Myriah Fire Read Free

rhythm to the music of the violins, and many eyes glanced curiously at them.
    Sir Roland, a bachelor of nine and twenty, had many attractive qualities, and more than one of Lady Myriah’s suitors had noticed her apparent preference for the dratted fellow’s company. Sir Roland’s height was good, and his frame was such as to catch any maid’s eye. His thick, curling locks were auburn with a hint of gold. He always seemed to entertain Lady Myriah with an adroitness that kept her amused.
    As the waltz ended, Myriah gazed quizzically up into his bright eyes. “Sweet Myriah, shall we continue our play on the dance floor, or shall we seek privacy?” he teased, kissing the wrist of her gloved hand.
    “I think, Sir Roland, we had better remain here. I have already found that playing alone with you can be quite dangerous!” countered the lady.
    “Dangerous for whom, sweet beauty?”
    She laughed amicably, for as always his forwardness excited her. He had skill, and there was no denying it.
    “You know very well for whom! Never say you fear for yourself?” she said.
    “For myself, never—ah, but for my heart, that is something altogether different. I have not attained my years and remained unshackled by toying with danger.”
    Her eyes flickered. “Well, there certainly is no danger of your becoming … how did you put it? … shackled to me? No, Sir Roland, you need have no fear on that score with me, as I have already told you I cannot marry you.” The teasing quality of her voice had begun to ebb.
    Sir Roland smiled and took her hand. Without speaking, he led her into a country dance. He was aware Myriah was attracted to him, and though he had not yet discovered the means to win her, he had no intention of giving the sport over. She was far too wealthy, and Sir Roland needed her money! His lands were heavily mortgaged, a state that had been achieved by his father’s heavy gaming debts. He had tried everything else, even resorted to gaming himself with the little blunt he had left. Now, deeper in debt, he was desperate. Putting his estates in order had become all-important, and he needed an advantageous marriage to achieve this end.
    If his financial affairs were not reason enough for wanting to marry Myriah, there was his desire for the chit. She teased him until he knew he must possess her—nay, not just teased but dallied with him, taunted him, and flirted with him outrageously. However, she had made it clear her virginity went only with marriage, and indeed a maid of her class could not be taken any other way.
    They had been presented to each other just two months ago, and he knew she found him titillating, witty, and a stimulating companion. In turn he found her exquisite to behold, spoiled, wild, and irresistible. Though he knew neither she nor he were in love with one another, he meant to have her and her money. He looked long at her as these thoughts gravely carried his intent.
    Myriah watched his face, and it occurred to her that her father might have his hopes around a match with Sir Roland. That was not what she wanted.
    However, as Myriah and Roland met in the steps of the country dance, their eyes flirted, and it seemed to the onlookers that here was a match indeed.
    Myriah’s cheeks were flushed when the dance ended, and Sir Roland eyed her with concern. “You need air, love. Come, the night is too beautiful to ignore.”
    She hesitated and glanced doubtfully toward her father.
    Sir Roland tugged gently at her arm, and with a shrug she relented, allowing him to open the French door and lead her into the garden. It was a delicious night, smelling of roses and fresh grass. She looked up at the black sky and saw the half-moon shining brightly down on her, its star companions twinkling gloriously. It was the sort of night poets and minstrels sang about, and Myriah breathed it in with pleasure. They walked without speaking, without touching, and she pulled her light shawl about her arms.
    “Cold, love?”