Dangerous Secrets (83 page)

With a nod to the stiff-backed dowager, she
added,
‶
I
shall ask Simon about the jewels immediately.″ Not, of course, that she
cared about jewels or ice sculptures. She simply wanted to see her husband.

She headed toward Simon′s study with a
legitimate reason to interrupt him, finally, and visions of ice sculptures soon
became replaced by notions of seduction.

***

Without so much as a knock, Miranda burst in on
him in his study, startling him so that he would have made a blot if he had not
quickly lifted the pen from the paper. He looked up at her.
‶
Yes?
Is something amiss?″

‶
No.″ She stood
indecisively in the doorway for a moment. He was puzzled by the hesitation in
her manner, given her brusque entry.

‶
Have your sisters broken a
Meissen vase? Driven Cook from the kitchen? Chosen inappropriate gowns?″
He could not imagine what matter might have brought her here. Especially since
she had no cup of medicinal tea or bowl of noxious soup in her hands.

She came in quietly, closing the door.
‶
Your
mother reminded me that I should consult you about a piece of jewelry to wear
with my new gown.″ Her apprehension was all too visible to him. She would
not look him full in the face, but glanced from the fire to him to the settee
perched under the window.

He steepled his hands in front of him. Jewels.

‶
What kind of piece did you have
in mind?″ And why are you so apprehensive? But that question remained
unvoiced. He did not want her to retreat before he had the answer to that
particular question.

She seemed to have difficulty pulling her gaze
from the settee to meet his. Her cheeks flushed from something other than her
simple answer.
‶
Something
plain would do. Pearls, perhaps.″ He was intensely curious to know what
she was thinking, but he was too wise to ask.

‶
Pearls are for young unmarried
girls.″ He dismissed her request. It would be a pleasure to find the
necklace that would enhance her beauty.
‶
I have in mind something more
elaborate. I will get the family jewels from the safe and allow you to choose
whatever piece strikes your fancy.″ And even more of a pleasure, for him,
to fasten it around her neck and feel her skin beneath his fingers. Perhaps he
would allow himself to kiss her nape.

‶
Thank you.″ Her words
seemed less than final, and she showed no signs of leaving.

‶
Was there anything else?″

Yes, her eyes told him.
‶
No.″ But she
did not leave. And her nervousness heightened with every moment she spent in
the room with him. Standing before him in the simple jonquil-yellow gown that
he had chosen for her, she radiated tension from the set of her shoulders to
the tips of her clasped fingers. And her gaze, for some reason, went frequently
to the settee.

He had the absurd impulse to lock the study
door and carry her to that same piece of furniture. But even a few kisses would
be dangerous. No one would dare interrupt him at his business for anything less
than a catastrophe. Knowing that, he could not trust himself to stop at only
kisses. He forced himself to say a bland,
‶
Good day, then.″

She stood without moving, her eyes a dark,
drugging brandy and he read her expressive face with a sudden jolt of dread.
‶
Simon,″
she whispered.
‶
I
feel odd. As if I were like Sleeping Beauty. As if one kiss might awaken
me.″

He said nothing. He could not speak.

‶
What should I do?″ She
wanted what he did. But it was more than he could give. She wanted to find a
way to touch his heart in the way she had done in the past. The truth was
written in her parted lips, in the way her eyes seemed unfocused and yet
hypnotically drawn to him, in the way her breathing had become shallow and
rapid.

Striving to maintain his sanity, Simon hit upon
the perfect way to ensure that she maintained the distance between them. He
would make her angry. Perhaps even angrier than she had ever been at him. She
would most likely be hurt, as well, but it could not be helped.

‶
So you do not want to wait,
then?″ He laughed as if he were amused, not aroused, although the effort
made sweat break out on his brow.

The dark want in her eyes deepened and he added
quickly, lest she realize that he shared the fire of her desire,
‶
Women
do have an affinity for jewels, I suppose.″

The palpable need she radiated abated somewhat,
he noted with relief.
‶
Let me get them now. That will give you time to
change your mind a dozen times or more before the weekend.″

He moved to the safe with heavy limbs, took his
time opening it, struggling to batter down the urge to do as she suggested and
wake the Sleeping Beauty within her. Even with his back to her, he could feel
the heat of her desire calling to him.

