"Though by all accounts, she was pregnant," George recalled with a frown.
Miranda shivered. "Aye, and by all accounts, he was very fond of hunting parties."
George's eyes widened.
"It would make sense. Especially given some of the things he and his friend said and did. I was just a, well, a fox brought to ground. Something to toy with before they moved on to their next entertainment. Or killed."
"Oh, Miranda, my love--"
She shook her head and straightened her shoulders. "No, George, it's fine. I was miraculously spared, and thanks to you, I can see I was spared the worst, pregnancy, disease, madness, I can see that now. So no more dwelling on the past. Let's ask Alistair to see what he can do to bring that foul man to justice for the sake of all his victims, and move on."
George nodded. "I couldn't agree more. And to celebrate our wonderful future together, and your joyful reprieve, when we get home tonight, we are going to have champagne and caviar, and I am going to let you satisfy your every desire. So don’t wear me out too much now."
"Just so you know, I never had any idea. Never knew. Never wanted any other man—"
"I know it now. I just thank all the gods that you were spared me and we found out the truth at last. But that was the past. Our future awaits, my dearest love. We just have to have the courage to seize it with both hands."
"Yes, I do. I will." She gripped his hand with her own left one. "Let no man, nor woman, ever put us asunder."
"Amen, the dearest wife of my heart."
True to his word, George had an elegant supper waiting for them in their room as soon as they got home from the theatre. After feeding each other in a lover-like fashion, sharing every bite and a glass, he swept their clothes aside and began a renewed campaign upon her senses.
Miranda shouted, screamed, moaned, begged and wept in the throes of the most ecstatic passion. George hung on for dear life amid her tempestuous yearnings in order to keep his promise that she could have anything she wanted or needed for as long as she wished.
He wanted her to regain her sense of power and put behind her the last of her terrors over being a hunted fox, as she had put it. So once they had drunk some wine together and partaken of a small snack to keep up their strength, he explained to her that there was nothing wrong with playing games in bed, so long as the rules were clear. So for the rest of the night, he would be her willing slave.
"I am but the instrument of your pleasure, Mistress. My whole body is here to serve you and you alone."
She started out shyly at first, but soon rapped out her orders with the briskness of an Army drill sergeant. At other times she pleaded so tearfully it was like observing a tiny mewling kitten. He gave and gave, and in return received the utmost rapture.
George allowed himself a couple of climactic releases, but most of the time he chose to stop himself with a few minor adjustments to his anatomy so he could stay with her. He was fascinated to see where all of this would take him.
Eventually she discovered what he was doing, and was dismayed. "But I don’t understand. You mean you haven’t been—"
"I have. Just not as much as you because I stop myself. You capacity for pleasure is limitless. Alas, I am a mere man. There are only so many climaxes I can achieve before I fall asleep and you’re left on your own. The last thing I want is for you to be frustrated, though I’ve shown you how you can cure that problem."
"But it’s so unfair. I want to—"
"I can have my turn tomorrow."
"Can I do that?" she asked curiously. "Halt you? Learn to control you?"
"Aye, if you wish." He taught her the three main ways of containing him, and noticed her touch was still tentative. "You can’t hurt me unless you bashed them or squeezed hard. The way you touch is just fine. More than fine. There you go, oh my... Pull, quick."
But Miranda recalled the trick she had taught Maggie, so instead, she explored the area behind his delicate pouch, until she found the dimple she sought and pressed it with her thumb.
He grabbed her hand in shock. "Easy!" he gasped, but it was already too late. She watched him in fascination, and a short time later, once he was no longer pinned to the bed with delight, he shook his head as he wiped them both dry with the sheet.
"Damn. You’re going to have to wait for more for a while now," he sighed.
He tried to plant his head between her thighs but she shook her head. Emboldened by her new sense of power, she was not to be deterred. Her stroking, pressing and kissing soon brought him back to surging life.
She also decided that his manly member might benefit from a few caresses such as he had given her, and angled what she knew to be the sensitive tip up against the roof of her mouth. The friction against her rigid palate drove him even further, but his last straw was her closing her lips over him firmly and moving her head rhythmically.
Then her tongue came into play. With every movement it brushed the inverted V at the top of his satin helmet. He crested on his peak for a moment, then dragged her up onto him with a wild cry, burying himself within her with one vast stroke. The perspiration poured out all over his body as he tried to steady his reeling world. It would be fine, if only he didn’t...move....
With one tiny twitch of her hips it was his turn to beg, moan and plead, and still she brought him on a carnal odyssey of his very own. She drove him on relentlessly, taking him beyond anything he had ever known he was capable of.
