Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever by Julia Quinn

Author:Julia Quinn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

THE ROMANS COULD HELP YOU FIND THE NEXT BLUE.

If he was irritated by her silent treatment, he did not show it. He merely folded up the slip of paper and looked at her with an expression of bored expectation.

“It’s underneath an arch,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “The Romans were the first to use them in architecture. There are several in the garden.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later they had retrieved another envelope.

“Do you know how many clues we must get through before we’re done?” Turner asked.

It was his first sentence since they’d begun, and it concerned when he might be rid of her. Miranda gritted her teeth at the insult, shook her head, and opened the envelope. She had to remain poised. If she let him make even one chink in her facade, she’d fall completely to pieces. Schooling her features into impassivity, she unfolded the slip of paper and read, “‘You’ll need to hunt for the next clue.’”

“Something to do with hunting, I imagine,” Turner said.

She lifted her brows. “You’ve decided to participate?”

“Don’t be petty, Miranda.”

She let out an irritated exhale and decided to ignore him. “There is a small hunting lodge to the east. It will take us approximately fifteen minutes to walk there.”

“And how did you discover this lodge?”

“I’ve been walking quite a bit.”

“Whenever I’m in the house, I imagine.”

Miranda saw no reason to deny his statement.

Turner squinted toward the horizon. “Do you think Lady Chester would send us so far from the main house?”

“I’ve been right up to now,” Miranda retorted.

“So you have,” he said with a bored shrug. “Lead on.”

They had trudged through the woods for about ten minutes when Turner cast a dubious eye at the darkening sky. “Looks like rain,” he said laconically.

Miranda looked up. He was right. “What do you want to do?”

“Right this minute?”

“No, next week. Of course right this minute, you dolt.”

“A dolt?” He smiled, his white teeth nearly blinding her. “You wound me.”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?”

“Was I?” he murmured, and she was mortified.

“Oh, Miranda,” he continued with a patronizing sigh, “maybe I like to be nice to you.”

“Maybe you don’t.”

“Maybe I do,” he said pointedly. “And maybe you sometimes just make it difficult.”

“Maybe,” she said with equal arrogance, “it’s going to rain, and we ought to get going.”

A clap of thunder drowned out her last word. “Maybe you’re right,” Turner replied, grimacing at the sky. “Are we closer to the lodge or the house?”

“The lodge.”

“Then let’s hurry. I have no wish to get caught in an electrical storm in the middle of the woods.”

Miranda could not disagree with him, despite her concerns for propriety, so she started walking faster toward the hunting lodge. But they had hardly gone ten yards when the first raindrops fell. Another ten yards and it was a torrential downpour.

Turner grabbed her hand and began to run, pulling her along the path. Miranda stumbled along behind him, wondering if it was any use to run, as they were already soaked to the skin.

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