Terri Brisbin (6 page)

“Miranda,” he said in a whisper. “Miranda.”

She shivered at the passion in his voice and he smiled a wicked smile. It took but a moment for him to stride across the room and pull her to him, taking her mouth as he had in the hall. This time, however, there was no interrupting servant or lack of privacy to limit his ardor. Her thoughts scattered and she could only feel him and his touch on her. Somehow her dressing gown and night rail were gone, as was his, and the heat and hardness of his body pressed her down onto the bedcovers.

As his hands moved over her, she felt as though she was being caressed by a storm—quick-moving, tumultuous and overwhelming at times. Then he knelt between her legs and spread her thighs, all the time staring at her with a heat that made her body answer his call. His touch there soothed and inflamed as he slid his fin
gers into that place and found the spot that he knew would drive her further into arousal.

And it did. Everything within her tightened with every stroke. He moved his legs apart now and lifted her hips to his hardness. Unable to look away from his passion or his body, Miranda felt herself pulse and shudder as he leaned forward and thrust inside her. She gasped as he filled her and began to move, each stroke bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

Then he took her breast in his mouth and suckled on it with as much ardor as he had kissed her lips, and she felt everything in her dissolve. She clutched at the bedcovers as he pushed against her, over and over again. He moved his mouth to hers as she let out the keening moan that built inside her. Her body arched against his as wave after wave of pleasure enveloped her. Adrian matched every throbbing wave with another thrust until she felt him harden and thicken and then his release was upon him. Leaning his head back, he groaned loudly, not trying to mask the sound of his pleasure.

Their breathing labored, they lay as they were, both spent from their shared passions, until Adrian lifted himself from her a few minutes later. Miranda found that in spite of her unusual position—atop the bedcovers with her legs hanging over the side of the bed, exposing her to his sight—she did not have the strength to move.

He picked up their clothing and tugged his dressing gown into place, tying the belt at his waist. Then he
reached out to assist her to rise. With gentle care, he guided her back into the night rail and placed the dressing gown over her shoulders. Miranda could say nothing as he lifted the bedcovers and helped her into her bed.

Stunned by what had happened between them, she watched silently as he kissed her on the forehead and stared at her with a haunted expression. Then he walked away.

Not certain of what to say, she waited until he’d left and then turned away from the door, burrowing farther under the covers so he would not hear her. All manner of inappropriate thoughts and feelings threatened her as she gave in to tears. The most improper was, of course, her desire to repeat the passion between them.

Not until that moment did she understand how much she had missed him since they began living separate lives. Not until then did she regret the distance in such a profound way. Not until that time did she acknowledge even to herself that she wanted her husband back.

As they had been when they married.

Husband and wife, with no mother or mistress between them.

And Miranda was willing to do whatever was necessary to get him back. Forever. Well, she thought as she sniffled, for their natural lives, at least.

Fortified with resolve, Miranda wiped her eyes and felt the pull of sleep upon her. Tomorrow would be a good time to begin her campaign.

A
fter a night spent tossing and turning, alone in his bed, Adrian decided he owed Miranda an apology. His actions last night toward her had been unforgivable.

A gentleman did not behave that way to a lady. He’d plundered her body for his own satisfaction, never once considering what she wanted or did not want.

Of course, the sight of her standing in the shadows, outlined by the flames of the fireplace and the flickering light of the candle she carried, was partly to blame for his lack of control. The layers of her gowns, rather than covering her, had exposed her curves to him clearly. And the erect nipples she’d tried to cover with her arms aroused him more than any words could have.

But when she’d leaned down to lift the bedcovers and her dressing gown gaped, displaying the sloping curves of her lovely breasts, he could not stop himself. Within minutes, he’d found himself buried to the hilt in her soft
ness. He had to blame the noises she made, the moisture that wept from her private places and the way her body answered his every touch, for propelling him to pillage her as he never had before.

Running his hand through his hair, he shook his head. Clearly, that was no way to treat a lady. Especially when that lady was your wife.

Looking at the wooden pier that jutted out into the tranquil lake, he searched for her. Her maid and the butler reported she’d gone for an early morning walk and not yet returned. In the misty light, it was difficult to see far, but he did spy a boy from the village sitting on the pier with a fishing pole in his hand. Perchance he’d seen the duchess? Adrian walked down to the water’s edge and called out to him.

“Boy? You there!” he called out, his voice echoing through the stillness. “Have you seen the duchess?”

The boy gave a start and pulled his hat lower on his brow, but did not turn or speak to him. Adrian strode to the pier and stepped onto it, approaching from the side. Once more, the lad turned so that his face was hidden.

Irritated at being ignored, Adrian called out again, much louder than need be. “Boy! Do not ignore me!”

The youth shuddered with each bellowed word and Adrian finally reached his side. Tapping him on the shoulder, he spoke. “Do you know who I am, boy? You should not ignore the Duke of Windmere, upon whose pier you fish and upon whose condescension your family relies.”

