She stilled instantly, afraid that his arms would increase the pain in her side.
Unaware of the reason for her stillness, he buried his mouth in her neck. “Miranda, you are more than I dared to dream,” he whispered, claiming her mouth with his so that she could not explain her plight. She gasped in pain and began to writhe as her broken stay jabbed more deeply into her. Her knees drew up and locked around Simon as she attempted to keep him from tightening his embrace any further.
He broke the kiss for a moment to whisper urgently, “Miranda, my love, we should not hurry this moment....” Before she could gather the breath to speak, his mouth was again on hers, gentler now. But still his restraining hands caused the stay to dig deeper and the pain was so unbearable she could not suppress a moan.
Simon answered her moan with a low groan of his own and pulled away to whisper, “You are so beautiful.”
“My gown must come off.” She gasped, but got no further before his mouth came down more passionately upon hers.
Deciding that she would be better served to struggle with her gown rather than with Simon, Miranda began tearing at the buttons. Miraculously, he began to help, tearing at her clothing until she was afraid the gown would be shredded. In no time, with the both of them working frantically, the laces of the stays were undone.
Suddenly with a sharp cry, she found herself free of the painful broken stay. Simon pulled back from her abruptly. “What is the matter? Have I hurt you?”
Miranda shook her head. “My stay was broken and we have just now disengaged it.” She glanced down to see the expanse of herself exposed to his sight and blushed. “I’m sorry to have behaved in such an unseemly manner.”
His expression swept from a puzzled frown to a short laugh. “My God. I thought I had transported you to frenzied passion, and you were merely trying to escape a broken stay. Come, show me the injury.”
He examined the abrasion with a worried frown.
“It will heal, but I suspect you’ll have a bruise in the morning.”
The feel of his hands brought back some of the pleasure Miranda had felt before the pain of her broken stay. She was disappointed when he lifted them away and stared at her accusingly. “I shall have the stay maker shot. These cannot be more than a week old at most.”
“Oh, no, that pair was my mother’s before it was mine. I should have replaced it years ago.” He stared at her uncomprehendingly, his breathing still rough and ragged. “I’m sorry Simon, I thought it would hold until we reached your home. I had it taped .... “
“I thought I told you to have whatever clothing you needed supplied by the milliners I sent from London.”
“My sisters needed new stays more than I,” she confessed. “I thought to do without for a while longer.”
He frowned. “No more taped stays for you.” His eyes swept her nude form and then, shockingly, he bent to press his lips where the stay had scraped her skin. His lips were warm. Her heart began a double beat, and every sound and feeling seemed magnified. “Simon — “
“I want you.” His lips covered the distance from her bruised side to her breast and he gently took the sensitive tip into his mouth. Impossibly, once again she found herself dizzy from the heat that rushed through her.
She gasped. “I want you, too.” Her surprise at her own boldness was quickly lost in the feel of his strong muscled shoulders, as she allowed her hands to roam his body as his roamed hers.
And then the coach rolled to a stop. They had barely enough time to shield Miranda from the coachman’s eyes before the door was flung open. “Welcome home, Your Grace.”
Chapter 9
The chill evening air that had swirled in with the opening of the carriage door brought a gasp from Miranda and a sharp return to reality to Simon. Briskly, he sat up and began rearranging his clothing. Fortunately, his servants were well-trained, and the door had shut almost as quickly as it opened.
He could hear Miranda frantically attempting to arrange her own clothing, and he had no heart to tell her how fruitless her attempts were. In the darkness, the clothing that had been so easily discarded would be impossible to right. He distinctly remembered feeling tiny buttons pelt his cheek when her bodice had finally given way.
A frantic elbow jabbed him in the ribs and a knee connected painfully with his hip before he relented. “Miranda, I’m afraid the task is hopeless.”
She stilled, and the rustling of clothing ceased so that he could hear the sob that caught in her breath. “It cannot be. I will not be seen like this by your ... our staff. What will they think of me.”
As if on cue, there was a timid knock on the carriage door. “Your Grace? Would you care to dismount — ”
There was an awkward pause, which Simon used to offer a thankful prayer that Miranda had no understanding of William’s careless double entendre.
William’s strained voice began again. “ I mean, Your Grace, would you and your bride care for any assistance?”
Before he knew what she would do, Miranda said imperiously, “Please hand in your lantern, my good man — and give me a few minutes. The pins have fallen out of my hair from the jouncing of the journey.” She opened the door only enough to receive the lantern. The light, however, served to reveal the disaster he had expected.
“Oh, my God, Simon. What have we wrought?” In the bright glow of the lantern, Simon could clearly see that the fever that had engulfed both of them had left Miranda. She stared at him with embarrassment and confusion, her hair down around her bared shoulders, her arms clutching the remains of her bodice to cover her breasts.
Surprisingly, he felt his desire flood through him again. If she did not look so much like a lost child, he would have ordered William to give them a half hour of privacy. It took great strength for him to remember that she was his bride and deserved a proper wedding night in a proper bed.
