“Your father willed to her an allowance not to exceed fifty thousand pounds, to be divided annually, with the yearly amount negotiable depending upon the needs at the time. For instance, the year she was to be presented to the regent, additional income could be made available to pay for needed gowns, lodging, maids—you understand. Any moneys left over on the occasion of your wedding would be placed into a trust for any daughters you might have.”
It certainly explained why Andrew had never once questioned a large amount of money going to the Beauchamp estate from his own. But he had to figure out what game Miranda’s brother played. Working through the papers, Andrew made his decision. He would walk into the other room and declare his hand to Miranda. It would then fall to her to accept his suit or reject it. He hadn’t come there to find a bride, but the thought of her turning her back and voiding the contract made him physically ill. Ironic that, before that evening, he would have expected it to be the other way around.
Continuing to scan the papers, he hoped to find anything he might have missed. “You pay her allowance through a lawyer or to Mr. Beauchamp directly?”
“Originally, we paid to an accountant, who then paid for her tutors and living expenses. Upon the death of the father, his son, Daniel, asked for it to go through him, as their accountant was reaching well into his later years. So, for the last, I would say ten years, we have been paying him directly.”
“How much was the last amount?” Andrew stared squarely at his lawyer.
“Let me see.” Placing a pair of circular spectacles on his bulbous nose, Gordon swallowed hard before running his fingers over the page in the account ledger. “Ah, yes. Over the last five years, we have increased her allowance from one thousand to fifteen-hundred quid. We last increased it four years prior, from seven hundred annually, to one thousand.”
“I see.”
“Is there anything else I can assist you with this evening? I will, of course, contact Mr. Beauchamp in the morning,” Gordon said in a humble voice, busying himself with the buckles on his bag.
“No.” Andrew’s voice came out harsher than intended, so he placed a smile he didn’t feel on his face, forced calm, and lowered his voice. “Make no contact with anyone regarding the matter. I will personally handle this from here.”
“Are you certain?”
“Completely. Thank you for coming so quickly. Feel free to order up some food or drink while your horse is brought around.”
Excusing himself, Andrew needed to ask Miranda what she knew and determine how much Daniel Beauchamp had thus far filched from his sister. If Gordon was to be believed, and Andrew had no reason to believe him untruthful, then a decade had passed since Daniel and the solicitor had discussed the contract. The notes on the table reflected the same information and more. For the last three or four years, Daniel had managed to convince his lawyers he’d spoken with Andrew and everyone was in agreement to the delay in nuptials. Of course Daniel would delay them, as the moment his sister wed, the money would cease.
But how would Andrew break the news to Miranda that her brother was a snake in the grass?
He opened the door to the bedroom, and Miranda’s beauty lit the room, unexpectedly taking his breath away. Sitting in the shimmering candlelight, she resembled a Botticelli goddess. The hem of her skirt had slipped up to her thigh as someone, likely the French maid, had elevated her ankle on no less than three pillows. Miranda smiled at him over the top of a book. Stepping to the side of the bed, he removed the volume from her hands. Careful not to lose her spot, he laid it on the table face down.
“So what did you learn?” she inquired.
“Quite a bit, yet not enough.” He sat on the edge of the mattress.
The swelling appeared to be getting worse. In contrast to the bluish ankle, the leg attached to it remained unmarred, shapely and appearing so soft. Temptation rolled through him, and, an hour ago he would have given in, but right then he owed her more. Before his urges overrode his good intentions, he covered her leg down to the calf with a nearby throw.“How does your ankle feel?”
“Stiff and throbbing.”
“I suspect it will hurt more in the morning. Do you wish me to summon a doctor?”
Shaking her head, she grabbed his hand, but dropped it as if realizing how bold the move was. He gripped her hand and squeezed.
“Will you please tell me what you learned?” she asked.
“We are betrothed. I am indeed your fiancé, and a lousy one at that.”
“Please don’t be hard on yourself. You didn’t know.”
How did she manage to be so understanding? He wasn’t sure if he could look himself in the mirror again as guilt lit through him like a furnace, so how could she look at him now? “I should have known. Unfortunately, four of the five people involved in the contract able to shed light on why I was kept in the dark are long dead, and their secrets went with them.”
“Five?”
“My parents, your parents, and my father’s lawyer. Both the lawyer and my parents are deceased.”
“As is my father, and my mother ran off to Australia with a soldier half her age. I doubt she will ever come back.” Miranda shrugged, but he didn’t miss the pain in her eyes.
“So now it’s only you, your aunt, and your brother.”
Nodding, she smiled. “Sarah is my rock. She took me in long before my mother left. I think my father knew I would be better off with Sarah than in my own home. He wasn’t an affectionate man, but he cared for me in his own way.”
“And your brother…are you close?”
“No, not really. He never understood why I had to have French tutors and dance lessons, when the family had to sell artwork and furniture. I can’t tell you the number of times I tried to get them to use the money for their needs but….” Her voice trailed off.
“Please go on.”
