Everything Forbidden

by Jess Michaels

  He stared at her. “The trouble for me? No, I meant perhaps we shouldn’t have done this because of what it has caused for you. I even thought you might not be able to leave the house to meet with me after last night.”

  Miranda drew back. “What would you have done if I had sent word that I was being kept away?”

  “Come to you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “But I’m glad to not have to bypass your mother in order to speak to you. This should be between us. Just us. It’s none of their affair.”

  Covering her eyes, Miranda sighed. “I wish that were true, Ethan. But now it’s not just between us anymore. Last night changed that and there is no changing it back.”

  He frowned and his expression was soft and understanding. Again, those emotions were not ones she knew how to respond to, not from him. They were so foreign on a face that she had only seen reflect passion and control and desire.

  “What happened after we parted company last night?” he asked quietly. “I want to hear it all.”

  Miranda sighed. She’d wanted to tell him, talk to him, be comforted by him, for twelve hours. And now that she was faced with all those things, she wasn’t sure how to start. Not without revealing too much about herself, not just the situation they had put themselves in.

  But she had no choice. Ethan had never accepted denials and she doubted he would begin now. Slowly, she told him the story of chasing her sister, their ugly encounter in the gazebo, her successful plea for Penelope to keep what she’d seen to herself, and finally the last exchange they’d had that morning.

  The only thing she left out was that her sister had helped Miranda realize how much she loved him. That was a confession she could not make. Not now, not ever.

  When she was finished, Ethan was quiet for a long time. He simply looked out over the water, watching a mated pair of geese swim their way toward the far side of the pond.

  “I’m sorry, Miranda. I never intended to hurt you,” he finally said softly. “I hope you know that.”

  Miranda gaped at him. “You hurt me? No. I hurt myself. I knew from the very beginning that my lies might come back to haunt me. Penelope has been suspicious of both your intentions and my actions since the moment you offered to sponsor her Season and I started rambling on about Lady Inglewood.” She rubbed her eyes. “I just didn’t know I would break my relationship with the one family member I still have a strong connection to. But that is my own doing. I knew what you would want and what you would demand of me…probably before I even came here that first afternoon. I can’t lie and say it wasn’t what I wanted or agreed to.”

  He reached out and took her hand, drawing it up to cup it between his palms. He stared at the joined fingers, as if he were considering what they meant when they were tangled.

  “I want to help you, you know.”

  She stared at him, taken aback by this sudden kindness and care toward her. It was a dangerous and unexpected thing to find with him. It made her want to curl into his chest and be held and reassured. Things he didn’t want anything to do with.

  “I don’t think there is anything that can be done. My sister is angry and hurt. Hopefully that will change, but I don’t think any intervention on my part or yours will speed that along. I am on one path and she is on another, at least for now. We’re both trying to help our family, so perhaps that common ground will bind us again in the future.”

  He frowned. “We made a pact to stay in this bargain until the end of the summer. To meet only weekly. But I think I could do more for you and your family, Miranda. I think I could keep Penelope from throwing herself into a mercenary, loveless marriage.”

  Miranda flinched at the thought of what her sister wanted to do. “What could you do? I’m willing to hear any thoughts.”

  He cleared his throat, shifting like he was uncomfortable. It was so odd to see that, like he wasn’t at ease in his own skin, the one place she knew he was almost completely contented and in control.

  “Miranda, what if we altered our bargain? I would like”—he stopped and looked at her. The intensity of his gaze burned at her, held her steady even as it made her want to turn away. “I want you to become my mistress.”

  Sixteen

  There. He had said it. Ethan wrinkled his brow. He didn’t feel as relieved as he thought he would. And Miranda didn’t look as pleased as he believed she would be when he pictured the moment over and over in his head the night before.

  “Your—your mistress?” she repeated, swallowing hard. The color had left her cheeks and her blue eyes were wide and filled with emotions so tangled he could neither separate nor identify them.

  He nodded. God, it sounded terrible coming from her lips. Like he was just offering to buy her in a different way. Why did he suddenly feel guilty for offering her this option?

  He cleared his throat and tried to clarify. “Yes. I haven’t had a true mistress for…well, a very long time. I have lovers, but they are temporary. But when I did have mistresses, I took care of them. I would provide a nice home for you in London where you could launch your sisters’ Seasons. I would make sure you had accounts at all the shops and that your family had invitations to every event where their appearance could be desirable and useful.”

  Miranda was nodding, but it didn’t seem like she was really agreeing or acknowledging what he was saying. More like she just had to move, to release some of the tension that was simmering through her body.

  “And, of course, we would be utterly discreet,” he said. “I realize you aren’t in the position of women who normally become a mistress. At least until your family is settled, your actions could still hurt their chances. So I would be certain that your name would be protected.”

  Miranda pushed from her sitting position and walked to the edge of the lake. She looked over the water, remaining utterly silent.

  Finally, her voice cut the heavy tension between them. “My, you have thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  He nodded, pondering whether or not to go to her, to touch her. He wanted to, God knew he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and kiss her and touch her until he made her forget, at least for a little while, how difficult last night had been for her. But from all appearances, that wasn’t what she wanted from him. At least, not yet. So he allowed her that space.

