by Henke, Shirl
Brand knew she was ready. And he was desperate. Gritting his teeth to keep going slowly, he lowered her to the mattress and propped his weight on his elbows as he continued kissing her. With one knee he gently parted her thighs, then poised himself to enter her. “Miranda, love,” he murmured as his aching staff nuzzled against the portals of paradise. She was so slick and ready that the head pressed in with ease, but when he tried to go deeper, he found her incredibly tight.
It's been over a dozen years since she 's received a man, he reminded himself as he stopped, waiting impatiently for her body to adjust to the invasion.
Her earlier worries about how they would fit returned, but were quickly pushed aside as the delicious pressure of his flesh inside her made her ache for more. With a longing denied for a lifetime, her body arched to pull him deeper, deeper...until at last he was fully seated, stretching her and filling her. She bit her lip and felt the tears sting her eyes again, but this time they were tears of joy and wonder, not sadness and loss.
To be joined this way—utterly, with no impediment of clothing or darkness between them—this was the way nature had surely meant the union of man and woman to be. Then he began to move, ever so slowly, gently, his hips rocking against hers as he stroked. Her nails dug into his back, urging him on. When he rasped out a command that she wrap her legs around his body, she complied and he plunged even deeper.
Sweat beaded his forehead as he tried to hold back the pace, but when he felt her silky thighs tighten around his waist and her hips arch in response, he was lost. He rode her hard and deep, waiting desperately for the signs that she was ready to join him. Brand was certain she had never come to completion before. He would not rob her of that.
She was drowning in the pleasure, greedy, needy, wonder-filled beyond her wildest dreams. The sweetness . of it overwhelmed her, yet left her hungry for something elusive. She hovered on the brink of some sort of discovery she could not imagine. She craved it. But she never wanted this to end. Still, she was unable to stop her body's demands as it arched and writhed wildly against his.
Then it swept over her, swamping her senses with such intense, pulsing pleasure that she cried out his name and clawed at his back like a wild thing. Just when she was certain she'd die right then and there if the ecstasy did not abate—surely it could not go on—his whole body stiffened and his staff swelled even more deeply inside her. Another drenching wave of ecstasy crested in her with his release.
She held fast to him as he murmured her name and collapsed on top of her. Their bodies were slick with perspiration as they lay in the coolness of the night, panting together, sated. Gradually their breathing returned to normal, and he started to roll away, but she held him fast.
“I'm crushing you,” he said.
“No, I don't mind,” she replied softly. What she really meant was that she never wanted this to end...even though she knew it must. But she would not think of that now. Now she only wanted to feel the solid warmth of his body joined with hers, to revel in the newness of an experience she'd never had before.
And could never have again.
But then he gave that sad thought the lie when he began to move inside her once more. Ever so slowly, he stroked her quivering flesh, rousing her again to passion. The task was not a difficult one. Miranda gave a mewl of joy and arched against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her legs clamped tightly around his hips. They danced yet again that most ancient and beautiful dance of love, but this time he held back ever so long, eliciting moans and pleas from her for release from the sweetest torture.
Miranda was incoherent with pleasure. He was like strong wine or some exotic drug from the East, and his body gave hers delights more potent than anything she could ever imagine. When the second cataclysm began, it seemed to last far longer, wrenching everything from her, body and heart and soul. What would be left of her when this was done? Feeling his body once more joining hers in oblivion, that worrisome thought faded away.
Gradually they both came back from their distant journey.
He nuzzled her throat and planted a kiss on her nose. Then as he raised his hand to brush a tangled curl from her cheek, he noticed traces of tears. “Miranda?” His voice held a note of distress. “Have I hurt you, darlin'? I know you haven't...haven't been with a man for—”
She placed her fingertips over his lips, caressing them as she silenced him. “No, you have given me nothing but the greatest pleasure I could possibly imagine. I never...that is, Will never...” Her words trailed away. It seemed disloyal to lie in the same bed she'd shared with her elderly husband and speak ill of him. “It was not like this,” was all she was able to manage as he gently rolled off her and pulled her to his side.
“You've never spoken with anyone about why you married a man three times your age,” he prompted, stroking her shoulder, waiting to see if she would confide in him. That would be a good beginning.
Miranda hesitated. “I—I never have. Will was...”
“I know, he was kind to you and you feel loyal because of that, as if it would be a betrayal if you said anything else about your relationship.”
His insight was phrased with such concern that she sighed. “What a remarkable man you are, Major.”
“A little while ago you called me Brandon,” he said with a gentle smile, touching her chin with his fingertips. He watched her blush.
“Yes, well, I was scarcely myself then, was I?”
“Perhaps that's the real Miranda—the woman who wants what she's been denied all her adult life.”
“I've led a life of considerable privilege, from childhood on,” she replied defensively.
“Your childhood ended rather abruptly, or I miss my guess.” His eyes searched hers.
