Miranda. Susan Wiggs

it like an exotic fruit. “No. Should it?”

      “That’s your name, my love. You are Miranda Stonecypher, and I am Ian MacVane.”

      “My betrothed.”

      “Your betrothed.”

      She clasped her hands demurely in front of her. “Were we in love?”

      The question took him by surprise. In love. He almost laughed aloud at the thought. Love was something that didn’t happen to Ian Dale MacVane. It simply wasn’t meant to be. Yet here she stood, all innocence, brimming with hope.

      “Well?” she prompted. “Was it a love match?”

      “Very much so.” How easy it was to gaze into her wide, trusting eyes and lie. “We were deeply in love.” He traced his fingers along her jawline. “I still am.”

      “Oh, my.” Her slender throat moved sinuously as she swallowed hard. “And we were to be married?”

      His thoughts came together swiftly. “Aye, we were going to Scotland so there would be no need to secure a special license.” Recklessly he plunged on. “And of course, you wanted to meet my people in the Highlands.”

      “Why?”

      “Because they’ve not met you, lass, and—”

      “That’s not what I meant.” She pressed her palm to his chest. Her warmth burned into him. “Why were we going to be married?”

      “I thought I explained that. We love each other. We—”

      “But why marriage?” Her hand crept along his chest and slid upward to skim his collarbone. He wondered if she was at all aware that by touching him this way, she was breaking every rule of proper behavior. He wondered if she cared.

      “Marriage is the institution of a corrupt society, designed to enslave women,” she stated.

      Ian could barely think. Was she naive or simply bold, touching him like this? He had been caressed more intimately by more brazen women, to be sure, but there was a compelling quality to the way Miranda slid her long-fingered hands over him.

      “Who told you that?” he asked. “Did you learn it by reading Mary Wollstonecraft?”

      “I suppose so. Dr. Beckworth urged me to remember things. It is odd. I can recite whole passages by heart, yet I can’t even recall my name—” She backed away as a violent shudder racked her. “You can’t know how frustrating it is.”

      An outraged female yell drifted in from the common room.

      He saw something flicker in her eyes—fear. Settling his hands on her shoulders, he asked, “What is it?”

      “This is a place of corruption. I—I wasn’t prepared for that.”

      A chill prickled down his neck. “What do you mean?”

      She folded her arms in front of her. “There is a warden called Larkin. He wanted—that is, he would have—” She looked away, pressing her lips together as if loath to speak further.

      “Miranda, did he hurt you?”

      She shook her head. “No, and it’s silly of me to dwell on it. I convinced him that it might be dangerous to harm me.” A fond smile curved her lips. “I said I was undoubtedly a great lady, with a vast fortune and a title, and that as soon as my memory was restored, I would reward those who befriended me.”

      Ian gave silent thanks for her quick thinking.

      “But lately,” she said, “he’s been eyeing me. I think he’s starting to suspect it’s a lie.”

      Ian trapped her hands in his. “I want you to come away with me. Now that I’ve found you, you need not stay here a moment longer.”

      “I know you claim me, but you’re a stranger. I’m sorry—”

      “You’ll be safe with me,” he said.

      “I want to believe you, but I do not know you. I cannot go with you.” She shivered. “It’s awful here, but it’s familiar. It’s all that I know.”

      “Believe me,” he whispered, lowering his mouth toward hers, wanting just a taste of her. “Do, Miranda. Believe me.”

      His mouth hovered closer. She gasped and parted her lips slightly. At the last second, he changed his mind. He must not kiss her. He knew better than to kiss a woman when he wanted her this badly. He brushed his lips across her brow. “I’ll keep you safe,” he heard himself whisper, not knowing whether or not he was lying. “I’ll keep you safe.”

      She glided her hands up his chest, pressing closer, skimming his shoulders.

      He hissed and broke away, barking a curse. His shoulder was on fire, and for a moment he saw nothing but a red haze of pain.

      “Mr. MacVane!” Miranda cried. “What happened?”

      “My shoulder, lass. I was burned in the fire.”

      “You were in the fire?” she asked. “My fire?”

      “Aye, lass, if you’re claiming it.”

      “Lass,” she whispered, wonder dawning on her face. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

      “That depends on what you’re accusing me of.”

      “You’re the man in the flames. You called me lass. You pulled me to safety. Gave me your coat.”

      “Aye,” he said again, wishing his shoulder would stop throbbing.

      “You ran off to help a small child, and that was the last I saw of you.” She shuddered. “The watchman said you had both perished.”

      “The watchman turned out to be quite unreliable.”

      “You would have come back for me, but you were unable?” she asked, unwittingly making it easy for him to deceive her.

      “Injured,” he admitted. “Not mortally, as you can see.”

      “Thank God. How is the child?”

      “Robbie is fine. Some bumps and bruises, a burned hand that’s healing nicely.”

      She subjected him to a wide-eyed, wondering look that made him feel as if he had grown a foot taller. “How grateful his mother must be.”

      “Robbie’s an orphan. He had been staying at a flash house, where they were training him as a cutpurse.” Ian decided not to tell her the worst of it, the other things they were forcing Robbie to do. “He ran away from there and was living alone in an abandoned building.”

      “How sad. What will become of him?”

      “After my assistant, McDuff, tutors him, Robbie’ll be bound for public school, perhaps university.” An old dream flickered in Ian’s mind. A lad like Robbie should live free, racing through Highland dales and shouting with laughter, just as Ian had so many years ago.

      Miranda clasped her hands to her chest. “You kept the child.”

      “He had nowhere to go.”

      She crossed to the door.

      “Miranda?” he asked. “Where are you going?”

      “With you.”

      “But you just said you wouldn’t.”

      “I changed my mind.”

      “What made you change your mind?”

      She gave an incredulous laugh. “I have two choices. I can stay locked in this asylum. Or I can leave with a man who not only saved me from a fire, but rescued an orphaned child and is raising him to be a gentleman.”

      “So you changed your mind because of my sterling character?”

      “No.” An unexpected