That Kind of Woman (28 page)

“Don’t,” she protested. “We’ve just had such a pleasant time. Don’t ruin it now.”

He steered the carriage from the park onto the city streets. “I don’t want a pleasant time with you. I want a passionate, reckless, the-devil-take-anyone-who-gets-in-our-way time with you! I want to know what it’s like to make love to you when you’re not hiding something from me.”

“Andrew—”

His knuckles had gone white on the reins. “Just tell me why! Why is it that you could break every rule for my brother, but you cannot bend a single one for me?”

“It has nothing to do with you! You know I would never have chosen to enter such a marriage. I only sought to make the best of—”

“But you would have married Reggie!”

She glared at him, raising her voice despite the fact that they traveled in an open carriage. “I wish I had! I wish you had never shown me what I was missing.”

Andrew scoffed, but softened his own tone. “Oh, yes, if only you could have died a virgin. You would have been so much happier.”

She breathed, forcing herself to calm down. “It wasn’t just that. It was all the weeks before. It all felt so…so…” Her chest ached with pent-up emotion.

“So?”

“Real,” she whispered.

“It was.”

Neither spoke again until he pulled the carriage up in front of her father’s house. Though he should have leapt down to assist her in her descent, he paused and turned in the seat to face her. “Meet me tonight.”

She could not look him full in the face without feeling a sharp pain in her heart. “I cannot.”

“I’ll come for you in a rented carriage. No one need know I am in it.”

Her body came alive, ignoring her mind’s rational warnings. It would be foolish. It would do them no good. It would make the inevitable parting a thousand times harder. None of this stopped her lips from tingling when she looked at his. It didn’t quench the need to have his warm flesh pressed against her with nothing else between them.

He sensed her weakening and ruthlessly pressed his advantage. “I want you. You cannot deny you want me, too.”

“I do, but—”

“Ten o’clock. We’ll play the game your way. There are rules for breaking the rules, you know. Having a mistress is no egregious infraction. Many a respectable man has one.
Discretion
is the key. It is what your parents have always lacked.”

She should say no. She should tell him in no uncertain terms that what he proposed was out of the question. Instead, she could manage nothing more definitive than “We should not sit here together so long in plain sight.”

“Ah, yes, in plain sight; that would be indiscreet.” With faultless form, he jumped down and helped her alight, refraining from touching her any more than was necessary or proper.

“Thank you for the ride,” she murmured.

Andrew bowed formally. He was propriety personified. “You are most welcome. Until tonight, my lady.”

Tell him no!
her mind cried, but her body still hummed with his nearness. “Wh-where would we go?”

Andrew could have shouted for joy. Instead, he gave her only the smallest of grins and said, “Leave that to me.”

Miranda stood, a deep scowl marking her lovely face, in front of a wardrobe filled with black gowns. It was absurd. It was dark outside and would be darker in the carriage. Andrew wasn’t going to see her clothes, and even if he did, she doubted he cared much. Still, it seemed to her that a scarlet woman about to meet her lover for an assignation should wear something suitably scandalous. It was beyond absurd that she should have no such gown because her clothes all reflected the fact that she was in mourning for her paramour’s brother! A brother whom she had married, but who had never been her husband. It was ridiculous.

And yet she pulled a gown out and inspected the cut—too staid. Another was eliminated because the fabric was not appropriate for evening—as if there were appropriate cloth for a tumble in a rented carriage. Hmm. She supposed that meant that whatever she wore should not wrinkle too easily.

Truthfully, the thought of coupling in a rented carriage was utterly distasteful to her. Ah, but the thought of making love with Andrew Carrington—anywhere—filled her head with erotic thoughts and her body with wanton desire.

She pulled out a gown she had only recently acquired. She and her mother had quibbled about it, and finally, it was Barbara who had told the modiste to go ahead and make it, that she would pay for it herself. It had a plunging square neckline and was made of fine, fluid silk that skimmed Miranda’s body. It was scandalous—the closest thing she owned to a gown befitting a Cyprian. Lady Worthington had been right about her all along. Miranda lifted her chin and told herself it didn’t matter.

