Terri Brisbin (11 page)

“Although his fortune may not be up to the dowager’s usual standards, it is acceptable when coupled with his title. An old, esteemed family from the west of England, she declared.”

“Who is the poor sod and can we warn him?” Parker asked as they entered the card room.

Adrian led him to a table. “Too late, I’m afraid. Much too late for that.”

And as Adrian had suspected, it was Parker’s turn to be corned, pickled and salted when he learned whose
name and future was on the dowager’s list of potential husbands for her beloved goddaughter.

“You sound terrible,” Sophie began. “Let me look at you.”

Miranda decided that it hurt less to allow Sophie to have her look. Turning her head this way and that, as slowly as she could, she waited for her friend’s pronouncement that she was indeed alive and getting well.

“I have never known you to become so overwrought, Sophie. And so direct with the duke! I had no idea you disliked him so.”

“He is the one! I sent polite inquiries asking about you and he returned them. My footman said it was the duke himself and not one of your servants. On my second attempt to contact you, he turned my message to Fisk away.” Sophie was not one to be easily dissuaded. “Then, he refused me permission to enter this afternoon.”

“I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, but, as you can now see, I am fine.” Miranda pointed to the chair next to hers. “Please sit a few minutes and calm yourself. If you are this upset, I am certain that your husband noticed and must be worrying, too.”

“John? No, he is fine,” Sophie explained. “He knows how I am when…” Her words stopped and she made a choking sound.

“You are in the family way once more?”

Sophie nodded.

“My felicitations on such joyful news, and I apolo
gize for being a source of concern for you when you should be thinking about other things.”

Another baby for Sophie. Her husband was ecstatic over it, Miranda was certain. She swallowed against her own disappointment and offered a smile to her friend.

“Oh, Miranda,” Sophie cried, “I did not want you to find out this way. I know how much you want a child. I should never have come here this evening.” She tugged a handkerchief from her reticule. “But I worried that my advice had again caused problems for you.”

“Your counsel is always appreciated, Sophie. I did follow it, but the results were not what you likely expected them to be.”

“I promise to offer no more advice on the subject of your marriage. I told John that I cannot bear knowing that I made your life unhappier because I thought to instruct you. Goodness! If I continue, soon I will be no better than the dowager.”

“I would like to put your mind at rest,” Miranda said. “Although what happened was an unusual series of events, I believe that Windmere and I have come to some type of understanding.”

“You have?” Sophie asked while dabbing at her eyes. “You settled whatever happened on your recent trip to Windmere Park, then?”

“I believe we have.”

“You
believe
you have? Is there some concern still left unsettled? Did you speak your mind to him?”

Miranda looked away.

“What did you mean when you called it an ‘unusual series of events’? Did he…? In some way…? Did you…?”

It was better to put this to rest before Sophie became more upset. “The forthright and frank discussion we had last evening was unexpected. I was restless and sought out a bit of brandy, and Windmere was doing the same.”

“And? You had some brandy…. Oh, dear! Miranda, you cannot drink brandy! You have no tolerance of the stuff.”

“I confess that I did not think about that. I overindulged while we spoke, and I think that Windmere was as much surprised by the topic of discussion as he was by the contents of my stomach when they covered him.”

Sophie shuddered. “Ah, I see it now. Your illness today is the result of the brandy.”

“Yes. And Windmere has been the absolute gentleman in this, even going to the dowager’s appointment for me.”

“He didn’t!” Sophie exclaimed.

“I can only think that he discovered the whole of it, for he has forbidden me to visit there without him.”

Miranda sat back after revealing the incredible command Adrian had made. Did he have any idea of how much it meant to her? Did he know the dowager’s intentions at those morning appointments?

“There may be hope here, after all.”

“Hope for what, Sophie? He has removed the most unpleasant thing I have to do as his wife. That is all there
is to this,” she said. Of course, if any of what she thought she might have said or done actually transpired, there might be one or two other changes between them.

“If he did not care, why would he have troubled himself to make things even more difficult between himself and his mother? Surely…” Sophie paused and shook her head. “No, I cannot proceed with this. Every time I do, you suffer for it.”

“Nonsense, Sophie. I value your concern and the fact that we can speak of things that I cannot share with another person. Now, I am feeling overtired and I am sure that you must need your rest, as well.” Miranda stood and called out for Fisk. “I heard my husband’s carriage leave a few minutes ago, so you do not have to worry over seeing him on your way out.”

