The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

didn't particularly even know what it was she'd been wanting and-

And his lips touched hers. 'Lovely,' he murmured, raining delicate, seductive kisses along her cheek until he reached the line of her jaw.

It felt like heaven. It felt like nothing she knew. There was a quickening within her, a strange tension, coiling and stretching, and she wasn't sure what she was meant to do, so she stood there, accepting his kisses as he moved across her face, along her cheekbone, back to her lips.

'Open your mouth,' he ordered, and she did, because this was Turner, and she wanted this. Hadn't she always wanted this?

His tongue dipped inside, and she felt herself being pulled more tightly against him. His fingers were demanding, and then his mouth was demanding, and then she realized that this was wrong. This wasn't the moment she'd been dreaming of for years. He didn't want her. She didn't know why he was kissing her, but he didn't want her. And he certainly did not love her. There was no kindness in this kiss.

'Kiss me back, damn it,' he growled, and he pressed his lips against hers with renewed insistence. It was hard, and it was angry, and for the first time that night, Miranda began to feel afraid.

'No,' she tried to say, but her voice was lost against his mouth. His hand had somehow found her bottom, and was squeezing, pressing her up against him in the most intimate of places. And she didn't understand how she could want this and not want this, how he could make her tingle and make her scared, how she could love him and hate him at the very same time, in equal measures.

'No,' she said again, wedging her hands between them, palms against his chest. 'No!'

And then he stepped away, utterly abrupt, without even the slightest hint of a desire to linger.

'Miranda Cheever,' he murmured, except it was really more of a drawl, 'who knew?'

She slapped him.

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

'Why did you do that?' she demanded, her voice steady even as the rest of her shook.

'Kiss you?' He shrugged. 'Why not?'

'No,' she shot back, horrified by the note of pain she heard in her voice. She wanted to be furious. She was furious, but she wanted to sound it. She wanted him to know. 'You may not take the easy way out. You lost that privilege.'

He chuckled, damn him, and said, 'You're quite entertaining as a dominatrix.'

'Stop it,' she cried. He kept talking about things she did not understand, and she hated him for it. 'Why did you kiss me? You don't love me.'

Her fingernails bit into her palms. Stupid, stupid girl. Why did she say that?

But he only smiled. 'I forget that you are only nineteen and thus do not realize that love is never a prerequisite for a kiss.'

'I don't think you even like me.'

'Nonsense. Of course I do.' He blinked, as if he were trying to remember how well, exactly, he knew her. 'Well, I certainly don't dislike you.'

'I'm not Leticia,' she whispered.

In a split second, his hand had wrapped around her upper arm, squeezing nearly to the point of pain. 'Don't you ever mention her name again. Do you hear me?'

Miranda stared in shock at the raw fury emanating from his eyes. 'I'm sorry,' she said hastily. 'Please let me go.'

But he didn't. He loosened his grip, but only slightly, and it was almost as if he were staring through her. At a ghost. At Leticia's ghost.

'Turner, please,' Miranda whispered. 'You're hurting me.'

Something cleared in his expression, and he stepped back. 'I'm sorry,' he said. He looked to the side- at the window? At the clock? 'My apologies,' he said curtly. 'For assaulting you. For everything.'

Miranda swallowed. She should leave. She should slap him again and then leave, but she was a wretch, and she couldn't help herself when she said, 'I'm sorry she made you so unhappy.'

His eyes flew to hers. 'Gossip travels all the way to the schoolroom, does it?'

'No!' she said quickly. 'It's just that…I could tell.'

'Oh?'

She chewed on her lip, wondering what she should say. There had been gossip in the schoolroom. But more than that, she'd seen it for herself. He'd been so in love at his wedding. His eyes had shone with it, and when he looked at Leticia, Miranda could practically see the world falling away. It was as if they were in their own little world, just the two of them, and she was watching from the outside.

And the next time she saw him…it had been different.

'Miranda,' he prodded.

She looked up and gently said, 'Anyone who knew you before your marriage could tell that you were unhappy.'

'And how is that?' He stared down at her, and there was something so urgent in his eyes that Miranda could only tell him the truth.

'You used to laugh,' she said softly. 'You used to laugh, and your eyes twinkled.'

'And now?'

'Now you're just cold and hard.'

He closed his eyes, and for a moment Miranda thought he was in pain. But in the end he gave her a piercing stare, and one corner of his mouth tilted up in a wry mockery of a smile. 'So I am.' He crossed his arms and leaned insolently against a bookcase. 'Pray tell me, Miss Cheever, when did you grow so perceptive?'

Miranda swallowed, fighting the disappointment that rose in her throat. His demons had won again. For a moment- when his eyes had been closed- it had almost seemed as if he heard her. Not her words, but the meaning behind them. 'I've always been so,' she said. 'You used to comment on it when I was little.'

'Those big brown eyes,' he said with a heartless chuckle. 'Following me everywhere. Do you think I didn't know you fancied me?'

Tears pricked Miranda's eyes. How could he be so cruel to say it? 'You were very kind to me as a child,' she said softly.

'I daresay I was. But that was a long time ago.'

'No one realizes that more than I.'

He said nothing, and she said nothing. And then finally-

'Go.'

His voice was hoarse and pained and full of heartbreak.

She went.

And in her diary that night, she wrote nothing.

* * *

The following morning, Miranda woke with one clear objective. She wanted to go home. She didn't care if she missed breakfast, she didn't care if the heavens opened and she had to slog through the driving rain. She just didn't want to be here, with him, in the same building, on the same property.

It was all too sad. He was gone. The Turner she'd known, the Turner she'd adored- he was gone. She'd sensed it, of course. She'd sensed it on his visits home. The first time it had been his eyes. The next his mouth, and the white lines of anger etched at the corners.

She'd sensed it, but until now she had not truly allowed herself to know it.

'You're awake.'

It was Olivia, fully dressed and looking charming, even in her mourning black.

'Unfortunately,' Miranda muttered.

'What was that?'

Miranda opened her mouth, then remembered that Olivia wasn't going to wait for an answer, so why expend the energy?