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.
CHAPTER 18
Rhys 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 havetogether. So he took a slow sip of his wine in the hopes that theChateau Margauxwould 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.”