  “I have,” he agreed. “I started thinking about this last night and have thought of nothing else since the idea first came to me. You told me more than once that the life of a mistress was one you would consider once our bargain was over.”

  He swallowed past the bitter taste that thought always put in his mouth. The idea of Miranda with any other man was utterly distasteful to him. And this arrangement would keep that from happening. At least until he could bear the idea.

  He continued, “If you truly meant those words, would you not consider me as your protector?”

  She turned to face him and her expression was so utterly unreadable that he stepped back. He’d always been able to tell what emotions were in her mind. That was one of the things that drew him to her. She never pretended, she never hid. Miranda simply was and she made no apologies or excuses for what was in her heart.

  Now that heart was locked away and he found he missed the connection he’d felt with her since they made their bargain.

  “I have spent a month with you,” she said softly. “And I have no doubt that you have been and would be a wonderful protector for any woman who was lucky enough to take to your bed and be in your life as your mistress.”

  Again the emotions that accompanied her reply were strange to him. He did feel relief at the idea that she would be his, but there was also disappointment. Like he wanted…more somehow, even though he was perfectly aware he could offer no more than this.

  “Does that mean you’ll accept my offer?”

  “It is tempting, Ethan,” she said and her voice broke even as her face remained stoic. “Just as you have always been tempting to me. But becoming your mistress wouldn’t help me. It wo
uld only drive a bigger wedge between Penelope and me. And when you bored of me, I could be in a far worse position than I am now.”

  He shook his head. “But I promise to pay for your sisters’ Seasons until—”

  “Until when?” she interrupted and her smile was that strange, jaded one again. “Until one of them lands their rich husband? Until all three are married? Until you find a new lover who interests you more? No, Ethan. I cannot depend on the promises you make when you still want me. When you don’t, you would come to regret making this arrangement, and I—I couldn’t face losing your regard. Right now it’s all I have left.”

  He frowned. “So you won’t do it?”

  “I can’t.” She looked at the ground between their feet. “I wish I could say yes, but I can’t.”

  Ethan shut his eyes. So she wouldn’t be his beyond this agreement they had made. The summer was all he would have and it was bleeding away at a shocking rate. So quickly that it wouldn’t be long enough. At that moment, he knew, like he knew his own name, that another two months of pleasure wouldn’t ease the ache he felt for her even a fraction.

  But if it was all he could have…

  Miranda shivered just a little and her gaze still did not lift to his. “In fact, I have also been pondering our situation since last night. And I fear there is only one solution. One I hate, but it’s all I can do.”

  Ethan cocked his head at her sad tone. Like she was about to lose something that meant a great deal to her. He sucked in his breath as realization dawned on him. He drew back. She couldn’t mean…she wouldn’t—

  “Miranda—” he began, as if he could stay her words with a plea. He didn’t want to hear them.

  “I cannot continue with the arrangement we made last month,” she continued with a flinch.

  “You cannot mean that.” He shook his head. “You don’t want that.”

  Her gaze snapped up and the pain in her eyes was almost too much to bear. “I foolishly thought I could take your offer without consequences, but the price for the pleasure was too high. And as much I do want to keep meeting with you, keep”—a tear trickled down her face and she swiped it away with the back of her hand and a deep frown—“keep being with you, I can’t.”

  Ethan gripped his hands into fists. Pain rushed through him, a pain as powerful as anything he’d ever felt. He’d been so separated from such feelings for so long that it took him off guard. This was why he’d locked his heart away. He hated how off center and out of control the ache made him.

  And yet he couldn’t seem to master it this time. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t find a way to agree with Miranda and just let her go. He wanted more. He wanted her to stay. Even though he couldn’t ever give her what she wanted. Be what she wanted.

  And yet there was only one option remaining. The one thing he had tried to avoid with every fiber of his being. But now he was faced with a choice: Make the offer he’d evaded so many times in the past. Or lose Miranda.

  When couched in those terms, there was only one answer.

  “Then marry me,” he burst out, surprising himself.

  Miranda staggered away, her eyes widening to almost impossible lengths. He couldn’t blame her for her disbelief. He was experiencing a hefty dose of it, himself. What was he saying?

  “You don’t mean that,” she whispered. “You told my mother just last night that you have no intentions of ever marrying.”

  He flinched. Yes, he had said that. He’d meant it at the time. But now the desire to keep Miranda with him, to help her, was more powerful than his aversion to wedded bliss. Although his reasons to remain a bachelor still existed, they were secondary.

  “I did tell your mother that,” he admitted. “Partly to shock her into leaving me alone and partly because I would make a terrible husband. Especially to you, Miranda. I know I would and you should know it, too. But I still offer this because I can’t stand to know I’ve hurt you so badly without making some attempt to repair the damage.”

  She shut her eyes. “So you would marry me to assuage your guilt.”

