by Heather Boyd
He stared down at her and then his gaze shifted to her lips. In the face of Taverham’s scrutiny, her mouth grew dry. “Not soon enough. It was not as if we were a marriage of equals, not with only my dowry and common connections to recommend me.”
“I tried so hard to find you.” His lips crashed against her suddenly, bruising and bold. His tongue demanded entry to her mouth, and the feelings he had stirred in her before from just looking at him returned to shake her to her core. Taverham could still blind her to the truth with a single kiss. The only thing that mattered to him was her money and satisfying his lust. Any moment, she expected him to cart her back to his bed and finally claim what he believed was his.
When the door to the hall opened, they both glanced at it quickly. Miranda’s new maid squeaked an apology, blushing furiously, and jerked it closed again. Miranda closed her eyes, knowing that within an hour the whole household would be talking about how they were discovered, with her undressed and in his arms, about to make love.
“Ignore it.” Taverham kissed her again and drew her close, curling his hand around her head and the other over her bottom. He forced them together, and Miranda could not miss the signs of his arousal pressed low against her belly. His fingers dug into her bottom brutally as he ground her pelvis against his length. Miranda fought not to be affected, but after last night her resistance crumbled all too soon.
She wanted him and she hated herself for falling for his charms in the bedchamber again. He made her crazed with inexplicable lust.
When he spun her about to face away from him, she whimpered. Yet he didn’t immediately whip up her nightgown to take her from behind as he had done on one occasion before their marriage when speed had been his aim. He touched her legs possessively, moving aside her robe and finally inching her nightgown higher so that he touched the bare skin of her inner thighs.
Miranda couldn’t think. Couldn’t reason with herself to end this before he went too far. As his fingers skimmed higher to touch the curls between her legs, her eyes closed of their own accord. Taverham had always gotten what he wanted when it came to the bedchamber. She was still as powerless now to tell him to end it as she’d been at seventeen. He was right that he’d never forced her into bed with him. One touch and she was lost.
His fingers dipped inside her and he groaned. “For a woman who claims not to want her husband, you are incredibly aroused.”
His hand closed over her breast and squeezed. His lips and breath scorched the skin of her neck and shoulder as he slid her nightgown aside with his teeth. He penetrated her with his fingers deeply, and she shuddered at the pleasure of it. She couldn’t help it. He excited her and she was unable to prevent the moan passing her lips. It would not take long to climax, given how intent he was on arousing her needs to fever pitch. He made her his possession, his amusement to bend to his will. There was nothing her body liked better than moments when she had his undivided attention, especially with his fingers sliding over her clitoris in little circles and dipping inside her body.
When she was close to coming, she clamped her jaw shut.
“No.” He released her breast to cup her face, fingers sliding gently over her jaw to break her resistance even further. “There’s no need for silence now that we are married. I’ve waited a long time to hear you scream my name. Say it at last, wife. I need it.”
She couldn’t say it now. She wouldn’t do it.
Miranda closed her eyes as he brought her to the brink time and again, fingers sliding in and out of her body firmly. He played with her clitoris until she thought she would come, but then he’d stop and focus his attention inside her body, his cock bumping against her bottom restlessly. The fingers of his other hand stroked her throat softly, then drifted down to her breast. He pinched her nipple suddenly and Miranda’s control shattered. She screamed his name—Kit—and sobbed aloud to discover herself so weak against him.
He turned her to face him and kissed her mouth hungrily while she shook and shook, his hot body crowding hers against the table behind them. The pressure of his cock against her sex brought on more shudders of pleasure. She caught the edge of the table with one hand, bracing herself for whatever position Taverham demanded next for further intimacies. She touched Taverham’s chest with her other hand and discovered his skin was scorching hot and slick.
He drew back, his green eyes bright with passion, his face flushed. Miranda had never made love to him in the daylight, and he appeared utterly unlike the careful aristocrat she’d left behind all those years ago. His wide chest rose and fell rapidly, and she couldn’t look away.
