“I was just thinking how you outsmarted the prince of prurience, here, when he was doing all he could to wriggle and slither and remain unshackled.”
He laughed again. Miranda’s gaze lifted to Philip’s face, a mask of cool politeness, with the telltale tightening of his jaw. Her father made it sound like she’d planned it.
Without any further discussion — after all, what could be said about a disgraceful daughter and a scandal-clad rake fleeing to Scotland — her father finished eating and bid them goodnight and farewell until they met again in London.
There had been no toast to the momentous occasion, after all. And in the long stretch of silence while they ate, she tried and failed to keep her thoughts from skittering wildly to what came next. Unafraid of the wedding night after having experienced the awakenings of passion with Philip already, still, she had a fluttering of anticipation. She also had her share of regrets.
Instead of a marriage to salvage something of both their reputations, she wished her dashing major had whisked her away due to a surge of romantic feelings, or dare she dream, even for love’s sake.
“You must be exhausted,” Philip said, not sounding particularly romantic. “I certainly am. Like your father, we can return home at a more leisurely pace.” Then he laughed. “Isn’t that exactly how Congreve’s wit decreed it? ‘Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.’”
Miranda didn’t think that was funny in the least. She didn’t want to consider a long lifetime of regret over their Gretna Green wedding.
“At least I am not like Shakespeare’s Katherine,” she countered, “fearing her Petruchio wooed in haste and meant to wed at leisure, or as she believed, not wed her at all.”
Philip offered a tight smile. “Even without a ring, which I shall rectify when we are back in Town, we are definitely married. I would not have let you sink in the sea of shame in which you had carelessly cast yourself.”
Her words of gratitude stuck in her throat.Was she going to feel beholden to him for the rest of her days?Gratitude seemed a poor substitute for love. Perhaps the marriage bed would unite them physically and, thus, emotionally, too.
“Shall we go to bed?” he asked, perchance reading her thoughts.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Their room purportedly had a fine view of the Solway, Port Carlisle, Bowness, and even the Cumberland hills, or it would have if the sun hadn’t gone down.
Miranda didn’t care much about the view as the chambermaid described it while leading them up the stairs to the correct door. She wanted a hot bath and to sleep in her softest shift.
“Can a bath be arranged this late in the evening?” Miranda asked the maid.
“Oh, yes. We have lots of young ladies wanting a bath before their first night as a wife, especially if their new husbands will spare no expense.”
Miranda knew that was hardly the case, but she ordered a bath anyway. Soon, she found herself in a tin tub on an oilskin in the middle of their modest-sized room, sunk down as low as she could go while her Philip returned to the public room for a glass of brandy to spare his new wife any embarrassment.
This surprised her as much as anything. After all, a bath could be a passionate, lusty exercise. Or she’d read as much in a wicked novel from the previous century.
Since he’d asked her to save the water, she’d bathed quickly and was under the bedcovers when he returned. They locked gazes.
“I suppose you’ll have to stay and watch,” he quipped, “since you can hardly go down to the tap-room in your shift. Youarewearing one, are you not?” he asked.
She nodded, feeling as if he could see right through the counterpane.
“I will cover my eyes,” she offered, while continuing to stare at him as he began to undress.
“I was only speaking in jest. I didn’t mind you watching mebeforeyou became my wife, and now you can ogle me without fear of debasement.”
With those words, he stripped bare as a needle in under a minute and climbed into the tub, facing away from her.
“Not as large as my bathtub back home,” he remarked, splashing water about as he picked up the cake of soap and also a washcloth.
“You were very clean,” he added. “I can still see my toes through the water.”
This made her giggle.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
And just as quickly, her humor stuck in her throat.
“Ready?” she croaked, and a shiver of anticipation ran down her back.
