Miranda bit back a laugh as they headed down the steps to the drive. "You're terrible," she said.

He shrugged. "She deserves it."

"No," Miranda said, feeling that she ought to stand up for her dearest friend, even if she had enjoyed the scene to an unseemly degree.

"No?"

"Very well, yes, but you're still terrible."

"Oh, absolutely," he agreed, and as Miranda let him help her up into the curricle, she wondered how this had all come about, that she was sitting beside him and she was actually smiling and thinking that maybe she didn't hate him, and maybe he could be redeemed.

They drove in silence for the first few minutes. The curricle was very smart, and Miranda could not help but feel terribly stylish as they sped along, high above the road.

"You made quite a conquest this afternoon," Turner finally said.

Miranda stiffened.

"Winston seems quite taken with you."

Still, she said nothing. There was nothing she could say, nothing that would leave her with dignity intact. She could deny it, and sound like a coquette, or she could agree and sound boastful. Or taunting. Or, God forbid, as if she wished to make him jealous.

"I suppose I ought to give you my blessing."

Miranda turned to face him in shock, but Turner kept his eyes on the road as he added, "It would certainly be an advantageous match for you, and he could undoubtedly do no better. You may be lacking in the funds a younger son so earnestly needs, but you make up for it in sense. And sensibility, for that matter."

"Oh. I- I- " Miranda blinked. She hadn't the faintest idea what to say. It was a compliment, and not even a backhanded one at that, but still, it fell a bit flat. She didn't want him to rave about all her stellar qualities if the only reason was to pair her with his brother.

And she didn't want to be sensible. For once she wanted to be beautiful, or exotic, or captivating.

Good heavens. Sensible. It was a miserable designation.

Miranda realized he was waiting for her to finish her halting reply, so she muttered, "Thank you."

"I do not wish for my brother to make the same mistakes that I did."

She looked to him at that. His face was pinched, his eyes pointed determinedly at the road, as if a single glance in her direction might send the world crashing down around them. "Mistakes?" she echoed softly.

"Mistake," he said, his voice clipped. "Singular."

"Leticia." There. She'd said it.

The curricle slowed, then stopped. And finally, he looked at her. "Indeed."

"What did she do to you?" she asked softly. It was too personal, and highly inappropriate, but she could not stop herself, not when his eyes were focused so intently on hers.

But it was the wrong thing to say. Clearly, because his jaw tensed, and he turned away as he said, "Nothing that is fit for a lady's ears."

"Turner- "

He whirled back to face her, his eyes flaring. "Do you know how she died?"

Miranda was shaking her head even as she said, "Her neck. She fell."

"From a horse," he bit off. "She was thrown from a horse- "

"I know."

"- riding to meet her lover."

That, she hadn't known.

"She was also with child."

Good God. "Oh, Turner, I'm so s- "

He cut her off. "Don't say it. I'm not."

Her hand covered her open mouth.

"It wasn't mine."

She swallowed. What could she say? There was nothing to say.

"The first wasn't mine, either," he added. His nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed, and there was a twist to his lips- almost as if he were daring her. Silently daring her to ask.

"T- " She tried to say his name, because she thought she ought to speak, but the truth was, she was blessedly thankful when he cut her off.

"She was carrying when we married. It's why we married, if you must know." He laughed caustically at that. "If you must know," he said again. "That's rich, considering I didn't know."

The pain in his voice cut through her, but not nearly as much as the self-loathing. She had wondered how he had come to this, and now she knew…and she knew she could never hate him.

"I'm sorry," she said, because she was, and because anything more would have been too much.

"It wasn't your- " He cut himself off, cleared his throat. And then, after several seconds, he said, "Thank you."

He picked up the reins again, but before he could set them in motion, she asked, "What will you do now?"

He smiled at that. Well, not really, but the corner of his mouth moved a little. "What will I do?" he echoed.

"Will you go to Northumberland? To London?" Will you remarry?

"What will I do," he mused. "Whatever I please, I imagine."

Miranda cleared her throat. "I know that your mother was hoping that you would make yourself present in London during Olivia's season."

