He’d retreated from dinner to take his port in seclusion in his study. The warm, sweet-tinged flavor was thick on his tongue as he watched the sun start its descent over the hill. Country hours were far more conducive to a peaceful existence, he affirmed that truth once more.
Yet the beautiful sunset wasn’t enough to distract him from his mind returning to the mystery that was Miss Miranda Smythe.
He swirled his brandy around his glass, the bouquet of its fragrance teasing his senses as he took another sip. It was one thing to be attracted to a woman’s body, an entirely different, and far more dangerous thing, to be attracted to a woman’s mind. And Miss Miranda had an intriguing mind, which was far more dangerous than her beautiful face and lovely form. A mind that was engaging, challenging, ever growing and developing, learning.
He swallowed the last of his port and set the glass on his desk, abandoning his study to take an evening stroll in the gardens. As he strode down the hall, he went out the front door into the warm, early fall evening. The scent of the sea gave the air a hint of a salty fragrance, along with the mixed blooming heather from the hills. The scent calmed his tight nerves and his shoulders relaxed.
Of course, the two glasses of brandy assisted in that relaxation.
He glanced to the front of the estate, debating on whether to take the road in front or find a path in the back of the house to wander. After a short debate, he started around the front courtyard and took the path toward the back of his property. A swallow darted overhead, followed by its friends, adding a bit of activity to the otherwise quiet evening. He started by the stables when he noted the door slightly open. He frowned, then strode over. It closed abruptly, and his body tightened with caution. It was probably nothing of note, but he was inquiring regardless.
He leaned back and opened the door wide, making sure any shots fired would go by his position.
When only silence met him, he peeked around the edge of the doorframe.
A horse nickered.
He relaxed.
Upon entering the stable, he met the curious stare of a chestnut mare and Miss Miranda.
“What an interesting way to enter a stable, my lord.” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes dancing with restrained amusement.
He tugged on his shirtsleeves, then continued into the warm stable, the scent of hay and linseed oil perfuming the air. “One can never be too cautious.”
“Are there often reasons to open doors, then hide from those within?” Miss Miranda inquired, a delicate brow arching in query.
He chuckled, though without real humor. Desperate men were often dangerous. More than once, a gentleman had come to the club with pistols, threatening to take back what he rightfully lost. Heathcliff had learned quickly to be cautious. “Depends on where you find yourself, Miss Miranda,” he answered simply.
“I see.” She turned back to the mare, stroking her nose softly. The horse leaned into the gentle touch and nickered.
“She likes you.” He nodded toward the mare.
“She has good taste, then,” Miss Miranda remarked, casting a sidelong glance to him.
“That’s left to be decided.” He shrugged one of his shoulders and approached the mare as well. “You see, she likes me too. Now what do you think of her taste?” He scratched behind the mare’s ears.
He glanced at Miss Miranda, curious to see how she’d respond to his invitation to flirt. Would she back away like a proper governess or would she rise to the occasion?
He hoped she wouldn’t back down from the challenge.
Even though it was the wiser of the two options.
“That’s left to be decided.” She inclined her head, but he read a fire in her expression that was daring, yet at the same time restraining, as she tossed his previous response back to him. She wasn’t giving away her secrets.
The lady would have been a good gambler.
Her wit pleased him. “That’s a fair answer. After all, we did just meet.” He spoke as he traced along the jawline of the mare. “But I must say, I wasn’t quite expecting your level of expertise in discourse. It was a pleasure to converse with you this evening.”
“I almost feel insulted,” she responded with a saucy grin. “But because I’m in your employ, I’ll simply accept it as a compliment.” She met his gaze, held it for a moment too long, then glanced away while a lovely pink tinted her cheeks.
So the lady wasn’t a gambler after all. He wasn’t sure why, but he appreciated that about her. It was better to read people, to know what they were thinking, rather than be left in the dark.
But it was also dangerous.
Because you couldn’t unsee the truth.
Like the truth she had just revealed; she was attracted to him.
Which was one of the most dangerous things she could have revealed.
Dangerous for her.
Dangerous for him.
“I’ll leave you to your evening, then.” She smoothed her skirt and turned to leave.
Before she could move a step, he reached out and grasped her hand. She froze at the contact and turned back to him. “Yes?” she asked, her tone wary.
He released her at once, but his hand burned from the contact, sending a pulsating energy up his arm and into his chest. “I interrupted you.” He took a step back, needing to remove himself from temptation.
Ha, irony was thick in his life.
“It is your horse, and your stables, my lord,” she reminded him.
“Actually, Lady is . . . was my father’s horse,” he answered, feeling the dark cloud of his past creep up around him.
“Was.” Miranda nodded once. “My condolences for your loss.”
“It was long ago.” He spoke too quickly for it to be believed.
She studied him then. “I take it you were close with your father?”
He hitched a shoulder, regretting his inclination to keep her from her departure. He’d already revisited the past enough for one day—one decade. “Yes,” he answered.
She nodded, and when a few moments had passed without further questions, he relaxed his posture.
“It is good to at least know her name,” she remarked.
