Unconquered (21 page)

“I did not guess, Jared,” she answered softly. “How could I have? I was far too wrapped up in myself to really see you. The night before we left Wyndsong I sat awake, in the dark, listening to the wind in the oaks, and for the first time I faced myself and the seriousness of the decision I was making in sailing to England. It was only then that I realized I loved you and needed you; that I was but a half-thing without you and your love to make me whole. I love you, my darling! I hope the web I have woven around you is indeed magic. If it is, it will never break!” She took his dark head in her hands and, drawing it down to hers, kissed his eyelids, his mouth, his sharply molded high cheekbones. “Love me, my darling! Oh, please love me!” she whispered softly in his ear, sending hot desire through him.

She lay pinned between his muscular thighs, and his hands skillfully caressed her warm flesh. She drew his head down to her breasts murmuring “Please!” and he was delighted that she felt easy enough with him to tell him what pleased her. His mouth closed over a pertly thrusting pink nipple, and she cried out sharply. He nursed hungrily on one sweetly rounded breast and then the other. He let his lips travel downward to the soft, mossy grotto between her legs, strangely dark in contrast with her silver-gilt hair.

Miranda was more than a little frightened as the wildly beating pulse in her throat gave evidence. But she let him love her as he so desperately wanted to do. A gentle tongue tasted of a hitherto forbidden sweetness, sending her into a near swoon. His deep voice crooned. “Ah, wildcat, you’re as beautiful there as I suspected,” and she felt the heat of her own blush.

Passion cradled her, and lifted her high above the world of mere mortals. She floated. He slid his hands beneath her to lift her up and thrust deep into her, and Miranda felt the tears sliding down her cheeks as he filled her with his bigness, his warmth. He kissed and licked the wetness away, all the while his body moved rhythmically within her, gently yet insistently, until they reached a simultaneous crest.

His panting, big body covered her shuddering, slender one until the spasms passed. Then he reluctantly withdrew from her. Wordlessly he pulled the bedcovers over them and cradled her in his arms. She sighed contentedly, and shortly her even breathing told him she was asleep. Jared smiled to himself in the firelit room. How very like her was this sudden passionate declaration of her love for him.

The Sevres clock on the mantel woke him as it chimed seven o’clock. “You’re awake,” her quiet voice startled him.

“Um, best sleep I’ve had in months,” he rumbled.

She chuckled. “Best sleep I’ve had in months, too!”

“I think we’re going to have to get up, Miranda. I don’t care about the servants, for they will gossip anyway. But I do feel poor Doro will be quite shocked if we do not appear for dinner.”

“I suppose so,” she murmured, flipping onto her stomach and trailing fingers across his furry chest, moving dangerously downward.

“Madam!” he growled at her.

“Sir?” Her sea-green eyes were narrowly slitted, catlike, and her nails sent shivers down his spine. He grasped her wrists tightly.

“Dinner, madam. Our houseguests. Remember?”

She made a little moue with her mouth. “Thank God both Mama and Amanda are being married! The sooner the better!”

He laughed loudly. Releasing her wrist, he rolled out of bed and yanked at the bellpull. “Practice nonchalance with Perky while I call Mitchum to help me bathe and dress.”

That was Saturday evening, and the only public appearance the Dunhams made over the weekend was at early church on Sunday.

On Monday, Jared Dunham disappeared for several hours. The ladies occupied themselves with the constant fittings insisted upon by Madame Charpentier who began arriving with her two nervous assistants and six sewing girls early each morning, never leaving until late evening. Miranda, pitying the half-starved, overworked young seamstresses, all of whom were just barely out of childhood, instructed the cook to feed them well and insisted they stay in the empty attic servant’s room.

“If they can sew as good as they can eat, you’ll be the best-dressed lady in London,” observed Mrs. Poultney to her mistress.

“I begrudge them nothing,” replied Miranda. “Two of those poor girls had tears in their eyes when the footman carried away the tray with the remains of our tea.”

“Hungry or no, they’re the lucky ones,” said Mrs. Poultney.

“Lucky?”

“Aye, m’lady, lucky. They’ve a trade, and a job. It’s more than most. Times ain’t good with us and the froggies fightin’ all the time. There’s many going hungry.”

“Well,” sighed Miranda, “I cannot feed them all, but I can feed Madame Charpentier’s sewing girls while they’re here.”