"Olivia doesn't need my help."

"No." She swallowed. Painfully. That was her pride sliding down her throat. "But I do."

He turned and assessed her with raised brows. "You? I thought you had my little brother wrapped up neatly with a bow."

"No," she said quickly. "I mean, I don't know. He's rather young, don't you think?"

"Older than you."

"By three months," she shot back. "He's still at university. He's not going to wish to marry soon."

His head tilted, and his gaze grew penetrating. "And you do?" he murmured.

Miranda fought the urge to leap over the side of the curricle. Surely there were some conversations a lady shouldn't have to endure.

Surely this had to be one of them.

"I would like to marry someday, yes," she said haltingly, hating that her cheeks were growing warm.

He stared at her. And he stared at her. And then he stared at her some more.

Or maybe it was barely a glance. She really couldn't tell any longer, but she was beyond relieved when he finally broke the silence- however long it had lasted- and said, "Very well. I shall consider it. I owe you that, at least."

Good Lord, her head was spinning. "Owe me what?"

"An apology, to begin with. What happened last night…It was unforgivable. It's why I insisted upon escorting you home." He cleared his throat, and for the barest of moments looked away. "I owe you an apology, and I thought you'd rather I did it in private."

She stared straight ahead.

"A public apology would require that we tell my family just what exactly I was apologizing for," he continued. "I didn't think you'd want them to know."

"You mean you don't want them to know."

He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "No, I don't. I can't say I'm proud of my behavior, and I would rather my family didn't know. But I was also thinking of you."

"Apology accepted," she said softly.

Turner let out a long, weary sigh. "I don't know why I did it," he continued. "It wasn't even desire. I don't know what it was. But it wasn't your fault."

She gave him a look. It wasn't difficult to decipher.

"Ah, bloody- " He let out an irritated breath and looked away. Brilliant job, Turner. Kiss a girl and then tell her you didn't do it out of desire. "I'm sorry, Miranda. That came out the wrong way. I'm being an ass. I can't seem to help myself these days."

"Perhaps you ought to write a book," she said bitterly. "One hundred and one ways to insult a young lady. I daresay you're up to at least fifty by now."

He took a deep breath. He wasn't used to apologizing. "It's not that you aren't attractive."

Miranda's expression turned to disbelief. Not at his words, he realized- at the mere fact that he was saying them, that she was being forced to sit there and listen as he embarrassed them both. He should stop, he knew, but the hurt in her eyes had awakened a painful little corner of his heart that he'd kept shuttered for years, and he had this strange compulsion to make things right.

Miranda was nineteen. Her experience with men consisted of Winston and himself. Both of whom had heretofore been brotherly figures. The poor girl must be confused as hell. Winston had suddenly decided that she was Venus, Queen Elizabeth, and the Virgin Mary all rolled into one, and Turner had all but forced himself on her. Not exactly an average day in the life of a young country miss.

And yet here she was. Her back straight. Her chin high. And she didn't hate him. She should, but she didn't.

"No," he said, actually taking her hand in his. "You must listen to me. You are attractive. Quite." He let his eyes settle on her face and took his first really good look at her in years. She wasn't classically pretty, but there was something about those big brown eyes that was rather engaging. Her skin was flawless and quite elegantly pale, providing a luminescent contrast to her dark hair, which was, Turner suddenly noticed, rather thick, with just the slightest tendency to curl. It looked soft, too. He had touched it the night before. Why didn't he remember what it felt like? Surely he would have noticed its texture.

"Turner," Miranda said.

He was staring at her. Why was he staring at her?

His gaze moved down to her lips as she said his name. A sensual little mouth, she had. Full lips, very kissable.

"Turner?"

"Quite," he said softly, as if just coming to an unbelievable realization.

"Quite what?"

"Quite attractive." He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of the spell she had somehow cast over him. "You're quite attractive."

She let out a sigh. "Turner, please don't lie to spare my feelings. It shows a lack of respect for my intellect, and that is more insulting than anything you can say about my appearance."

He drew back and quirked a smile. "I'm not lying." He sounded surprised.