Breathless (The House of Rohan 3)

Jacob looked undaunted. “Too bad we can’t have a double wedding. ”

Lucien swore. “How many wives do you have at this point, Jacob? Half a dozen?”

“None of them legal,” Jacob said cheerfully. “And there’s none that calls themselves that at the moment. I’m fancy free. ”

“Keep it that way,” Lucien said in a chilly voice. “My life is complicated enough. ”

“And how are your plans working out? Is the lady enamored?”

“Completely. She’s a great deal more outspoken than I expected, but in the end that will serve me well, I think. I’ll just move things up a little faster than I planned. ”

“You were seen with her tonight—I heard the servants talking. It won’t take long for word to get to her family, and then all hell will break loose. ”

“I know what I’m doing. I wish I could say the same for you. ”

“Jesus, Lucien, it was only a kiss. ”

“Just so long as you keep your distance in the future. You’re sure she didn’t get a good look at you?”

“It was black as night. I saw her, she couldn’t see me. Ah, but Lucien …” he said, shaking his head, leaning back in his chair. “She tasted … delicious. ”

The next few days were almost too lovely, Miranda thought in retrospect. That in itself should have been a warning—after twenty years of a singularly blessed life she’d learned that things could turn ugly very quickly. Who would have thought falling in love with Christopher St. John would have led to such disaster?

She’d accepted she would spend the rest of her life as a disgraced nun, shunned by former friends, living a secluded life empty of love and life and joy. A calm life.

But now, suddenly, there was Lucien De Malheur. Not so handsome, not so charming, and yet he totally bewitched her, with his so

ft, lazy voice, his wit, the faint tinge of malice directed toward those who deserved it. The way he moved, despite the limp, the way he mocked the prudes who looked down on them both. And there was something in the pale eyes that watched her, something she refused to define, that nonetheless filled her with the kind of longing she thought she would forever be impervious to.

They rode together, laughing, knowing disapproving eyes were watching them. He joined her for tea, much to Cousin Louisa’s fascination and Jane’s astonishment. He teased her into calling him Lucien, he flattered her so extravagantly all she could do was laugh. He took her to the opera and kissed her hand decorously and she wondered if it were possible that after all she had been through, after all this time, she was capable of falling in love.

She hoped not. She knew perfectly well that those hopes were doomed.

8

Miranda was sound asleep when she heard the pounding on her bedroom door. She sat up, disoriented, pulling the covers to her neck.

No one in the world would come storming into her house and beat on her door, unless the Bow Street Runners were after the stolen ring, which Jane, after more than a week, still hadn’t been able to remove from her finger … in which case she was just going to hide under the covers and pretend she couldn’t hear a thing.

“Open up the door, sister!” Her younger brother Brandon bellowed from the other side. “I can’t stand here all day. ”

Miranda would have been more than happy to have left him there all day, but he was making far too much noise to allow any continued sleep. She dragged herself out of bed, shivering slightly when her bare feet met the cold floor, and she crossed the chilly room to the door, flinging it open just as he was about to pound on it again.

“It wasn’t locked,” she said in a deliberately mild tone.

“I don’t just barge into a lady’s bedroom uninvited,” he said stiffly, doing just that. “You might be dressing. ”

Author: Anne Stuart

“I might be sleeping. ”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, with you out and about at all hours … damn, it’s cold in here! Why don’t you have your maid set a fire?”

“Because I’m trying to be careful with money,” she said.

“Why? The family has plenty …”

“I’ve put you all through enough as it is,” she said stubbornly, wishing she’d thought to put on her slippers. It was hard to be noble when her feet where like blocks of ice.