He put the box in front of her, knowing what she
would say. Her eyes were on him as he flipped up the leather box lid to reveal
the jewels, nested in black velvet. The velvet made him think of her skin and
how it felt beneath his fingers. Soft. So soft.

With one last glance at the settee, she looked
through the box distractedly. He wondered if she thought of his skin when she
touched velvet — and drove the thought away. Impatience caught him as she
looked through the box with little interest. He had buried her necklace at the
bottom, under all else.

She did not find it before picking up a strand
of pearls.
‶
These
will do.″

‶
Of course they won′t
do.″ He took them from her hands and held them critically against her
throat. Her pulse beat under her fingers.
‶
You need something more
striking to complement your gown. Something with more elaborate gold
work.″

‶
These will be fine.″ Her
hands covered his as he held the necklace, pressing his knuckles against the
smooth skin that stretched over her collarbone. He forgot for a moment why he
was holding the necklace as his heart matched the beat of the pulse in her
throat.

After the silence had drawn tight between them
and he could think of nothing but kissing her, he remembered his resolve and
broke free of her hold. He dropped the pearl necklace into his pocket.
‶
Look
for something else, Miranda. You are a duchess, now.″

With a sigh that disturbed the tendrils of hair
that had managed to escape her pins and wisped at her cheek, she went back to
looking through the box.

He knew the moment she found the necklace because
she grew absolutely still. She did not even breathe.

‶
What is this?″ Her voice
was sharp, and yet it trembled.

He hoped he had not just made the worst mistake
of his misbegotten life as she lifted her eyes, wide with shock, to his.

‶
What is what?″ he asked,
pretending innocence, though he was braced for the anger that he expected any
moment, once she realized what he had done. He hoped her anger would burn
cleanly through the fog of desire and passion that they shared.

Chapter 18

Her hand reached in and came up with the
necklace he had stolen from her.
‶
This.″ She held it up
between them, looking at him. No anger yet, only puzzlement. But her breathing
had slowed and he could see the pulse at her neck beating more normally. He
strove to control his own response to her nearness, her scent.

‶
That is something I picked up
in London.″ He was not lying. He had indeed picked it up in London. He
just happened to be dressed like a common thief and blessed with breath that
would kill a dead man.

‶
Where in London?″ Her
voice was urgent. He could well imagine her hurrying there to find the thief
and chastise him for stealing from her. Fortunately, she would not have to
travel so far.

‶
On the street, actually.″

She was still puzzled. He could see it, but had
no idea what would be best, merely to let her have the piece and think he had
bought it from a dishonest man, or to tell her the truth of how he had acquired
it.

Telling the truth would encourage her anger,
and keep her away from him, as he had been so successful in doing these past
few weeks. It would also serve, he hoped, to teach her how dangerous it was for
her to take matters into her own hands. But she would trust him no longer.

‶
It is the most beautiful thing
I have ever seen,″ she whispered. The reverence in the tight planes of
her face as her fingers traced the lines of the swans made him glad that he had
chosen to return the necklace. Most probably, it was her last tangible link
with her mother.

If he′d realized how much the piece meant
to her, he could never have kept it from her for so long. He had foolishly
assumed that if she meant to sell it, she could not hold it dear. But he had
been thinking of it as a piece of jewelry, not a connection to her mother. How
he could have misjudged so badly he could not imagine. He knew how much she was
willing to sacrifice for her family. They meant everything to her.

It was blind luck that made his delay suit his
purposes. Initially, he′d planned to give the necklace to Valentine to
dispose of as he would. But any lesson to Miranda would have been muted, as she
would not have known the disposition of the piece.

With it here, there was no choice for her but
to acknowledge that it had found its way back in a quite unorthodox fashion. He
wondered if she would confess her part in the loss of the necklace were he to
press her. So he pressed her.

He closed the box, hiding away the rest of the
jewelry.
‶
You
seem to be partial to that trinket. Why don′t you wear it?″

‶
I will.″ She still could
not take her eyes from the swans.

When she said nothing more, he prodded further.
‶
You
are quite enamored of the piece, I see.″

He was rewarded by her singular admission.
‶
It
was my mother′s.″

‶
What!″ He pretended
astonishment.
‶
Then
how did it come to be on a London street.″

He saw the war between expedience and innate
honesty within her; the slim column of her throat worked as he stood watching
her try to shape a response.
‶
It was stolen from me.″

Of course she would tell the truth. He was the
one caught in a web of lies.
‶
Stolen from you? How?″ He pretended to be
outraged, which he found to his surprise was not difficult. The desire to bed
her was still strong in him and that passion, along with a healthy dose of
self-loathing for what he was doing, rekindled his anger at the danger she had
put herself in by going to London alone.

