Chapter 17 #2
Her petticoats were bunched beneath her bottom, her skirts awkwardly twisted, and anyone could have seen him pulling her into his lap had they but glanced in their direction before the door had shut.
But somehow, all that ceased to matter the moment she threaded her arms around his neck and looked up into his summer’s-storm eyes.
“I’ve missed you too,” she confessed softly.
His mouth was on hers in the next breath, ravenous and hot. She kissed him back with all the need and longing that had been building within her since they had parted ways the day before. How had it been only one day that had passed since she had seen him last? It felt more like a lifetime.
She was breathless by the time the kiss was over, her nipples hard, the insistent ache between her legs so demanding that she pressed her thighs together in an effort to quell it.
Miranda sifted her fingers through his silken hair, studying his handsome countenance, so serious and stern, the customary teasing, devil-may-care rake nowhere to be found this evening.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m not inside you right now.”
He kissed her again before she could chastise him for saying something so vulgar. His lips moved over hers, lingeringly, deliciously. But Miranda knew him well enough to sense when something was weighing heavily on his mind.
She tore her mouth from his. “Something is amiss. Tell me.”
He sighed, the sound weary. “It’s my sister.”
Miranda recalled the fondness in his voice when he had spoken about her. They were close. His solemn expression worried her.
“Is she well?”
“Yes. No. Hell.” He rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know.”
Miranda smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead, a surge of tenderness and protective concern rising. “Has she taken ill?”
“No, thank God. She is well enough. But whilst I was away, she disappeared for a week. She returned this afternoon, claiming to have been visiting our Great-Aunt Bitsy in the country.”
Miranda frowned. “ Claiming to have visited your great-aunt? You don’t believe your sister?”
He sighed again, looking torn. “It isn’t like Rhiannon to deceive me, but her story makes little sense.
Our mother had no notion my sister was going or where she had gone.
Great-Aunt Bitsy would have invited Mater as well as Rhiannon, and our mother received no invitation that she can recall.
Great-Aunt Bitsy may be eccentric, but she would not have approved of Rhiannon traveling to her unchaperoned. ”
“Your sister traveled alone?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “And without informing any of the servants or our mother where she had gone or when she might return. She took a hired hackney, for Christ’s sake. Anything could have happened to her.”
“That does seem rather reckless,” she allowed. “But perhaps there was a reason for her actions.”
“I don’t doubt there was, nor do I doubt the timing. She left when she knew I would be gone, and she was more than aware our mother would fail to take note of her absence until it was too late.”
Suddenly, Miranda understood the underlying reason for his concern. A young lady who would deliberately go on an unplanned jaunt alone, and when her protective older brother was conspicuously absent, was suspicious indeed. There was one likely reason for her unexpected disappearance.
“You suspect your sister of meeting with a beau,” she guessed.
His expression turned haunted. “Yes. If any scurrilous rogue has dared to ruin my sister, he will wish he was never born. I’ll see to it myself.”
“Have you any proof that she was with someone else? What of your great-aunt? Has she confirmed your sister’s story of the visit?”
He shook his head. “Great-Aunt Bitsy is not a prompt correspondent, I fear. I’ve sent off a letter in her direction, but I don’t expect to have a response any time soon, if at all.
She is forever fretting over her menagerie of animals and often ignores her correspondence for weeks at a time.
Short of paying her a visit myself, I’m not likely to have an answer.
Rhiannon, of course, would know this as well. ”
“You are a good brother, Rhys.” She caressed his cheek, love for him welling up within her, threatening to overflow.
How would she be able to carry on in one month’s time? To live her life without him in it? The thought left her desolate. She couldn’t bear to consider it.
“If I were a good brother, this wouldn’t have happened,” he countered grimly. “I ought to have made certain she had a companion to watch over her. I should have known Mater wouldn’t be any match for Rhiannon when she sets her mind to something.”
“You couldn’t have known that your sister would leave when you were gone. How many occasions have you left without anything untoward happening at all?”
“Many,” he admitted.
And for a moment, she knew a pang of jealousy for each of those occasions, many of which had likely been Wicked Dukes Society house parties. For the lovers he had known before her. For the lovers he would take after her.
Miranda blinked against the sting of tears she refused to allow to fall. “You see? You could not have known.”
Just as she couldn’t have known how quickly she would lose her heart to this man.
How was it that only a little over a week had passed since they had gone to Hertfordshire together?
She could only hope the next month would progress torpidly.
That she could savor these moments with him, when he was hers.
“You are too good for me,” he said, kissing her softly. “I don’t deserve you. But as it happens, I’m a selfish and greedy chap. I’m not about to challenge the fate that brought me into your path.”
She smiled against his mouth. “It was my cream ice that brought you. Hardly fate.”
“Your cream ice is bloody delicious,” he agreed, his voice low and silken as he pressed kisses to the corner of her lips, then her jaw, alternating words with decadent brushes of his mouth.
“But not nearly as delicious as you are. Have I told you how much I missed you, kitten? I could devour you here and now.”
And she wanted him to, wanton that she was. Miranda chased his lips with hers, kissing him, their tongues tangling. A moan stole from her. His hand was moving, gliding under her voluminous skirts, trailing past her knee.
She had ridden him on their carriage ride back to London the day before.
The memory of how wonderful it had been, rocking in time to the swaying conveyance, brought the need between her legs to an aching throb.