She had been too embarrassed to call for her maid, so she tried to arrange her own hair into something that would be easy to let down and pull back up again. Her hands shook, and she had to start over three times. The final results were less than stellar.

How natural it had been to watch him cross the moonlit garden, to go to him in her nightgown with her hair down her back, and lead him by the hand to her bed. How affected it seemed to choose a gown for him to remove. On the doorstep of the dowager house, he had been Andrew and she Miranda, nothing more or less. Now, he was her lover and she his mistress. They were no longer two people in close quarters, drawn together by forces beyond their control. They were embarking upon a relationship not intended to be anything more than carnal. They would never live together, never be a family or even pretend to be one. How was this better?

She ought to be ashamed, and yet her nipples, already sensitive at the thought of his touch, stiffened at the soft brush of her silk chemise. She struggled with the fastenings of the gown, but even as she strained to reach, she anticipated the delicious release that would come when he undid her handiwork. She finished at quarter till ten and sat on the edge of her bed to catch her breath.

A soft tap sounded at the door to her bedchamber, and her mother opened it and stuck her head in. Barbara was dressed for some gala in a ball gown of gold tissue with diamonds glittering at her throat and earlobes. After a quick survey of Miranda’s appearance, she said, “I thought as much. There is a carriage at the curb outside. Very plain, very black, very unremarkable in every way.”

Miranda opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Barbara opened the door wider and came in. “I told you that dress was a good idea.” She opened Miranda’s jewelry box and began to pick through its contents.

Miranda tried to pull the décolletage higher, but the bodice was drawn tightly under her breasts, and the fabric would not give an inch. She felt herself blush clear to the edge of the neckline, mottling the pale hills of flesh that rose above it.

Barbara tsked and shook her head. She had pulled out a necklace with a ruby pendant, and now she fastened it around Miranda’s flushed neck. The pendant glittered enticingly between her breasts. “What are you ashamed of?”

Miranda stood up and smoothed her skirt. “Nothing.”

“Let me see your hair. Turn around.”

Raising her hand self-consciously to the back of her head, Miranda replied, “It’s fine. If the carriage is here—” She stepped toward the door.

Barbara stepped between the door and her daughter with a little smile. “Make him wait.” She walked behind Miranda and added, “Just as I thought. What a mess. Why didn’t you call Lizzie in?”

“It was late.”

“Nonsense! Here, let me show you something.” She plucked the pins out and pulled a long black velvet ribbon from a drawer in the dressing table. After gathering Miranda’s hair back up, she tied it loosely together with the ribbon, then used the rest of the ribbon to form a simple, Grecian-style coiffeur. The effect was soft and fashionable and would be very easy to take down or do again.

“This is my favorite style for when I know Monty and I will be able to find some little corner somewhere in the midst of an otherwise dull evening event.”

Miranda smiled in spite of herself. “You didn’t need to tell me that.”

Barbara laughed. “The possibility of getting caught only enhances the excitement. It is a favorite game of your father’s. Once, at Lord Hartford’s, we escaped to the—”

“Truly, I do not need to know this about you and Montheath,” she interrupted, wrinkling her nose, but it was an expression of discomfort rather than disapproval.

Barbara lay her hand gently against Miranda’s cheek. “If Andrew is the man you want, I want you to be able to keep him. This is not an easy path, my dear. You must be exciting every moment. Men lose interest so easily.”

Miranda put her hand on top of her mother’s. “Are you still afraid of that, Mother?”

Barbara pulled away. “Not anymore, but I was for a very long time. And I’ll tell you now; I kept him because I knew how easily I could lose him. I’ve worked hard for the life I have.” She straightened up, and her voice became crisp and businesslike. “Love is all very well and good, but you cannot count upon it. Andrew must buy you a residence and provide you with an allowance, but do not spend it. He can take care of trinkets and clothing and whatever else suits his fancy. And remember, your dowry has been returned and will always be there for you. If you find your interest wanes, or his, you have opportunities elsewhere. You are not dependent upon him.”

