Her mother had told her about this, had said that she had gone through exactly the same thing twice before Miranda and three times after. It had been, perhaps, an indelicate subject for a young woman not even out of the schoolroom, but Lady Cheever had known that she was dying, and she had wished to pass along to her daughter as much womanly knowledge as she could. She had told Miranda not to mourn if the same should happen to her, that she had always felt that those lost babes were never meant to be.

Miranda wet her lips and swallowed. And then, in a low, solemn voice, she said, "I'm not carrying your child. I was, but I'm not any longer."

Turner said nothing. And then: "I don't believe you."

Miranda stood stunned. "I beg your pardon."

He shrugged. "I don't believe you. Olivia told me you were pregnant."

"I was, when Olivia was here."

"How do I know you're not simply trying to be rid of me?"

"Because I'm not an idiot," she snapped. "Do you think I'd refuse to wed you if I were carrying your child?"

He seemed to consider that for a moment, and then he crossed his arms. "Well, you're still compromised, and you're still marrying me."

"No," she said derisively, "I'm not."

"Oh, you will," he said, his eyes glittering ruthlessly. "You just don't know it yet."

She backed away from him. "I don't see how you're going to force me."

He took a step forward. "I don't see how you're going to stop me."

"I'll yell for MacDownes."

"I don't think you will."

"I will. I swear it." She opened her mouth and then looked sideways at him to see if he caught her warning.

"Go ahead," he said, shrugging casually. "He won't catch me off guard this time."

"Mac- "

He clamped his hand on her mouth with stunning speed. "You little fool. Aside from the fact that I have no wish for your aging pugilistic butler to interrupt my privacy, did you stop to consider that his barging in here will only hasten our marriage? You wouldn't want to get caught in a compromising position, would you?"

Miranda grumbled something against his hand and then punched him in the hip until he removed it. But she did not call out for MacDownes again. Much as she was loath to admit it, he had a point. "Why didn't you just let me yell, then?" she taunted. "Hmmm? Isn't marriage what you want?"

"Yes, but I thought you might prefer to enter into it with a little dignity."

Miranda had no ready response, so she crossed her arms.

"Now I want you to listen to me," he said in a low voice, taking her chin in his hand and forcing her to look at him. "And listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once. You are going to marry me before the week is out. Since you have conveniently run off to Scotland, we don't need a special license. You're just lucky I don't haul you off to a church right this instant. Get yourself a dress and get yourself some flowers, because, sweetheart, you're getting yourself a new name."

She shot him a scathing glare, unable to think of any words to sufficiently express her fury.

"And don't even think about running off again," he said lazily. "For your information, I have rented rooms just two doors down and have arranged for surveillance on this house twenty-four hours a day. You won't make it to the end of the street."

"My God," she breathed. "You've gone mad."

He laughed at that. "Consider that statement if you will. If I brought ten people in here and explained that I had taken your virginity, asked you to marry me, and you refused, who do you think they would think is mad?"

She was fuming so badly, she thought she might explode.

"Not me!" he said brightly. "Now buck up, puss, and look on the bright side. We shall make more babies and have a splendid time doing so, I promise never to beat you or forbid you to do anything that is not utterly foolish, and you'll finally be sisters with Olivia. What more could you want?"

Love. But she couldn't voice the word.

"All in all, Miranda, you could be in a far worse position."

She still didn't say anything.

"Many women would be thrilled to change places with you."

She wondered if there was any way to wipe the smug expression off his face without doing him permanent harm.

He leaned forward suggestively. "And I can promise you I shall be very, very attentive to your needs."

She clasped her hands behind her back because they were starting to shake with frustration and rage.

"You'll thank me for this someday."

And that was it. "Aaaaargh!" she yelled incoherently, launching herself onto him.

"What on earth?" Turner twisted around, trying to get her and her pummeling fists off him.

"Don't you ever- ever say, 'You'll thank me for this someday' again! Do you hear me! Ever!"

