Truly a Wife (Free Fellows League 4)

Miranda lifted his legs onto the opposite seat, then settled on the bench beside him and gestured for Ned to close the door.

“Where to, my lady?” the footman asked, ready to relay her directions to Rupert, the driver.

Miranda glanced at Daniel. “Daniel?”

He grunted in reply.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Away from here,” he muttered. “Someplace far away from prying eyes.”

“Haversham House?” Miranda asked, suggesting Daniel’s country house in Northamptonshire.

He rolled his head from side to side once again. “Too far,” he breathed. “Can’t leave town.”

Miranda shook her head at the irony. They were sitting in a coach on the street beside Sussex House—his house—trying to decide where he could go to rest and recover in private. “I think we should simply drive around back and carry you up to your apartments.”

“No.”

Miranda frowned, then pursed her lips and tapped them with the pad of her index finger. “Well,” she drawled, glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. “I could take you home to Mother, but that would mean announcing our nuptials in all the papers on the morrow and …”

His eyelids weighed a ton, but Daniel managed to open them long enough to look at her.

“I didn’t think so,” she said softly.

“It’s not you,” he whispered. “It’s me. Any man would …”

Miranda held up her hand to stop his words. She knew what he was going to say before he said it. Any man would be honored to marry her … Any man would be glad to share his name with her in exchange for a share in her fortune … Any man would be pleased to have such a big, healthy woman bear his children …

Any man except the ninth Duke of Sussex.

But knowing he wasn’t in the market for a duchess didn’t make his rejection any easier to bear. She understood his reluctance to relinquish his freedom, understood that he was quite satisfied with the status quo. She knew his rejection wasn’t personal. Her head knew his rejection wasn’t personal. Her tender heart felt differently. Miranda wasn’t surprised to learn that Daniel hadn’t changed his mind about marriage. What surprised her was how much the knowledge pained her and how much she’d wanted to hear otherwise. She sighed. How long would she continue to wear her heart on her sleeve for him? And how long would he continue to pretend he couldn’t see it? “Yes, Your Grace, I know,” she said wearily. “I’m perfect and you’re a perfect ass.”

Miranda’s footman gasped at her audacity in calling the duke an ass.

“Don’t worry, Ned,” she assured her employee. “I’m not spilling state secrets, and His Grace doesn’t take offense at the truth. His Grace knows he’s a perfect ass. He works quite hard to retain the title.”

Daniel couldn’t muster the energy to reply. The best he could manage was the faint curving of his lips.

The heavy mist that had hung in the air for the past quarter hour had dissolved into a steady rain. Miranda bit her lip to keep her teeth from chattering as the cool damp of the night air penetrated the silk of her gown. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to warm them, then leaned close to Daniel—close enough to notice that it took a great deal of effort for him to respond and that despite the chill in the air, beads of perspiration continued to dot his brow and his upper lip. “So, we stay in town. What’s it to be, Your Grace? Shall I drop you off at Griff and Alyssa’s? Or at Colin and Gillian’s?” She named the most logical choices, for she knew Griffin Abernathy, the first Duke of Avon, and Colin McElreath, Viscount Grantham, were attending the Duchess’s party with their wives—or, she knew Griff and Alyssa were attending, and Miranda assumed Lord and Lady Grantham were there as well—for the couples had become close friends, and the Duchess of Sussex’s gala was the most coveted invitation of the season. It seemed unlikely that anyone who received an invitation would choose not to attend, except Jarrod, Marquess of Shepherdston, of course. And he was known for refusing coveted invitations, preferring to keep a healthy distance between himself and society mothers hoping to snare a wealthy marquess.

“No.”

“Why not?” she asked. “You have to go somewhere, Daniel. You can’t hide in my coach all night.”

Daniel knew Miranda was right. He should go to one of his fellow Free Fellows’ houses. But he was reluctant to do so. Despite the fact that he despised boats, Daniel thrilled in anticipation at the thought of another mission, and Jarrod had made no secret of the fact that he hated sending Daniel out on them. Sitting dukes were rather scarce, and the Crown and the ton took note of the Duke of Sussex’s comings and goings. They would be sure to notice his absence from town at the height of the season—especially if he failed to appear at the major events. Which was the primary reason he’d nearly killed himself racing back to town in time for his mother’s gala. If Jarrod discovered he’d been seriously injured, Daniel’s participation in the smuggling runs would be curtailed and he’d be reduced to arranging and financing the missions from the safety of his Sussex House study instead. And all the time he’d spent sailing and rowing in order to learn to control the violent heaving of his stomach he suffered whenever he set foot on a boat would be for naught. Of course, he’d never have to set foot in a boat again. But to be relegated to the role of onlooker once again would be intolerable.

It would be so much simpler if he could tell Miranda about the League …

But he was sworn to secrecy—even from her. He didn’t believe for a second that Miranda would ever betray him, especially since she was risking almost as much as he was by putting her reputation in jeopardy in order to help him. But one slip of the tongue—one word about his clandestine activities to the wrong person—and the work of the League would be in grave danger.

But keeping her in ignorance was going to be a problem …

Miranda had known him too long and too well to be put off by trifling excuses. He trusted Miranda more than he’d ever trusted any woman, and he knew she cared about him. She’d never made any secret of the fact that she’d been terribly hurt when he’d abruptly ended his courtship of her.

If only there were a way to ensure that he and Miranda would remain on the best of terms … A way to protect her as well as himself … If only there were something he could do … Some way to ensure that Miranda’s guilty knowledge of his injury wouldn’t do either one of them any harm …

If only …