That Kind of Woman (29 page)

“The bed will be more comfortable.”

For all that she stood before him in nothing but a necklace, she hesitated. “Are the sheets clean?”

He chuckled softly. “Yes.”

“Are you absolutely certain your friend has changed them since—since the last companion he entertained here?”

“No, but I am certain the maid I sent here this afternoon saw to every detail.”

“You sent a maid? The servants talk, you know—”

He grabbed the hand she had refused to offer and pulled her to him. “No one knows whom I am meeting here. What would ruin your reputation but enhances mine.” He had brought her close enough to place her hand on the back of his neck, and the tips of her breasts brushed against his naked chest, sending a shower of electric tingles over her flesh. She pressed closer, resting her head against him and listening to his heart hammer under her ear.

Andrew pulled the ribbon from her hair and let the skeins of silk pour over his hands and down her back. His eyes devoured the contrast of dark tresses against ivory skin, admired the way her back curved out to her perfect derrière. Then he tangled his hands into her hair again and pulled her face back up to his to taste her lips once more. She moaned softly, and he felt its vibration stir deep within him. He had never felt so consumed by the desire to both protect and plunder. Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her up the stairs to the bedchamber.

Here, too, Miranda saw that lamps had been lit in preparation for their tryst. The covers on the bed had been folded down, and when he laid her on the sheets, she felt the crispness of the linen against her bare back before the scent of fresh soap drifted to her. He remained standing, unfastening his breeches, and she sat back up to help him. Her hands skimmed his trim hips as she pulled the tight fabric down over his thighs. His erection stood before her eyes, enticing and intimidating. He kicked free of the last of his garments, and she reached out to stroke him, amazed anew at the heat and hardness of him. He lay down on the bed with her, kissing her until she could hardly breathe, then his lips moved on to her throat and sent her pulse fluttering.

He caressed her breasts until they ached, and his mouth teased her nipples until she thought she would go mad. She wanted him desperately, and yet she could not bear for the pleasure to end. She took one of his hands from her breast and moved it between her thighs.

At first, Andrew only lightly explored the moist folds she had offered. He rubbed her softly and smiled when she gasped and whimpered. She arched her back and writhed, but his fingers danced around the sensitive nub he knew she so wanted him to touch. Again and again, he brought her to the brink and denied her, until her whimpers turned to cries, and then he plunged two fingers deep inside and she screamed his name, trailing it out into sobs. He had a throbbing need of his own to contend with, but it had been more than worth the wait to so utterly shatter her defenses.

For several long moments, Miranda lay still, gasping for breath and waiting for the wildness inside her to calm. She had reached completion, yet it had only left her craving more. It was such a vulnerable feeling to lose herself entirely while he maintained such control. It was exciting in its own right, but she wanted more. She wanted as much from him. When he moved over her, Miranda put her small hand against his chest. “Ever the conqueror, my lord?” she asked, her voice husky. “I think you must learn the pleasure of the fall.” She pushed at him until he sat back against the headboard, and she let her hands wander the broad expanse of his chest. The skin was smooth and taut over hard muscle, his soldier’s body not the least softened in the months since he had left the field.

Again, she took his sex in her hand, stroking, caressing. His gaze turned hot, but his eyes held hers, a man fully in control of his senses. She leaned forward and caught one of his nipples between her teeth, teasing it with her tongue, and she heard his breath catch in his throat. With a catlike stretch, she lay on her stomach between his thighs and traced the salty underside of his shaft with her tongue. He didn’t make a sound, and in the silence, she realized he had stopped breathing. She flicked her tongue over the tip of him, and he gasped before she took him all the way into her mouth. When he would have buried his hands in her hair and set the pace, she stopped and shook her head free, then she set to tantalizing him, pausing each time she felt his muscles tense or his hips strain toward her.

