Chapter 18
R hys watched the lamplight in the dining room at his St John’s Wood house playing lovingly over Miranda’s glossy ebony hair, marveling that this beautiful, complicated woman was here with him. That she was his.
For now, he reminded himself.
Or for as long as he could persuade her.
Forever.
The word flew into his mind, wild and fleeting.
Impossible too. She had made her opinion on marriage clear; her obligation was to her school.
And likewise, he had no wish to marry. He was perfectly contented to be the last Duke of Whitby, having neither brothers nor uncles nor cousins, distant or otherwise, to inherit.
At least, he thought he had been contented. Some maggot seemed to have wormed its way into his brain, leaving him occasionally susceptible to the odd rush of yearning to see a little girl with his blue eyes and Miranda’s raven curls. Or a young lad with emerald eyes and wavy blond hair.
“What are you thinking?” she asked him, her voice like a caress.
He couldn’t very well admit that he had been harboring maudlin sentiments about the children they would never have together. So he took a slow sip of his wine in the hopes that the Chateau Margaux would chase such unwanted notions from his mind.
“I was thinking about how lovely you look tonight,” he improvised.
Which wasn’t a lie. He had been admiring her.
Even dressed as she was in one of her demure gray silks, she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever beheld.
It had taken all the control he possessed to keep from ravishing her in the carriage on their way here.
He’d been just about to make her come when the carriage had rolled to a stop, and he had decided to make them both wait. To heighten the sensuality, the need.
“You are far too generous.” She gave him a wry smile from across the table. “I’m sure I look like someone who has been balancing ledgers and instructing students on the merits of clear and pureed soups all day.”
“Not at all.” He held her stare. “You look like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
A becoming flush stole over her cheekbones. “Do cease flattering me. You’ve already won me, you rogue.”
But he hadn’t won her. Not truly, had he? And the knowledge left an ache in his gut. One he had never felt before.
“I’ll own that I’m a rogue,” he allowed, tamping down those unwanted feelings. “However, I would never offer empty flattery. You are every bit as incomparable as your desserts.”
“Speaking of my desserts, I was thinking of bringing some of my molds and an ice cave here,” she said.
“I thought that perhaps you might enjoy an occasional cream ice over the course of the month, and it would be easier for me to prepare it here in the kitchens than to freeze the mold at the school and bring it with me.”
The month —an unwanted reminder that their time together was finite. Unless he could persuade her to give him more. Before her, he had never wanted more from anyone. But Miranda was different.
He knew it to his marrow.
“I would love nothing better than to indulge in your ices, but I don’t like the idea of you continuing to work after you’ve spent the day at your school,” he pointed out, keenly aware of how hard she toiled. “I want you to relax when you are with me here. I want it to be your respite.”
“That’s very considerate of you.” Her smile warmed. “Perhaps on days when the school is not in session, then?”
“As you wish. When we are together, however, I don’t want you to feel as if you must tend to me.”
“Perhaps I like tending to you,” she said softly.
That warmed him more than the wine. Dear God, she was a gem.
Ammondale ought to have his head examined for treating her so callously.
But then, if the earl had been a proper husband to Miranda, Rhys never would have had the opportunity to get to know her.
And he couldn’t fathom his life without her in it.
A sobering thought, that.
“I have a great deal that requires tending,” he teased her to distract himself and lighten the conversation. “One part of me in particular, kitten.”
That won him a laugh from her. “Will you forever insist upon referring to me thus?”
He winked. “Yes. I will. For one thing, I like to ruffle your feathers. For another, when you chastise me, it makes my cock hard.”
But then, in her presence, everything made his cock hard.
She bit her lip, clearly trying to keep from laughing again. “You are an unrepentant scoundrel.”
“Would you have me any other way?”
“No.” She shook her head, her expression turning serious. “I don’t think I would. But fortunately, though you may be a rogue, you are a generous one. I’ve already received some inquiries about my employment agency. I presume you are the source.”
He had indeed been planting the seed in as many places as possible during the house party.
“I’m pleased to hear that some of the guests have contacted you so soon,” he said. “I cannot say I’m surprised, what with the way everyone was perpetually raving over your ices each night. I quite expect the demand for your charges will exceed the number of pupils you have, forthwith.”
