Read Online Breathless by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online Page A

invitation,” Jane said, stating the obvious. “I didn’t think you ever got any. Do you think you’ve finally paid enough penance to be allowed back in society?”
    â€œI doubt it,” Miranda replied. She was loath to open it. The obvious source would be Lucien de Malheur. It had been more than a week since she’d been to his house, and she hadn’t heard a word from him. She’d expected at least a note, perhaps flowers, some recognition ofthe wonderful evening they’d spent together, but so far there’d been nothing.
    She’d come to the conclusion that it was not nearly as wonderful for him as it had been for her. Which shouldn’t surprise her. It had been her first adult, intelligent conversation in weeks, and the first with someone outside her family in almost a year, not counting Jane, who really was family.
    She tapped the envelope against her other hand, reluctant. If it was the note she’d expected it was both overdue and something she wanted to savor in private. Jane knew her too well, and Miranda wasn’t even sure of her own feelings and reactions to Lucien de Malheur. She certainly wasn’t ready to share them.
    â€œAren’t you going to open it?” Jane demanded, rising and leaving the ribbons behind. Jane was tall, dark-haired like her mother, but lacking Evangelina Pagett’s extraordinary beauty or her father’s cynical grace. She was a little thin, a little plain and the best and dearest friend in the world.
    â€œI’ll open it later.” Miranda set the note back down on the salver.
    â€œOh, no, you won’t,” Jane said, lunging for it, grabbing it before Miranda could stop her. “I’m the one with the stultifying life. At least I can live through you vicariously.”
    Miranda leaped to her feet, reaching for the letter, which Jane laughingly held over her head, and fixed her with a stern look. “You’re about to marry a good man who adores you, and you’ll live in a lovely house and have wonderful children and…what’s that face for? Don’t tell me you’re not happy?” Miranda stoppedreaching for the invitation, falling back to look at her troubled friend.
    Jane tried for her usual smile, but Miranda could see the pain behind it, the pain she should have recognized before, and she forgot about the letter.
    â€œThings are never quite what they seem,” Jane said carefully. “Mr. Bothwell feels that I’ll make a suitable wife and that I should breed quite easily. He’s most desirous of an heir. He likes that I’m quiet and well-behaved and conduct myself just as I ought, and he thinks I’ll do very well.”
    â€œ You’ll do very well ?” Miranda echoed, incensed. “And you agreed to this affecting proposal?”
    â€œI’m three and twenty, Miranda. I’d had five seasons and no other offers, and Mr. Bothwell is a gentleman with a significant income.” There was a faint wobble in her voice.
    â€œAnd your parents agreed to this iniquitous match?”
    â€œDon’t be absurd. I told them I was madly in love with the man. I can’t live with them forever, and I want children. I want a life of my own. Mr. Bothwell will do very well, I’m sure.”
    For a long moment Miranda said nothing. And then she put her arms around Jane’s waist. “Dearest, you should have told him no. You could come and live with me, and we can become two strange old ladies who keep a great deal too many cats and wear eccentric clothes and say things we shouldn’t. It would be grand fun.”
    Jane shook her head. “No, it wouldn’t. You can’t convince me you’re any happier than I am.”
    â€œI do well enough. And besides, I deserve my banishment. I’m a lightskirt, remember? You deserve a man who adores you.”
    â€œYou aren’t a lightskirt. And we all deserve a man who adores us.