Hands clasped behind his head, he stared down at her with raised eyebrows. “Then yours was a love match.”
“No, but I wasn’t unhappy with him. We liked each other well enough, though we didn’t know one another very well. He respected my position as his wife, and I think he felt some affection for me. But we lived almost entirely separate lives. We would dine together, attend the same soirées, and exchange pleasantries when we were in one another’s company. Most evenings he would come to my bed, and I welcomed him. He taught me pleasure, and I enjoyed being with him. Our daughter was born of our union, and I couldn’t be more grateful for her. My marriage was not unpleasant, but neither was it a loving one.”
“I see,” he murmured. “How old is your daughter?”
“Ursula is four years old, and a darling little girl.”
His lips quirked up at the corners in a soft smile. “I’m certain having her has been a comfort to you.”
“Very much so,” she agreed.
“I felt the same way when my parents died. Mother first, then Father years later.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head as if to dismiss her condolences, though she could see the flash of grief cross his features. “It has been eighteen years. Mother died birthing Emily. Father’s heart couldn’t withstand the grief. It has only been the three of us for so long.”
Miranda noticed his speech came easier when he was so relaxed, lacking his usual precision but still flowing without the presence of his stammer. She decided not to remark on it lest she embarrass him with the obviously sore subject.
“May I ask a rather probing question?” she asked, unable to help her curiosity. Roger presented an interesting mystery, one she wanted to solve as if unraveling a tangled spool of yarn.
“Of course.”
“Did you become a courtesan solely to experience intercourse … or was it the money?”
He didn’t seem surprised by her question, which eased a bit over her guilt over prying into his personal affairs. After what he’d revealed to her earlier in the evening, Miranda supposed he had no reason to remain tight-lipped.
“Money,” he replied. “Though … it wasn’t lost on me that it could be convenient for the other reason.”
When she merely stared at him in silence while digesting his answer, Roger inclined his head and frowned.
“What is it?”
“Oh, nothing really,” she hedged. “It’s just … well, when I decided to hire a courtesan I expected a different sort of man. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with you. I mean … oh, bloody hell.”
He chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath her hands. “I understand what you mean. Believe me, I did not think myself suited to the task, either.”
“Then why go through with it?” she pressed. “Surely a man of your standing and intelligence could make money by some other means.”
He stared off across the room before responding to her, and she could see him thinking, calculating, deciding whether to divulge his personal secrets. “My sister … she needs a dowry, and quickly. There is a lord interested in marriage, but he needs an heiress. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for Emily.”
Miranda’s heart warmed at the clear affection in his voice for the young lady. As a mother, she could certainly understand his motivation.
“I think that’s very noble of you,” she said, absently toying with the springy chest hairs beneath her fingers. “I hope your first time was an enjoyable experience for you?”
His lips parted in a full grin—a rare expression that left her momentarily stunned. The man was twice as gorgeous when he smiled. That he didn’t do so often only made the moment seem more special, like an eclipse or a shooting star.
“It was … better than I imagined or expected. Though, I am sorry I was so … quick.”
She laughed at his chagrined look. “Think nothing of it. I enjoyed every second of it. In fact … I do believe it might be time for us to try again.”
Roger’s gazed flared with heat as she sat up and pushed her hair over her shoulders, revealing her breasts. His chest rose and fell faster as she straddled his thighs, stroking both hands down his torso.
“Are you ready for more?” she purred, caught up in the sense of power and pride it brought her to see his cock stirring at only the sight of her.
It felt so good to be the object of someone’s desire again. She felt younger, yet still bolstered by the wisdom of age and experience. Roger’s eyes simmered like hot coals as he raked his gaze over her, hands braced on her thighs as he watched her take his cock in hand. At times, she inwardly lamented the softening of her belly and thighs brought on by age and bearing a child—the faint lines beneath her navel showing where her belly had stretched to accommodate her daughter. Her breasts were heavier than they had been in her youth, no longer as pert or perfect. But there was no room for such worries on this night and in this bed, for Roger stared at her as if he’d never seen anything more riveting.
He hissed through clenched teeth as she stroked him, biting her lip as he grew and swelled in reaction to her touch. “Yes … God, yes.”
A bead of moisture welled at the slit in his head, and Miranda gave in to the urge to capture it with her tongue. Roger’s hips bucked at the first swipe of her tongue, then a rasping moan fell from his lips when she did it again. Watching his face to capture every reaction, she sucked him deeper and swirled her tongue slowly around his head.
Roger’s fingers clenched the sheets and the muscles of his chest and abdomen tensed as she inched her way down his length. His breath came in short, uneven spurts, his entire body trembling as she sucked him, laving her tongue along the thick vein pulsing in his shaft. The salty, masculine taste of him overwhelmed her senses, tangling with the heady scent of his musk. His hips pulsed with tiny surges, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth. Any reticence he might have felt seemed to flee with every pass of her lips and tongue over his cock. He released the bedclothes and stroked his fingers through her hair, thrusting into her mouth with unrestrained enthusiasm.
