Taffeta & Hotspur (20 page)

Beautiful, wealthy, and socially
prominent, still Myriah was completely unattached and unspoken for.
This last and somewhat astounding fact had not been achieved
without some exertion on her part, to be sure, for Myriah had
received no less than a dozen offers. Her papa and numerous
interested relatives had spent much time and effort in their
attempts to convince her that at least four of those offers were
most exceptional, but Myriah had held out and refused them all.
Perhaps it was because of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels—or her own
imagination. She had often heard her aunts pompously deplore her
father’s leniency in allowing her to read such material. Perhaps it
was Tom Moore’s provocative poems or Sir Walter Scott’s gallants.
Regardless of the reason, by the time Myriah had reached her
eighteenth year she had become most regrettably romantic. During an
age when people of her class married for many excellent reasons,
none of them having anything to do with love, she had the very odd
notion that love was the most important prerequisite to matrimony.
But, strangely, Myriah had never been in love.

She did not pretend her heart, which
was as passionate as it was gregarious, had not yet been stirred.
Several fine young bucks, in fact, had stirred it very well.
However, it had not yet received its coup de grace. Thus it was
that Myriah’s heart remained intact, albeit restless and seemingly
fickle.

Myriah’s father, however, was not
concerned with frivolous notions of romantic love; he had to
contend with his sisters, who nagged him non-stop about her
behavior. But though the dowagers frowned, though Lady Jersey
chastised gently, though Myriah’s relatives wagged their fingers,
Lady Myriah’s weighty family name and its accompanying fortune
allowed much. So, in spite of her wayward nature, Myriah was as
popular as ever with the fawning ton. Amused with her mild
indiscretions, they called her ‘naughty puss’ and chuckled over her
whimsies.

Myriah accepted their adoration as her
due. Still, though she laughed at her aunts’ admonishing, she was
aware her father would not tolerate her caprices much longer. He
told her he had to get her married and soon. If she didn’t pick out
a husband for herself, he was going to damn well do it for
her!

Sighing at the thought she had little
time before her father would press her to decide, Myriah gazed at
the ballroom that lay before her gleaming with hundreds of candles
in wall sconces and chandeliers. The marble floor could scarcely be
seen as the waltzing feet of fashionable dancers glided around in
time to the music.

Beautiful, delicate, and commanding in
style, Myriah stood a moment at the entrance before she was
surrounded and heralded into the room. Her name was on all their
lips. Where had she been? Why hadn’t she come sooner? Promise a
dance, Myriah. One for me, Myriah!

Suddenly she felt suffocated. She
broke loose with a laugh and caught her father’s eye. He smiled
warmly across at her, and she composed herself and blew him a
gentle kiss.

“
Sweet Myriah, have you a
smile for me?” asked a quiet male voice.

She looked up into the face of Sir
Roland Keyes, and a twinkle crept into her eyes. Now here was a
diversion. “You, sir, have no need of such wispy things,” she said
coyly.

“
Although I don’t wish to
declare you wrong, I need that and much more,” he said, taking her
hand and leading her firmly onto the dance floor. They moved in
rhythm to the music of the violins, and many eyes glanced curiously
at them.

Sir Roland, a bachelor of nine and
twenty, had many attractive qualities, and more than one of Lady
Myriah’s suitors had noticed her apparent preference for the
dratted fellow’s company. Sir Roland’s height was good, and his
frame was such as to catch any maid’s eye. His thick, curling locks
were auburn with a hint of gold. He always seemed to entertain Lady
Myriah with an adroitness that kept her amused.

As the waltz ended, Myriah gazed
quizzically up into his bright eyes. “Sweet Myriah, shall we
continue our play on the dance floor, or shall we seek privacy?” he
teased, kissing the wrist of her gloved hand.

“
I think, Sir Roland, we had
better remain here. I have already found that playing alone with
you can be quite dangerous!” countered the lady.

“
Dangerous for whom, sweet
beauty?”

