by Stacy Reid
“Ah, a challenge I cannot refuse.”
The earlier gentle breeze strengthened. “How far do we ride?” she asked securing her hat firmly atop her curls.
“Until that sad uncertainty I see in your eyes melts away. Feel the sun on your skin, the wind on your cheeks, the power of the horse underneath you, and leave your cares behind you.”
Miranda stared at him for a long silent moment. “Then let’s race.”
He encircled her waist from behind and assisted her onto her horse. She flushed at the intimate proximity. His eyes darkened with the knowledge, causing her heartbeat to intensify. He mounted his stallion, and they cantered away. They did not speak, just rode with the wind.
The earth shook with the power of their horses, and she laughed in exhilaration at the magnificent speed and grace of the animals. Simon did not hold back, he urged his horse ahead of hers with such grace and elegance he stole her breath. Like her, he did not use a whip, but bent low over his horse, speaking encouraging words to urge him to greater speed. Joy pumped through her veins, and her heartbeat quickened as they sped past the rolling countryside, a blur of greens and the bright splash of flowers and roses.
The steady sounds of hoof beats thumping the ground in a thrilling rhythm urged her to encourage her horse to move faster. They cut the corner at breakneck speed, and delight pulsed through her veins. The power of his stallion outdistanced hers, but she did not care, and soon they came to a stop.
“Simon, we must do this again tomorrow! That was so very exhilarating. I declare I am unable to ride with such freedom in Hyde Park.”
“I thought you would enjoy the wind on your face.”
A wild desire to leap from the horse and kiss him darted through her. Unable to help herself, her fingers drifted to her lips and ghosted over them remembering the firm pressure of his mouth on hers, the evocative taste of his tongue sliding against hers. Flushing at her thoughts, she glanced away. She jumped from the horse without his assistance, and he arched an admiring brow. He dismounted with effortless grace, and holding onto the horse’s reins, they began to stroll without any particular goal in mind.
A soft, misting rain began to fall, and she tilted her face to the sky briefly. “We should return inside,” she said softly, smoothing a stray wisp of a curl from her temple.
When he made no reply, she glanced at him and faltered. He stared at her with a question in his gaze. The sudden tension in him was palpable, and his eyes darkened with dangerous heat. A surge of heightened awareness went through her.
"You are breathtaking, and I do not refer to your beauty. You are so much more.”
She stood still, her hands at her sides curled into fists to keep from touching him. Something deep within her belly quickened, sending powerful darts of longing through her. He dipped his head and tenderly kissed her forehead. A lump grew in her throat and tears pricked behind her lids.
The sound of thundering hooves in the distance had Simon shifting with a frown.
“It is Jim,” he murmured. “Something must have happened for him to ride me down out here.”
The coachman arrived, chest heaving. "It is David Belmont, the blacksmith. Dr. Astor. He is complaining of stomach pain. He's fevered and casting up his accounts. They fear…" the man glanced away, a line of strain bracketing his mouth.
“Forgive me, Miranda, I must tend to my patient immediately. Might I ask Jim to accompany you back to the house?”
She nodded, and he vaulted on his horse and rode away with thundering speed.
A little over an hour later, Miranda had changed into one of her most serviceable gowns and made her way toward the drawing room. She wanted to offer her assistance to Simon in the event he might need more help. Upon her return from riding, she had learned someone from the village had carted the blacksmith to the manor, and he was currently in the drawing room. She knocked once and entered the room. Simon was bent over a groaning man, and there was an air of tension within the room.
She made no sound, but somehow, he sensed her presence and glanced up.
A fierce scowl settled over his features. “Get out of here!” he snapped his eyes flashing.
She was taken so much by surprise that she could only stare at him, “I’ve come to help,” she said firmly. “What might I do? Please instruct me.”
“I said get out!” he roared with such violence she jerked as if slapped.
