Terri Brisbin (12 page)

Had they been successful this night? Would she ever bear a child? He was not sure if the problem was hers or, possibly due to his health, his. It was a frightening thought, but he realized that in the years during which he’d bedded both his wife and his mistress with some regularity, neither had conceived.

Certainly, Caro was a more experienced woman and, most likely, used some preventative method to avoid conception. But Miranda’s duty was to produce an heir, and he doubted she knew of ways to prevent pregnancy. He looked over to the wooden box on top of his bureau that carried all of the herbs and medicaments he used. Mrs. Gresham had alluded to there being a number of possible side effects of all the concoctions he took, and had warned him of several.

Miranda stirred in his arms and he knew he should return her to her own room. By now, the tea brewed for imbibing at bedtime grew cold in his dressing room, but he needed to drink it nonetheless. Physical strain, even of the amorous kind, seemed to increase the tightness in his lungs and the urge to cough. He slid his arm out from under her head and moved away from her, careful not to wake her yet. Putting on his smalls, he walked to the door of the dressing room and opened it as quietly as he could. He wasn’t surprised when Thompson entered immediately from the hall to see to his needs.

After a few instructions to his valet, Adrian drank down the tepid tea and gave the cup back. Then he opened the wooden case and took out the flask and drank from it, hoping to loosen his chest. Mrs. Gresham’s elixir was more successful than any of the previous ones given him by the physicians, and it did not sour his stomach as many of theirs did. Adrian closed and locked the cabinet and turned back to the bed. Miranda lay there observing his every move.

“Your lung condition worsens?” she asked. Pushing her hair over her shoulders, she sat up and slid back against the pillows and headboard. He looked lost for words and a bit sheepish, as though caught at something he did not want seen.

“It varies from time to time,” he said, walking toward her. “The physicians say it is simply the change in seasons.”

Something in his tone or expression told her there
was more to this that he did not wish to reveal. The nonchalance he affected did not cover all his concern. She remembered hearing several outbreaks of coughing while they were at Windmere Park, and at least one other here.

“Is there ought that can be done? You have seen the physicians?”

“I have seen them, as recently as last month,” he said. “Their recommendations included carrying out my normal activities and leaving the city when the heat and smoke in the air are at their worst.” Reaching the bed, he crawled back into it, sliding in next to her. The thin linen of his small clothes did nothing to mask his intent. “I am to avoid those substances that cause my cough to worsen, such as feathers and hay.”

“So that is why, even though you ride often, you never enter the stables.”

“Just so. My grooms know to wipe down a horse before bringing it to me. And the housekeeper has made pillows stuffed with cloth and not feathers.”

Miranda realized that was the reason his bedding felt different from hers—there was no feather-stuffed pillow top on his mattress and not as much puffiness to his pillows.

“And that is enough? The doctors are in agreement with the prognosis for your health?” she asked.

“My health is quite fine, thank you. And,” he said as he reached for her and pulled her against him, “they said that a strong appetite is a sign of health.”

She laughed at his overt attempt at a double entendre. When she would have questioned him further about what the physicians had told him, he slid his arms around her from behind. As he held her tightly against his chest and placed her bottom as though she sat on his lap, his other hand slipped between her thighs and found that sensitive spot that made her ache.

Adrian moved his fingers, finding the moisture already there and causing more. Miranda gasped with each deep caress and he became relentless in his actions. Just as she felt everything within her tighten and as the excitement within her grew, he lifted her leg and entered her from behind.

The pleasurable sensations, with his fingers still there teasing her from the outside and now his hardness filling her inside, grew until it threatened to erupt. Aching and throbbing, she found each movement of her hips brought either his fingers or his hardness into closer contact, and it was driving her mad.

“Adrian,” she called out. “Adrian, help me!”

Then she was truly lost, for all of the pleasure and aching and throbbing exploded and she could hear herself scream as he continued his attention to the places that ached the most for release. Her body convulsed as wave after wave shuddered through her. Just as she thought herself finished, he kissed her neck and then bit the sensitive skin on her shoulder, bringing another wave of release to her and, this time, to him. Adrian thrust deeper and held her still as he poured into her.

Out of breath and still held in his arms, she thought she may have lost consciousness for a moment as her body continued to pulse and throb. He embraced her while she slowly calmed, and did not loosen his hold until she let out a final sigh of pleasure.

She drifted off to sleep then, completely satisfied and exhausted by his forceful attentions. When she woke, most of the morning was gone and she was in her own bed. Her body, overwhelmed by her husband’s demands, ached in places a proper duchess did not think about. Miranda smiled. It was a Friday morning, and thanks to Adrian, she did not dread the day.

