The Last Time We Met - By Lily Lang Page 0,21

the books she had seen in the sitting room outside the bedchamber, she decided to retrieve one. Perhaps reading would soothe her mind sufficiently to permit her to fall asleep.

She lit one of the candles at her bedside and carried it out into the sitting room. The weak flame did little to illuminate the room, but she remembered the shelf on the far wall, and accordingly, made her way toward it.

She was halfway there when, unexpectedly, Jason’s voice spoke out of the darkness.

“Good evening, Miss Thornwood.”

She shrieked and dropped the candle. Fortunately, the flame extinguished as it hit the carpet. Her heart pounding a rapid tattoo, she whirled around in the darkness, trying to find the source of Jason’s voice.

What was he doing here? Did he intend, as she had most adamantly not wished for, to claim her tonight?

A match flared briefly and then a lamp was lit. Though the light barely pierced the darkness, she could now see Jason, standing near the windows and gazing out toward the park. He looked dark and saturnine, and in one powerful hand he cradled a glass of something amber. His face had appeared freshly shaven that morning, but already the shadow of a beard darkened the line of his jaw, and he had loosened his cravat around his neck.

He looked tired. She resisted a sudden and clearly insane urge to go to him.

“Mr. Blakewell,” said Miranda, annoyed at herself for the breathlessness of her voice. She ought to retrieve the fallen candle from beneath the sofa, but she did not want to get on her knees before Jason. “I beg your pardon. I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I might look for a book to read.”

“By all means,” said Jason politely, gesturing with his free hand toward the bookcase.

Miranda nodded hastily and scanned the shelves, straining to see the titles stamped on the spines of each book in the dim light. Despite the faint glow from the lamp Jason had lit, the room was dark, but she suspected that even if a thousand suns lit the place, she still would not have been able to read a single letter, so intense was her awareness of him. Would he turn back to her and take her in his arms, as he had done the night before? Would he kiss her again?

She most certainly was not, she told herself sternly, feeling any anticipation.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “What are you doing here?”

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she wished she could snatch them back. She tensed, waiting for him to say something insulting, to fling his bargain into her face once again, but he merely smiled, looking coolly amused.

“This is my suite, if you will recall,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, feeling foolish. “Of course. I beg your pardon.”

Jason studied her for a long moment, his eyes shadowy and watchful. Feeling suddenly rather naked in her wrapper and nightgown, she drew the garment more tightly around her and crossed her arms.

Since Jason made no effort toward conversation, she groped around for something else to say.

“Have your men returned from Buckinghamshire?”

“Not yet,” said Jason. “They should return sometime tomorrow. I’ll inform you the minute I have any news.”

“Thank you,” said Miranda, choosing a book at random from the shelf. “I am exceedingly grateful.”

She leafed through the book, not taking in a single word. She tried to concentrate, but she held the book upside down.

She looked up quickly. Fortunately Jason had not noticed, so she slapped the volume shut and prepared to make her way back to the safety of the bedchamber, but Jason spoke again.

“Monsieur Leblanc seems quite taken with you,” Jason said. “I have never known him to permit someone who is not a member of his personal staff to remain in his kitchen while he cooks, let alone trusted someone enough to allow them to help him.”

Miranda blinked.

“I suppose he had little enough choice,” she said, turning around and looking at him with some surprise. Of everything she would have guessed he would wish to discuss with her, she would not have picked the chef. “With Harriet gone home to visit her mother at Hampstead Heath, Polly had too much work to finish, and with Parliament in session…”

She trailed off. Of course he knew a large supper crowd always came during the Season.

“I am astonished Monsieur Leblanc permitted Harriet to return home,” observed Jason. “He is not known for being generous with his staff. I have tried to