Author: Anne Stuart
Cadogan Place was a fair distance, but no farther than she’d walked in the country almost daily. And she needed the exercise, needed the fresh air and the time to recover her temper. How dare her family try to interfere with her life? It seemed she had their full support when she lived a cloistered existence. Make one new friend and she was suddenly beyond the pale.
If Brandon wouldn’t tell her then she knew where she could get the answers. And it wasn’t as if the man had done anything to her family—it was the ridiculous fear that he might. Just as society feared she might corrupt the morals of the young ladies who had once been her dearest friends. Only Lord and Lady Montague had stood by their daughters’ friendship, with Lady Montague insisting that whatever Miranda had done, she’d done ten times worse and twice on Sundays, making Miranda laugh.
Evangelina Montague wouldn’t order her away from Lucien over any ridiculous might. Neither, she was sure, would her parents. It was only her interfering brothers who’d suddenly gotten the alarm up, and she was going to nip this whole thing in the bud. Lucien meant her no ill, and to assume otherwise was absurd.
The Scorpion. What an utterly absurd name for him. He was no more venomous than a field mouse. Well, perhaps that was putting it too gently. No more venomous than a fox. In truth, the whole thing was ridiculous and cruel, and she refused to listen to it.
The brisk hike through the cool morning air put color in her cheeks but did little to dampen the blaze in her eyes. By the time she reached the huge, dark house on Cadogan Place she was still in a fine stage of outrage, and her footman was sweating profusely and trying to catch his breath. “You need to exercise more, Jennings,” she said as she marched up the front steps to the shiny black door. He wheezed his agreement as he stood a decorous pace behind her as she used the heavy brass knocker.
The door was opened promptly, and the servant who stood there was tall, lugubrious, cadaverously thin and dressed in funereal black, clearly the Scorpion’s preferred color for livery. And for the first time Miranda began to feel conspicuous. Young ladies, even ruined ones, didn’t call at a gentleman’s house unannounced. “Is his lordship at home? Would you tell him … tell him a lady is here to see him?” She should have had enough sense to wear a veil, she thought belatedly. She’d just been too angry to think clearly.