"Miranda, no, please, I can’t—"
But he already was. Fondling him gently once more on the underside of his tender orbs, and pressing into the small indentation with her thumb, he flowed like a river and was still at last.
"Lord, Miranda, you’re insatiable," he gasped.
"I love watching you."
He gathered her tightly to his chest, feeling her heartbeat thunder in time with his own. "Then the feeling is mutual. Oh, Mon Dieu, this is bliss beyond compare."
She grinned up at him. "I’m glad. I want to chase all the other women out of your head."
"There aren’t any," he reassured her truthfully.
"Not even Viola?" she couldn’t help asking.
"Never. I ogled her, the way all men do, but I never imagined anything like this with her."
But her words reminded him of the swine she had once been with. He felt his blood boil, and determined he was going to drive her memory of him out of her head no matter what it took.
Rolling her over onto her back, he raised the backs of her knees around his elbows. "Would you like to see more of my imagination?"
"Yes, please," she purred. "It certainly is vivid and colourful. And so very like I've always dreamed of."
"Not nightmares?"
She shook her head, and her eyes glowed with love for him. "Nay, you're the light that banishes all the darkness from my life, my dearest George."
"As you are the sunniest spot in my days, and nights, my darling Miranda."
Their blossoming love bore full fruit as George planted the seeds of a bountiful harvest of delights, determined to make Miranda the happiest woman in London, in bed and out. They were inseparable during the day and evening, rehearsing, shopping, reading, exploring some of the most sophisticated delights the great city had to offer.
Their theatre performances together were magnificent, and there was always supper before and a small celebration afterwards as he sought to do everything he could to make sure how much she knew she was appreciated.
He showered her with gifts and attention, until even the die-hard romantics Philip and Jasmine began to feel envious of their luminous love.
But it was in bed at night that George’s passion for Miranda took on a whole new dimension. He drove onwards until she was boneless with need, and yet she would still hear him rasp time and time again, "Come on, darling, over the edge for me. That’s right. Go on. Oh, you are so beautiful. Go on, again, do it for me again. That’s right, melt all over me. Make me yours forever, my darling Miranda."
&
nbsp; She soared and soared again, and he brought her to one more magnificent climax before finally taking his own ease.
He laughed shakily as he pulled her close. "I hope you realised you’ve ruined me for any other woman in the world. There’s no one like you. The excitement, the pure joy and awe I feel when we’re like this together. I almost don’t want to take my own release. I could watch you, feel you like that, forever."
"But I want to make you happy too," she said with a smile, stroking his lean hard cheek.
"You do. So very much," he reassured her.
"You don’t need to control, manage me, orchestrate this thing between us. I’m all right now, really I am. It was all just a bad nightmare that’s never going to come back. My only worry is, well, I hope we might be able to have children one day. But it hasn’t happened yet," she added quickly when she saw his lashes fly upwards in silent inquiry.
"Oh, sweetheart, it will, in time. Some people get caught first go around, others it could take months, even years. When all is right in our world, it will come. All in good time," he said, giving her a warm kiss.
"I shall remind you of that the next time you decide to coach me to orgasm after orgasm," she said with a grin. "But seriously, darling, it all feels so right to me. Our life together, I mean. Why—"
"Just all right?" he teased. "Lord, I’m just going to have to try harder." He reached for her breast.
"Incredible, stupendous," she gasped. "Any other superlative you would care to use. And if you tried any harder we’d break the bed and do you a permanent injury."
"I suppose that’s one problem with being an actor. We have so many wonderful words, but they’re put into our mouths by someone else."
"Oh, I don’t know, George. You’re doing pretty well with that mouth of yours," she giggled. "But then two can play at that game, or so I’m told." She flipped around so her head was even with his loins.
"Oh, no really, you don’t have to—"
Miranda had already fastened over him and drawn in her cheeks, trapping him in an inescapable vacuum as she explored him with her tongue.
"I want as much of a mastery over your response as you have over mine," she said as she ran her tongue lightly along every subtle nuance of texture along his full length, velvet, satin, steel, and all its graceful lines and curves.
"Oh, you do, darling, you do," he promised her breathlessly, tonguing her purposefully between each word.
She removed herself from his questing mouth, shaking her head. "I want more. All the secrets of your body laid bare. Give me your hand and show me. I’m not afraid. Give me all of you, George. Show me who you really are, how to please you."
He nodded, swallowed hard, and began.
And she didn’t end until morning.
About a week later, she found George just finishing the half-moons on his left hand with a pair of scissors. He gave her a long, burning gaze, and said to her, "Would you mind very much if I cut your nails short too?"