“Honest to a fault described my father. Any money given to the family for me because of an understanding—”
“Contract, legal and binding. Sorry, please continue.”
“Regardless of the paperwork, if my father gave his word, he never broke it.”
The conviction in her words urged Andrew to believe her. Staring at a smudge on his left Hessian boot, he tried to think of how to broach the next topic: her brother. But no matter how many times he practiced the words in his mind, they always seemed harsh and accusing.
Her small, soft hand squeezed and radiated warmth into his. “What is it? I may not know you well.” She laughed, and the lyrical sound eased the strain in the room. “I never thought I would say that. I have been trained to know your every want….”
“Are you sure?”
Blank confusion passed over her eyes before his meaning sank in, and she blushed. She intrigued him as her nose turned red and the color spread. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“I couldn’t resist, and now that I have seen you blush, I might have to repeat the process. But you were saying?”
“It seemed like something bothered you is all,” she mumbled, pulling out of his grasp to cover her face with her hands.
“Don’t hide from me.” He pulled them away and brought them to his lips, placing a single peck into each palm before working small ones along the inside of her wrist.
“I wanted to hate you.”
“I understand that.” He repeated the caresses on her other wrist.
“I’m very sorry I punched you.”
“I’m not.”
She pulled her arm back. “You wanted me to punch you?”
He kneeled on the mattress so she had to arch her neck to meet his eyes. “Since it gave me a second chance with my bride-to-be then, for a little pain and some serious jesting at the hands of my friends, I would do it all over again.”
“You plan on marrying me?”
He paused. “There is a contract that says we must.”
She turned away with an expression of pain. “I never wanted you to feel trapped into marrying me.”
> Honor played a part in his decision, of course, but, deep down, he feared, if he let her off the hook, she might find someone else.
“Do you feel trapped? What I said before still holds; the decision is yours. Would it help if I told you the night at the masquerade I was drawn to you? It didn’t matter who you were, I couldn’t help but walk across the room to meet you.”
“Why?”
“Maybe it was your creamy skin set against the deep red of your dress. Or the sensual curve of your neck. But, to be honest, it was the way you fidgeted from one foot to the other and bit your lip.”
His focus settled on her as she bit her lip in response. Groaning, he lowered his head to meet her mouth. She opened on a gasp, and he took the opportunity to deepen the joining. His cock sprang to attention. The minx possessed a power over his libido like no woman ever had.
Her breath came out on a rush of air. “I don’t feel trapped.”
“I want you to get acquainted with me, the man. Not the earl.”
“But they are one and the same.” She stared up at him with wide green eyes.
“No, they aren’t. What is my favorite drink?”
“Brandy”
“Food?”
“Potato dishes of any type, but cottage pie is your favorite.”
He nodded “My favorite horse?”
“At present, it is a brown stallion with white stockings on three of its hooves. I am unsure of his name.”
“Sampson.” Andrew smiled. She did know a great deal about him. “Favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“You’re wrong.”
She blinked as if unsure what to say. “But my tutors—”
“Could have no idea that the earl, who, if asked in public, would proclaim his favorite color might indeed be blue, might prefer something else. Yet that the man would in private confess his favorite color to be auburn hair as the firelight reflects in it, making it appear to catch fire. Followed closely by eyes such a deep green, they matched the gown its owner is currently wearing.” He waited, let his words sink in, let her see that the man was someone only she would know. “So, as you can see, the man is different from his public persona.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“Can’t I?”
Miranda appeared to hesitate, as if unsure whether to believe him or not. “None of this makes sense.”
“I completely agree with you.”
“You do?”
Rolling to his side, Andrew played with the soft curl of hair drooping rather sensually across the swell of her breast. “Why so surprised? Do you think I can make heads or tails of this either? At the masquerade, I had never felt such an attraction. When I walked in here tonight, standing before the parson never crossed my mind. But, now, I can’t think of anything else.”
“What if we don’t suit?”
“We suit.”
“You sound so sure, and I hate that I am not. I am usually so confident, but now I feel lost.”
He placed his lips on the base of her neck. “Does this help?”
Extending it, she gave him access to every inch of skin. She offered, he accepted. She smelled like rose hips, her skin the softest he had ever touched. Every inch fascinated him. He had undressed more women than he could count but felt as if she was the first one. Perhaps it was because she belonged to him, or perhaps she was special in a way he had never thought of any other woman. He had no idea how Madame Evangeline had done it, but she’d found the type of woman he desired; one who had been hiding in plain sight.
Chapter Four
Miranda’s eyes blurred as his lips touched her bare neck. His hand under her bosom burned, ached in a way she wished would never end, and he wasn’t even touching them. Then there were his kisses; the line of light, torturous heat bringing her nerves to a near-breaking point.
She whimpered, exposing more of her neck to him. “Milord.”
“Andrew,” he whispered against her earlobe. “I do not want to hear ‘milord’ cross those kissable lips when associated with me, and never when we are in bed.”
“But—”
“No buts, and I will include other places where milord is off-limits.”