  He shrugged. “I won’t lie to you and say pretty words that will only haunt us both later. I cannot be dishonest when it comes to this. But I still make the offer. Think of it, Miranda. You would be a Countess. My money and my residences would be yours, there could be no undoing that. My title and its prestige could help your sisters. You and I could be together, for as long as we liked.”

  “And when you no longer desire my presence in your bed?” Her voice didn’t even tremble, although she never looked his way.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “You would still have all the benefits of being my wife. And I promise you I would never make a fool of you publicly.”

  Miranda didn’t address his statement, but she finally met his gaze evenly. “Why do you say you wouldn’t make a good husband, especially to me?”

  Ethan frowned. “It’s in my blood, Miranda. There is no fighting that fate.”

  She pursed her lips and they became a bloodless line. “What does that mean?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. He had never spoken about this to anyone before. Not friends, not relatives, certainly not to his lovers. He didn’t like thinking about the past, let alone talking about it.

  “Leave it be.” He shook his head. “Just know that it’s true.”

  She let out a divisive snort that brought his gaze to her face. Miranda folded her arms and glared at him. No longer was the timid girl who bent to his will standing before him. This Miranda was different. There was a fire in her stare, a steel. It was a shock for him to realize that strength had always been there. She’d had to possess it to deal with the blows her family dealt her. Only she’d never shown that side to him. Instead, she had leaned on him during their brief time together. Trusted him. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but she had allowed him to protect her as much as control her.

  And now she wasn’t. Not anymore. Strange how the thing he hadn’t recognized he had was the one thing he wanted more than anything in the world.

  “Don’t tell me that you want to marry me, but that you wouldn’t make me happy. Don’t warn me, even as you tempt me. Don’t say you don’t want to lie and then hide the truth.” Her tone was uncharacteristically severe, but he sensed it was out of pain rather than anger. “I want to know why. You owe me that answer before I give you mine.”

  “You want to know the ugliness, Miranda?” he barked, stepping toward her. “You want to hear all the details that innocent ears are normally protected from?”

  She nodded, though a bit of the bravado in her stare and demeanor faded. Still, she stood her ground. He admired her for that, even through his frustration and anger.

  “Fine. Here is what you want to know. My father fucked anything with a skirt and a smile,” Ethan growled, wrestling with memory and emotion with every single word. “He cuckolded my mother in public, in private, in her damned bed with her whore of a maid. And when she cried and drank and begged for a little decorum, do you know what he said to her?”

  Miranda swallowed hard as she shook her head in the negative.

  “That it was in his blood. That he couldn’t help it. This was his nature and he couldn’t fight that.”

  Ethan clenched his fists as an image of his mother’s tear-streaked face danced in his mind. Vivid memories of her laid out on the floor of her room, a bottle in one hand, sobbing. Refusing to let her son—what had he been, eight then?—refusing to let him help her.

  “Ethan—” Miranda reached for him, almost on instinct.

  He shook off his thoughts and pushed her hand away. Yes, he wanted her to touch him, but if she did, he might break. He couldn’t break.

  “No, you wanted the truth, so hear all of it,” he said as he paced passed her. He felt her stare burn into his back, but he ignored it. “My mother turned to drink for comfort. More and more of it to kill the pain and blur the humiliation. Perhaps it helped her. It didn’t help me. I had no one. In fact, I was transformed into
my mother’s support, her counselor, even her whipping boy when the nights were long.”

  Miranda shut her eyes. “A mother’s love can cut as well as soothe,” she said softly.

  He nodded. On that point, at least, they had a common bond. “And then there was my father. I had to watch him, to hear him lecture on the fine points of seduction. He told me that I had to learn. I had to know. Because his blood was in my veins, too. And someday I would be just like him. I vowed I wouldn’t. But when I was fifteen, he brought a very pretty little whore to my room and nature took its course.”

  He turned to face her. She was crying now. Quietly. Pity seemed to seep out of her every pore. He felt it in her stare. It radiated off of her. He flinched away from it, not wanting that. He didn’t want any of it.

  “You know, it turns out he was right about me,” he said, low and even. “I am just like him. Only I had enough control to steer my desires away from women who would be hurt when I finished with them. I stayed with the courtesans and the widows and the married women. Ladies who knew about sex and pleasure, but wanted nothing more. I even stopped keeping mistresses because they sometimes demanded more than what I could offer in pleasure and funds.”

  He moved on her, catching her arms before she could back away. He pulled her closer, feeling her mold against him. And just as he knew it would, his body reacted. He went hard in an instant, his blood heated. All those things served to prove his point. And judging from the look of horror and desire mixed in her stare, she knew it as well as he did.

  “And then you came to me,” he said, his voice no more than a harsh whisper. “And made me break all those rules. You were an innocent and a lady. Whether you believe me or not, I grew to care for you, with all your hidden strength and natural sensuality. So now I’m offering you the thing I swore I never would. But you have to know, Miranda, you must know that a time will come when I will not be able to stop myself from seeking out the company of some other woman. I will want to love you.” He caught his breath. “I do want to love you. But I can’t. Or I won’t. Or maybe some of both. I’ll give you everything but that. Everything but faithfulness. Is that honest enough for you?”