His wants had been simple. The Rohans had destroyed his only sister, bringing about her death. He’d wanted to return the favor, with the hopeful side-benefit of killing Benedick Rohan, the architecture of Genevieve’s destruction. Though he could have been just as happy at the thought of Benedick living with the knowledge that his precious little sister was trapped in a life of misery with a gazetted fortune hunter and womanizer.

St. John had proven a miserable failure, and with his bungling it was unlikely that another pretty young man would get anywhere near her. Trust the Rohans not to care if one of their own was ruined in the face of society.

Clearly it was time for him to take a hand in the situation himself. He couldn’t rush into anything–she would be whip-shy for a bit. He’d have more than enough time to decide exactly what form his revenge would take.

He would wait. Wait until they’d lowered their guard. Wait until he had everything in place. Wait until his prey had no idea that she was simply the pawn in a game of revenge.

And then he would pounce.

2

Two years later

Lady Miranda Rohan stood before the window of her cozy house on Half Moon Street, staring out into the rain. She was restless. She hated to admit it—she’d always prided herself on her ability to find interest under almost any circumstances. At the advanced age of twenty-three she considered herself a resourceful young woman. She’d faced disaster on a social scale and come through the other side, independent and happy, with the support and affection of her large family and closest friends, and, indeed, ostracism had unexpected benefits. She didn’t have to attend boring parties, dance with odious men who simply wanted to ogle her and her inheritance. She didn’t have to survive miserably crowded gatherings and lukewarm punches and boring conversations filled with salacious gossip and little more. Particularly since nowadays she was more than likely to be the topic of that gossip.

No, that was no longer true. Enough time had passed that her transgressions were no longer half so interesting. There were always more exciting scandals around. She didn’t have to spend time with those judgmental wags who’d tell her she was simply reaping the rewards of her foolish behavior two years ago. Foolish, not truly wicked, but in a society where those two words were interchangeable, Miranda Rohan was living with the results.

Normally she didn’t care—she found life to be full of interesting things. She read everything she could get her hands on, from treatises on animal husbandry to paeans to the classical poets. She found nature to be boundlessly fascinating, and while her own efforts at the pianoforte and singing were decidedly lackluster, she still found great enjoyment in pursuing those two disciplines. She was an exceptional horsewoman, both as a whip and a rider; she had a limitless capacity for affection for both dogs and their haughtier cousins, cats. She had a gift with children and according to her dear companion Louisa she readily sank to their level.

She followed politics, gossip, science, the sciences, the arts.

And at that particular moment she was ready to weep with boredom when she swore she would never be bored.

“This winter is lasting forever,” she announced disconsolately, staring into the dark, dismal afternoon. Half Moon Street was a mere two streets over from the Rohan family manse, which, unfortunately, did her no good. It was deserted, as the rest of her noisy, sprawling family had gone up to Yorkshire to await the birth of her newest niece or nephew.

“It will last just as long as it always does,” Cousin Louisa said placidly. Louisa was in truth the most stolid creature alive, and therefore the perfect match for an outcast like Miranda Rohan. Her great girth allowed her no more than the least taxing of social venues, and her calm, placid nature was a balm to Miranda’s rare emotional outbursts.

“I should have gone to Yorkshire with the family,” Miranda said, swinging one foot disconsolately.

“And why didn’t you? Granted, the thought of traveling that far brings on a most severe case of the vapors in an invalid such as myself, but if you’d been with your family there would have been no need for me to accompany you on such an arduous journey, and you wouldn’t be pacing this house like one of those lions they show at the Bartholomew Fair.”

Miranda forbore to point out that, in fact, none of Cousin Louisa’s duties had been strictly necessary. After all, ruined was ruined, and even the presence of a middle-aged cousin of impeccable lineage and reputation couldn’t do anything to lift Miranda’s banishment.

Not that she wanted it to, she thought defiantly. It was just that she was … restless.

It was distressing. She wouldn’t have thought she needed anyone’s company to make her happy, and she’d always been perversely pleased that ruination meant she no longer had to spend her life trying to attract a suitable husband.

But that was before she knew what true isolation was. Before her world narrowed down to her boisterous family, her dearest friend Jane and the rest of the Pagetts, and the indolent and comfortable Cousin Louisa.