“What shall we do?” Miranda gave up trying to repair the disaster of her new traveling gown and stared at him in complete dismay. “I cannot be seen like this!”
“On the contrary, my dear. I believe I very much enjoy seeing you this way.”
Miranda’s gaze flicked with obvious annoyance over his own clothing. “Your attire looks no more rumpled than one might expect from such a journey. But I look as though ...” She blushed.
Reminding himself that Miranda was now his duchess and suffering from the indignity of having been discovered in dishabille by a servant in her new home, he put aside his own feelings for the moment. The night was young. And he was certain he could return them both to their abandoned state as soon as he closed the bedroom door behind them.
Swiftly, he covered her with his cloak and lifted her into his arms. She protested, embarrassed, but he swept aside her objections. “It is the bridegroom’s prerogative, Miranda, to carry his sleeping bride into his home so that she might rest in comfort on her wedding night.”
“Sleeping ... “ Her eyes searched his for a moment, as if for the first time she was realizing that what had passed between them in the carriage was not an isolated event. To his delight, a small smile curved her lips as she obediently snuggled her head on his shoulder and feigned sleep. For the first time since he had thrown caution to the winds and decided to spend his last few months in England with Miranda, he was unreservedly happy with his decision.
Mrs. Hoskins, the housekeeper, had lined the servants in two neat rows to welcome his new duchess. Simon looked at her apologetically. “Tomorrow will suffice for introductions, Mrs. Hoskins,” he said softly, feeling the rapid beat of Miranda’s heart. “Her Grace is worn out from the ride.”
For a moment, until she quickly bobbed her head and curtsied to him, Simon thought he saw a tremor of shock cross her features. But that could not be true. Mrs. Hoskins had never displayed anything but respectful acknowledgment of his orders. In fact, he thought, as he surveyed the line of servants, none of them had. As his eyes swept the row of servants, they bobbed, hiding their faces from his scrutiny.
“Tomorrow, Dome.” Simon had no time for household matters at this moment, his intent went no further than to carry Miranda upstairs, shut the door to his bedroom, and make love to his willing wife. She was his wife for only the shortest of times and he wanted her all to himself now.
Halfway up the flight of stairs leading to the second floor, a familiar, and unwelcome voice stopped him cold. “Simon. Where are you going in such haste?” He turned slowly and faced his mother.
She nodded in greeting, her eyes on the cloaked figure in his arms. “The evening is early yet. Have you no time to spare for a greeting to your mother?”
He did not answer, but stood there, unable to move. Just as if they had never fallen out, she beckoned. “Come, I would like to meet my new daughter-in-law.”
He could feel the tension in Miranda’s body, and a quick glance told him that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were focused self-consciously on her new mother-in-law.
“Let me down,” she whispered.
He held her more tightly.
His mother’s eyes narrowed as she took in the sight.
She turned her gaze upon Miranda. “Some men are so impatient, my dear. What we women must put up with.” And then she said shortly to Simon, “Can’t you put the girl down, Simon? How long have you been wed? Hours at most.”
“Miranda is exhausted, Mother. I am helping her upstairs.”
“After you help her up the stairs, Simon, will you tell her? Have you told her yet?”
He shook his head. “That is none of your business, Mother.”
“I beg to differ.” She focused once again on Miranda, and Simon panicked, afraid she would tell his new bride everything.
“Wait in the study for me, Mother,” he commanded curtly. He quickly turned and proceeded up the stairs.
Miranda looked at him questioningly. “I should go down. Why didn’t you warn me that your mother would be here? I can’t imagine what she thinks of me!”
“What can she think of you, but that you are a charmingly exhausted bride.” He soothed her, though inside he was raging. How dare his mother be here? How dare she? His letter had been very clear. She was not to set foot in this home for the next six months.
He should have known that she would not heed him.
He should have given clearer orders to Dome.
Damn his promise to the old duke. He could not bar her from the house. The servants would talk.
“Simon, I don’t want to begin badly with your mother.”
“There’s no need to worry, my dear. No one could be on a worse footing with my mother than I am, nor she with me.”
Miranda said nothing as he set her on her feet in her own bedroom. He noticed that in accordance with his orders, the room had been well polished, dusted and swept. There was no sign that this room had been unoccupied since his own birth, when his mother moved into a different wing and lived separately from his father.
“Simon, you should not speak disrespectfully of your mother. It is not seemly.”
“Am I to take it that you are the arbiter of what is seemly, Miranda?” He smiled at the thought as she stood before him with her traveling dress in tatters around her.
He was glad to see that she smiled at his teasing, and did not take it amiss. They were comfortable together, and it pleased him. Though soon he intended to show her there could be more than comfortable companionship between a man and a woman. “Why don’t you prepare for bed as soon as the maid comes up with your things. I will be back shortly.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I intend to come down as soon as I am presentable.”
That was the last thing he needed. “There is no need. My mother was told that she is not welcome here. She requires no greeting, and I hope she will be gone by morning.”
“I am sorry there is a rift between you and your mother, but I cannot allow it to continue. After all, if you — “ She could not quite bring herself to say it, which was a relief to him. Lies upon lies.