Stretching under the covers, she felt the sheets brush across her still-sensitive breasts, and shivered. Not only had they shared a pleasurable encounter, he had twice more applied his attentions to her in the night—the second time in his bed and the third when he carried her back to her room. She could have walked had they not been…not been…well, engaged in marital relations at the time.

The heat of a blush filled her cheeks as she thought about that. She did not remember the beginning of it, except that he had taken something she said as some kind of challenge, and the next thing she knew, his hands held her bottom and her legs were wrapped around his hips as they moved from his room to hers.

Was this what men did with their mistresses? Did they reserve this lighthearted approach only for women they paid for the privilege of sharing a bed? Or was this
simply what she and Adrian had been missing because of their attempts to be the proper duke and duchess? Although she and Sophie never discussed the particulars, Miranda suspected that the Allendales found much happiness in their marriage bed. Even though the royal princes were probably not a good example of how the upper classes behaved, she doubted that every man with a title had a bit o’ muslin tucked away.

Time would tell if Adrian’s interest would continue to be as ardent as the night before or if this was a passing fancy of his after discovering that she would accept such advances from him. Although warned severely and often by the dowager that proper wives did not allow such behavior, Miranda hoped to be both to him—a proper wife and one who attracted him to her bed. Now that she understood what the dowager must have been missing in her life, Miranda was determined to have a different marriage than that.

Of course, the last time she’d allowed herself to hope about this subject was after she’d become completely and utterly pickled. Well, the experience of discussing her husband’s mistress with him and making some rather personal disclosures of her own was more the cause of the drinking binge than her hope. And since then, he’d definitely been more attentive to her, showing up when least expected at balls and dinners and musicales. Even joining in the escort of Miss Stevenson at his mother’s request.

The tiny flame of optimism still burned within Mi
randa’s heart. Perhaps there was a chance for them to have a marriage like her parents’. Perhaps in time Adrian would come to cherish her in some small way—not love, of course, but something warm and affectionate that would feel like love.

Perhaps in time.

“H
as the dowager told you of any others who seem interested in the chit’s hand yet?”

Adrian sat down in the drawing room of his club and perused the morning edition of the
Gazette,
completely ignoring Parker’s nagging. His friend had been seated next to Miss Stevenson at another supper party last evening and was beginning to feel the pressure. Parker did not want to admit in so many words that he found her company pleasurable or that he was not opposed to thinking about marriage. For a moment he followed Adrian’s example and picked up a copy of the newspaper, but proved to have little patience this morning.

“Blast it, Windmere! My parents are making all the noises about her, too!” he exclaimed, tossing the paper aside.

“Feeling the parson’s noose tightening, Parker?”
Adrian laughed. “It is about time for you to think about setting up a nursery, after all.”

The words slipped out of his mouth—the usual and necessary reason for marriage—and he thought yet again about how much he wanted to fill his own nursery. Even if he was not here to see the child grow, at least it would fulfill one of the most important responsibilities to his family. Miranda showed no signs of increasing in spite the additional nights he spent in her bed. Though he’d been handling all the important matters of his life, it was still his one regret.

“Is there someone else you have a fancy for, Parker? Or is it just that Miss Stevenson does not fit what you’re looking for in a wife?”

“More likely I fear the closeness to the dowager, Windmere. I cannot imagine going through life saddled with her as nearly my mother-by-marriage. I know she would not be the real thing. After all, Juliet’s—pardon, Miss Stevenson’s—own mother still lives. But the situation would be too close for comfort.” Parker shuddered, much like Adrian did when he thought about his mother’s interference.

“So, tell me what you hope for in a wife and perhaps I can be looking for one for you. We both have vouchers for next week, so we could begin hunting in earnest then.” He was teasing Parker, but the man was so nervous over the topic that he did not realize the fact.

They paused as one of the servers brought over coffee and cakes, and then Parker stretched out his legs and
nodded. “An excellent idea! First, I want a woman without pretensions, who doesn’t put on airs.”

“A woman of humility?” he asked.

“Just so. My family does have several estates, not as large and significant as yours, Windmere, but a responsibility all the same. I want a woman able to live in the country or in the city with the same ease.”

“A country mouse and a city mouse, then?”

“An apt description. Next, I would like my wife to be a companion to me, and so I want her to enjoy some of my favorite pastimes.”

“Betting on the horses, drinking that single malt I introduced you to and spending an occasional hour with…what is her name? At Madame Beverley’s School of Venus?”