And right now everyone was out of town. Her brother Charles’s wife was just about to give birth to her second child, Benedick’s new bride was increasing, and their parents were thrilled.

They’d begged her to accompany them, but she’d refused, making up a believable excuse when the truth was far simpler. When Lady Miranda Rohan was a member of the household the social invitations dwindled to a trickle. Society had already accepted that the wild Rohans were prone to misbehavior, but when it came to young ladies of the ton, rules were rules. Miranda was an outcast, and the Rohans, proud and loyal to a fault, didn’t leave their daughter behind, no matter how great the opprobrium of the ton. Miranda’s best choice was to simply absent herself, allowing her family to enjoy themselves without second thoughts.

Unfortunately Cousin Louisa could scarcely make up for the energetic Rohans, given her tendency to fall asleep at unlikely moments. Normally this would have been no problem, but in March even the few members of the ton who did recognize her were still out of town, including dearest Jane.

“You need to do something to stop that appalling fidgeting,” Cousin Louisa said with the small, catlike yawn she seldom bothered to disguise. “Why don’t you go to the library and see if there are any new French novels? Something saucy to take your mind off things?”

“I went yesterday. I’ve already read everything that interests me, saucy and otherwise,” she said in a disconsolate voice. She kicked at her skirts. “Listen to me! I sound like a nursery brat who’s lost her favorite toy. Forgive me, Cousin Louisa. I’m not usually so tedious.”

Cousin Louisa yawned behind her fan. “What about a walk?”

“It’s raining,” Miranda said in mournful accents.

“Is it?” her companion said sleepily, not bothering to turn her head to look out the window into the dark afternoon. “I hadn’t noticed. Go to the theater.”

“I’ve seen everything, and my problem is right now—” Miranda made a sound of disgust. “I can’t imagine what’s wrong with me! I’m not usually so ill-tempered.”

“You’re usually so good-natured you exhaust me. In truth, child, you’re wearing me out at this very minute. I’d suggest you go practice on the pianoforte but you’re always a bit too enthusiastic, and I need my nap without music thumping through the house. Go for a drive. Take the curricle. It looks as if the rain has stopped for now, but if it begins again you can simply have the groom raise the hood.”

Miranda seized the notion like a lifeline thrown a drowning man. “That’s exactly what I shall do, minus the groom. I’m entirely capable of driving myself, and if the rain begins again I’m sure I won’t melt.”

Cousin Louisa uttered a long-suffering sigh. “I do wish you wouldn’t insist on flying in the face of conventions. Society has a long memory, but I’m certain there are any number of people, short of the most proper, who’d eventually overlook your … er … fall from grace if you’d just give them proper reason to.”

It was an old argument, one Miranda had given up on ages ago. She could spend the rest of her life doing penance and being grateful for the scraps of acceptance tossed her way, or she could embrace her new life on the outskirts of polite society, no more apologies to anyone. The choice was simple and she’d made it without a second thought.

“No.”

Cousin Louisa was too good-natured to argue. “Enjoy your drive, my dear, and try not to wake me when you return. I sleep so dreadfully that my little naps are crucial.”

In fact Louisa slept at least twelve hours each night, aided by her admitted fondness for the French brandy Benedick provided for them. And since she found the trip up the stairs to her bedroom too exhausting to accomplish more than once a day, she tended to nap in the salon.

By the time Miranda had changed into driving clothes the horses had been put to and she could hear faint snores drifting from the drawing room. In fact, Louisa slept like the dead. The house could fall down around her and she wouldn’t notice, she thought with an affectionate smile.

One of the great joys in Miranda’s altered life was her curricle and horses. She loved driving, and owning her own carriage and pair delighted her to no end. In truth, she would have loved a phaeton, in particular a high-perch one, but she’d resisted temptation, deciding her family already had enough censure to deal with.

She never confided this particular concern to her brothers; Benedick would have immediately purchased the most outrageous equipage he could find for her. They were loyal to a fault. She adored them all, but in truth they’d been through enough, and she’d discovered that an insult to a family member was always more painful than an insult to oneself. And the pain that she caused them was far harder to deal with than her own censure.

She headed for Hyde Park, perversely enjoying the cold, damp air. She could feel her hair escaping the confines of her bonnet, and she knew her cheeks would be flushed and healthy, rather than the fashionably pale, but she didn’t care.