The Last Time We Met - By Lily Lang Page 0,8

angry—oh, he was very angry, but he’s only a boy still. He and Uncle Clarence quarreled and William—William picked up the poker and struck him in the back of the head.”

Miranda did not look up. Her hair had dried in a long, lustrous sheet over her shoulders. Loosened, it fell to her waist, and she furled and unfurled the ends between her fingers.

“How did you find out William had struck your uncle?” Jason asked.

“I was in the room with them when it happened,” Miranda said. “I knew immediately we had to leave. If my uncle died, they would hang William for murder. I took him to Hannah—you remember our old nurse Hannah—in Middlesex. He wanted to come with me to London, but I persuaded him to remain behind. I did not know if they would be looking for him on the roads.”

“And how did you get from Middlesex to London?”

“I walked.”

Another long, awful silence passed. Then Jason set down his fork.

“You walked? Alone? From Middlesex?”

“I didn’t have sufficient funds to buy a ticket on the coach,” she said. “I didn’t see any other alternative. It wasn’t far—perhaps thirty-five miles. It only took a few days.” She tried to smile. “I was raised in the country, you know.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Where did you sleep? What did you eat? It’s freezing, and the roads are absolutely swarming with highwaymen—are you completely insane?”

She stared at him. His obvious anger bewildered her. Why did it matter to him how she had gotten to London?

“I did what I had to do,” she said. “It was a bit brisk, I suppose, but not unendurable.” It certainly had been no chillier than Thornwood with its stupendously drafty windows and smoking chimneys, and she’d spent her nights in unlocked barns and stables, where she’d slept without fear, lulled by the familiar sounds and smells of animals. “Hertfordshire and Middlesex were familiar enough, though London was overwhelming at first. I have never been to Town before.”

“Then how did you know where to find me?”

“The newspapers write about you a great deal.”

He nodded, pouring himself more wine. Miranda forced herself to pick up her fork again.

After a moment, Jason asked unexpectedly, “Your cousin is Laurence Thornwood?”

“Yes,” she said. “You know him?”

“Yes,” said Jason. “He plays here at the club sometimes.” He finished a helping of lobster salad before continuing. “But there is something you have not yet told me. Why did William hit your uncle?”

She kept her face carefully blank. “I told you, they quarreled,” she said.

“Miranda,” said Jason, very softly. It was the first time he had used her Christian name all evening, and the fork dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers.

“I’m going to ask you again,” he said. “Why did William hit your uncle with the poker?”

“William’s not a bad boy—he had provocation—Uncle Clarence can be perfectly odious.”

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her coolly. “You said William hit your uncle in the back of the head with a poker. It sounds less as though William had acted in the heat of a quarrel, and more like a deliberate attack. No, look me in the eye. Don’t lie to me.”

His dark, steady gaze caught her, made her feel trapped and helpless, a pinned butterfly, a fox brought to bay. She could not remain sitting any longer. Rising to her feet, she pushed back her chair.

Jason stood immediately as well. Without looking at him, she trailed barefoot to the window, where she wrapped her arms around herself and gazed out into the rainy night.

She could remember the night clearly, and she did not want to. She did not want to think of it ever again, let alone to speak of it to this cold-eyed man who had become such a stranger to her. She could not look into that dark, impassive face and tell him what it had been like. Would he even believe her if she told him the truth, when he so clearly despised and mistrusted her?

“William was very angry at the way my uncle had been treating me,” said Miranda at last. It was not a lie. She had never lied to Jason before. She did not think she could manage it now. “The blow left Uncle Clarence unconscious. There was a great deal of blood, though he was still breathing when we left. I was so afraid. I didn’t know what to do.” Her eyes slid shut. “Please. You have to help William.”

Jason stood directly behind her now. He placed