“
Voilá!
” cried Madame late Wednesday afternoon. “Eet ees finished, m’lady, and eef I do say so, eet is parfait! You weel be the envy of every woman at Almack’s tonight.”

Miranda stared silently at herself in the long looking glass, and was amazed at the image she saw staring back. My God, she thought,
I am beautiful!
Its waist high with thin silver ribbons that tied beneath her breasts, the gown was exquisite.

The gown was made of several layers of pure, sheer black silk. It had short, puffed sleeves and a long straight skirt embroidered in dainty diamanté flowers. The back was cut low, the neckline lower yet. Seeing the clear dark color against her flesh, Miranda realized why Jared had chosen it. It made her skin as translucent as the finest Indian ocean pearls.

The dressmaker’s discreet cough caught Miranda’s attention. “I am stunned, Madame Charpentier,” she said softly. “The dress is quite magnificent.”

The Frenchwoman bridled with pleasure. “The accessories for thees gown include elbow-length, black silk gloves, black silk roses with silver leaves for your hair, and a small black swansdown muff.”

Miranda nodded absently, still somewhat bemused by the woman in the mirror. Was it really she? Miranda Dunham of Wyndsong Island? She turned slightly, lifting her chin, and gazed again at her mirror image. A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she began to grow a bit more accustomed to the beautiful woman in black with the porcelain skin, the pink-flushed cheeks, and the clear sea-green eyes. By God, she thought, I’ll give those dainty beauties a run for their money tonight!

At nine o’clock that evening the Dunhams, Lord Swynford, and the dowager Lady Swynford gathered in the foyer of the mansion preparatory to leaving for Almack’s. The gentlemen were elegant in the required knee breeches. Amanda was adorable in a baby-blue gown, a strand of perfectly matched pearls about her throat. The two older women were in gray and dark green gowns, respectively, matching turbans on their heads. They turned and gasped as Amanda squealed, “Oh, Miranda! You are absolutely stunning!”

“Miranda! What has possessed you to wear such a gown? It is highly unsuitable for a young girl,” said Dorothea sharply.

“I am no longer a young girl, Mama. I am a married woman.”

“But pastels are fashionable now,” protested Dorothea. “Black is not at all fashionable.”

“Then I shall make it fashionable, Mama. Milord! Where are the diamonds you promised me?”

His bottle-green eyes slowly raked her from the top of her silvery-gilt head to the toes of her kid shoes, lingering appreciatively on her creamy breasts, which swelled perhaps a trifle
too provocatively above the low, black silk neckline. Then their eyes met in a look of private understanding, and he reached into his jacket and drew out a flat, Morocco leather case. Proffering it, he said, “Madam, I always keep my promises.”

Miranda opened the case. Her eyes widened but she said nothing, staring at the chain of tiny diamonds with its heart-shaped diamond pendant. He took it from its satin nest and fastened it around her throat. The diamond heart hung just above the cleft between her breasts.

“You’ll have to do the earbobs yourself, m’lady. I’d be all thumbs.”

“It’s so beautiful,” she said to him quietly. It was as if no one else were in the room with them. They gazed intently into each other’s eyes for a moment, and then Miranda said, “Thank you, m’lord.”

He bent and placed a burning kiss on her half-bare shoulder. “We will discuss your gratitude in private, Miranda, at a later date,” he murmured.

“Oh, I do hope you’re going to buy me diamonds too when we’re married,” said Amanda mischievously.

“Amanda, you are becoming as undisciplined as your sister!” snapped Dorothea. “Diamonds are not suitable for the young.”

“Diamonds,” replied Amanda, “are suitable for whomever is fortunate enough to have them.”

The men laughed and even the dowager Lady Swynford allowed herself a small smile before saying, “Are we to stand here all night discussing the merits of fine jewelry, or are we to go to Almack’s? Must I remind you all we will not be admitted after eleven?”

They arrived at Almack’s shortly after ten to find the dancing in full swing. Almack’s was actually three rooms consisting of a supper room, a reception area, and a large ballroom where most of the activities took place. The ballroom was a hundred feet long and forty feet wide, and was a chaste cream color. It was decorated with gilt columns and pilasters, classic medallions, and mirrors. Almack’s boasted the newest gas lighting, in cut-glass lustres. All around the dance floor were pale-blue velvet and gilt chairs, and tubbed palms. The orchestra was set in an open balcony above the dance floor. It was London’s most elegant scene.