She pursed her lips and exhaled softly.
‶
I
went to London hoping to sell a few things, including that necklace, and I was
set upon by the rudest thief you might imagine.″

‶
Do you imagine that thieves are
known for their courtesy? You are lucky you escaped with only the loss of your
silver candlesticks and your necklace.″ He had not consciously chosen to
tell her then. But his slip of the tongue had hastened her understanding.

Her eyebrows lifted as one and a cloud of anger
began to brew in her eyes.
‶
What do you mean, my silver candlesticks?″

‶
Didn′t the thief also get
a fine set of candlesticks?″

He struggled with the smile that seemed to want
to break out on his face. He knew she would not appreciate it, but he was
rather proud of his effort to teach her not to pawn goods in London again. The
little fool, not knowing what might have happened to her. He shuddered, as the
possibilities rolled graphically through his mind.

He could see the realization dawn upon her as a
thundercloud upon the horizon speeds to bring rain. She was so quick-witted,
his anger turned into admiration as her anger rose, erasing the last traces of
desire from her gaze.
‶
I thought those candlesticks on the mantel during
our wedding reception looked familiar. What do you know of my thief?″

‶
I put them back the morning of
the wedding. I didn′t want them, and I didn′t think you′d
notice another pair of candlesticks on your wedding day.″

‶
How dare you.″ Her body
grew rigid. The skirts of the yellow gown gave not a whisper of movement.
‶
You
hired someone to steal them from me and replaced them on the mantel without
telling me.″ Her brow knit in puzzlement.
‶
But how could you have known
what I was about and hired someone so quickly?″

He could not resist. She was angry at him and
he could risk touching her. He bent, shambled the few steps toward her, and
pressed her back against the wall.
‶
What′s under your skirts,
lass?″

It was a mistake. He knew exactly what was
under her skirts and he could barely prevent himself from lifting away the
layers of silk and cotton to find the heat of her beneath them. Fortunately for
him, she was distracted by the revelation of how he had tricked her. Her eyes
narrowed with suspicion.
‶
You didn′t!″

He allowed one hand to rest on her hip, feeling
the warm curve beneath the cloth, as he answered her in a way calculated to fan
her anger to full flame.
‶
I did. You needed a lesson badly. For dressing like
a fishwife and walking the London streets alone.″

She pulled his hand away.
‶
But
you were at Anderlin ... ″

He put it back, caressing the curve and
stroking downward, to the swell of her bottom. What perversity in him made him
cause himself such torment? He would be better served to stand away from her
and fan the flames of her anger.

But he did not.
‶
I was there to make certain
Valentine was informed of our engagement, remember? I followed you out, saw you
board the coach, and followed. And I traveled faster on horseback than you
could in the coach.″

Her eyes were fixed on his face, and he
realized that her anger was not as unaffected by his touch as he had thought.
It had dimmed dangerously in her eyes.
‶
How could you?″ Her words
were soft, the accusation faint.

‶
You needed a lesson. I provided
it.″ He pressed his palm against the rounded underside of her breast and
felt the rapid beat of her heart beneath his fingertips. He kissed her. It was
not wise, but he was beyond caring. When he realized that she would not push
him away, he brushed her forehead with one last kiss and stepped back.
‶
I
must finish my correspondence. I will have little time this weekend for
business matters.″

For a broken moment, it seemed she would not
heed him. She took a step toward him as if she might be the one to kiss him. A
kiss he knew without doubt he could not resist, could not recover from.

But then she blinked, and held up her hand to
gaze at the necklace she still clutched in her fist. Anger rekindled in her
eyes. He told himself fiercely to be relieved.

He did not look at her as he resumed his seat
behind his desk and lifted his pen to paper, wondering why he had chosen this
particular torment for himself, as if it might expiate his sin of bastardy.

It was long after the door had closed sharply
behind her that he noticed he had written several pages of nonsense. He crushed
the papers with undue savagery before throwing them into the fireplace, and
watched them catch flame and burn into ash in an instant.

