And Then Comes Marriage (14 page)

Her eyes flared and he wondered why. Had he struck a nerve?

She went very still. “I am not a coward. I am not a child. I am an independent woman of means.”

He was a Worthington. He couldn’t resist. “Then prove it.” He released her and stepped back. “Go on. Stop being a lady for three minutes entirely.”

She stayed where she was, though she let her hands drop to her sides. “I—”

She had no idea what to do, did she? Cas found her inability to create mischief adorable—and a little heartbreaking.
Who frightened the life out of you, Mira?

Casting a glance down the path, he saw the fountain and had an idea. “A lady would never wade barefoot in a public fountain.”

She looked askance at the falling water. “Never.”

He knelt before her. Biting her lip, Miranda allowed him to take her foot in his hand.

A big warm hand wrapped about her heel, while the other slid up her ankle, then her calf, then kept going. All the while, his green eyes stayed fixed on hers, promising hot reward for her boldness. Sweet shivers traveled up her spine.

She barely felt her shoe slip from her foot. What she did feel were his warm fingers untying the garter tied just above her knee. With a practiced touch, he rolled the fine-knit stocking down until it fell in a warm coil about her ankle.

Then both her feet and legs were bare beneath her skirts. She felt wickedly naughty already and she’d not stepped toe in the water yet.

At his challenging expression, she turned her back on him and stalked to the fountain. Settling herself most demurely to sit on the edge, she swung her legs over to the other side, keeping a careful hold on her skirts.

The water was icy at first. She felt for the bottom with her feet in the dark and then carefully stood, tottering slightly on the slippery tiles beneath her toes.

“There.” She turned to face him triumphantly. “I’ve done—”

Just like that, her feet slipped on the scummy bottom and she went down, falling facedown into the water.

“Mira!”

Like a cork, she bobbed up at once, spitting mad. He reached for her but she slapped his hands away.

“Look at me! I’m soaked and my dress is ruined and—oh, this water is
cold
!”

He reached for her again, and this time she allowed him to help her out. Her black gown was soaked, though truly that was no loss. Her perfectly pinned hair was a mess of fallen, dripping tangles. She looked as disgruntled and awkward as a wet cat. He tried to keep a straight face; he truly did. Really.

There was no help for it. He laughed so hard, he had to lean his hands on his knees to stay upright.

She scowled all the harder, which sent him off again. Straightening finally, he swiped at his watering eyes and bowed his apology. “Mrs. Talbot, allow me to offer you my coat—”

“Well, bloody well hand it over! I’m freezing!”

He whipped off his surcoat and wrapped it around her. Oh, damn. She was like ice.

The hired hack still waited by the gate to the park. Cas swung her up into his arms, ignoring her scandalized protest, and rushed her back to the carriage.

Once there, he ignored the wide-eyed driver and stuffed her inside.

“Hurry, back to Breton Square!”

While the carriage rattled on, Cas took Miranda’s hands in his. Her fingers were icy and her entire body trembled. “Damn it!” He wrapped her more tightly in his coat and pulled her into his lap.

The carriage rolled to a stop and didn’t move again. Cas pounded on the small trapdoor above his head. The driver flipped it open.

“What the bloody hell is taking so long?”

“Sorry, sir. It’s all them folks leaving the theaters. Can’t wedge me way in.”

“Damn it!” He settled back down next to Miranda. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t think.” He never did, neither he nor Poll.

She was fully shivering now, her teeth chattering like dice. “It’s su—summer. How c—can it be so ch—chilly out?”

Miranda was beginning to feel decidedly odd. She shuddered so hard she felt as if her bones were clacking together. She huddled on Mr. Worthington’s lap, wishing she could dig further into his warmth, no longer concerned about proprieties.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and took her hands in his again to warm them.

She could scarcely feel her fingers or toes. Without thought, she kicked off her sodden slippers and drew her feet up to his lap as well. He tucked her hands into his waistcoat to warm up and used his to rub at her icy feet.

The heat of his body began to seep through her skin, though she still shivered. She squirmed and turned her face into his neck, for if she could only get closer still.…

“Miranda.” His voice was tight and strained in her ear.

“Hmm?”

“I—ah—”

She looked up, realizing that she was practically crawling up his chest. “Am I too heavy? Should I move?”

“Don’t move!” He held her more tightly. “Please—if you squirm any more, I’m likely to embarrass myself.”

Shocked, she went entirely still. She could feel it now, the stiffened organ pressing against her thigh. For several long moments, she hardly dared breathe.

Then, she sneezed, rocking deeply in his arms with the strength of it.

He gasped and his hand fisted around her bare ankles. “Miranda—” His voice was full of dark desire. His touch on her skin felt like fire and need.

Oh my. The seed of curiosity that had never been truly tamped out rose and stretched cat-like within her. She truly couldn’t help herself. Pretending to pull her soaked neckline higher, she rotated her bottom in his lap.

There was a small lantern affixed to the inside of the carriage. With a flailing hand, he reached up to turn the key to douse the wick. The interior of the carriage plunged into darkness, lighted only by the streetlamps passing slowly outside.

However, the street was crowded with pedestrians and carriages alike. There were people only a few feet away from them.

The knowledge should have sent Miranda scrambling for the opposite seat. As she lay in the heat and security of Mr. Cas Worthington’s arms, she thought she probably ought to ponder her indifference further—but she simply didn’t care.

She wanted to be closer to him. Her last proper resistance disappeared when she thought of how he would feel against her, skin to skin, and how his warm hands would feel on her chilled breasts.

She undid the buttons of his waistcoat one by one. “I need to be warmer.”

