“Yes, of course,” she said. “Wherever my husband is shall be my home.”
He must tell her immediately how her book had saved them.
“Take a seat,” he told her and crossed to the bell-pull. “Wine, brandy, tea, what do you desire?”
Her cheeks flooded with color, and he knew what she desired.By God, he was a lucky man!
“Wine,” she said softly and kept her gaze on him as he pulled the cord and waited for Mr. Cherville. “Someday,” she added, “I would like our cook to make whipped syllabub if you think she could.”
Soon, they were relaxing together like any man and wife, and Philip was ready to tell her how he would eat his words about the book when she opened her reticule and drew out a rolled piece of paper. This, she smoothed upon her lap.
“It’s aTête-à-Têtefrom an old monthlyTown and Country.You may remember I mentioned them when we were at my aunt and uncle’s home.”
Philip frowned, before recalling his distaste over the magazine that delved into the personal lives of the upper class. With annoyance, he snatched it from her.
“I would have hoped you’d had enough of dangerous gossip.” Without looking at it, he went to tear it in half.
“Don’t!” she yelled, reaching out to stay his hand. “It’s my only copy. And my possession of it has changed the path of our ignominy.”
He glanced down at the worn sheet, taking a moment to read the headline. “It’s about the Beaumont family!”
“Indeed, it is!” Miranda practically sang the words. “The true and unpolished facts about Lord and Lady Beaumont. Only see who Lady Harriet’s great-grandfather is.”
He read the entire column before he looked up at her, grinning like a fiend.
“Does she know you have this information?”
“She does. I paid her my first visit as Lady Mercer. There will be no more copies of my book printed. In fact, I expect a delivery of any stray ones in Lady Harriet’s possession to come tonight. While I cannot get back the few she sent out, no one else will receive one, nor will there be any more quotations from it sent to the papers.”
Handing her back her precious page, it was his turn for good news.
“You were correct,” Philip said simply.
Miranda’s hazel eyes, looking mostly green that night, twinkled in delight. Philip thought he could dive in and swim in their clear, verdant depths.
“Was I?” she asked.
“Yes. You advised me when we first met to go to the marquess’s son and tell him about Miss Waltham’s plight and how she was trying to point her boney finger at me.”
“I recall nothing about her boney finger,” she said. “Only about her lips being against yours.”
He sighed. “I vow there will never be another woman’s lips against mine ever again.” With that, he leaned the few inches between them and claimed her mouth.
Nothing ever felt better or more like coming home, not any of the instances when he’d returned from the Continent to this very room, nor enjoyed a woman after a long absence.
Never had his entire body sizzled with heat at the mere touch of soft lips under his. This was love, pure and deep and everlasting!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Miranda slid her hands up and around his neck, and he drew her against him. When she parted her lips, Philip delved inside, his tongue dancing with hers until he was ready to toss her skirts up and—
“We’re crushing theTête-à-Tête,” she said.
“I vow that gossip will not come between us again.” He took the single sheet that laid bare the lies of the Beaumont family’s lack of antiquity and bloodlines and set it on the low table in front of him. Then he went to the salon door and looked out. Not a servant in sight.Good!
Closing it, he returned to the arms of his wife and did exactly as he’d wanted to from the first time he’d met her. He ruined her wickedly and thoroughly on their sofa, both keeping their clothing on, merely loosening it and drawing it up or down as necessary.
All his mouth needed was access to her lips, her plump breasts, and her pearled nipples, and all his jutting arousal needed was the sweet, damp place between her soft thighs.