He caught her face and lifted her gaze to his again. Miranda dug her fingers into his shoulders, grasping for purchase.
He kissed her soundly before drawing back again. “This is the passionate woman I married,” he murmured softly against her lips. “The one I’ve waited my whole life for. Don’t ever leave me alone again.”
He jerked away suddenly, storming back into his own bedchamber and slammed the door behind him.
Without Kit for support and no notion of when or if he’d return, Miranda settled to the floor in an untidy heap beside the dressing table, little caring how she looked should her maid come back. Her body trembled. Her breath wouldn’t settle. Her heart raced frantically.
Passion had never been their problem. It was what happened outside the bedchamber that made them an incompatible match.
CHAPTER TWENTY
If all men had sex on their mind, then all women must secretly wish their contemporaries ill couplings. One hour into morning calls, Kit found himself thoroughly disgusted by their many exuberant callers. Throughout the long morning, Miranda had shown remarkable restraint given the thinly veiled queries, more insults and sneers, aimed at her and the resumption of their marriage. Oh, you have no children do you? So sad that you’ll never understand what a worry they can be or any variation on that theme was fast growing tedious.
Clearly they had no children. They’d barely had a marriage.
He folded his arms across his chest as yet another woman spoke of her children so fondly as she departed. “Take the knocker off the damn door, Addison.”
His mother gasped. “You cannot do that. I have friends coming specifically to call on us today.”
He glanced at Miranda’s drawn face and joined her on the long chaise lounge where she’d perched. “As my wife pointed out, it’s my house. Our house. We can do whatever we want. I, for one, am sick of visitors, and I think Miranda may be too. I’d like a quiet hour with my wife if you don’t mind.”
He stretched out on the remaining space around Miranda and sighed. A cozy afternoon couldn’t be guaranteed, but he’d certainly try for it. “Tea, Miranda?”
“Yes, that would be very welcome,” she said hesitantly.
Kit twisted to look at the door where the butler hovered, apparently torn over whom to take orders from—him or his mother. The fact that this still continued to happen after a dozen or more years as marquess irritated him. He was the Marquess of Taverham. His mother lived here by his invitation and good grace. “Addison. Bring tea for my wife and me. Perhaps Mother, too, if she wishes it, but we are done accepting calls for the day.”
His mother huffed and straightened in her seat. Any stiffer and he could attach a sail to her and have her glide away. “Sit up, Taverham,” she ordered. “Show some respect for your position.”
Kit let his mother’s thoughts on how a marquess should behave in his own home go in one ear and out the other. He watched Miranda instead and saw a small smile lift the corners of her lips when he didn’t move to accommodate his mother’s wishes immediately. Interesting.
He crossed his feet at the ankles and laced his fingers together behind his head. “Mother, do stop your nonsense. When do you leave for Twilit Hill?”
The dowager sniffed. “Not for several days yet, I suspect. I’m needed here.”
Miranda glanced down at her hands, the beginnings of her smile vanishing. Blast.
For a moment she’d almost been happy. “When shall we leave, wife?”
She whipped her head around to stare at him. “Leave London?”
He wondered at her surprise. He’d never spent more than a month or two in London each year and never together in a row. She’d told him once she’d been pleased by that as she liked the country better than Town. Had that changed? “I’ve no need to be here for the season, and I’d rather spend my time with you than suffering through parliament. I thought you might be keen to see Twilit again. Our home is very different now. I’d like your opinion on the improvements we’ve made.”
Miranda licked her lips. “I’d like to stay and see more of my cousin Agatha. I wanted to go to her today, but with so many visitors…”
He recalled she’d made mention of going out today a few times, and so far he’d managed to put her off with one distraction or another. She must have missed her cousin, but the notion that the outside world and her family held more appeal than being with him stung a little. He’d better reconcile himself to becoming her shadow if he wanted to keep her happy.