“Windmere, we are speaking of a wife now!” Parker looked around to see if others were listening in on their conversation. Content that none were, he leaned over and spoke sotto voce. “Of course, I would certainly like a woman who looks with favor on, shall we call them, ‘the activities of the night’? The last thing I want is some missish young thing who cries at the thought of it.”

Adrian’s thoughts drifted off to the qualities that Parker had listed. All of the attributes that his friend looked for were a perfect description of Adrian’s own wife. When had Parker fallen in love with Miranda? Did Parker even know?

“No, Windmere, the pastimes I was referring to were
an occasional card game, listening to music, perhaps even a game of billiards or some archery.”

Adrian’s mouth dropped open now. Shaking his head, he could not believe Parker would be so blatant about his attraction to Miranda. Or that he, her own husband, had completely missed all signs of it.

“Do you realize what you are saying, Parker? Do you realize who the woman is that you are describing?”

“I thought this was just conjecture? I do not believe I mentioned someone in particular, although I think Miss Stevenson might be close on several of those points.” Parker drank his coffee and placed the cup on a passing server’s tray. Wiping his mouth, he frowned at Adrian. “Tell me, who do
you
think it is?”

“Miranda appears to fit your description of the perfect wife!” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Windmere! I am not the kind of man who dawdles with another man’s wife! If there appears to be any correlation between the traits I want in my future wife and your present one, I do apologize.” Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at his face. “Truly.”

Jealousy tore at Adrian’s gut. Not that he suspected anything was going on between Parker and Miranda, but the thought of someone else wanting her, loving her, touching her, sent his anger soaring. She was
his
wife, even if only for a few more months.

Then she would be his widow.

Alone, on her own. He would not be there to live with
her. He would not be there to touch her or to laugh or dance with her. Adrian would not be there to love her.

Bloody hell…he was in love with his wife.

The shock of it must have shown on his face, for Parker began calling loudly for a glass of whisky, which he placed in Adrian’s hand with all haste. After tossing down the first one quickly, then a second, Adrian stopped. Although he wanted more, he knew the consequences of trying to drown this kind of revelation with liquor.

The worst part was the rest of it.

After discovering this new relationship with her, Adrian knew she needed it to thrive. Without it she would shrivel and dry up, like so many women whose usefulness was done. She’d mentioned once on that night weeks ago when she’d gotten drunk that she had given up her dream of having a marriage like her parents’ had been. That she was willing to live with a polite but unloving husband.

Now he knew that a house and an income would be important, but not as much as finding her someone she could love. Miranda needed someone to take care of her heart and soul. Miranda needed…a new husband, who would give her the love she needed and wanted after Adrian was gone.

The pain nearly cut him in two, forcing him to buckle over. The whisky glass went flying and his chest constricted. Adrian tried to reach for his flask, but he couldn’t find it in his pocket. Even as his breathing
grew more difficult, he tried to clear his thoughts and let the air move into his lungs on its own.

Too late. As he saw the horrified faces of those witnessing the attack, he wondered if this was the one that would end his life.

It could not. He still had too many things to do.

He needed to find a new husband for Miranda. He had to find…

“We’ve sent for a physician, Windmere,” he heard Parker say as he was eased down onto a couch. “Try to breathe.”

The darkness swirled and invaded until he could hear nothing and see nothing. He prayed once more as he faded, the words coming easily to his mind now. He reached out to Parker and tugged him close so that only he would hear the words.

“We must find a new husband for Miranda.” Parker pulled away. The light faded and the only thing Adrian could see was her face. “For Miranda.”

It was nearly two days and nights later when he came to himself again. Darkness and light, murmured words and orders, soft crying and worried whispers filled his mind. His body, racked with pain now, hurt when he moved, but most especially when he tried to take a deep breath. He tried reaching up to wipe his face, but realized someone held his hand at his side. Forcing his eyes to open, he turned and saw the cause.

Miranda sat at his side with her fingers entwined with
his. She was half sitting, half reclining in the chair, sound asleep. When he tried to loosen her hand, she tightened her grasp and mumbled something in her sleep. The noise was enough to alert Thompson, who peeked in the slightly opened door and saw that he was awake.

“Your Grace,” the valet said, bowing to him. “’Tis a good thing to see you awake.”

“It does not feel good, Thompson,” he whispered back. “How long has Her Grace been like this?”

“The duchess finally fell asleep about an hour ago,” Thompson replied, as he stepped closer. “Her Grace has not left your side since she fought her way in and threw the others out. That was very late last evening.”

“Thompson, get me a glass of something cold to drink and then I want the details. Hurry, but do not disturb the duchess’s rest.”

She must need it, for there were black smudges beneath her eyes and she looked exhausted. Her hair was pulled back from her face, but hung in tangles. He glanced at what she wore and was horrified to see all sorts of marks and stains on her gown. Miranda looked more like a scullery maid than the lady of the house.