Sophie walked to the door with her. “If you are feeling up to it, perhaps you could call tomorrow? A new circulating library opened last week on Bond Street and I would love to visit it.”

“I would like that also. And if I do not feel up to it, I will send word to you so that you do not worry.”

“Please offer my apologies to the duke for my regrettable behavior? I will send him a note, but he may tear it to bits without reading it.”

Fisk opened the door and a footman waited to escort Sophie out. Miranda waved the servants out for a moment and closed the door to give them some privacy. Unable to stop herself, she threw her arms around Sophie and hugged her.

No one had cared about her well-being since her father died. Oh, Adrian, his mother and others showed concern, but that concern was also based on their need or expectations of her, and not about the person inside. Only Sophie did, and it warmed Miranda’s heart to know that her friend would do battle with a duke and a formidable maid to get to her.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Sophie. It means so much to me,” she said, squeezing her friend tightly. The tears flowed as she held on. Finally, she took a deep breath and released her. “Now we’re both watering pots.” Reaching in the pocket of her dressing gown, she withdrew a handkerchief and dried her eyes.

“I am always here for you, Miranda, and I know you would do the same for me.”

“Now, before Lord Allendale calls for a runner to find you, let me send you on your way home.” Pulling open the door, she stepped aside.

The footman led the way, and Miranda asked Fisk to follow in case Sophie needed anything before leaving. Turning back to her room, she tried to make herself feel the happiness she’d professed for her friend’s news. All her strength left her in that moment and she dragged herself to her bed and lay on it, not bothering to pull the covers down.

Tired from being ill, tired from too much brandy and tired from all the emotions of the last few weeks, Miranda pushed it all away and tried to fall asleep. She would try to fulfill her duties to Adrian and to his fam
ily with good cheer, accepting the good fortune she had in such a marriage. Even if she knew she was a fraud and a failure, she would not let it show.

H
e endured four musicales, twelve afternoon calls, two formal balls, a night at Almack’s, three morning rides on Rotten Row, and five late suppers out, with another planned in his own house a few days hence. He danced with her, he paired up with her to play cards, he turned the sheets as she played the piano at one gathering, and attended a salon at which the classics were read and discussed. They went to the theater and to Vauxhall for the fireworks and amusements there.

He watched her from near and from afar and took in everything about her that he could. From the foods she ate to the clothes she wore, he took note of everything. She liked the morning best and preferred simpler, plainer foods to more exotic ones. Her favorite fragrance was a light floral one with a hint of citrus and some other spice he could not identify.

Whether on purpose or by accident, she did not fill the house with flowers, but preferred watercolors and other paintings to offer color and brightness to their abode. The biggest surprise to him was her own abilities with watercolors. Some of the most appealing ones he found in a storage room turned out to be hers, and, to her obvious embarrassment, he insisted that they be displayed.

He discussed much of what he discovered with Parker, who offered some rather sound observations and assisted him in making some arrangements for her. And when the spells came over him, on an increasing basis, Parker helped him. Adrian thought that Miranda had become aware of the more frequent coughing, too, but she never mentioned it.

The solicitor finalized the plans he’d outlined, and Webb was put on the task of securing a house in Bath and one in Brighton, since the physicians and Mrs. Gresham had all recommended taking the waters and a stay near the seashore to improve his health. He had not told Miranda of that yet, but he suspected that she would agree to leave London on any excuse.

Finally, just over a week after the incident that ruined his favorite shoes, Adrian decided that there was only one thing he was avoiding and, if there was to be any hope of protecting Miranda’s future with a child, it was time to visit her bed again. There was more to it than that, but with everything he was handling, it was easier to keep the fraying threads of his life woven together by keeping things as unemotional as possible.

For Miranda’s protection, they needed a son.

Simple. Clear. True.

They were waltzing after a supper at Lord and Lady Allendale’s house, where Miranda’s friend had hosted a not-quite-intimate party of thirty, when he took the chance. Adrian allowed his hand to slide over her waist a bit more than would be acceptable between strangers, and she met his gaze. Beads of sweat gathered on his back and he began to feel like an untried youth rather than the many-years-married man he was.

He watched the sparkle in her eyes as they swirled around the dance floor, and inhaled her scent as they moved together. If it were possible, he thought that she felt it, too, for her breathing changed—not in pace with the steps, but a bit halting each time their eyes met. Her body felt warmer and softer in his arms as the music grew louder and more intense. He cleared his throat.

“May I escort you home, Miranda?” he asked.