Finally, he growled deep in his throat and pulled her away, rolling with her until they were at the foot of the bed and she was trapped underneath him. Then they were one, each melding completely into the other. It was no symphony this time; it was a cacophony, a wild clash of senses like a madman’s discordant pounding upon the keys of a piano. Miranda closed her eyes and let it take full possession of her, this violent, dissonant sensation that ripped through her. She cried out, her voice raw and triumphant, and yet she wanted more…more…

Andrew ground his teeth and let her reach the peak of the crescendo three times before he also gave into it, pulling himself from her body and spilling his seed across her belly. Then he fell next to her on the bed, trying not to think of how wonderful it would be to still be inside of her, drifting slowly as the last notes vibrated between them.

They twined their fingers, and she draped her leg across his, still craving the closeness of him, the sensation of his bare flesh to hers. For a long time they lay this way, neither speaking nor looking at each other, and yet, feeling utterly connected. Finally, Andrew sat up and fetched a handkerchief from stack sitting neatly on a small table next to the bed. Tenderly, he wiped the semen from her, and they crawled between the sheets together.

Their kisses were languid this time, their caresses slow. There was no urgent rush, no blinding need. There was, rather, the desire to know every inch of each other, every texture, every taste, every unexpected place that ignited desire in one or the other. Andrew took her from behind, fascinated by the sight of their joining, while he stimulated her with his hand. The combination of sensations gripped Miranda and tossed her back out, into the void.

Afterward, both feeling lethargic, but not really tired, Miranda lay on her stomach and Andrew on his back, their faces turned toward each other. Miranda gave him a satisfied smile. “Can we stay here, like this, for a while?”

He ran a finger down her spine and left gooseflesh in his wake. “I’m in no rush. I suppose I should be home before Emma wakes. Will your parents worry?”

She rolled to face him and made a half-hearted attempt to pull the sheet back up. “They will be out until dawn, and they know where I am. Or rather, whom I am with. Even I did not know where I was going.” She gave up on the tangled linens, although she had only managed to pull them up to her hips.

Andrew reached over and caressed her naked breast absently, more a gesture of affection than an overture. “This is going to sound unpardonably rude, but I’m curious…”

Even the slightest touch from him made her tingle. “What?”

“You don’t make love like a near-virgin.”

She gave a soft, throaty chuckle. “I make love like a harlot’s daughter.”

“Surely you do not mean that your
mother
taught you these things?”

“Do you not suppose every man might wish every woman’s mother was as thorough as mine?”

His hand stopped, though he didn’t remove it. “You didn’t tell Emma…? You know, that day…”

The look on his face made her laugh outright. “Of course not. I’ll wait, as my mother did, until she’s engaged.”

He smiled. “You’re joking. Surely you don’t intend—” At the look on her face, his smile faded. “I mean no offense, Miranda, but Emma comes from different circumstances entirely. Her husband would never expect her—”

Miranda sighed. “Men are so stupid. Don’t you want her to be happy? Don’t you want her to have the same joy we do?” At Andrew’s frown, she continued. “Why should a nobleman’s daughter never be a woman, with all that womanhood entails—both its trials and its pleasures? If you had a son, would you hope to keep him in the dark, dutifully producing heirs without a whit of pleasure?”

“A son is different. Besides, mating within marriage may be considerably more restrained, but it is not without pleasure, even for the wife.”

“Why must there be some ridiculous line between a wife and a mistress? If we were married, would you have found tonight any less pleasurable? Would I suddenly be
too much
of a whore?”

He reached over and pulled her close. “You’re not a whore, Miranda! I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. God, most men would give anything to have a wife like you.
I
would give anything to have a wife like you, damn it all!”

She reached up and caressed his jaw. “I know, and you didn’t make me feel like a whore. I was just pointing out that there is little difference between Emma and me except age. I was fortunate to have a mother who was honest with me. Of course, you must decide what’s best for your child.” She shifted onto her back.

The ruby pendant had fallen to one side, and he picked it up and placed it between her breasts. “Was this your mother’s suggestion, as well? She has a knack for all the right touches.”