A horrified gasp came from the young man assisting him, and he sent her a sympathetic glance. Embarrassment burning through her, she turned around, wrenched the door open and darted away.
Almost two hours later, Simon stepped from the bath where he had thoroughly scrubbed himself on the odd chance his patient was afflicted with nothing more than a case of tainted meat. An odd urgency coiled in his gut. The wounded look in Miranda’s eyes made him feel like the worst sort of bounder, and he had to find her right away. Dressing without the aid of his valet, he hurried from his chamber and down the winding stairs into the hallway.
Mrs. Clayton who had been ambling toward the servant’s staircase paused and considered him. “Lady Miranda ran toward the lake, Doctor, and has not returned. I am assuming it is she you wish to see?”
He nodded his thanks, and made his way outside, into the crisp evening air. He hurried toward the lake, and several moments later, released a sigh of relief to find her lying on the grass, unconcerned with the damage to her dress. Miranda had removed the pins from her hair, and the most glorious golden blonde tresses he’d ever seen were spread about her head and shoulders on the verdant grass.
Simon lowered himself beside her, aware that the slight hill behind of them would hide them from the view of the main house and anyone looking out their windows.
“I am sorry,” he said gruffly, laying back on the grass, and staring at the lowering sun. “I did not want to risk you and when I saw you enter that door…I felt afraid.”
She shifted her head, and he felt her stare. "Afraid of what?" she murmured.
“I thought the symptoms might be cholera. A most ravaging disease which always invariably leads to death. When I thought of you near it…I reacted.” He turned his head to face her. “You are precious to me, Miranda.”
The silence which fell between them was fraught with intimate peril. Simon fingered strands of her hair and relished their cool softness against his knuckles. He pushed to his feet and held out his hand. Trustingly, she placed her fingers within his, he tugged her to her feet and led her behind an arbor of trees.
Then he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. They stood together, mouth to mouth, in almost shocked amazement of their incredible daring. A doctor kissing the daughter of an earl. A beauty unlike any he’d ever seen, a woman destined to marry a duke or a prince. Not a third son.
Pushing all those misgivings aside, he drew her closer, flushing her body against his. He thrust his fingers into her hair, which ran like a waterfall over his skin, a sensual delight to the touch. Simon kissed her, unable to halt the desire roaring through his body for her. And she responded with shivering waves of sensuality. They kissed over and over, until her lips appeared red and swollen, her eyes glazed with passion.
“I want to court you, Miranda.”
Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened. "I want that too." Then she closed her eyes. " Mamma will never agree to me accepting a proposal from you."
“I am not without connections,” he replied. “I have an inheritance of five thousand pounds a year.
And I daresay we will never want for a supply of fruits, farm produce, baked goods and similar from my patients.”
She choked back her laughter, but her eyes danced with merriment.
“I will speak to your father,” he said gruffly.
She nodded, though there was a deep glow of uncertainty in her gaze.
“I’ll fight for you,” he vowed.
A broad smile bloomed on her lips, and she sank into his embrace.
Soothingly against his
chest, she said, “I’ll fight for you too, Simon.” And though the words were muffled, they pierced him deep inside.
And that was enough for today.
Chapter 7
Simon strolled along the lawns of his estate, his hands clasped behind his back, a sense of peace and happiness pervading his veins. Miranda walked beside him, the picture of loveliness. But it was the soft smile of contentment upon her lips which filled him with a queer sense of joy. That empty, hollow glaze which had lingered in her eyes had vanished, and it was replaced by a look that was so tender and sweet, it gave him hope when he should be cautious.
"Your mother is quite fit to travel. I've informed her so myself early this morning. Today is to be her last day of bedrest, and she is quite eager to depart my dreadfully boring manse."
Miranda winced. “I apologize for Mamma’s tongue.”
Simon grinned. “All patients are dreadfully bored and intolerably odious when confined to a bed.”
"You are too kind," she said with a light laugh.