The sinful, forbidden nature of their frantic coupling had imbued the act with an eroticism that had made her climax even more potent than usual.
He was turning her into a voluptuary as well, and she didn’t even mind.
She had been missing more than she could have comprehended in her frigid, unhappy marriage.
And she knew that regardless of how devastated she would be to part ways with Rhys at the conclusion of this month, she would be forever grateful to him for showing her the pleasure that could exist between a man and woman.
Miranda sucked on his tongue as his fingers skated up her inner thigh, and although she was somewhat hampered by the cumbersome fabric of her petticoat and gown, she was able to part her legs just enough for him to breach the slit in her drawers. The first stroke over her aching sex made her gasp.
“You’re already drenched, darling,” he murmured, kissing down her throat, sucking on her pulse, making her burn. “Have you been this soaked for me all day?”
Miranda was beyond shame. “Yes.”
Concentrating on her ledgers had been nearly impossible. She had been restless on her chair, wishing for a release she knew she couldn’t have until the evening.
He cupped her mound then, his touch possessive but tender. “Who does this wet, wicked pussy belong to?”
His sinful words wrung another moan from her. “You.”
“You’re damned right it does,” he growled with satisfaction, his fingers parting her folds to find the seat of her desire hidden within.
He strummed over her swollen clitoris, sending sparks of pure bliss radiating from her core.
He had distracted her with his concern over his sister, but now, all the need that had been eating her alive through the hours they had been apart returned tenfold.
His thumb swirled in knowing circles, the pressure he applied increasing, as he sank two fingers deep inside her.
She grasped his hair as he tongued the hollow behind her ear.
Oh dear heavens, it felt so good. So wrong.
The second day she had surrendered to her desires and allowed him to pleasure her in a carriage.
But she didn’t care. No one could see what was happening within the haven of the brougham.
Everything else ceased to exist but for the two of them.
“Rhys,” she whispered, his name torn from her as she rocked against his touch, seeking more. “Please.”
“Please what, kitten?”
She ought to have objected to the silly pet name. But she was beyond rational thought. There was only sensation, her body spurring her on, the need for completion supplanting all else.
“You know what,” she murmured, grasping a handful of his hair and pulling his lips back to hers for a drugging kiss.
He licked her lower lip, then gently nibbled there, his fingers gliding in slow torment in and out of her, whilst his thumb continued to gently tease. She was close, so close.
Miranda made a noise of frustrated yearning.
He withdrew his hand, resting his wet fingers on her inner thigh, stroking her there as his thumb, too, left her sex. “I’m afraid you’ll have to say the words, darling. I need to hear them.”
He brushed his lips over hers lightly once, twice. Thrice.
Her breaths were coming in ragged gasps. She so desperately needed to come. But he wanted to have the filthy words from her. He was pushing her once again, beyond the bounds of her comfort. And she both loved and hated him for it.
“Rhys,” she tried again, shifting on his lap. “Touch me. Please.”
“I am touching you,” he drawled, caressing her thigh again. “Is this not where you want it?”
She compressed her lips. “No.”
He raked his teeth along her jaw, then caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit, making a liquid rush of desire go straight to her center. “Where, kitten? Tell me.”
Miranda licked her lips as his hot breath coasted over her throat. She couldn’t say the word. Could she? It was scandalous. A word she had never uttered before, nor even heard until him.
She couldn’t.
But this need was unbearable. If she didn’t have relief, she would surely perish from it.
Miranda opened her mouth, prepared to concede defeat.
The carriage rocked to a halt.
“Oh dear. It would seem we have arrived at our destination.” His grin was knowing, the rogue, making the corners of his eyes crinkle, amusement shimmering in those stormy blue depths.
He withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts and, as she watched, sucked his glistening fingers clean. “I reckon that will have to suffice until dessert.”
The scoundrel! She was positively aflame.
Gently, he gathered her up in his arms and deposited her on the opposite bench just before he rapped on the carriage roof to signal they were ready to disembark.
“Don’t forget your veil, kitten,” he reminded her solicitously.
Oh! Miranda looked around, at a loss. She had quite neglected to bring a piece of millinery that had one.
“I…I seem to have forgotten one,” she stammered, her brain struggling to keep up with the haste of the events as they unfolded.
One moment, she had been about to come, his fingers deep inside her, and the next, they had arrived at their destination, and she didn’t think she would ever be the same.
“Fortunately, your page has come prepared, my queen,” Rhys said, grinning as he reached beneath his seat and extracted a hat box. He lifted the lid and offered her a jaunty hat that had been trimmed with a dark veil that looked more appropriate for mourning than an evening assignation.
She stared at the hat, wondering where he had procured it, and for whom. Had he given it to past lovers? Would he use it again? These were unwelcome and foolish thoughts that she banished, lest she linger on them too long and they were allowed to take root and grow.
This was naught but an affair. A fleeting relationship devoted to the pursuit of pleasure. He owed her no loyalty. They were lovers. Nothing more, even if what she felt for him suggested otherwise.
“Thank you,” she forced out, her voice thick with restrained emotion and desire both.
She took the hat and replaced her own with it, settling the veil over her face to shield her features from curious stares and save her from scurrilous gossip.
If only her heart were as easily protected. But it was far too late for that. The carriage door swung open. She blinked as the cool evening air flooded within.
Resigned to her fate, Miranda descended from the brougham.