But he didn’t care. He wanted her and now he had her. She was his wife, and his mother was leaving. There was nothing more to be said about the matter — except to make the situation clear to his mother. He left Miranda to make herself ready for the night and went to beard the lioness in what was no longer her den.
She nodded her head in his direction as he entered the room. “Your bride — what little I saw of her, seems charming, Simon.”
“Mother, I gave you specific instructions not to come here.”
“Yes, Simon, I know. But it is fortunate that I am here.”
“And how is that?” he asked coldly, willing his anger to subside. He did not want to go up to Miranda with this rage inside him. He needed to treat his new bride gently.
“If you plan to go ahead with this foolish idea of disappearing from the face of the earth, you cannot afford to create a child. You cannot make love to your wife.”
Simon was shocked by her blatant statement almost as much as he was dismayed by it. He refused to discuss with her his knowledge of the measures to ensure there would be no child from his brief marriage. “That is not your concern, Mother.”
“It is not my concern?” Her voice rose. Simon realized that it had been years since he had seen a break in the icy composure she cultivated. His marriage must be more disturbing to her than he had realized it would be. Good. It would serve her right to see what she had denied him a lifetime of: family.
There was a discernible tremor in her voice as she continued. “Simon, nothing would delight me more than for you to get a child upon your wife. For then your foolish plans would die stillborn.”
He opened his mouth to deny her words but she gave him no chance. “Could you deny a child of your own his birthright? Could that girl upstairs? And what would you tell her?”
“There are ways to prevent a child, Mother.” He had not meant to say it aloud. Not to her. For a moment, though, he had felt like a child caught in an act of folly.
“Yes,” she said with a depth of bitterness that he had not expected, “And I can tell you, you would not be here if they were infallible.”
He looked at her in shock. Though he had hated her for a long time, he found he hated her even more now. And he hated himself. For her words revealed him to himself — as a fool. Who knew the number of lovers she had had over the years? And she had never borne a child from her liaisons. Except for Simon himself.
If he used every trick he had learned to prevent conception he could not be absolutely certain there would be no child. And that was only if he used the tricks. He shuddered as he remembered the carriage ride home. He had not thought once of the French letter in his pocket. He doubted, if they had been granted the time to complete their lovemaking, that he would have withdrawn in time.
He saw his mother’s triumphant smile. She knew him too well, all those years when he had not known of her treachery and he had exposed his soul to her and thought that she nurtured it. She knew him too well.
He fought her with the only weapon he had, keeping his expression as unreadable as possible. “You have cast your final stone, Mother. It is time for you to go home. Or do you forget this is no longer your home?”
She did not even blink, although her lip curled up in disdain. “I have no intention of going home, Simon. What have you told the girl? Have you prepared her at all?”
He did not want to answer, but something in her expression dragged the words from him. “I have told her that I am dying.”
“Dying!” In the lamplight, her skin seemed to lose all color. “It is not true?”
“No. It is a lie.” He shrugged. “It was simpler in the end.”
“And she married you anyway?” His mother’s head tilted to the side, her eyes took on a thoughtful look. “Probably hoping to get an heir from you before you die. She could then run through the estate during his minority.”
Stung, Simon retorted b
efore he could stop himself, “Miranda married me because she was convinced she could find a cure for my ‘illness,’ mother. She is not like you.”
“Indeed.” As if he hadn’t just grossly insulted her, the dowager duchess said quietly, “I would like to meet her, Simon. Very much I would like to meet the woman who was willing to marry you, knowing that you were dying, hoping to bring you a cure. Poor thing.”
Simon looked at her in confusion. “What?”
She shook her head. “And for a woman with that kind of loyalty, Simon, you would abandon her with child?”
“I have taken your point, Mother. You can be assured that there will be no future dukes coming from my bastard line.”
“Simon, I beg you for the last time to give up this foolish notion. Arthur is not a suitable replacement.”
“He is the true heir.”
“Pish tosh. The true heir is the son your father cherished and nurtured for the role. He made you as consciously as he would have if he could have done so with his own body. You are his son, much as I wish it were not so.”
“Arthur...”
“And if Arthur dies? Certainly he has no more fortitude than a rosebud in winter.”
For a moment he wondered just how evil his mother really was. He had never rid himself of the suspicion that some malignant fate had played him for a fool, removing three of the scarce Watterly direct descendants from the living before they could be named as his heirs. The carefully researched document that enumerated remaining heirs had seriously thinned of names.
Just as quickly as he had considered the thought, he dismissed it. If his mother had had murder in her, she’d have murdered the old duke years before he had died of old age and overindulgence. And Arthur was here, and alive, if not the most suitable candidate for a duke’s responsibilities. But Simon could change that, given a few months. He had to.
“Did I hear my name spoken?” The man upon whom, in six months’ time, the dukedom would devolve entered the room hesitantly. “Did you require my assistance?
[Once Upon a Wedding 01.0] The Fairy Tale Bride Page 11