Tonight the only patronesses present were Lady Cowper and
Princess de Lieven. Miranda and Jared moved across the ballroom to pay their first respects to these two powerful social arbiters, both men bowing elegantly, a fact noted with approval.

“So, Jared Dunham,” said Emily Mary Cowper, “you return to us in full possession of your inheritance,
and
with a bride.”

“I do, m’lady. May I present my wife, Miranda.”

“Lady Dunham.” Lady Cowper looked closely at Miranda and her blue eyes widened. “Ah, of course! I
do
remember you! You were the plain, sharp-tongued little girl who pushed that idiot Lord Banesford into a fish pond last season.”

“He attempted to take liberties, madam,” said Miranda smoothly.

“You were quite right,” agreed Lady Cowper. “Bless me, you’re not at all plain either, are you? That dress is simply stunning. Much more stylish than all these flowery colors. I do believe you’ll start a fashion.”

“Thank you,” replied Miranda.

The other introductions were made, and the young people moved on to the dance floor, while the two mamas sat gossiping. Emily Mary Cowper watched for a while then said to her friend, Princess de Lieven, the wife of the Russian ambassador, “The little Dunham girl will make young Swynford a perfect wife. She has a nice fortune too, I hear.”

“What do you think of our Jared’s wife?” asked the princess.

“I think if she’d dressed like that last season, she’d have had a duke instead of a Yankee lordling. I’ve never seen a light hidden so successfully beneath a bushel. She is a beautiful young woman. That gorgeous hair! Those eyes! Her rose and cream coloring! And worse, it’s natural!”

The princess laughed. “I’d like to get to know her better. I suspect a mind there. She’s no vapid miss. Let’s have her to tea.”

“Yes, I shall ask her tomorrow.” replied Lady Cowper. “Is Gillian Abbott here tonight?”

“Not yet.” The princess laughed again. “She’s going to be furious, isn’t she? Old Lord Abbott is on his last legs, I hear. I do believe that she had Jared Dunham singled out to be her next husband. After all, her reputation among the ton is only slightly better than a demirep; and what gentleman with enough money to support her would marry her when so many young ladies of better families
and
unblemished reputation are available?”

“Well, I do hope she comes tonight, for I should adore to see
that
confrontation.”

“Dear heavens!” exclaimed the princess. “You must be a favorite of the gods, Emily Mary! Look! She is here!”

The two patronesses turned to the ballroom door, where Gillian, Lady Abbott, stood with three escorts. She was of medium height and perfectly proportioned with a long, swanlike neck and high, cone-shaped breasts. She had ivory skin, short dark red curls, and oval-shaped amber-gold eyes edged in long, thick black lashes. Her gown was pale pink, and quite diaphanous, and she wore the famous Abbott rubies, large glittering stones in an ugly old-fashioned red-gold setting.

Certain that she had been noted by everyone present, Lady Abbott advanced into the ballroom, trailed by her escorts. She made an elegant but sketchy curtsey to Countess Cowper and Princess de Lieven. “M’ladies.”

“Lady Abbott,” murmured Lady Cowper. “How is dear Lord Abbott? I had heard he is quite low, these days.”

“Indeed,” came the reply, “he is. But nothing would do but I come and enjoy myself. ‘I’m an old man,’ he said to me, ‘but you are young, and mustn’t concern yourself with me, Gillian.’ How the dear man dotes on me. I could not disappoint him, for he so adores the gossip I bring back.”

“How nice for you,” said the princess sweetly. “Let me give you some gossip then. Jared Dunham has returned to London, and is now Lord Dunham, having inherited the island he expected to inherit one day.”

“I did not know that,” exclaimed Lady Abbott.

“He is here tonight,” said Lady Cowper, “with the old Lord’s two daughters. The younger is to marry Lord Swynford in a few weeks.”

Gillian Abbott turned abruptly and surveyed the room. Spying her quarry, she glided off toward it.

“Emily! You didn’t tell her that Jared is married!”

“No, I didn’t, did I?” said Lady Cowper innocently, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Gillian Abbott patted her curls self-consciously, ignoring her swains, who stumbled after her.
He
was back, and Horace was surely on his deathbed this time. Gillian, Lady Dunham, she thought smugly as she skirted the dancers and scanned the room
for Jared. What was the name of his American holding? Windward? Something like that. Not that it mattered. She had no intentions of living in that savage land. He had a decent town house on Devon Square and she’d get him to buy a country place. There he was! God, she’d know that broad, muscular back anywhere!