He clenched his eyes shut. “Mira, we’ll be back to your house soon enough.” Really, it was sweet—but entirely hopeless.

“No, we won’t. This crowd will take hours to get through and you know it.” She slid her hands beneath the weskit, seeking warmth, seeking strength, seeking him.

She truly was on the verge of being dangerously chilled. It was all in the name of good health. And he felt so good. His big body was hot and hard and she was so blasted cold.

She felt his body shudder beneath her, around her. “Mira.” His low voice rumbled into her, setting off vibrations in unexpected places.

Tensing for his rejection, she waited, but he only wrapped his arms more tightly about her and rested his chin on the top of her wet head.

“Burrow in, Mrs. Talbot,” he murmured. “I’ll keep you safe and warm.”

At his concerned tone and his protective embrace, Miranda’s eyes abruptly filled. Had anyone ever in her life promised to keep her safe and warm?

And she was, both out of harm’s way and no longer cold.

Closing her eyes, she pressed her damp face into his warm neck and let out a deep sigh. His arms tightened about her.

Gratitude filled her. If not for the dousing that forced her to cling to his warmth, she might never have given in to her desire to feel his hard chest once more, to feel cradled safe in his arms.

Most of all, she might never have acknowledged her own secret craving to press her body to his as he rescued her once more.

Her nipples throbbed, as hard as rubies in mingled chill and arousal. However, she’d never known a little chill to ignite the sweet, hot ache that grew between her thighs. It was the scent of him—a mingled perfume of damp wool and clean, aroused male. It was the solidity of his broad body and the strength of his powerful arms wrapped tightly about her. She allowed the melting, quivering awakening to fill her, to expand beneath her skin, Her blood heated, burning away the chill.

Miranda turned her head to rest upon his chest, over his heart. The deep, potent sound of his racing pulse rang through her like a bronze bell.

I want more. Heaven help me, I want it all.

He didn’t know it, she was quite sure. The silence and darkness wrapped about them, keeping her secret for her. She could ache for him with no one the wiser.

They rode that way all the way back to Breton Square and home.

*   *   *

Cas left Miranda in the capable hands of her bossy little maid, Tildy, who shooed him from the premises with a hard look for any man who would be foolish enough to give her mistress a chill—and on a night with no rain yet!

Cas left reluctantly, for he knew Miranda was exhausted.

Their adventure was a first for Cas. Oh, he’d nuzzled a few bosoms while on wheels, but no woman had ever ridden quietly in his arms as if he were a shining knight rescuing her from a dragon’s lair!

There was something different about her. Was it her eagerness or her naïveté? Except … Miranda wasn’t naïve! She was a good woman, a kind and intelligent creature … with just a touch of naughty wench within. He’d felt her desire in her touch when she sought the warmth of his body. He probably could have seduced her right then and there, if he’d put a little muscle into it.

But he hadn’t wanted that. He didn’t want to see that expression on her face, the one he called the day-after look, the one of mingled shock and shame and delight, tainted by the growing realization that he was on his way out the door.

And Miranda would be shocked if she knew him at all—if she knew what it was that he wanted from her.

She’d give it to you anyway. You know she would.

Yes, he did know it. She would submit with the same vulnerable, sweet generosity that she did everything, from dealing with her snippy butler to tolerating old Seymour’s haughty puffing.

Cas had been alone for a while now, longer than he would confess to anyone, even Poll. He’d told himself that he was bored with all the women he knew, but in truth he had become very weary of hunting tigers.

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, Miranda received yet another letter from her sister-in-law, Constance Talbot.

“Miranda
—

It has come to my attention that you are neglecting your duty to maintain the house in its original condition. In particular, it seems you are being somewhat cavalier with the ancestral treasures held within
.”

Ancestral treasures? For a moment, Miranda frowned, picturing secret caches of Egyptian booty stolen by early Talbot grave robbers. Then she realized that Constance was referring to the damned dogs!

“Twigg, you are a dead man,” Miranda murmured.

“
I hope this letter finds you more inclined to see to your responsibilities. I should hate to have to oversee matters myself
—”

“Oh, no.” Miranda’s throat tightened. She’d have to allow it, of course. This was Constance’s childhood home. Miranda could hardly ban her from it, as much as the notion might appeal!

Her fury at Twigg’s betrayal boiled over, happily concealing the deep anxiety of the possibility of living under Constance’s heavy thumb once more.

Striding into the hallway, Miranda let her head fall back.
“Twigg!”

The butler popped up from whatever realm butlers frequented when not needed. “Yes, madam?”

Miranda regarded him sourly. “This is my house, Twigg. Mine.”

Twigg took a step back. “Ah, yes, madam. This is your house.”

She glared at him through narrowed lids. “Good. I’m glad we resolved that little question. My house. Not Miss Constance Talbot’s house. Gideon—Mr. Talbot—left it to
me.
”

Twigg nodded, paling slightly. “Mr. Talbot left it to you.”

Miranda pinned the butler with one last furious glare, then turned away. “
My
house,” she muttered as she strode away down the hall. “I bloody well
earned
it.”

“Yes, madam.” Twigg’s voice followed her down the hall. “
Your
house.”

*   *   *

When Mr. Poll Worthington called on Miranda the next afternoon, she greeted him with a relieved smile. “I am very happy to see you,” she told him. “And that you are unaccompanied.”

He tilted his head, his smile of greeting fading slightly. “Is Cas giving you any trouble, Mira?”

Miranda shook her head with a small laugh. “No, not trouble. However, this is all a bit … confusing. I preferred things the way they were, I suppose.”

Her reply eased Poll’s tension, yet he could not help but think that “the way things were” had been a little too safe and a little less than satisfying.