This time, unlike that other waltz, she did not falter in her steps or hesitate in his arms. Watching her face for signs of acceptance or rejection, he almost tripped himself when he saw the tip of her tongue slide out to moisten her lips.

“Of course, Windmere,” she said. She gazed at him and smiled. “I would like that.”

He hardened in that moment, unable to think of anything but getting her home and peeling off the layers of clothing that hid her from his sight and touch. Perhaps taking separate coaches was a safer idea? Adrian did not
know if he had the restraint to keep his hands off her on the way.

They must have finished the dance, for he did not remember making a scene by dragging his wife off the floor. They must have offered their farewells to their host and hostess, and someone must have called for the carriage. He remembered none of it. After helping her into it, Adrian stared out of the window, clenching his hands into fists to keep from touching her and from allowing the desire that had been building between them to explode in a carriage.

Now, he stepped onto the street, assisted Miranda out and then up the steps and in the door. Adrian knew that he needed to slow down or he was in danger of creating another debacle that seemed to be linked to making love with his wife. No matter how well trained, well paid or well known for their discretion his servants were, he suspected that they would take offense at the sight of the master and mistress of the house in flagrante delicto.

A sense of urgency seemed to fill the house as they walked up the stairs to their chambers. Miranda did not say a word, but he could tell she was breathless. He hoped and prayed that it was a good sign. His body wanted to make her scream, but that would happen soon enough.

He paused at her door and Fisk opened it from inside, ready to do her mistress’s bidding. Miranda turned to say something, but he stopped her with his finger on her lips.

“No more than a quarter hour, Miranda.”

He took a step away and then pulled her into his arms and kissed her, taking her mouth in a hungry approximation of what his body wanted to do. Rather than standing rigid in his embrace, she softened in his arms, melting against him and urging his body and him to more blatant actions. He pressed his hardness against her and moved his hips so she could feel his condition.

“Ten minutes, no more,” he whispered roughly.

If she had held back, he could have walked away, but the soft moan that escaped her broke his control, and he walked them into her dressing room. “Get out,” he ordered, and Fisk had the good sense to leave, and quickly. When the door closed, he lifted his head and looked at his wife.

“I fear I have waited too long, Miranda. I will try not to do anything that will necessitate an apology in the morning.”

“As will I, Windmere.”

She smiled and he laughed, kissing her openmouthed and pulling out the pins that held her hair in an elaborate arrangement. It might have been easier if Fisk had undressed her, but Adrian had imagined removing each layer until he uncovered her willing flesh…and then covered it with his body. Much more fun for him and an early night for the duchess’s maid.

Miranda lifted her hands behind her head to assist him, and instead, it inflamed his desire. Did she not realize how the action raised her breasts to almost over
flowing the low neckline of her gown? Could she not see how much he wanted to taste the wonderfully pebbled tips and suck them until she screamed? They were already held enticingly high by her corset, and with a slight move of his hand, he could have them free.

He released her and she took a step away, shaking her head until her hair flowed down her back in thick, golden-brown waves. In contrast with the gown she wore, she looked like a garden nymph with her large blue eyes and flowing locks.

He wanted her. He wanted her badly.

“It would kill me if you lay beneath me as before and did not find pleasure in this, Miranda,” he admitted. “I can make this good for you if you permit me to,” he whispered as he kissed down her neck and ever closer to her breasts.

“Windmere,” she said, whispering in turn.

“I would have honesty between us in this, Miranda. I expect you to stop me if something does not please you, or offends you in any way. I fear my desire for you has me past the point where my attentions will be mannerly and controlled.”

“Should I anticipate forceful attentions then, Windmere?”

“If you call me Adrian, I can guarantee them. But only if you want them. Tell me, Miranda. Tell me what you want.”

She hesitated, afraid to let him know how much he had stirred her own desire these last days and hours and minutes. He did remember the words she’d said while
drunk, especially about their marital relations. And now he wanted her. Each time in the past, any attempt on her part to reach for more, to make their marriage better in some personal way, had failed. Did she have the courage to take what she wanted in this?

“I will not lie quietly beneath you, Adrian. I do not want this to be a duty between us any longer,” Miranda said, as she searched his face for a reaction. When his body surged against her, and he rubbed the proof of his desire against her belly, she whispered his name. “Adrian…”

Instead of the onslaught of kisses she expected, he stood and stared at her with an intensity she’d not seen in him before. His hands inched down to the bottom of her skirts and he raised them slowly, allowing his fingers to glide over her as he did. She followed his lead, raising her hands and arms so that he could ease the dress over her head. Once it was gone, he leaned down and kissed the valley of her breasts until she felt them swell under his attentions. Her hands drifted to his head and she ran her own fingers through his silky curls.