Thompson was back directly, but when Adrian reached out for the cup of tea, he could not hold it steady in his hand. His grip was so weak that Thompson finally guided him. With one hand behind Adrian’s head and one on the cup, his valet aided him in drinking the brew. The coolness of it soothed his dry throat and he nodded in thanks.

“Now, what happened?”

“Well, Your Grace, word reached us that you had taken ill and were being brought back here for care. Lord Parker arrived with you, but you were unconscious. The dowager wasn’t two steps behind you and she took over, ordering possets and concoctions and sending word to her own physician to come immediately. The household was in an uproar by the time the doctor got here.”

“And Her Grace? Where was she?” Adrian asked.

“I don’t know where the duchess was when you were taken ill, but she arrived back here some hours later, never knowing what had happened to you.”

“My mother…the dowager never sent word to her?”

“No, Your Grace. Lord Parker is the one that finally found her and sent her word.”

Adrian paused and asked for more of the tea. His throat was scratchy, as though he’d been yelling. After taking a few more sips, he nodded to Thompson to continue.

“Lord Parker told her what had happened, and how the dowager wouldn’t allow him in and was having the surgeon let your blood—twice. I didn’t know that a person could turn the color the duchess did—no offense intended to Her Grace, of course.”

If he had not felt so poorly, he might enjoy this story. Adrian took another mouthful of tea and then waited to hear more.

“The duchess pushed her way in here and carried on like that Lady Allendale did that night? I can’t be sure,
but there could have been a swear word or two bandied about before she tossed the surgeon, the dowager’s physician and servants out.”

“Miranda threw my mother out?” And he’d missed such an event?

“Actually, Your Grace, the duchess said the dowager could wait here or at her own domicile for you to awaken. They’d given you laudanum to quiet you down.”

Laudanum explained the headache and dry mouth. “My mother left?” Astounded, Adrian chuckled. If only he could have witnessed the scene.

“No, Your Grace,” Thompson whispered. “The duchess took her by the arm and ‘helped’ her down the stairs and out the door to her carriage when the dowager said she would wait here, in your room.”

And his mother went because to do otherwise would break her own rules about impeccable behavior. “And Lord Parker?”

“Lord Parker is asleep on the couch in the sitting room. ‘Guarding the door against dragons and other possible dangers’ were his words.”

Adrian did manage a laugh then. Although he quieted immediately, Miranda stirred. She opened her eyes, startled for moment, as though she did not remember where she should be, and then focused on him.

“Adrian,” she whispered. Then, spotting Thompson nearby, she blushed. “Pardon my lapse, Windmere.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I am certain that Thompson was not offended by it.”

“How do you feel? Can you breathe now? Does it still pain you?”

Question followed question as she sought answers, until she stopped and burst into tears. He drew her closer until he could wrap his arms around her. That was when he saw the bandages around his lower arms, where the bloodletting had been performed. He could not hold her as tightly as he’d like to, but he rubbed his hand over her back, trying to ease her fear.

“I am well enough, Miranda. Please stop crying and talk to me.”

She sat up and looked for something to dry her eyes with. Thompson was there with a handkerchief, and then stepped discreetly away once more. When it appeared that she was about to cry again, Adrian smiled at her.

“I heard that you put Lady Allendale’s behavior to shame.”

“You know, Windmere, you should not hold that one lapse against her forever. She was worried about me.”

“Dare I hope that you worried over me?”

She tried to smile but could not. Tears filled her eyes again and he cursed himself for his lame attempt at humor. She dropped her head down on his shoulder and cried. Adrian looked around to get Thompson’s help and found his valet returning with Fisk in tow.

“Ah, Fisk, can you help with the duchess? She is overwrought.” An understatement, but the servants knew better than he the nervous tension and constant worry his wife had been subjected to by his sudden illness.

“Come, Your Grace. Let me help you to your room,” Fisk murmured. “His Grace wants you to rest now.”

Miranda looked to him and he nodded. “Thompson is going to help me clean up, Miranda. I will send for you when I finish.”

She stared down at her own gown and nodded, as though realizing for the first time how disheveled she was. Miranda allowed Fisk to assist her out of the room.

He spoke her name before the door shut. “Miranda?” She looked at him and waited. “My thanks for your tender care,” he said.

She nodded and was gone. Within a few minutes, an army of servants were filing in and out of his room, changing his bedclothes, mopping the floor, bringing in buckets of steaming water for a bath and seeing to every need he might have. It was exhausting, and he found himself drifting off after just a few minutes in the tub.