The boy put the pole down, tucking it into a knot in one of the planks to secure it, and turned to face him. Lifting his hat from his head, he released, to Adrian’s surprise, masses of long, curling hair that fell down his back.

Him?

Her! Miranda’s blue eyes glittered in amusement now as her deception was revealed.

“Windmere,” she said simply.

He glanced at her attire and found that she was indeed dressed as a boy, in knee-length trousers, a rough shirt, waistcoat and jacket. Stockings lay rolled in a ball and tucked into shoes at her side. Although the clothes were those of a servant, the duchess appeared quite comfortable in them. Even the scandalous trousers.

“What is this, Miranda? What are you doing dressed like this?”

“A morning dress or even riding habit simply do not work while fishing, so I wear these. I never thought you’d see them.” He held out his hand to help her to her feet. Her bare feet.

“My mother cannot know of these,” he said, pointing to the garments she wore. “Apoplexy the extent of which I cannot begin to fathom would follow if she discovered you dressed like this.”

But as he looked at the way the trousers fit over the flare of her hips and exposed her lower legs and shapely ankles to his inspection, Adrian could think of several reasons why he liked these clothes on her. And how it
would be to take them off of her, one piece at a time until her soft flesh was the only thing in his sight.

Egad! Had facing death turned him into a randy goat? With each glimpse of her, he wanted nothing so much as to take her to bed and not let her go.

He’d felt last night as though he was searching for something when he filled her. His release had brought him closer to his goal, but not the deeper sense of what it was he needed. How did one look for something when one did not know what it was?

“No, Windmere. I am careful when I dress like this and where I store these clothes for my use. And who sees me thusly.”

Devil a bit! Others had seen her this way? Feeling something that felt like possessiveness, he shook his head. “I do not think your appearing anywhere like this…” his gaze moved over her and his body reacted strongly—again “…is a good idea. Who knows of it?”

“Please, Windmere. If you are angry over this, please do not seek out those few who simply followed my orders. This is my fault, if anyone’s,” she implored. Reaching out, she touched his arm. “I promise never to repeat this inexcusable breach of behavior.”

He searched for the words to say to her. Was he angry? No, of all the reactions pulsing through him, anger was not one of them. “Without me,” he whispered harshly.

“Excuse me, Windmere. What did you say?” She leaned closer to him and cocked her ear to hear him better.

“Without me, madam. The only time I want you in these garments is when I am present.”

“I do not understand. I only wear these to go fishing here on the estate.”

He stepped close and gathered the lapels of her jacket in his hands. “And you have reeled in your last catch of the morning, Miranda. Although I am certain this is not what you meant.”

She did not struggle against his hold or his kiss. As a matter of fact, she stood in his grasp as she had last night, a willing participant. However, she probably thought he had only a kiss in mind, when indeed he had so much more planned.

He moved his lips over hers until she opened her mouth and let his tongue in. Tasting and teasing, he touched her tongue with his until she followed his lead. He broke away from her and looked over her head at the shoreline. More of this and they would both plummet off the pier into the water below.

Adrian took her hand and pulled her to the edge of the lake. He leaned her up against the trunk of a weeping willow tree and began to unbutton the waistcoat and shirt she wore. It was strangely exciting to see that she wore a sheer linen shift underneath the coarse outer garments. Before he touched her, though, he stopped and looked at her to see if she objected to such handling.

“Tell me no and I will stop.”

She searched his face for a moment and then smiled at him. His resolve not to manhandle her dissolved be
fore that smile, and he leaned down and gave her the last soft kiss he would remember. Then she leaned her head back against the tree and closed her eyes, giving him the leave he needed to pursue the satisfaction he wanted for both of them.

He spread the now-unbuttoned edges of her shirt and touched her breasts, lifting and feeling their weight and teasing the tightened nipples with his thumbs. She sighed and he continued. Bracing his knee between her legs, he slid his hand toward the waistline of her trousers. Could she be naked underneath these?

His hand met soft linen once more and Adrian loosened the buttons and flap and reached inside. She wore those feminine undergarments that covered each leg and tied at the waist. Sliding his hand deeper into the trousers, he found the opening and touched her thighs and then the place between them.

It did not take long for her trousers to be thrown aside and his opened. Then, against a tree by the lake, the duke let fly his amorous attentions and he took the duchess again…and again. When he could collect his thoughts, he knew he owed her several more apologies.

He was pacing at a furious rate in front of the fireplace in the blue drawing room when she arrived. Her body still hummed and a few places still throbbed from the waves of satisfaction that he’d produced with his attentions by the lake, so she found it difficult to rush back
through the stables. He’d agreed not to follow her, giving his word as a peer of the realm, so she went back her usual way, reclaiming her clothes and dressing in the small tack room.