Well, if she were ever to unburden herself to anyone, this man knew her best—and not only in the biblical sense of the word, she thought with a flush heating her cheeks. Suddenly she felt the need to speak of what had happened so long ago. Perhaps one kind of catharsis led to another. That only made her blush all the more.
In the dim light, he simply held her and waited, combing his fingers slowly through her hair, untangling it, making no demands. Then he placed a soft kiss on her forehead, as if sealing a pact between them, a pledge that whatever she said in this room would never be carried outside it.
Perhaps that was what made her begin the journey to so long ago, a remembrance that was bittersweet in the extreme...
Chapter Eighteen
“My father was a successful businessman in Liverpool. He owned a large iron foundry and had invested in some shipping interests as well. I was his only daughter. I had a younger brother, Albert, who it was assumed would one day take over the business, but I was the apple of Father's eye. Both he and Mother spoiled me quite outrageously.”
Brand smiled, thinking of the imperious Miranda as a schoolroom miss ordering her governesses about, but he said nothing, just waited for her to go on.
“Just before my first season, I met a young man and became quite infatuated. His father was the vicar of St. Alban's, a prestigious parish in Liverpool, but still, scarcely a position of wealth comparable to my family's.”
“Your parents objected to your marrying him because he was poor?”
She shook her head. “No, they approved of Mr. Aimesley, but my mother wanted me to have a real season first, just so I would be certain I was making the right choice. Father spent a considerable amount on that come-out, but the night before a large ball given in honor of my seventeenth birthday, he came home from the foundry ashen-faced. He and my mother were closeted away in his study for several hours, and when she emerged, she was in tears, although she assured me all was well.
“I knew it was not. Within the week the newspapers carried the story about a shipping firm being insolvent. It seemed that Father had taken all the profits from the foundry and sunk them into that shipping business. He was on the verge of total ruin. But an old family friend, Will Auburn, had advised him again
st doing what he did, and now offered him help.”
Brand stiffened, but Miranda quickly assured him, “It was not the way you think. Will had been widowed several years earlier and his wife had never been able to provide him an heir. He doted on Bertie and insisted on loaning my father a small fortune so our family did not lose the foundry, even though it was a competitor of his. I think he intended that Bertie should inherit his holdings as well as our father's one day. But then my brother died in a cholera outbreak, and Father became despondent. He fell ill, and Will took over running the business.
“By that time he was almost a member of our family. We had survived so much grief together.”
“What of your suitor?” Brand asked.
“We couldn't marry during a period of mourning, of course, although we still expected to eventually. But when it became apparent that Will would have to care for my parents and me for the rest of their lives...”
“That was when he made his offer.”
“It sounds so calculating, as if he somehow knew that Bertie would die and Father would fail. He wanted desperately to have children to inherit his life's work, and I was young and healthy and had grown up knowing him. Whom better might he ask? A woman near his own age could never give him his heart's wish.”
“But you did.”
“What else could I do? Marry Kent Aimesley and leave the care of my aged parents to Will Auburn? That would scarcely have been fair.”
“It certainly was not fair for you to have to sacrifice your whole future for an old man's dream.” Besides the tinge of anger in his voice, there was also a bit of admiration. “But you did it anyway.”
“I did it, yes. I won't say it was easy at the time...but over the years, I've come to realize that I was never really in love with Mr. Aimesley.”
“Aimesley? Isn't he—”
“My business associate? He is, and a more trusted and loyal employee neither Will nor I could ever have had. Mr. Aimesley came to my husband and asked for work several years after we were married and Lori had been born. He was educated and ambitious, good with sums. Will took him on and never had cause to regret it.”
“A remarkably charitable man,” Brand said softly. She had cared for the old devil. He felt petty for being jealous.
“He was remarkable in many ways. When Lori was only three, Will's health began to fail. Within a year, he was bedfast, although his mind was still keen. I nursed him and he tutored me. Since we would obviously never be able to have a son, he decided a woman could be just as capable as a man of running a business.”
“And you proved him right.”
She flushed under his admiring gaze. ”I learned everything from him about the iron industry and the new steel-making hot air blast furnaces. He was visionary and intuitive about investments and taught me well. As he grew more ill, he allowed me to assume more and more responsibilities, although his business associates were horrified and attempted to dissuade him. Several of them actually tried to have him pronounced incompetent in court, but the effort failed.
“That fight cost him dearly, for within a fortnight of the judgment in our favor he was dead.” Her voice was flat and bitter as she continued, “I took over his foundries, the shipping firm and two banks...and I saw the men who attacked him go bankrupt for their trouble.” She looked into his eyes and asked levelly, “Does that frighten you?’
“After our first meetin', darlin,’ it doesn't even surprise me,” he replied with a smile. “You did what you had to do to survive in a man's world. But you also paid a price. Why didn't you ever marry again?”
