“What about you? Do you plan to marry?”
“Marry? Are you joking? I can’t seem to get a woman to like me for more than a few minutes, let alone agree to swear before God to be my wife for a lifetime.”
“What about love?” As soon as the words passed her lips, she wondered why she had blurted them. What did it matter to her, his feeling on love? Yet, there she was, holding her breath, waiting for his reply.
“Having never been on the receiving end of love, I am not sure what it is or if I would recognize it if I found it. Thus, I do not expect it.”
The conversation wasn’t going as she’d imagined it would. “Surely there are scores of women who would marry you for your money and title.”
“Ah, yes, the ‘perfectly’ boring ones who will do their duty to me and country. Thank you, but no.”
“So you aren’t betrothed?”
“Not even close.”
Red flames burned behind her eyes. He was, in fact, very much betrothed. Grabbing the closest thing, which happened to be her plate of half-eaten food, she flung it at him. It landed nowhere close to its mark.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He stepped toward the broken china then paused. His gaze moved between her and the pieces on the floor. “I have had enough of this craziness. Good day, lady.”
“You son of a donkey’s ass.”
In the act of opening the door, he paused before slamming it shut again. “What did you say?”
“I said you are a donkey’s ass.”
“A son of….” He stormed toward her, his boots echoing in the room.
“Well, yes.” Concern replaced her anger. In her fit of furious hurt, she had forgotten she was alone in a room with a man she had insulted, and, although she didn’t usually hit a person, she had thrown an item or two in the past. Her aunt said it was part of being a redhead. But years of frustration Miranda couldn’t voice to the person she most wanted to had resulted in such poor behavior. So, there she was, for a second time, her anger boiling over until she couldn’t see past the hurt, and she’d lashed out.
As he stood over her, she scooted back on the chaise. Andrew’s face held an odd mix of confusion and anger. She understood the look, or, at least, the feeling, because she had been feeling similarly about him for weeks. Nay, months, or perhaps years.
He took a deep, calming breath before addressing her. “I have never had that insult hurled at my head before, and now, in the course of a month, I have had it hurled at me with great violence twice.” He held his hand inches from her face.
“What are you doing?” she muttered.
Without bothering to respond, he covered her eyes and the bridge of her nose, opening his fingers so he could see her left eye. Good God, he’s mimicking a demi-mask. After a moment, he pulled the hand away, and her sight returned. However, his face remained close, his anger replaced by brows furrowed in confusion.
“Blessed hell, it’s you. The woman from the masquerade!”
She nodded, because there was nothing to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a fool. And, in a small sense, the shock on his face played into the guilt she had been carrying for punching him.
“You have a hell of a punch,” he said.
“My aunt insisted I learn how to defend myself.” Remembering the knuckle pain from hitting him, she rubbed the healed skin.
“I commend her, though I can’t quite bring myself to thank her.” Andrew sat on the table before Miranda, and she worried for a second it might not hold his weight. He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tight between them. “I can’t remember your full name, Miranda. Would you be so kind as to fill in the gaps? Please, forgive me, I usually am not one to forget a name or a face, but….”
“You usually aren’t on the receiving end of a fisticuff?”
A self-deprecating chuckle escaped his lips. “Exactly.”
“My name is Miss Beauchamp.” She waited to see if the name gave him any pause, but his face remained passive. “Miranda Beauchamp.”
Rubbing his upper lip, he asked, “Any relations to the Beauchamps of Windenshire County?”
“Yes. Peter Beauchamp was my father.”
“Your lands neighbor mine.”
Lands? That’s all he considered, after her revelation? Bloody lands? Her inner voice screamed, but she calmly said, “They do, indeed.”
Leaning closer, he reached out to touch her but must have thought better of it, as he pulled back at the last moment. “I need you to answer this next question calmly, without violence or anger. Can you do that?”
“I can try.” She hated that he thought her a crazy woman, given to fits of hysterics. However, on both occasions, in his presence, she had shown him a side even she hadn’t thought existed.