It took him a moment, then he realized she meant the horse. “Yes, Lady. Not exactly original, but adequate.”
“Isn’t that so much of life? Adequate, but not original?” she murmured, her gaze lingering on the horse as if lost in thought.
Heathcliff reflected on her words, finding them refreshingly observant. The burning curiosity that seemed never to remain dormant for long in regard to this woman ignited once more. “How do you mean?”
She blinked up at him, as if remembering her words. “Oh, I suppose nothing of import.” She shook her head delicately, a curl coming down from her loose chignon at the nape of her neck, trailing along the delicate structure of her clavicle.
The innocent curl almost distracted him from the subject matter of their conversation, yet he dragged his gaze upward. “I find it hard to believe you’d say anything of little import, Miss Miranda. Rather”—he took a slight step toward her, watching as her breath caught—“you strike me as someone who puts an inordinate amount of thought into her words. It’s intriguing.”
She glanced away. “You must lower your assessment of me, my lord. Or I’ll surely disappoint.”
His attention was once again arrested by the wayward curl, and without thought, he lifted his hand to touch its thick and silky length. Her stunned gaze shifted back to his, and he wondered—had Miss Miranda ever been kissed?
It was a dangerous, rogue thought.
One he became obsessed with the moment it entered his mind.
“Have you ever been kissed, Miss Miranda?” he asked before he could use his better judgment.
Her bright eyes widened further with shock at his forward question, but rather than retreat, as he half-expected, she simply gave a simple shake of her head.
No.
Damn if he didn’t want to initiate her education on the subject.
“I find that hard to believe,” he hedged, fighting an internal war he was fully expecting to lose.
Her head tilted slightly, tugging the loose curl from his fingertips with the movement. “Why is that?” she asked.
The ill-fated war was already lost as he reached down and traced his fingers down her elbow to her wrist, then loosely gripped her fingers, caressing them. “Surely you’ve experimented at least a little?” he asked, not fully believing her innocent nature, even though nothing had indicated otherwise.
Weren’t women masters at deception?
She shook her head. “I’m not sure I understand.” She spoke softly, her tone breathless as she closed her eyes, breathing through her nose as if drawing strength from the air.
She tugged her hand away, but like the rogue he was at heart, he chased after it, not willing to accept her rejection.
Rather the idea of the chase fanned the flames more.
How long had it been since a woman, any woman, hadn’t thrown themselves at him? An age at least, and he quite missed the thrill of the hunt.
“I don’t think—” she started, but as he gave a slight shake of his head, she paused.
“Don’t think,” he remarked. “Feel.” He traced up her arm this time, touching her with a featherlight caress. He lingered at the curve of her elbow, then moved over the bare skin of her arm till he reached the light cap sleeve of her day dress, hiding only a small square of her shoulder. His fingers leaped over the offensive fabric hiding his view, and he slowed his ascent to the curve of her neck, watching her eyes flutter closed as she sighed.
“What do you feel?” he asked.
“Too much,” she replied, then stepped back, away from his touch. “Enough to know this is not the wisest of choices, my lord.” Her chest rose and fell with the depth of her breathing.
The horse nickered, as if sensing the powerful intensity in the stable.
He regarded her for a second, studying her expression. Was she feeling pressured? Yes, but it wasn’t unwanted.
Which was all the encouragement he needed to continue his pursuit.
“I should go.” She glanced to the door, then to him.
Grinning, he walked toward her slowly, starting with a single step. “That is a viable choice before you.”
Her gaze flickered to the door once more, and he measured another step to give her more than adequate time to take that route of escape if she wished.
He suspected she was trying to talk herself into it, and he hoped sincerely that she’d fail.
But it had to be her choice.
He wasn’t going to force himself upon her, even if was just a kiss.
It was a seduction of sorts, a choice to surrender rather than run away.
He closed the distance methodically, and her gaze flickered back to his and held.
Checkmate.
He brushed the wayward curl behind her shoulder and leaned down to kiss where it had first touched. The fragrance of lemon and sunshine held him spellbound for a moment as he lingered with his lips brushing against her skin. He noted her soft gasp and nipped her playfully, allowing his hands the freedom to circle around her waist and pull her a few inches closer. As he leaned back from her neck, he fleetingly noted that she seemed at a loss as to what to do with her hands, clasping them in tight fists. He released one hand from her waist and guided her arm to rest on his shoulder.
“Like a dance,” he whispered, watching as her clear eyes met his. Her hands settled on his shoulders, and he could feel her fingers relax from their fisted position and tremble against the skin of his neck.
A wave of tenderness washed over him at the realization of her truly innocent nature. He leaned forward, tracing along her jawline with his nose, inhaling the sweet scent of her, feeling her arms tense around his neck as if holding on for strength. She was erotic in her inexperience, and he nibbled at her skin as he gently made his way toward her full lips. Anticipation flooded him the few lingering moments before he allowed himself the pleasure of tasting her.