She bit into her lower lip, a nervous gesture.
“I have hopes to travel this weekend to visit your father at the country home, where I will speak to him about courting you.”
“He will be home. Papa is the master of the hunt, and I daresay hunting is all he had been anticipating for the season. He finds balls and most of the ton intolerably boring, you know.”
Simon cleared his throat. “My brother is a duke.”
Miranda faltered and stared at him in astonishment. “Good gracious!” she exclaimed involuntarily.
"My brother has been away from England for several years, and though he writes me often, he does not mention any plans to return to our shores soon. His estates are managed by his stewards and lawyers. Despite our family’s absence from ton life for several years, I am hoping that connection would allow your father to grant us his blessings.”
"Papa is very complacent to Mamma’s wishes," Miranda said faintly. "And I fear she would not be happy with any circumstance that does not see me marrying into a title." She took a deep breath. "Perhaps we should run away," she said with a laugh that did not reach her eyes. "I am over one and twenty, and my birthday is in less than six weeks."
“We’ll not start a scandal,” he murmured, though he could not say what he would not do to make her his.
She gave him an impish grin and looped her hands with his and leaned into his side. “We shall host many fundraising balls together for the hospital. And perhaps a festive ball for the villagers each year? Do you have a London townhouse?”
"I do, though I believe we will have to get a bigger one. My bachelor residence in Russell Square is not up to scratch."
“Hmm, that can be easily rectified. And perhaps six children.”
He choked on air. “Six!”
She sent him a wide-eyed innocent glance. “Too little or too many?”
They laughed, and the love that clutched at his heart was unlike any he’d ever felt.
“Simon?”
He peered down at her. “Yes?”
“From your fine manners and wealth, I suspected you belonged to a well-connected family, but why did you not tell me that you are the son of a duke?”
“It was foolish of me,” he said gruffly. “I felt perhaps our interactions would have been different.”
She stared up at him. “Perhaps, I am certain Mamma would have been less difficult and far more charming. And would have insisted on meeting your brother immediately! But it is of little consequence to me, only in that it gives me hope that Mamma will be more receptive of an alliance between our families.”
Stone paths guided the way toward a green hedgerow maze while stone seats invited repose and admiration of the beautiful lake in the distance. He led her toward the bench near a small brook and lowered himself onto it. Instead of urging her to sit beside him, he tugged her onto his thigh, and a look of scandalized amusement settled on her lovely face.
“Once I loved a girl, or believed I did.”
“Oh!”
"Hmm," he said, pushing a loose tendril from her chignon behind her ear. The unruly curl popped right back out. "I was one and twenty at the time, and believed I would marry Miss Phoebe Cranston, the daughter of a viscount. I presented her to my family who approved the match, but for her…it was all about using me to get closer to my brother, who has the title."
She winced. "Oh Simon, I am so terribly sorry. Did your brother marry her?"
“He did not, though he very nearly well did. William did not love her, but he believes in honor and duty. It was his luck our mamma was in the conservatory and witnessed it all when Miss Phoebe tried to compromise him.”
Miranda touched his mouth with trembling fingers. “Your heart must have been so disillusioned after.”
“Only for a few months,” he murmured.
“There is something I must tell you.” The unexpected tears in her eyes jolted his heart with alarm.
“What is it, Miranda?”
"I…I tried to compromise a duke once by slipping into his room at a garden party!" Shame darkened her eyes, and a flush mounted on her cheeks. She closed her eyes as if bracing against his disgust.
"I am delighted you failed."
Her eyes flew open. “You do not sound angry.”
He kissed her, a simple meeting of lips, an exchange of breath, without demand. “I only admire your braveness and honesty.”
She wilted against him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “I’ve apologized to him and his lovely wife, who is also my dearest friend, but I still feel wretched with shame whenever I recall it. I wanted to be his duchess, not because I admire the man himself, but because I desired his title and I was getting impatient for him to be captivated. And I knew I would have made Mamma very proud.”