She laughed amicably, for as always
his forwardness excited her. He had skill, and there was no denying
it.

“
You know very well for
whom! Never say you fear for yourself?” she said.

“
For myself, never—ah, but
for my heart, that is something altogether different. I have not
attained my years and remained unshackled by toying with
danger.”

Her eyes flickered. “Well, there
certainly is no danger of your becoming … how did you put it? …
shackled to me? No, Sir Roland, you need have no fear on that score
with me, as I have already told you I cannot marry you.” The
teasing quality of her voice had begun to ebb.

Sir Roland smiled and took her hand.
Without speaking, he led her into a country dance. He was aware
Myriah was attracted to him, and though he had not yet discovered
the means to win her, he had no intention of giving the sport over.
She was far too wealthy, and Sir Roland needed her money! His lands
were heavily mortgaged, a state that had been achieved by his
father’s heavy gaming debts. He had tried everything else, even
resorted to gaming himself with the little blunt he had left. Now,
deeper in debt, he was desperate. Putting his estates in order had
become all-important, and he needed an advantageous marriage to
achieve this end.

If his financial affairs were not
reason enough for wanting to marry Myriah, there was his desire for
the chit. She teased him until he knew he must possess her—nay, not
just teased but dallied with him, taunted him, and flirted with him
outrageously. However, she had made it clear her virginity went
only with marriage, and indeed a maid of her class could not be
taken any other way.

They had been presented to each other
just two months ago, and he knew she found him titillating, witty,
and a stimulating companion. In turn he found her exquisite to
behold, spoiled, wild, and irresistible. Though he knew neither she
nor he were in love with one another, he meant to have her and her
money. He looked long at her as these thoughts gravely carried his
intent.

Myriah watched his face, and it
occurred to her that her father might have his hopes around a match
with Sir Roland. That was not what she wanted.

However, as Myriah and Roland met in
the steps of the country dance, their eyes flirted, and it seemed
to the onlookers that here was a match indeed.

Myriah’s cheeks were flushed when the
dance ended, and Sir Roland eyed her with concern. “You need air,
love. Come, the night is too beautiful to ignore.”

She hesitated and glanced doubtfully
toward her father.

Sir Roland tugged gently at her arm,
and with a shrug she relented, allowing him to open the French door
and lead her into the garden. It was a delicious night, smelling of
roses and fresh grass. She looked up at the black sky and saw the
half-moon shining brightly down on her, its star companions
twinkling gloriously. It was the sort of night poets and minstrels
sang about, and Myriah breathed it in with pleasure. They walked
without speaking, without touching, and she pulled her light shawl
about her arms.

“
Cold, love?” he inquired
quietly, and there was a subtle shading in his words she chose to
ignore.

“
No,” she replied and walked
a bit away from him. He reached out and held her back. “Don’t run
away from me, Myriah. There is no need. If you wish, I’ll take you
back inside.”

“
No, I don’t wish to go
back.”

“
Then come walk with me,” he
said, linking her arm through his. He led her farther away from the
house, down the path to a maze of neatly cut yews where a stone
bench caught his eye. He coaxed her to sit down beside him.
Suddenly, as if exasperated, he took Myriah by the shoulders and
turned her face to him. “You want to be alone with me, Myriah. Why
do you pretend otherwise? You are no silly miss declaring no when
she means yes. ’Tis not your way.”

She laughed good-naturedly. “You are a
rogue! Perhaps I do want to be alone with you … perhaps I do not. I
really don’t know. But that doesn’t signify at the moment, for
apparently I am alone with you!”

His laugh was low and soft as he put
his strong arms around her and drew her to him. “Myriah, you feel
so good in my arms …”

She knew what she was doing. She
invited his caress, hoping he might be the one. He certainly
excited her. Suddenly his mouth was hungrily on hers. She yielded
to his lips, allowing him the kiss, tasting his tongue, wondering
if he could be the one as she waited and hoped for thunder and
lightning … hoped for bells … for music—for something. She sighed
at length and pulled away.