***

Her bedroom was too hot, even with the curtains
billowing in the breeze from the open window. So he thought to teach her a
lesson, did he? Well, perhaps it was time for her to teach him one. He thought
he knew best. But he didn′t always. And not making love to his wife was a
mistake. It was time for her to prove it to him.

He was abed, she knew. She had heard the
muffled sounds of undressing near midnight. She longed to put her plan in
action tonight, while she was still angry enough not to worry so much over his
health. But she did not want to wake him if he slept. He needed his rest.

Unable to restrain herself, she crept to the
door and pressed her ear tight against the cool wood. There was no sound.
Thinking that perhaps he was not even in the room, she turned to go downstairs
and see if he might still be working in his study, when she heard him call out.
Without considering how he might feel at her intrusion, she opened the door a
crack and slipped through. Simon was calling out a man′s name as he
tossed and turned restlessly. His voice was harsh with horror, and she realized
he was reliving the man′s death, yet again.

As she listened to the unintelligible words
that came in fitful murmurs from the restless figure, she wondered if there was
any possibility that his experiences might have contributed to his apathy over
his own death. After all, facing death day after day and avoiding it while
others didn′t might have made him feel that he didn′t really
deserve to live.

Perhaps that was why he refused all her
attempts to help him find a cure. Valentine might have told her, if only he
were here. The murmurs stopped, plunging the room into a silence that felt like
the heavy weight of a mantle around her.

If only he could share his thoughts with her,
she knew she could ease his fears. The illness must be a terrible drain on his
energy, and yet he refused to talk about it with her. He refused to share the
burden with his own wife. But he needed her comfort, and she had every
intention of providing it.

Even though she knew he would disapprove, she
slipped into his bed and when he shifted restlessly, she took him into her
arms, stroking his arm, his back, his neck, with gentle care.

He settled against her with a groan of
satisfaction and his restlessness faded as his breathing grew even once again.
The feeling of closeness and warmth was exquisitely pleasurable.

Miranda could not bring herself to move away,
though she knew he would not be happy to find her here if he awoke. His mouth
rested against her neck, his hands were warm on her hips. She lay very still,
so that she would not wake him, as she had the first time, when he had sent her
so decidedly back to her own bed.

Having her sisters in the house had somehow
intensified her desire to be closer to Simon, for some unexplainable reason.
But now, with Simon′s warmth and heat surrounding her, she recognized
from where her desire stemmed. She had always thought that a husband and family
were an unattainable dream. To marry, to give up one shred of her autonomy had
filled her with fear. But it was not so hard to lose a battle to Simon now and
again.

If they only had a long enough time together,
she was certain that he would cease to question her judgment and learn to trust
her. Certainly, she could manage to accomplish that. He was a reasonable man.

About most things.

For example, now that she had the husband, she
found it impossible not to wish for the family. If only she knew how to
accomplish that without risking Simon′s life. She was certain that having
a son would be enough to make him want to fight to live. How could it not be?
Look how tender he was toward Betsy, and he had thought her mother unworthy to
be in his home.

Snuggled against him, she was tempted to kiss
him.

That had always roused his passion before.
Asleep, he would not fight her, would not pull away. And when he woke, he would
bed her and would have nothing else to fear.

She wished she had consulted Katherine on
exactly what manner of seduction would be the least upsetting to a dying man.
Perhaps the shock of waking to find her in his bed would be more than he could
bear?

‶
Coward,″ she whispered to
herself, deciding she would stay for only a little while, and then quietly go
back to her own bed. She would lay as quiet as Briar Rose in her hundred-year
sleep. Her anger with him had fled when she had understood what caused his bad
dreams. She could wait for a better time to seduce him. But she wanted the feel
of him in her arms, and soon the comfortable warmth of his body lulled her to
sleep.

Simon′s dream was as always since he
married her.

She was in his arms. She felt right, her curves
against his skin as if made to fit only his body ... the warmth of her, the
silk of her skin under his fingers. He brushed his lips against the softness
and heard a sigh like the spring breeze through budding branches. Under his
palm, he could feel the curve of her hip and the warmth spread through him
until he felt as if he were dissolving, his flesh melting into her flesh not as
men and women joined, but as two beings who become one.

His fingertips traveled along the curve from
her hip to her rib cage and she moved in to him so that they were one from head
to toe, their arms entwined so tightly that he knew he would never let her go.
Never.