He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. Using his thumb, he wiped away the tear which had rolled down her cheek. “You are too hard on yourself, my sweet. You took responsibility for your mistakes and affected an apology. There is no shame in that. You’ve acquitted your honor quite well.”
She turned her face and pressed a kiss into his palm. “You have a remarkable gift for always making my heart happy,” she said with a sweet shyness. “Thank you, Simon.”
A whisper of a kiss feathered over his jaw, and he closed his eyes against the sensations. “I want to stay here and kiss you until we are both senseless with desire, but I must call upon the squire to see how he fares. He broke his damn leg trying to fox hunt.”
She slipped her hand around his neck, the wicked temptress teasing him with another kiss on his chin. Then their mouths met, and the fire of desire drowned his senses. Holding her close to his chest, Simon tenderly ravished her mouth with long, heart-pounding kisses. His lips devoured hers, and he stroked his tongue in her mouth with ruthless persuasion. Unable to stop touching her, he explored her mouth thoroughly, and the onslaughts of sensations were overwhelming.
She tasted of sweetness and fire, of innocence and wantonness. Each kiss went deeper, lingered longer, communicating lust, tenderness, and such burning love. His cock hardened on a fierce pulse of desires, and he had to beat back the raw need demanding he lift her and place her on the soft grass to make love with her. With a ragged groan, Simon pulled from her, littering small kisses across her cheek. He bit the curve of her throat, fighting the raging need to devour her.
“Simon!” she gasped, shivering in his arms.
He slid his hand along the curves of her thighs, worshipping the feel of her sweet, slender body, up to her hips. Lifting his head, he stared at her. “When I release you, run away from me and do not look back.”
The pulse fluttered at the base of her throat, her skin flushed, and her eyes had deepened to forest green. “And if I do not?”
“Then I will kiss you everywhere until you are wet and desperate for me, then I'll take your virtue, right here with the sun beating down on us."
An inarticulate murmur sl
ipped from her. Instead of being afraid at the sensual threat, his wicked minx boldly thrust her fingers through his hair and took his mouth with shocking carnality. The kiss was over before it began, and she jerked to her feet and hurried away, the wind carrying her soft laughter back to him.
Several hours later, Simon was bent over his medical journal, scribbling his observances noting in patients with symptoms which suggested they might have future problems with their health. He made it his duty, to carefully record his cases, the symptoms, the care he suggested, and their improvements or lack thereof. The door to the library swung open, but he did not lift his head. Thinking it to be his housekeeper who normally peeked in at this time of the day with a tray for him to eat, he muttered, “I'll be right with you, Mrs. Clayton.”
“Is that the greeting I’m to receive after six years?” a low voice murmured.
Simon snapped his head up, the breath whooshing from his lungs. “Speak of the devil!”
His brother’s dark blue eyes, very much like his own lit up with amusement. “Ah, speaking of me, earlier were you?”
Simon grinned, blotting the journal and lowering his quill. "Only this morning." He stood and bounded around the large desk to meet his brother in the center of the room. They hugged fiercely, and Simon was surprised to feel a lump forming in his throat.
“I missed you,” he said gruffly. “Why didn’t you send word that you were coming?”
“I missed you too,” his brother replied, slapping him on his back.
They pulled apart, and William dragged his fingers through his short-cropped hair. "I fancied I would arrive before my letter. But surely you expected me after your last letter informing me that Mamma is slipping into an ever-deeper state of melancholia."
Simon strolled over to the side table, lifted a decanter filled with whisky and poured two glasses. He handed one to his brother who took it with an expression of rich pleasure.
“Mother has been in Bath these last four months. She has bought a house in Camden Place and there is a sly rumor about town that she has the peculiar interest of a viscount ten years her junior. Her letters are filled with more cheer and good humor of late, but I daresay she will be thrilled to have you home.”