He huffed at the thought of being second in her good graces but could see no reason to deny her wish to remain close to her cousin for the time being. The estate ran itself now, allowing him freedom to come and go at will. There was really no reason to rush home to the country. No reason to rush anywhere at all. “Of course. The Carringtons customarily do not remain in London for terribly long. Perhaps when they have returned to the country we can too. I’ve no objections to that. Mother can go on ahead and prepare the servants for our return. I’d like a smooth transition and no awkwardness about your removal to the dower house, Mother. You may request any staff member to join you there, and do write to us with your requests for additional comforts. I am sure Miranda will want to change things, as is her right.”
When his mother began to protest, attempted to change Kit’s mind but failed to make headway, Miranda smiled for the first time at him, with more warmth than he expected.
Happiness trickled through him. At last—a small thawing of her resistance. He ignored his mother’s furious departure to drink in the contentment he found in pleasing his wife. She was the marchioness, and he would support any changes she wished made.
Before he could put those thoughts into words, the butler slipped back into the room, clearing his throat in a manner Kit found extremely irritating. “I said we were not to be disturbed.”
“Forgive me. Lord Louth has called to see the marchioness and will not take no for an answer. He’s become rather cross in fact.”
Miranda sprung to her feet. “I’ll see him at once, Addison.”
She took a few steps away but then clutched the backrest of a chair tightly and squeezed her eyes shut. Kit watched her, uncomfortably aware that she was eager to see another man. A friend. Kit rolled to a sitting position and nodded to the butler, anxious himself to see how the pair greeted each other.
When Lord Louth strolled in, he shook Kit’s hand firmly, then his eyes narrowed on Miranda. “My lady, a pleasure to see you again.”
“Lord Louth. So nice of you to call on me here.”
A deep vee formed between his eyes. He took her gloved hand in his and brushed his thumb across her clenched fingers as he looked at her face closely. “Please sit,” he murmured, then led her to a high-backed chair and eased her into it. Miranda settled comfortably, and when Louth nudged a footstool in her direction, she accepted the fussing wordlessly and placed her feet upon it.
Kit stared at his wife, noticing the rapidity of her breathing, a sign her nerves were beset by emotion. Her warm thanks was a soft murmur, possibly for Louth’s ears alone. Kit glanced down at his hands as disappointment filled him. Her connection to Louth was a strong one and unabated by her return to be his wife. Miranda could not love him even a little when she clearly cared for Lord Louth so much more.
But he would not be driven away from Miranda in his own house. She was his wife, and he’d never given up hope of her return despite the many years apart. If that return came with a price, they’d both bear it. She could have Louth when she’d given Kit a son. Until then, Kit wouldn’t allow them to be alone one single moment.
Miranda spoke first to Louth. “I understand your cousin is with you in Town this year. I’m sorry not to have paid her a visit yet.”
“Think nothing of it. She will understand you have other more important obligations than calling on her.” Louth’s lips twisted into a grimace. “She’s driving her companion to distraction actually. I hired the woman to escort her about town, thinking Whitney would attend balls and such. All she does is walk in the park and visit the art gallery each week. I should have hired a companion with a creative flair so they’d have more to talk about.”
Kit didn’t like the way Miranda’s gaze softened on Louth. He sat forward in an attempt to draw Louth’s attention from Miranda. “Does your cousin not wish to be married?”
“Ah, you’ve forgotten the old gossip.” Louth winced, appearing uncomfortable in the extreme. “Whitney was disappointed in love during her first season, cruelly played and embarrassed when the fellow married someone with better connections, her best friend actually. It broke her heart. Her mother made the situation worse by speaking of it repeatedly until her death. Whitney hasn’t had much time for gentlemen since. She claims there’s not one worth the trouble of keeping.”