Soft, yielding, untried, her lips seduced him with their intense pleasure. It was the most chaste kiss he’d ever given a woman, yet it was the most powerful in its effect on his body. Everywhere she touched him felt aflame, and his body responded with enthusiasm, sending his blood to boiling in all the lower regions, begging him to follow his instincts and lean into her feminine form and claim more than her first kiss.
He exercised a restraint he hadn’t used in nearly a decade and leaned back from the kiss, wearing the flavor like a victory banner. He awaited the verdict from her first experience as her eyes fluttered open. Wonder, confusion, and arousal all flooded her gaze, and rather than take a moment to appreciate them, he rather found it impossible to resist initiating her second experience.
This time, as he met her lips, he ran his tongue along her lower lip, then pulled it playfully between his teeth ever so slightly. She pulled back, as if a little shocked, but didn’t withdraw further, and instinctively, he met her lips once more. He repeated the action, pleased when she didn’t retreat again, rather leaned into the kiss further, her fingers teasing the hair at the nape of his neck in the most alluring way. Tentative at first, her confidence clearly grew as she began lacing her fingers through his hair as he continued to deepen the kiss.
He flicked his tongue against her lips, tracing along the slightly open space and caressed her lips from the inside out. After a moment, she mimicked his actions, and he knew it was his turn to retreat.
Retreat, or he’d surely meet the swift end of his restraint and seduce her fully.
He gentled the kiss, then slowly, regretfully, withdrew.
“Oh my,” she whispered as she met his gaze.
He chuckled softly. “I’m pleased your first lesson has met with approval.”
A rose-colored blush tinted her cheeks as her gaze flickered away. “Yes . . .”
“Speechless as well,” he interjected.
She shot him a wry grin. “You look far too pleased with yourself.”
“I am,” he answered honestly.
“Well . . .” She glanced down. “I find I’m at a loss as to what to say now . . .” She glanced to him expectantly.
He grinned at her stark honesty. “Allow me to help, because I’m the instructor in this area, as it were.”
She arched a brow.
“It’s only fair. You are a teacher, are you not? Is it not your duty to assist your pupil when the need arises?” he asked, knowing he was drawing attention to their employer/employee relationship but certain he could find a way to validate the scandal of it.
For him.
Maybe for her too.
For now.
Sure enough, her skin took on a pale hue at the reminder, but he continued, not waiting for her to panic.
“I will be your tutor, Miss Miranda. It’s only fair, is it not? You’re assisting Miss Iris, I shall assist you.”
She blinked, then narrowed her gaze slightly. “My education?” she asked wryly.
“Yes. For surely your education is severely lacking, and I find I cannot abide by it.”
“Is that so?” she asked dryly, a smile bending her well-kissed lips.
“It is. It is quite thrilling subject matter, is it not?” he asked, giving her his most seductive grin.
Her color returned and heightened into another blush. “I wouldn’t say thrilling,” she teased.
Minx. “Ah, you’ve simply proved your education is incomplete. After all, I wish your experience to be . . . satisfactory,” he murmured softly, reaching out and tugging on her hand till she was closer.
“And you are concerned I wasn’t impressed by your tutoring?” she asked, breathless.
“One can never be too certain, Miss Miranda.” He kissed her once more, playfully nipping, tasting, and delighting in her quick learning.
He leaned back, murmuring against her lips. “I’m afraid I’ll have to continue your lesson tomorrow. Practice makes perfect, you
know.”
“So, I’ve not mastered the subject matter, is that it?” She leaned away just enough to meet his gaze.
“There’s always room for improvement.” He tugged the curl that had started the whole thing and allowed it to rest over her shoulder once more. “Good night, Miss Miranda.” He gave an unrepentant grin, turned, and left the stable.
He no longer wanted a long walk to clear his mind.
He wanted a cool bath to calm his feverish instincts.
He wasn’t sure who was in more trouble, Miss Miranda. . . or himself.
Chapter Thirteen
As Miranda lay in her bed, she called herself a hundred different kinds of fool.
A fool for being alone in the stables.
A fool for not running when she had the chance.
A fool for kissing him back.
A fool for enjoying it.
A fool for anticipating it happening again.
Dear Lord, what had she become? Yet even as she knew of her folly, she wasn’t repentant.
Not in the least.
She’d never known nor expected a kiss to feel that way. It was astounding, and for the rest of her life she’d relive that experience over and over. Her mind flooded with the memory as her body remembered the hundreds of pleasurable sensations his touch evoked. It was beyond impossible to ever forget, and for the first time she understood how ladies were ruined.
The temptation was quite powerful, and while she hoped she had the fortitude to walk away, she wasn’t sure she would have wanted to if he had pressured her to do more.
Not that she knew what more exactly entailed.
The unknown haunted her, and she wanted to understand. . . to know what happened beyond the first kiss, the first touch. If the pleasure brought by her first experience in simply kissing were any indication, whatever more entailed, it may surely overwhelm her.
How delicious!
What a dichotomy, to know the folly of her behavior yet to be utterly ravenous for more of it. If only her sister could see her now. Would she know? Would she be able to look at Miranda and instinctively know something had changed? She rose from her bed and walked to the mirror, studying herself. She didn’t look different, but she felt different.
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