“
I can’t marry you,
Roland.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Who is
the rogue now, my dear?”

She returned his look, an impish light
creeping into her eyes. “Now there is no use telling me that I must
not kiss a man unless I mean to marry him, for that is simply stuff
and nonsense—and so you know!”

“
So I do! But there are many
who would not agree with such liberal thoughts!”

“
That is because they are
from another time and … and I think I am very different.” She moved
farther away and frowned sadly over the problem.

“
Myriah, what is it you
want?” he asked suddenly.

“
I … I don’t know. Evidently
something other than what I have. I want to feel. But all I can
feel is this awful restlessness. Lord … when I was a child, I was
never this way. ’Tis just this past year. Here I am flaunting
myself for the London bucks … and, Roland, I hate every minute of
it!”

“
Then end it—marry me!”
Roland turned her to face him again. “We shall deal together, you
know that we shall. Myriah, there is so much more …”

“
Oh, Roland, you don’t need
me to tell you what wild fun you are. And there is no gainsaying
the fact that I like you better than any other man of my
acquaintance, but I am not in love with you.”

“
I could teach you to be,”
he said, taking her into his arms and pressing her powerfully
against him. She let him take her lips again, putting her arms
about his neck, aroused by his hot kisses, aroused by her own
needs. She returned his kiss, and her own was as urgent as his. She
wanted this to be love, though she knew it was not.

“
Egad!” reverberated a
familiar voice from behind her.

Myriah jumped away from Roland’s
suddenly limp arms and looked at her father with dismay. The blood
rushed quickly to her cheeks.

Sir Roland pulled himself to his full
height and stood calmly facing Lord Whitney, whose expression gave
every promise of trouble. His lordship shook one irate finger at
Sir Roland.

“
What the devil do you mean
seducing my daughter in my own home?”

“
You mistake, my lord. I
have just asked Myriah to be my wife,” Sir Roland offered
quickly.

Myriah’s cheeks lost their heightened
color, and she opened her eyes wide at her father’s change of
expression. The ominous cloud that had hung about him had totally
disappeared and been replaced with an open grin. She felt the
warmth drain from her body, and coldness clutched at
her.

“
Eh?” barked his lordship,
opening his blue eyes. “She has accepted you. Excellent—excellent!
I knew she would. Told Emily, ‘Mark me now, ’tis Roland she wants.’
Very pleased indeed,” her father rattled on.

“
Papa … Papa … I have not
accepted Sir Roland’s offer!”

“
Nonsense! Saw you m’self,”
returned her father. Lady Myriah felt distinctly uncomfortable
beneath his scrutiny. How could she explain?

“
Nevertheless, Papa, I did
not accept his very flattering proposal.”

“
Well then, my girl, do so
now!” her father commanded, the smile leaving his lips. “No chit of
mine is going to give away her favors freely.”

“
Papa, do but
listen—”

“
Never mind trying to get
around me this time. It won’t fadge, girl. I saw you with my own
eyes—giving Sir Roland that which should go only to your intended.
It’s clear I’ve let you run amuck. Well, I shan’t let you ruin
yourself. It’s a husband you need, and Sir Roland here will fill
the post nicely.”

“
Papa, please do not speak
so to me. I am not going to marry Roland. You can scarcely expect
me to marry a man simply because I have allowed him to kiss
me?”

“
What?” shouted her
distraught parent, quite on the verge of apoplexy.

“
Well, really,
Papa—”

“
Listen to me, young lady,”
interjected her father, barely able to speak. “You are not only
going to, marry Sir Roland … I am going back into that ballroom
with you both and making the announcement tonight! Good God—next
thing you’ll be cradling a babe in your arms and telling me ’tis
nothing at all! The very idea. Damnation, Myriah, I don’t like
admitting Emily was right, but you have proven her so. She warned
me what you were headed for, and I refused to listen. Well, by
damn, I have discovered the way of it before it was too
late!”