Her breasts tingled as her nipples tightened, and her core clenched with longing at the sounds he made—rough, deep, and low, filled with pleasure and satisfaction.
She waited until he seemed to hover on the precipice of climax, then released him from her mouth. Roger went limp beneath her, watching her with glassy, unfocused eyes as she moved up his body and positioned herself to take him in.
That intoxicating feeling of sensuality and control washed over her again, and she pressed against him—teasing him, testing him. Roger’s hands slid up her thighs to grip her hips, his cock nudging against her opening without finding its way inside.
“M-Miranda,” he whispered, his words strained.
Bracing her hands on his chest, she slowly dragged her nails through his dark hairs, making them stand on end with gooseflesh.
“Roger,” she crooned, running a thumb over one nipple and drawing a shocked gasp from him. “Do you want me?”
“Y-yes,” he replied, then squeezed his eyes shut as embarrassed.
Only, his stammering inflamed her lust more, letting her hear as well as see how she affected him. Miranda undulated against him, drawing another pained moan from him. His eyes flew open to meet hers, and she leaned down to capture his lips.
“Tell me,” she whispered. “I want to hear it.”
He panted against her mouth, his tongue creeping out to tickle against hers. “I … I w-want … you.”
She rose up to take him inside her, slowly sinking down his length. Throwing her head back, she sighed at the feel of him, buried deep and stretching her. His hold on her hips tightened, and he began to move, slowly pumping in and out of her in an excruciatingly perfect rhythm.
“Roger,” she moaned, fingers digging into his chest as she matched his pace, grinding against him to take her own pleasure while giving his.
His only response was a grunt, his hands traveling upward to cup her br
easts. They moved together as if they’d done this a thousand times, their bodies attuned to one another with an uncanny unison. Roger’s hips rose off the bed to urge her faster, his fingers plying her nipples to stiff peaks and sending lightning strikes of pleasure straight into her core.
“Yes,” she groaned, her sheath clenching around him in the first spasms of a climax. “Yes, Roger!”
“So g-good,” he growled, thrusting up into in a desperate frenzy. “You feel … s-so good.”
The husky timbre of his voice combined with the nudge of his cock in the just the right place sent her spiraling, and Miranda came off with a sharp cry. Trembling and bucking atop him, she surrendered to her climax, content to let Roger draw it out with precise thrusts of his hips, until he was forced to lift her off him.
Gripping his cock, he spilled his seed with a low growl, his enraptured expression the most erotic sight she’d ever seen.
Collapsing beside him, she stretched and sighed with satisfaction. Her limbs were heavy and her field of vision darkening with fatigue. She felt warm and happy and freer than she had in years. Stifling a yawn, she turned to find him leaving the bed and using his cravat to clean the mess he’d made on his belly.
Roger faced her with downcast eyes, the cravat clenched in one hand. “I should … go.”
The note of uncertainty in his words caused an unsettling reaction in Miranda. He didn’t sound as if he wanted to leave, and she was loath to send him away. Aside from the fact that she’d enjoyed their lovemaking as well as his company and conversation, she had never shared a bed with a man through the night. Her husband never lingered longer than an hour after having her. He’d always promptly returned to his own bed once he was satisfied. It startled her to realize she wouldn’t mind Roger’s presence in her bed. Nor did she wish to make him think he’d done anything wrong.
“Of course not,” she replied, turning down the coverlet and patting the space beside her. “Come and lie down.”
He hesitated only a moment before dropping his soiled cravat next to his discarded clothes and then climbing back into bed. Miranda settled beneath the bedclothes with him, turning onto her side and bracing a hand on his chest.
Glancing at her with eyes that betrayed nothing, he rested his hand atop hers. Miranda moved even closer, drawn by the heat of his body and the comfort of a solid body. Resting her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes and began surrendering to sleep.
“Thank you,” she murmured through a haze of drowsiness.
“No,” he whispered, lacing his fingers through hers. “Thank you.”
Miranda drifted off, and didn’t stir again until she felt the soft brush of lips against her cheek. Peeking open one bleary eye, she found Roger fully dressed and standing at the bedside. The gray haze of dawn had begun lightening the room, casting shadows over his face.
“Happy Christmas, Miranda,” he murmured before disappearing from sight.
Chapter 8
Roger had been awake since dawn, unable to go back to sleep once he’d left Miranda’s room to sneak back to his. The intrigue of the entire affair made his heart pound in his chest as he crept through the darkened corridors while praying he wasn’t discovered. Footsteps and scuffles here and there warned him that servants were up and about, but aside from a maid polishing the banister on the stairs—too intent on her work to look up and notice him—no one seemed to have made it to his level of the house yet. For the hours leading up to breakfast and, he lay in bed and replayed every moment of his night with Miranda.
He had been honest when telling her that his own imagination had fallen far short of the actual experience. As he lay abed thinking of her, arousal began to overtake him again, the memories so vivid they’d worked him into a state. He nearly regretted not waking Miranda to have her again before departing her room. But then, he didn’t want her to think him an insatiable animal. It had taken an incredible force of will, but Roger had managed to force himself from bed when the valet he shared with Angus arrived to dress him for the day. Waking in the morning with a persistent erection was par for the course, making coming awake next to a warm, naked woman a novel experience. It was one he’d like to repeat as soon as possible.