She leaned back, puzzled. His eyes held playful sensuality.
“Oh, I plan to make love to you in every room of every home I own.”
She would have gasped, at the very least protested that as a well-bred lady, discussing such inappropriate things should not happen, but his lips caught hers, leaving her unable to remember any protest or what she was protesting in the first place. His tongue coaxed hers into a waltz. Every stroke brought the temperature to furnace levels. Her dress, even with the lacings relaxed, seemed too tight and constricting.
“Shh. Trust me. I can help you.” He nibbled her lower lip.
She was unsure what he meant until his hand eased the sleeve of her gown over her shoulder. His touch fueled the flames already licking her skin.
“Too hot,” she murmured.
“What’s too hot?” His lips made their way down her jawline toward the newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of aftershocks.
“Me—your touch. I can’t breathe.”
“Relax.”
Easy for him to say. She wanted to scream, but instead fell back onto the mass of overstuffed goose-down pillows behind her. With the exception of the thumb on his right hand tracing the underside of her breast, he remained still. As his eyes met hers, the playfulness became a need she didn’t quite understand, but imagined, if he felt a small degree of what she did, he might ignite at any moment.
Gazing up at the ceiling, she concentrated on breathing and remembered what a tutor had once told her; when in bed with her earl, Miranda should focus on something—anything—until he’d finished. Think of the beauty of the countryside, the motherland, or practice the harpsichord in your head.
“What are you doing?”
She lifted her head. “Thinking of England.”
“Really?” he asked, appearing amused by her answer.
Nodding, she returned her attention to the ceiling. “My tutor said that when I was in bed with you, I should look at the ceiling and think of distractions. She must have known the fire would consume me otherwise.”
He climbed up over her, obscuring her view of the red canopy. “You are quite priceless. I think your tutor has offered me a challenge.”
“Pardon?” Miranda blinked repeatedly, wishing what he said didn’t sound as scary and utterly amazing.
He fondled her left breast and squeezed. “Whatever I do, I want you to turn your attention toward the ceiling.”
“And what will you be doing?”
“Everything in my power to make you look away.”
“But—”
“Oh, I haven’t changed my mind about leaving your maidenhead intact for tonight. I relish the opportunity of claiming that in our marriage bed, but there are other things we can do without taking your virginity.”
Her lips formed the O he’d said he liked so much.
“You’re looking at me.” He pointed up. “I do hope your resolve is stronger than a simple grope of your breast.”
“Challenge accepted.” Steeling herself with a lung-filling breath, she focused her attention on the center of the canopy where the emerald fabric gathered and began to count the puckers. One, two, three—his hand squeezed again. She could have sworn she felt the layers of her skirts rising up her legs but he was obviously trying to get her to break her concentration. She would do no such thing. What number had she been on? Right. Three. Four, five. Six was a rather large gather in the canopy fabric. Seven, eight, nine.
She hissed as he touched the ties of her pantaloons. Between choppy breaths, she tried to focus. Nine. No, I already did nine. Ten, eleven—his hand reached in to caress her most intimate parts.
“Andrew!”
“Ceiling, love. Remember, think about God and country.”
“I am quite certain God would consider this a sin.�
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“God has far more important things to worry about than what you are doing in this bed right now.” He parted her lower lips and a gasp escaped her upper ones. Dear heaven, she finally understood what the maids giggled about. Pleasure filled her, and dampness pooled between her thighs. “You are so wet.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? This is the best gift you can give a man. This is proof you enjoy our intimacy. Shows me you are ready to take my—cock deep in your body.”
She snuck a peek at him, but he wasn’t pay attention to her face. His concentration lay on the area between her legs. “So this feeling deep in my abdomen is normal?”
“Does the feeling make you want more?”
Muscles she had never known she had were coming to life with every touch. “Yes.”
“Do you touch yourself, Miranda, when you think you are alone and no one will catch you?”
Somewhere through the fog of passion, she managed one single word. “Where?”
“Where, she asks.” He sounded so long-suffering, she giggled. “Here or here?”
His thumb rubbed her in just the right spot as another finger entered her. Unable to form words of any sort, she only shook her head.
“Never? Well, that is something I can’t wait to remedy. The thought of you pleasuring yourself makes me want to spill my seed right now.”
“You want me to touch myself.” Coming up on her elbows, she slammed her knees closed and locked his arm in place. There was no way ever she would touch herself like he was, and certainly not with him watching. Her face burned with mortification as she tried to ease away.
“Relax sweetheart.” He kissed the outside of her knee. “And, yes, I most definitely want you to touch yourself.”
“Why?”
Resting his cheek against her knee, he grinned. “I want you to be able to tell me everything you enjoy. But how can you tell me if you haven’t had the experience? If you have never yourself found out.”
“And you want to watch me while I do it…?” she asked, the last part of her sentence so quiet, she wondered if he’d heard.
“Why are you whispering? It’s only us.” Equally quiet, he answered, “Hell, yes.”
The Earl and His Virgin Countess Page 5