"Stop, woman! Good God, you've gone mad!" He raised his arms to shield his face. The position was rather cowardly for his taste, but the alternative was to have her accidentally jab him in the eye. There wasn't much else to do, as he couldn't exactly defend himself. He had never hit a woman, and he wasn't about to start now.

"And don't ever use that patronizing tone with me again," she demanded, poking him furiously in the chest.

"Calm down, dear. I promise I'll never use that patronizing tone with you again."

"You're using it now," she ground out.

"Not in the least."

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

Good Lord, this was growing tedious. "Miranda, we're acting like children."

She seemed to grow taller, and her eyes took on a wild look that should have struck fear in his heart. And as she gave her head a little shake, she spat, "I don't care."

"Well, maybe if you start acting like an adult, I'll stop speaking to you in my so-called patronizing tone."

Her eyes narrowed, and she growled from the back of her throat. "Do you know something, Turner? Sometimes you act like a complete ass." With that, she balled her hand into a fist, pulled back her arm, and let fly.

"Holy bloody hell!" His hand shot up to his eye, and he touched his burning skin in disbelief. "Who the hell taught you to throw a punch?"

She smiled smugly. "MacDownes."

24 August 1819- later in the evening

MacDownes informed Grandmother and Grandfather of my visitor today, and they quickly guessed who he is to me. Grandfather blustered for about ten minutes about how could that son of a something I cannot possibly write show his face, until Grandmother finally calmed him down and asked me why he had come.

I cannot lie to them. I never have been able to. I told them the truth- that he had come to marry me. They reacted with great joy and even greater relief until I told them that I refused. Grandfather launched into another tirade, only this time the object was me, and my lack of common sense. Or at least I think that was what he said. He is from the Highlands, and although he speaks the King's English with a perfect accent, his brogue breaks through when he gets upset.

He was, to understate, particularly upset.

So now I find myself with all three of them aligned against me. I fear I might be fighting a losing battle.

Chapter 15

Given the opposition against her, it was remarkable that Miranda held out as long as she did, which was three days.

Her grandmother launched the attack, using the sweet and sensible approach. "Now, dear," she had said, "I understand that Lord Turner was perhaps a bit tardy in his attentions, but he did come up to scratch, and well, you did…"

"You don't need to say it," Miranda had replied, blushing furiously.

"Well, you did."

"I know." Heaven above, she knew. She could rarely think of anything else.

"But really, sweetling, what is wrong with the viscount? He seems a rather nice fellow, and he has assured us that he will be able to provide for you and look after you properly."

Miranda gritted her teeth. Turner had stopped by the evening before to introduce himself to her grandparents. Trust him to make her grandmother fall in love with him in under an hour. That man ought to be kept away from women of all ages.

"And he's quite handsome, I think," her grandmother continued. "Don't you think so? Of course you think so. After all, his is not the kind of face that some think is handsome and some don't. His is the kind that everyone finds handsome. Don't you agree?"

Miranda did agree, but she wasn't about to say so.

"Of course, handsome is as handsome does, and so many well-formed people have ill-formed minds."

Miranda wasn't even going to touch that one.

"But he appears to have all his wits about him, and he's quite affable, too. All in all, Miranda, you could do much worse." When her granddaughter did not reply, she said with uncharacteristic severity, "And I don't think you'll be able to do better."

It stung, but it was true. Still, Miranda said, "I could remain unmarried."

Since her grandmother did not view that as a viable option, she did not dignify it with a response. "I'm not talking about his title," she said sharply. "Or his fortune. He would be a good catch if he hadn't a farthing."

Miranda found a way to respond that involved a noncommittal throat sound, a bit of a head shake, a bit of a head twist, and a shrug. And that, she hoped, would be that.

But it wasn't. The end wasn't nearly in sight. Turner took up the next round by trying to appeal to her romantic nature. Large bouquets of flowers arrived every two or so hours, every one with a note reading, "Marry me, Miranda."