"Pardon?"
"Your fingernails."
"No, but why—"
"Here, let me."
She held still as he did so. While he worked, he explained, "Sometimes nails can be part of the whole sensual experience, and indeed some men like to be clawed. I don’t really care one way or the other myself. You can scratch me all you like if it makes you happy.
"But I do want to feel every inch of your flesh. To me there’s nothing more marvelous than the sensation of your tender fingertips on my body. You see all the little tiny hairs we both have?"
He held her arm up to the light.
"There are some on my back, and yours. All over our bodies. So tonight want us to make love with just our fingertips. Everything light and tender and slow."
"You’re not angry with me about the other night, are you?" she asked sadly.
"Angry?" He was completely nonplused. "No, darling, never," he avowed as he finished cutting the first hand and moved on to the second. "Not at all. How can anyone be blamed for what they truly think or feel? It was lovely. And you were absolutely right. I was trying to compete, to obliterate Oxnard and any other man from your mind, memory, body."
"There was no one else in that way. I mean, after all we've shared, I'm more than ever sure now. They--" She whispered shyly in his ear.
He stared at her in shock. When he was finally able to speak again he rasped, "You don’t have to say that just to make me feel less jealous and angry."
"I’m not. I know I was almost completely ignorant when I was trapped there in his house. But since then I’ve discovered things through you. I’m sure he---."
She gestured.
The words choked in his throat as he recalled her reaction in her dressing room that day he had sacked Maggie and Hugo. "That sick bastard," he gasped. "You're sure?"
"Aye, I saw him. And you. And there is a huge difference. In your favour, of course. And if you’ve never hurt me…"
"Well, there could be other reasons for that."
"Yes, like how you are so warm, loving and tender. So there has never been any comparison between the two of you. I love you, and if you want me to cut my fingernails I’m glad to do it."
"Toenails too?" he asked suddenly.
"Why, what do you want to—"
Now it was his turn to whisper in her ear. She giggled. "So long as you think—"
"I do," he said, reaching to pull her legs into his lap and spreading his own.
"Like this?" she asked, curling her toes once he had removed the first shoe. His own curled in reply.
"Perfect. Extraordinary. Give me those scissors again quickly."
"How wonderful. I always wished I had more hands," she said with a laugh. "But, well, do you do this with all your women?"
"No, never. Never!" he promised. "I got the idea from the number of hours we’ve spent with your feet in my lap when we were reading and rehearsing together. I’ve never shared anything so intimate with anyone as the life we’re building for ourselves day by day. I’m playing out every single fantasy I’ve ever had, and inventing a few more besides, thanks to you."
"So long as I make you happy in that regard. I mean, I know how difficult—"
He silenced her with a kiss. "I can’t even being to know how difficult it was for you. But in odd way it’s brought us even closer together. I’ve had to really get to know you as a person. A human being. Not just a woman, or the woman who give me the horn so badly I feel like a buck goat in heat."
She giggled again and wiggled her toes. "Thank you for the fantasy."
Then she placed her fingertips on his face carefully and stroked down from cheek to lips.
"Oh, sweetheart, that is so wonderful. Thank you," he panted, and melted into her kiss.
He would tell her later about the other advantages of short fingernails... When he could think straight again.
Weeks passed, and George and Miranda were together nearly every minute of the day and night. She could not believe her luck. Their love seemed to deepen every day, and the theatre thrived.
Miranda felt surrounded by more friends than she ever had before, and though she longed for a baby with George to ease her fears regarding her past injuries and put her experience with Oxnard behind her once and for all, she had to admit there were reasons why there being just the two of them was a very good thing.
The loving couple spent every moment they managed to have in private exploring every carnal delight their fervent love and torrid imaginations led them to. Nothing was forbidden as they entrusted their lives and love to one another. Miranda’s remaining nightmares and intrinsic shyness evaporated, leaving her a confident woman sure of her own power and allure.
One look or touch completely beguiled George. But that was only fair, for he had only to whisper her name or put his hand on her belly or the back of her neck, or look at her with his great dark eyes, for her to begin shredding the clothes from his body and pushing him to the limits of their passion.
Yet each time he was
sure they could not share more, she managed to surprise him. Her warm nature, coupled with delightful spontaneity and youthful health and good spirits, made every moment with her one of pure pleasure. The fact that she was so committed to him and his happiness humbled him, but also made him aspire to be an even better man. The years of dark sorrow and even darker deeds fell away with the light of their love.
Miranda grew almost impatient at the way he held back from her lovemaking, allowing her to set the pace. "I want you, George. Trust me. Tell me the truth. Act on it."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6 Page 71
