Miranda's Dilemma by Natasha Blackthorne Read Free Book Online

thinning, sandy-blond hair fell over his forehead limply. His cravat drooped. He looked quite downcast.
    How often had Father looked up at him with just such a lost expression? A pang of sympathy stabbed and, despite his better judgment, he crossed to Froster’s table.
    “Good morning, Froster.”
    The older man looked up, eyes as pale and dingy gray as a pair of worn flannel drawers, and stared back blankly. He sucked in his cheeks, giving his broad, homely face a forlorn look.
    The scent of onions and savory spices filled Adrian’s senses. His empty stomach growled, and he glanced at the table.
    A plate piled high with roast beef, carrots, and turnips had been left to congeal.
    Adrian lowered himself into the seat opposite the older man and ordered a plate of vegetables and beef, then eased his unsuspecting companion into a confession of what was ailing him.
    And of course the matter was Miss Jones.
    “I am ill-experienced with her caliber of lady.” Froster sighed.
    The sound held an uncomfortable echo of his father’s never-ending angst. The same frustration he’d experienced.
    But despair?
    God, despair. Dry, acrid, like a gasping, dying breath. Once a man had smelt it, like he had smelt it on his father, one never forgot.
    And that scent covered Froster.
    Adrian’s stomach twisted.
    No, he would never despair over Miss Jones.
    “Her caliber of lady, eh?” Adrian feigned a chuckle. “You mean woman, surely.”
    The Duke of Froster’s eyes widened. “Do I?”
    “Yes, indeed you do. To noblemen like us, she’s no lady. She’s just a courtesan.”
    “I don’t know about that.” Froster looked a bit aghast. “She is so elegant, so graceful.”
    “She intimidates you?”
    Froster’s gaze shifted away. “I suppose she does.”
    “She’s just a bit of muslin. Common born. Dare I say, ill-educated? She’s not a lady of our own class.”
    “Yes, you’re right.” Froster frowned for a moment. “I know that you are correct.””
    “Then don’t allow her to intimidate or manipulate you.”
    “But she is so utterly beautiful. Frightfully so.”
    Adrian shook his head. “No, measure for measure, she’s the same as any other woman available in Mayfair. You’ve built the whole matter up in your mind.”
    Froster jerked his head up and gaped. “I think you need your eyes examined, Danvers.”
    What a fool Froster was!
    Adrian shook his head. “No, she only appears more beautiful. These high fliers have their tricks of the trade, ways of making themselves look more beautiful than any woman can really be. They also use tricks of emotional manipulation.”
    “They do like to tease.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in Froster’s tone.
    Now they were getting somewhere.
    “She’s teasing you then? Promising you pleasures she refuses to make good on?”
    “Aye,” Froster breathed, exasperated as he lifted his cup to his lips. He took a drink.
    Pleasure spread through Adrian’s blood. So Froster had been thwarted last night by Miss Miranda Jones. That wasn’t a very charitable feeling to have about Froster’s misfortune, was it?
    Adrian couldn’t help it. He was damned glad of it. And why not? He intended to encourage his friend to forget about the predatory courtesan and settle his attentions elsewhere. For the sake of his friend’s long-term well-being, of course.
    Adrian drummed his fingers on the table. “What did she promise you that she failed to deliver?”
    Froster’s mouth turned downwards as he placed his cup on the table. “It was not so much an outright promise as implied.”
    “Implied, eh?” Adrian asked.
    “I’ve spent significant time and money on her.”
    Froster sounded so much like a petulant boy that Adrian couldn’t resist a slight smile.
    “You believe there’s a connection between how much time and money a man spends on a ladybird like Miss Jones and her willingness to submit herself for his pleasure?”
    “Isn’t there?” Froster asked, his brows lifted