When she’d escaped the house this morning, Miranda believed that an hour or two fishing would calm her nerves from the evening before. She had no idea that the sight of her dressed in servant’s clothes would have such an effect on the duke. Surely his reaction was proof of the scandalous nature of a woman in men’s garb, which she’d been warned of so many times.

Now, with the pale blue morning dress back in place and her hair gathered behind her head, she entered the room.

“Windmere? You called for me?”

He came to an abrupt stop at the sound of her voice and turned to face her. Still dressed in the clothes he’d worn when they had…they had
met,
he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it from his eyes. When their gazes locked, she could see many things revealed there, but it was the guilt that confused her.

“Please, be seated, Miranda.” Adrian nodded at the footman, who brought in a tray of tea and then left, closing the door firmly behind himself. When they were alone, her husband spoke again. “I find that I owe you an apology for my recent behavior.”

Puzzled by his words, she poured the tea and waited for it to cool. He took a sip from his cup—coffee, she thought, and very strong from the smell of it. “An apol
ogy, Windmere? I cannot think of what you’ve done to owe me such a thing.”

Actually, with the dowager’s words ringing furiously inside her at this very moment, she could think of many transgressions of the bounds of acceptable behavior committed by both of them, but more by her than him.

Following her husband to the country against his express orders to the contrary.

Traveling in the company of a single man, even with an ever-present maid.

Behaving in an informal manner simply because of their location far from town.

Treating the gentry as though they were equal to peers of the realm.

Allowing men to discard their clothing in her presence.

Not maintaining the prestige and elevated position of the Duchess of Windmere and the Warfield family name.

Conducting marital congress outside the bedchamber, in the light of day, in sight of anyone who chose to walk by—while dressed in a manservant’s clothing.

Shaking her head, she discounted the latter, for she was sure that her state of dress or undress would matter not to the dowager. The former was the much more grievous lapse in behavior, she was sure, for persons of impeccable breeding would never have considered the first and gotten to the second…or third parts of the sin.

“In spite of any permission you may have granted, my attentions to you were abominable, Miranda. A hus
band does not attack his wife simply because his passions get away from him.”

Abominable? No, she thought not.

Overwhelming. Breathtaking. Scandalous. Habit-forming. But not abominable. She sipped her tea before replying, because all sorts of additional inappropriate thoughts were flying through her mind.

At the heart of it, she remembered her vow to herself that she would do whatever it took to get her husband back. If that meant somewhat tumultuous physical activities, she was not opposed to them. Actually, with the way her body felt at this moment, all warm and relaxed, she was even
willing
to engage in such behavior.

Then she realized what he’d said. Could she ask him? Bah! She needed to be bold to win the day, so she did.

“Your passions got away from you, Windmere? Truly?” She felt guilty about hunting down a compliment, but she asked, anyway. Convinced that things between them were different now, she felt confident about his answer.

“I confess to that, Miranda. One moment I felt in complete control and then the next, well, you know what happened next. I cannot explain it, but I can only apologize for such forceful…attentions.”

Miranda decided that she needed to know, once and for all, the cause for the change in her husband. It went deeper than simply behaving differently; it went to something inside him.

“Is this need of yours for more forceful attentions,
as you call them, related to your recent dismissal of your mistress?”

Sophie’s note had included specific details of their parting, including the number and cost of the gifts given to the woman to ease his way out her door. “Information or ammunition,” Sophie had written. Miranda decided that, if things were going to be different between Adrian and her, now was the time to use it, and she watched and waited for his answer.

Her husband turned red and coughed several times. Not the choking kind that he suffered from time to time, which seemed to come from the base of his lungs and threaten his consciousness; no, these were more surprised-by-her-words coughs. He finished by clearing his throat and taking a mouthful of his coffee.

“How do you know of that? Of her?” he asked quietly.

Both of them knew this was outside the bounds of what they should ever be discussing. If Miranda were smart, and she did not think herself a beetle-headed ninnyhammer, she would rise from her chair and bid her husband good day, leaving him and the insulting topic behind. If she were not now infatuated with the possibilities between her and Adrian, she would accept his apology and return to the normal behavior between them. If she were not ever optimistic in spite of years of learning the folly of it, she would never press him for this admission.

“I did not think it was a secret. I know of her in the customary ways.”

Servants’ gossip.

Ladies’ gossip.

Gossip.

Miranda knew when he’d begun seeing Mrs. Robinson and even where and when he spent time with her. She knew where the woman’s house was—one rented with the duke’s funds, she was assured—and which jeweler he favored for purchases to meet “Caro’s” fancy tastes. Thinking of it now, while also remembering the personal things he’d done to and with Miranda herself this last day, made it hurt in a way it had not hurt before.

“So is this change in behavior simply the result of not being able to relieve your baser needs on your paramour, then? Will your wife suit your purposes until you find another fancy piece to take Caro’s place?”