“As you are not dependent upon Montheath?”

Barbara’s voice softened. “Not for money.”

“Is this merely how it is to be for we Henleys?”

“It is not what my mother hoped for, but I would never have traded this life for the one she had planned for me—a respectable marriage to someone of my own station. I have lived, Miranda, loved, seen the world, and met people that a shopkeeper’s daughter could never have dreamed to meet if she had married where her choices lay.”

“I want that, too. I want to live.”

“Well, then, I suggest that you go downstairs and climb into that carriage.”

*

To Miranda’s surprise, the carriage was empty. She had expected to find Andrew inside, but all she found was a hooded cloak lying across the seat. While the carriage rattled over London streets, she pulled it on, covering her face and her mother’s hairstyle with the hood. Her heart beat erratically under her ribs, and several times she had to remind herself to breathe. The ride seemed to take forever. She peered out the window and saw the heart of the city fade. The carriage turned on to a tree-lined street in an outlying area that was neither fashionable nor dangerous. It stopped in front of a small, unpretentious cottage.

The coachman did not come to assist her from the carriage. In fact, when she finally exited herself and looked up at him, he appeared to be studiously ignoring her. One of the rules for breaking rules, she supposed. Feeling secure and hidden under the hood of her cloak, she strode quickly up the path to the door, which Andrew opened before she could raise her hand to knock.

“I timed the trip myself this afternoon,” he commented as she walked in. “You must have been late being picked up.”

She pushed back the hood and smiled at him. “No woman worth her salt is ever prompt.” A quick glance around revealed a small sitting room, far more elegantly appointed than the unassuming outside of the house hinted at. The décor consisted of graceful furnishings and rich fabrics in blues and golds.

“Women are generally late,” he replied, “because you know you are forgiven the moment a man lays eyes upon you. Let me take your cloak.”

She started to turn her back to him and unfasten the frog that secured the garment, but he stopped her. Facing her fully and standing perhaps a foot away, he unfastened the frog and slowly pulled the cloak from her shoulders. His eyes immediately dipped to where the ruby pendant dangled and winked.

She felt a momentary urge to cover herself, but instead, she allowed herself the pleasure of running her fingers through his hair, pushing back the lock that was determined to fall over his brow.

Andrew tossed the cape over the back of a chair, and Miranda realized how utterly alone they were—not even a butler to take her cloak. She took another look around. “Is this your house?”

He shook his head. “A friend’s. He is … between companions, for the moment, so he had no use for it himself. We can borrow it until I find a place of our own.”

Obviously this house was owned by the friend, not the last “companion.” At what point did a woman bring up financial arrangements? Before the seduction or after? Pillow talk? It made her feel cheap, and she pulled away. “How many rooms are there?”

“There’s a kitchen and a dining area and a water closet. The bedroom,” he nodded toward a flight of stairs, “is up there.”

She nodded but made no move toward the stairs. Andrew closed the distance she had put between them. His warm fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her throat and the top of her breast as he traced the path of the fine chain holding her pendant. Without hesitation, he reached into the valley and lifted the jewel out.

“Very pretty.”

She started to tell him it had been a gift but stopped herself. He dropped the pendant back into place, then lifted her chin, pressing his lips to hers. Miranda was lost. Almost immediately, heat enveloped her, and need, wild and urgent, swept through her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, opening her mouth and inviting his tongue inside. His arms tightened around her, and his mouth plundered hers, stealing her breath, her very will. His hands wandered low over her back until he had pressed her hips so closely to his that there was no mistaking his own need.

Her hands found their way to his cravat and tore impatiently at the fabric until he had to release her and help untie the intricate knot. While he did that, her trembling fingers worked on the buttons of his coat and then his waistcoat and shirt. The moment they had stripped his torso bare, his chest and shoulders burnished by the light of the lamps that illuminated the room, he began to work on her gown. Soon, it lay in a puddle over his discarded clothing, and they tossed her undergarments on top of the pile. He sat on the low-backed couch long enough to pull off his boots, then stood and held out his hand to her.