Kit frowned, not remembering the specifics of the incident mentioned, only the fact that it had occurred. As far as Kit could recall, Whitney’s connections and dowry should have been sufficient for most men who were not weighed down by debts. His eyes flew to Miranda’s. He’d thought he’d been lucky in finding Miranda, a woman he’d desired from the moment they’d met.
Miranda nodded. “’Tis difficult to forget such a disappointment. A woman’s heart, her belief in her desirability, is often the thing she values most, and when abandoned, recovery of her confidence can take time.”
Louth eased back and crossed one leg over his thigh. “That is what I suspected. She’s vowed never to marry and we have a pact of sorts.”
Had Louth made a similar agreement with Miranda? “What sort of pact?”
“I’m not to ever suggest she needs to marry and she’ll do the same for me.”
Kit rubbed his hand over his thigh. “It’s high time you did.”
Louth grimaced. “Now you sound like Miranda.”
Kit glanced at his wife in surprise. “You recommended marriage?”
Her eyes were fixed to the leg that he’d rubbed, and she jerked her feet from the footstool and smoothed her skirts over her knees as if discomposed. “Most find it agreeable enough. Some even marry many times over.”
Kit held her gaze, aware of a rising of her color. Her eyes slipped from his to scrutinize his chest. When he rubbed his leg again, she followed the movement as if mesmerized. Kit struggled to hide his satisfaction. Miranda was aware of him, his body particularly, even from across the room. “Once is enough,” he said softly.
Miranda blushed a deep shade of pink as she looked away to Louth. “I quite agree.”
She did not, Kit was pleased to see, give Louth the same level of inspection as he’d just enjoyed when he moved in his chair. Her glances were quite cursory in Kit’s opinion, and he sat back at ease, delighted with this revelation.
Louth glanced between them, his lips curving in amusement as if he suspected there was more going on than said. In fact, he looked ready to laugh. “I should take my leave,” he said quickly. “I merely wanted to pay my respects and ask if you were attending the Huntley soiree tonight or not.”
“We are,” Miranda told him quickly. “We’ll look forward to seeing you there.”
Louth smiled. “I’d like that. I’d attempt to claim a dance, but I’m sure your husband has already claimed them all.”
Kit hadn’t thought once of dancing and felt a momentary pang of embarrassment when she spoke of not being in the mood to dance. He’d not though
t to ask but would gladly convince her to glide across the ballroom floor with him alone. He’d give anything to hold her close in his arms while they danced for the first time. It had to be a waltz or nothing.
When she made to stand, Louth gestured for her to stay where she was. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
Kit followed Louth into the hall as he took his leave, his heart a little lighter. Miranda had used the term we to describe them, not once but twice. It was a small victory admittedly, but just the same he felt better about his marriage than he had in years.
“Is Miss Crewe coming to the ball tonight too?”
Louth shook his head. “Cannot convince her. Even had new gowns ordered in secret from her modiste and that didn’t even tempt her to venture forth. I suppose she’s afraid of being hurt again.”
“That’s a shame. I think many gentlemen would find her an interesting conversationalist. When things are settled here, I’ll ask Miranda to consider a dinner and we can invite you both to join us along with a few eligible men.”
“Only if you don’t mind your friends being shocked when she points out their foibles in a clear, loud voice that carries to every corner of the room.” Louth set his hat on his head. “Whitney does not suffer fools.”
“You sound very fond of her. Maybe you should marry her yourself. It’s not unheard of for cousins to marry.”
Louth spluttered and coughed. “Are you mad? I have less in common with Whitney than I do with your wife, and that, for your information, isn’t much at all.”
“What’s left to have in common with her?”
“The ability to keep our opinions to ourselves even when we know the other is making a mistake.” Louth nodded and strolled out without explaining further what those mistakes might have been.
Kit remained in the hall, thinking over what Louth had hinted at. As far as he could sense, his wife and Lord Louth were not lovers. By his own admission, Louth had claimed little in common with Miranda. That assertion comforted him.