“Shortly after Will died, so did my father, then my mother. I was in mourning for nearly three years. And I had a young daughter who had lost her father and grandparents. Will had only distant cousins back in Liverpool, and everyone in my family was gone. I was all Lori had. So I devoted my time to her and to expanding my business ventures, especially in banking. That, and all the sad memories in Liverpool, were the reasons I moved to our London house that Will had just built. I never really had time to think about marriage...and honestly, most of the men of my class were quite put off by me.”
“They were fools, Miranda. I'll never interfere with your work.”
His words shattered the bond of closeness between them. Miranda was suddenly aware that she had made a terrible mistake. She pushed against his chest and slipped out of his arms, rolling quickly to the side of the bed before he could protest. Then she realized she was naked and saw the stream of clothing scattered hither and yon about the room.
She was trapped. She could not leave, but he must. Despair and shock filled her breaking heart. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself and burrowed back into the pillows. He remained lying on his side, watching her with one arm bent at the elbow, propping up his head. The sheet that she had pulled up draped carelessly over his hip, leaving his upper body bare.
“What's wrong, darlin'?” he asked, his voice very quiet. He knew, and his gut clenched, but he was damned if he'd make it easy for her.
Miranda swallowed hard and tried to frame the words. All she could manage was, “You'll have to go now.”
“That's it? I'm dismissed?” He waited, biting down on the churning anger mixed with hurt. He'd known the risk and taken it anyway. “Darlin’, I'm not a stallion to be put to stud and then led away,” he said when she would not look at him.
The indelicate remark made Miranda's eyes widen and her face flame. He was sitting up now, heedless of the sheet which barely covered his sex, this lean and hard man with whom she'd lain. Her lover. “There is no need for crudity, Major,” she said, and instantly realized how prim and cold it sounded after what they'd just shared...what he'd just given her.
The anger boiled over, scalding him. “You've found out what it is to be a woman for the first time in your life and you're afraid of it—of me! That old man never really made love to you, did he? All he did was his duty, and you did yours. What we did tonight went way beyond duty.”
Her voice was cold as ice. “That old man, my lord, was my husband, and I honor his memory.”
He was hot with pain. “By letting another man into the bed he shared—however inadequately—with you?”
She turned her head as if he'd slapped her. “The guilt is mine, not yours, but you're right, he could not...make me feel as you have. I'm very grateful—”
“I don't want your gratitude, Miranda. I want your love,” he said, gentling his voice as he reached for her hand.
She jerked it away. “I can't give you that, Brandon. It wouldn't work—I'm older than you and set in my ways. Besides,” she rushed on, “I have Lori to think of. Oh, I know she has some romantic notion of playing matchmaker between us, but she's too young to understand the way the world works.”
“Please explain it to me,” he replied, struggling for patience.
“There would be a terrible scandal if...if we were to become involved.”
“And you think this isn't ‘involved’?” he asked quite reasonably, his arm gesturing about the rumpled bed.
She looked away, unable to bear the pain. “I—I cannot give up my work. It's all that kept me sane after Will and my family died, leaving me alone with a child to raise—a child I knew would one day leave me.”
“And you're afraid I'd be one of those overbearing men who insist a mere woman can't run the very businesses she built with her own hard work.” He was puzzled, hurt and struggling desperately to understand.
“No, I suspect you would not,” she replied quietly.
“Then what? Are you afraid I'd leave you for a younger woman?”
The question struck closer to the truth than she could bear to admit. She dared not let him know how very insecure she was. The dream was impossible. The scandal unthinkable. “No, but as I said, there would be gossip.”
“Why would a woman as strong as you be afraid of a little gossip, Miranda?”
“It would not be me but Lori who'd pay the price. I cannot have that. Surel
y you can understand,” she said beseechingly.
She had never intended to let this happen. All she'd asked for was one night. But will one night be enough? an insidious voice deep inside asked. Miranda rubbed her aching temples, and her hair fell in tangled waves over her shoulders, offering further proof of her wanton desires.
“No, I don't understand,” he said. “You're wrong about Lorilee. Your daughter is stronger than you give her credit for being. She's right about us. We do belong together.” He damned himself for a fool, but he wouldn't give up. He touched her shoulder ever so softly. “I'll give you time to think about it, Miranda.”
“There's nothing to think about,” she said with weary resignation. She could hardly bear to look at his splendid body, the lean muscles, the golden hair covering his chest. Now she knew the feel of him, the taste of him, the most intimate things...beyond anything she'd ever been able to imagine. She had hurt him. But he was young and titled and wildly attractive. The Rebel Baron would have no shortage of women in his life. She was doing him a favor, actually.
At least that was what she tried to tell herself as she watched him slide from the bed and begin gathering up his scattered clothes, then donning them with inbred grace in spite of his anger. He was just tucking his shirt into his britches when she broke the silence. “Now that you and Lori won't be marrying, you'll have need of funds for restoring Rushcroft Hall. It's an excellent investment, and my bank—”
He whirled on her with fire in his eyes, the scar on his cheek white with fury. “So that's it! You think I'm still trying to marry for money. Why marry the daughter and settle for a portion of the prize when I can marry the mother and have it all!”