All through the morning, he found himself hard-pressed to turn his mind away from the hours spent with the woman who had accepted him into her body and her bed. Arriving in the dining room for breakfast, he found Miranda already there—dressed in a becoming, long-sleeved walking dress of dark brown velvet. Seated down the table from her, he couldn’t resist craning his neck to catch the occasional glimpse of her. There was a glow about her skin this morning, and her eyes were bright with mischief and secrets as she returned his gaze, offering him sly smiles and blushing like a shy debutante.
Thankfully, the festive atmosphere of Christmas morning and the lavish breakfast kept most of the other guests’ attention off them.
While satiating his appetite, he chided himself not to act the besotted fool. Their arrangement was one born of his need for money and her want of a companion to warm her bed. It would be ludicrous for him to think there had been real affection on her part. By the time breakfast had ended, Roger convinced himself that what he felt had everything to do with Miranda being the first woman he’d ever lain with. And perhaps he was also grateful to her for being understanding and accepting of his flaw, and wanting him anyway. It was a good thing, but no reason to go about acting like an infatuated schoolboy.
After breakfast he did his best to engage his mind with some frivolous activity. The morning had revealed a fresh fall of powdery snow, so at least half the party had gone outside to enjoy it with horse-drawn sleigh rides and walks along the picturesque house grounds. Angus and Emily had joined that group, while Roger remained indoors to indulge in card games with the men who had opted to remain indoors.
However, the room they occupied had a bay of windows overlooking the side of the house where the governesses and nurses had taken their charges to play in the snow. He had a perfect view of their games from where he sat, and so took note when a group of women joined them. Sitting up straighter in his chair, the back of his neck prickled when he caught sight of a familiar figure. It was uncanny that he could pick her out of the rest of the lot, but the coat she wore matched the color of her gown from breakfast. As well, there was something familiar about the way she moved, the grace in her stride. It was Miranda.
Once he recognized her it became impossible to concentrate on the game. After losing a third hand of piquet, he excused himself so another gentleman could take his place. Sending a servant to retrieve his coat, gloves, and hat from his valet, he paced the entrance hall while trying to talk himself out of going to her. It would be gauche to accost her while she was with her friends, not to mention her daughter.
By the time the servant returned with his things, Roger had talked himself out of, then back into, his plan three times. Perhaps if he seemed to stumble on them as if he’d merely been out for a walk … no, that wouldn’t do. Or would it?
Frustrated with himself for this unusual indecisiveness, he shrugged into his coat and made for the front door. A breath of fresh air was just what he needed, whether he decided to approach Miranda or not.
The house grounds were crawling with guests here and there, the soft mumble of voices calling out to him as he walked.
It wasn’t like Roger to seek out the company of anyone in such a setting, but Miranda wasn’t just ‘anyone.’ He felt more comfortable talking to her than he ever had someone he’d just met. That was why he was seeking her out … not because he’d convinced himself that something special had happened between them last night. They’d shared a few pleasurable hours together, nothing more. He would not create the illusion of something where there was nothing.
Besides, that he could talk to Miranda was proof that he could learn to be more sociable. She would make for excellent practice for when he began the search for a wife.
As he followed the path around the sid
e of the house to where the children hurled snowballs under the watchful eyes of the women, his confidence was bolstered. He spotted Miranda standing on the outskirts of the area littered with the footprints of children and piles of disturbed snow. The high-pitched squeals and laughter of the little ones made him smile, and that familiar pit of longing open deep within him. The closer he came to losing Emily to a husband, the more he craved a family of his own. He’d practically raised his sister, so he found the idea of being a father vastly appealing. That was why he had to see this through. He needed to become comfortable wooing and charming a woman, so that when Miranda was done with him he might think of his own future. With Emily settled, it would then become his turn to seek a companion and the possibility of a life in which he didn’t languish with loneliness.
“Roger!”
He flinched when his brother’s bellow tore him away from his musings. Roger drew up short to find Angus coming toward him, cheeks reddened from the cold.
“Angus,” he greeted, accepting his brother’s hard slap on the shoulder.
“I had begun to wonder if you were going to spend the entire day indoors,” he said with a wide grin. “But how could you with such delectable prey walking about out here?”
Roger frowned, following Angus’s gaze toward the women. As if sensing she was being watched, Miranda glanced at them over her shoulder. A soft smile curved her lips, and she raised a gloved hand in greeting. Roger offered a nod while Angus doffed his hat with a flourish and bowed.
“What are you talking about?” he snapped, not liking the way his brother was looking at Miranda.
Women tended to prefer his brother because of his jovial and outgoing nature. Knowing that Miranda was only bedding him because of their contract, it irked him to think Angus might have any sort of interest in her. If she had the choice, would she ever really want him over his charming elder brother—one who came with a title?
“I’m talking about Lady Hughes,” Angus replied. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you paying her marked attention these past few days. I was wondering how you were going to solve our little problem, but never imagined you might go the marriage route.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 150