“Thank you, Rhys.”
“You needn’t thank me. Your hard work and dedication are responsible for your success.”
“But without the funds you paid me for the house party and your recommendations, my school would still be struggling.” There was a tenderness in her verdant gaze that touched something inside him.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I can assure you that my motives were not entirely noble.”
Hell, when they had begun, his motives had been anything but noble.
He had wanted her in his bed, full stop.
But now? Ye gods. Now, he couldn’t quite tell what his motives were where she was concerned, and that terrified him more than anything else.
Because he was very much beginning to fear that he, a man who had always considered his romantic entanglements purely carnal in nature, was beginning to fall for Miranda after a mere week of bedding her.
“You want me to believe the worst of you, but there is far more to you than the jaded rake,” Miranda insisted quietly.
No one had ever looked at him as she was. It was a potent, heady sensation.
“Come to bed with me,” he said, needing the diversion of the physical rather than the intellectual, which felt suddenly far too dangerous with her.
Their meal was finished, and in the absence of the discreet servants who had whisked themselves belowstairs, he was free to do as he liked with her, just as she was at liberty to do what she wished with him.
“You’re trying to distract me,” she observed.
Quite correctly.
“Is it working?” he asked cheekily.
A reluctant smile played at the corners of her full lips. “Your charm is deadly, Your Grace, as I’m sure you are already aware.”
She rose to her feet then, and he followed suit, feeling rather like a callow youth in such a haste to touch her that he was about to spend in his trousers. That was the effect she had on him. Regardless of how many times they made love, he only seemed to want her more.
“So I’ve been told, but I’m gratified that you find it so.” He skirted the table and offered her his arm formally, as if they were about to enter a ball together instead of on their way to shag like mad.
She settled her hand in the crook of his elbow. “How could I not?”
“So you find me irresistible?” he teased as he guided her from the room and down a short hall to the staircase.
“I’m sure you already know the answer to that question.” Her tone was arch, but then she sent him a seeking look and asked him a question that nearly had him tripping on the first step. “Is this the house you reserve for all your paramours?”
Thankfully, he grasped the banister before he planted himself face first into the stairs. “It is a house I have used when discretion is needed, yes.”
Mater and Rhiannon lived in his town house, and neither of them had ever crossed paths with the lovers he took. A strange sensation lodged in his chest. Bringing Miranda here suddenly felt inherently wrong.
“Of course,” she said quietly.
Damn it.
Rhys stopped her there on the stairs, turning toward her. “You’re not my paramour.”
He didn’t know precisely what she was to him. There was no word in his lexicon to accurately describe her. All he did know was that she was necessary. Like air in his lungs, sun in the sky, like rain on a drought-ridden field. He simply had to have this woman.
Miranda smiled softly. “I know.” She tugged at his arm. “Now, come to bed with me before I perish from wanting you.”
His cockstand was instant, all noble attempts at sorting out his tangled emotions effectively abandoned.
“As my queen commands,” he told her, guiding her up the rest of the stairs to the room he kept as his own.
They scarcely made it over the threshold before she took him by surprise, kissing him soundly.
His hands settled on the curves of her waist, and he answered her by giving her his tongue.
She tasted sweet, like wine and the vanilla mousse that had completed their dinner, and he couldn’t get enough.
He wanted to gorge himself on her, to devour her.
But she had other ideas.
Her hands flattened on his chest, lightly pushing as she broke the kiss.
“Wait.” She was breathless, her eyes glistening, her lips berry-red. “You said as your queen commands, did you not?”
His cock pulsed. “I did.”
“Then disrobe for me,” she ordered him.
Sweet God. This woman was going to be the death of him.
Rhys shrugged out of his coat, allowing it to fall to the Axminster. He toed off his shoes, then worked frantically at buttons, not stopping until he was bare-chested and clad in nothing other than his trousers.
“More?” he asked, holding her rapt gaze, his fingers on the fastening at his waistband.
“Not yet. I need some assistance.”
Ceding control to her was a more potent aphrodisiac than he could have imagined.
“Tell me what you want me to do.”