“It was a gift—from Reggie. George gave me earrings to match. You’re right, though; Mother decided it was the perfect complement to tonight’s gown. She didn’t seem to see the need for earrings.”

Silence. He pulled his hand away from her and stared up at the ceiling. Finally, he said, “Shall I find us a place near here? It seems ideal—very discreet.”

She sat up, feeling like a chasm had opened up in the bed between them. “I suppose.”

“It will be in your name, of course, so I want you to be happy with the location. You could live there, if you wish. It would be harder to keep things a secret from the
ton
, but Emma would never need to know. Or you could stay with your parents, and we could simply use it as a clandestine meeting place.”

An uneasy feeling began to turn in the pit of her stomach. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Whatever pleases you. I admit, I like the thought of having you there all the time, not needing to arrange meetings.”

She worked harder at the sheets, tugging hard and making him lift himself up so she could slide them out from under him and cover herself. “Yes, I suppose you would.”

Andrew’s hand moved of its own accord, his fingers twining themselves in her hair. He felt the distance between them, too, but when he was with her, it was nearly impossible not to touch her. He had never had a mistress before, but he knew how his friends felt about theirs. A mistress was expensive, and there was no doubt that other men expected their women to be available at all times. But Miranda was so much more than a lush body to be enjoyed. She was a woman with a heart that never seemed to run out of room for anyone. Somehow, that didn’t stop him from wanting her at his beck and call. This was the problem with blurring the line between a wife and a mistress.

In the end, he pulled the sheet away from her and, ignoring the look of ambivalence in her eyes, kissed her and touched her until the uncertainty had burned away and she cried out his name in naked need.

Miranda came groggily awake when she felt Andrew’s weight lift from beside her on the bed. Naked, he padded downstairs to fetch their clothes. Miranda sat up and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She had a comb in her reticule downstairs, but she didn’t call out for Andrew to fetch it. It wouldn’t matter once she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.

Andrew returned and lay her gown and underthings across the foot of the bed. “Stay and sleep a while, if you’d like. Your driver is still out there; I paid him for the whole night before I sent him for you.”

“You mean he’s just been sitting there, waiting?” She didn’t like that thought at all, some stranger sitting outside the house, knowing what was going on inside. Her mother wouldn’t have batted an eye. Where
had
she gotten her puritanical notions, she wondered. She waved away whatever response he was about to make. “I cannot stay in a stranger’s house alone.”

“My friend lent me the key. He knows not to barge in.”

“It is the principle.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“Besides, this gown is the devil to fasten on my own.” She rose and began to dress with him.

“I have an engagement tomorrow afternoon.” He glanced at an ornate clock on the dresser. “Make that this afternoon. Lettie will have to bring Emma for her lessons.”

“Lettie?” She didn’t know why that bothered her. Lettie couldn’t possibly know they had been together. Besides, even if she did, she would, no doubt, approve of this arrangement more than anything more open between Miranda and Andrew.

“But I have tomorrow free,” he added. “We should look for a house.”

On that front, Miranda had made a decision. “Suit yourself in that regard. I do not need the deed. I have a house. I’ve never lived in it, but I have seen it, and it is more than adequate.”

“Your dowry property? But it’s four days’ ride from London and nowhere near Danford.”

“Which is why you will need to find someplace here in London, but after the Season, when you are gone…”

Andrew stepped close and kissed her. “It is too far, especially for winter travel.”

“At Danford, you’ll have your family to think of. You won’t need me. Mother and I will do quite well together while Montheath is gone.”

He pulled away and traced the outline of her face. “But I
will
need you. How can you say such a thing? Really, Miranda, you know the state of Danford’s accounts. I can afford to purchase you a small residence in London, or somewhere between here and Danford if you’d rather not stay in Town.”

“As I said, purchase a house in Town for us to meet in. With regard to where I actually live, I prefer a house of my own. One I did not earn there.” Miranda nodded toward the bed, then turned her back to him and lifted her hair, exposing the back of her dress. “Will you fasten this?”