Just when her legs threatened to give way, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her through the doorway to her bedroom, dropping her shoes along the way. Instead of stopping, he continued into his own room and kicked the door closed with his foot.

She had only been here in passing and never in his bed. The smell of the polished mahogany of the bed and closet and other furniture pervaded the room, but it was
the scent of the spicy cologne he always wore that enticed her now. When he reached the side of the bed, he paused, lowering her to her feet and wrapping himself around her.

His hands slid around her waist as he sought out the ties of her corset. When he lost the battle, he slipped his fingers in the front, where her breasts were straining against the whalebone and fabric, and lifted them free. She could not help the sigh that escaped as he caressed them.

“Adrian,” she whispered, as his touch aroused the tips into hard buds. She braced her hands on his shoulders and clutched his jacket.

His mouth was hot when it touched her skin. His tongue slid over her breasts and then back up to her neck. She felt his teeth graze the sensitive curl of her ear and she shivered as a thrill passed through her. He kissed her then, tasting her mouth as he had her skin. Stepping back, he tugged off his jacket, waistcoat, and pulled his cravat loose. When he began to unbutton his shirt and the flaps of his trousers, she thought she understood the meaning of that new process, mesmerization.

Unable to move, unable to think, she could only watch as he tossed aside one piece of clothing after another until he stood before her naked. His chest and stomach were sprinkled with dark hair that continued down below his waist.

Miranda hesitated to look there, but her gaze was caught by his maleness. Surprising her, he turned and strode to a cabinet and pulled open a drawer. She
watched the muscles of his thighs flex as he walked, and she ached to touch him. He came back with a pair of scissors, looking intent on committing some kind of damage. Taking her shoulders, he spun her around and she felt the corset loosen immediately.

“Damn laces!” he muttered, as he cut through the ties holding the corset together. Triumphant, he threw the sections of her undergarment aside and brought her back to face him. Now that she was in only her chemise and stockings, her rosy-tipped breasts tempted him once more. Somehow he managed to lift and remove the chemise before taking her in his arms and feeling the heat of her explode against his skin.

He knew that he would be unable to slow their pace down now that he’d sampled her. Moving a step at a time, he soon had her against the bed. Lifting her onto it, he allowed her a moment to move back from the edge before kneeling between her legs. She sat silently as he undid each of her stockings from the garters that held them, and rolled them down over her calves, ankles and feet.

Her breathing changed, growing more erratic, and her eyes closed as he caressed her legs, grazing the skin with the tips of his fingers, up over her sensitive knees, onto her thighs. As he touched the soft hair there, she gasped and whispered his name again. Feeling for the tender flesh, he found her warm and soft and wet…ready for him.

Adrian watched her face as he entered her tight
sheath and pushed forward until he touched the very center of her. Leaning on his elbows, he took her hands, entwined their fingers and held them above her head. She panted as though running as he filled her and withdrew, over and over until he thought he was close to finding release.

Her body tightened around his hardness, telling him that she was as close as he was, and he kissed her on the mouth, sliding his tongue inside to tease hers. She arched against him and moaned as he moved deeper inside of her. He smiled. Regardless of sensibilities and misunderstandings, her body welcomed him and everything he did to her. The tension within him grew and he moved faster and faster, seeking not only the satisfaction he knew was moments away, but also something more that only she could give him.

He released her hands and he felt her slide them down his back, urging him on. Adrian felt his release begin and the words spilled into his mind even as his seed spilled inside his wife.

For…

For…

The words he chanted in his thoughts each time he bedded her, the prayers for a successful outcome, faded, and all he could utter was her name.

“Miranda,” he moaned, as he plunged inside and allowed them both to fall over the precipice to satisfaction. “Miranda.”

It was some time later, when their breathing eased,
that he turned on his side and tugged her closer. Miranda did not resist, but moved into his embrace, fitting her back against his front. Although he could not stop touching her, he soon realized that she was dozing.

Adrian thought about her response to him, the way her body blossomed at his touch and the way she sighed his name. She rarely used it and he found that he liked the sounds of it on her lips. Not used to hearing it, for not many called him by his Christian name, he found the way she dragged it out aroused him.

He also enjoyed the way she leaned against him, snuggling deeper in his embrace, in her sleep. Reaching down for a sheet, he covered them with it and lay just listening to her breaths, coming regularly now.