Page 23 of If the Duke Demands

So did Miranda’s.

“Robert’s right. I am capable of taking care of myself,” she mumbled her reply even as her heart thumped with frustration. But she was still happy to finally be in London for her season, and not even this latest setback with Robert could ruin her excitement. “Don’t worry,” she threw back at Sebastian with a confident smile. “I know what slippers I need…and exactly where to find them.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed briefly at that, although she couldn’t have said whether in annoyance at her cheek or admiration at her resolve. Nor did she have time to ponder which as Elizabeth Carlisle placed a kiss on both of her sons’ cheeks to say good-bye, then wrangled a firm promise from Robert not to burn down the house as she took Miranda’s arm to lead her out to the waiting carriage.

As she slipped from the room, Miranda tossed a hopeful glance over her shoulder at Robert with the brightest smile she could manage. But he only nodded a good-bye in her general direction and finally entered the room to flop down across the settee.

Her belly tightened with defeat. Fate hated her, that was it. That was why she was able to talk so easily with Sebastian and on all kinds of levels—apparently even secret ones—when she couldn’t manage a simple conversation about the weather with Robert. Sebastian Carlisle, of all men! The brother she couldn’t care less about…but the one she desperately needed if she had any prayer at all of catching Robert’s heart.

***

When the two women left, Sebastian sat back on one of the wide window ledges and crossed his arms over his chest, his legs kicked out in front of him. He contemplated his brother, lying all akimbo across the settee with one foot sticking over the arm and the other tossed over the back, resembling a half-dead, drunken sailor on shore leave.

He was unable to squelch his curiosity. “So, how was the trip down?”

“Torturous,” Robert groaned. He opened one eye, as if too worn out to open both, and squinted across the room at him. “Four days of female chatter and roads rough enough to kill both my kidneys. I’m lucky I survived.”

Sebastian’s mouth curled in amusement. Under other circumstances, he most likely would have enjoyed the unintended retribution he’d inflicted upon his brother for previous trips to the city when he’d been forced to escort Mother and Josie while Robert and Quinn came separately with Father. But right then, he had other concerns. Strawberry-blond, freckled-nosed ones. “Miranda managed well, then?”

“As well as can be expected. Mother simply adores her, you know, for what she did for her after Father’s death. The two of them kept up a running stream of conversation the whole way.” The other eye opened, and as he leaned up on one elbow to make his point, he glared at his brother with an expression somewhere between hang-dog self-pity and exasperation. “Four days of chatter about the weather, Parisian dressmakers, and the poetry of John Milton.”

“She likes Milton?” he mused, oddly struck by that.

Robert closed both eyes and flopped back onto the settee, his hand covering his face. “Does anyone?”

“I do,” Sebastian mumbled with a faint shrug.

“Then next time you can ride all the way from Lincolnshire with the two of them, listening to them expounding on multiple layers of symbolism and debating whether individual or societal influences were more important to Milton.” He paused, then repeated slowly for emphasis, “Societal influences…Miranda actually used those exact words and expected me to have an opinion.”

“And did you?”

He cracked open an eye and stared at his brother as if he’d gone mad. “I had no idea what she was talking about.”

Sebastian smiled with amusement. He enjoyed Milton, but he was surprised as hell that Miranda did, too. “Didn’t you learn anything at Oxford?”

“Yes.”

He raised a brow.

“How to pretend to sleep in a coach.”

Something inside his chest tore for Miranda at his brother’s answer, and his smile faded. “Please tell me you didn’t. Not all four days.”

“Self-preservation, Seb. If I had to endure one more conversation between her and Mother about the merits of Belgian lace, I would have gone mad.”

No wonder Miranda had put on a brave face when they arrived. She must have been heartbroken that Robert hadn’t paid her any attention. “Did she enjoy herself, at least?”

“I believe so.” He closed his eye again. “Her nose was pressed to the window for the entire trip.”

Sebastian smiled at the image of Miranda behaving like a child at a candy shop. But he supposed the analogy was the same. To a vivacious, curious woman like her, England was a tempting treat to be savored. She’d never been out of Lincolnshire in her life, and every mile must have brought new sights and delights she’d only dreamt about. He could well imagine the stories she’d have to tell the orphans when she returned.

Good thing they hadn’t driven through the moors, or she’d be adding all kinds of new scenes toKing Lear.

Sebastian fished for more answers as he pried smoothly, “Did you have any time alone with her?”

“Only at night.”

His gut clenched so hard, so fast that he lost his breath.At night?Had he completely misread this whole conversation? Had Miranda and Robert…Good God.His mind conjured all kinds of images of nighttime antics between the two of them at posting inns across England.